Ruth and Pete met waiting outside the bathroom at a party. She noticed the way his smile went all the way up to his eyes and wondered how many other girls had felt that he was smiling just for them. He liked her dimpled arms, pliable and soft against the fabric of her summer dress. She twirled the syrupy dregs of her punch around the bottom of the plastic cup she was holding and wondered how to start a conversation with him. He thought she was probably a little drunk and let her go into the bathroom before him, pretending not to notice the disappointed look on her face. He didn’t like girls who drank.
They were sixteen.
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