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"Say anything! It'll make the day go faster."
"No, it won't," he said, glancing ahead of them at Milos, Moose, and Squirrel. And that was that. Silence returned--and although Allie was tempted to catch up with the others, where at least there was laughter and conversation, she resisted, and hung back with Mikey, but resented it.
At dusk they rested, and both Mikey and Milos disappeared. Allie asked Moose and Squirrel about it. Moose, who had limited peripheral vision out of his helmet, hadn't seen much of anything, but Squirrel had.
"Milos went off that way," he told her, pointing to a neighborhood off the side of the road. "He said he was looking for something."
"What?"
"Didn't say, didn't say--but whatever it was, he said he'd be back soon."
"Did Mikey go with him?"
At the mention of Mikey, Squirrel got even more squirrelly. "Nope, nope--Mikey don't go places with Milos," Squirrel said. "I saw him go off the other way. Don't know what he's doing either--and I don't want to know."
Squirrel looked to Moose with a gaze of dread that even Moose didn't understand.
"Whatsh up with you?" Moose asked.
"Nuthin'," said Squirrel. "Why should anything be up with me? Huh, huh?"
This should have been a further indication to Allie that something was wrong, but her thinking had been confused by so many things lately, denial was the easier path to take.
When Milos returned later that evening, he was all smiles. "I promised you the best lesson of all tonight," he told Allie. "Are you ready to begin?"
Allie couldn't imagine an evening of skinjacking better than what they had done at the Grand Ole Opry, but she was willing to take a leap of faith. Milos had taught her so much already-- not just technique, but acceptance of herself, and what she could do. She was truly learning how to enjoy skinjacking. For better or for worse, it was something she needed to learn.
"Lead the way," she said, and realized she had put out her hand for Milos to take. Milos gave her the biggest smirk she had ever seen him give--and he refused to take her hand. She laughed to mask her own embarrassment that even that little gesture had, for the two of them, become a game--and Milos now had, so to speak, the upper hand.
He took her to a nearby neighborhood--a wealthy western suburb of Nashville, where tract mansions rose from what was once farmland. Everything was winding streets and culde-sacs. Allie lost all sense of direction in the moonlight but Milos seemed to know exactly where he was going.
He stopped at a huge house with a rounded driveway that was full of cars. There was music inside, and the sound of a crowd.
"A party?"
"Yes! And we are about to crash it!"
"Interesting," she said, giving him a dubious look. "So is there a name for tonight's lesson?"
Milos thought about it. "I have no name for what we do tonight. Perhaps after the lesson is over, you can tell me what to call it." They walked right in through the side wall, having no need for the front door, and in an instant, they were in the midst of dozens of teenaged fleshies, doing all those things Allie's parents would have grounded her for when she was alive: drinking, smoking, dancing much too close in clothes that were far too revealing. And, of course, not a single adult was in sight.
"We were all so stupid when we were alive," Allie noted.
"Ah, to be that stupid again." Milos looked around, and pointed to the kitchen. "That way."
The crowd thinned out in the kitchen; there were only about half a dozen kids in there. "There they are!" he said, pointing to a boy, maybe seventeen, talking to a girl about the same age. He wore a shirt that effectively showed off a body in ripped, varsity shape. He was also amazingly easy on the eye.
"Best-looking boy here, yes?"
Allie forced a shrug. "I hadn't noticed."
"And her." He pointed to the girl the boy was talking to. "Miss American Pie."
Allie laughed. The girl was too pretty for her own good. A blond cheerleader type that Allie instantly invented a halfdozen negative fictions about: She must be an airhead, she must be a drunk, she must cheat on tests, she must backstab her friends, and that ridiculous rack can't be real.
"Why don't you skinjack her?"
"What possible point could that serve?"
