Whispering voices

He shook his head again, looking down at Cheryl and smiling. He wasn't used to thinking this way and didn't enjoy it. Cheryl smiled back, rather wanly. At that moment Blossom turned toward them, noticing his expression.

"Are you laughing at me?" she demanded, getting up from the floor and plumping down on her step. "How dare you laugh at me? Here I am, trying to make this thing work, while you sit there, laughing and jeering and—"

"No, no!" Oliver waved her down. "Come on, calm down. I was only smiling at Cheryl. Can't a guy even smile?"

"What's there to smile about?" said Hanna. "We're trapped in this prison and now that food thing won't even work." She gestured at it contemptuously. "It was just teasing us before, making us expect something and then taking it away. And I'm having a cigarette!" she added defiantly, taking out the pack and quickly lighting one.

"Who said you couldn't?" Oliver asked her. "We're not hallway patrolmen."

"Oh, who said you were?" said Hanna tiredly.

Oliver couldn't stand it any longer. He wanted to get away from all the frustration and the bickering. He wanted to get away with Cheryl.

"Come on, Cheryl," he said rather awkwardly, hardly daring to hope that she would have the nerve to go off with him. "Um … maybe we should go look around. There might be another food machine somewhere that works."

Cheryl looked down. "Oh …," she murmured. She waited for a moment. "Um … well, all right," she said, at last, standing up and smiling nervously. She blushed.

"Well, come on then," he said quickly.

Now that she had agreed, he wanted to get her away as soon as possible, before anyone else could offer to come along. "Let's go." He jumped down to the landing and onto her stairway, pushing her lightly on the back. Without looking at the others, they started up. Cheryl continued to seem embarrassed, looking down at her feet as they climbed. She had never been alone with a boy before. There was nothing unusual about that, of course; boys and girls were kept strictly segregated in all state institutions. As they grew into their teens they would sometimes have classes together to get used to one another, but they had all been taught from their earliest years about the dangers of mixing too freely with the opposite sex. It was immoral to get very intimate with anyone unless you were about to be married. Still, people have feelings and do not always agree with everything they are taught. Though Cheryl seemed a bit apprehensive, her very acceptance of his invitation was enough to tell Oliver that she might be interested in trying what was forbidden. The thought of it set his heart beating quickly, yet he had no idea what he should do.

"But … but what is going to happen to us?" Cheryl said at last. "Yesterday you thought this was all like a game, but I bet you don't anymore."

He looked down into her worried face, feeling a new and unknown kind of excitement flowing from her helplessness. It was true that he no longer thought it was a game and was rather frightened about the situation. But the last thing he would do was admit his real feelings to her: His strength depended upon feeling superior.

"Don't get upset," he said. "It'll be okay. Please." They had reached a small landing and stopped walking.

"I usually don't get upset," Cheryl said, her eyes on the ground. "I'm usually calm. Most people I know …think I don't have any emotions because I don't show them very much. But I do have them. And sometimes …they're very strong."

"I … I can tell that," Oliver said in a hoarse whisper. The situation was becoming almost too much to bear, being alone with a girl and talking about something as intimate as her emotions. He was breathing heavily now; and when Cheryl suddenly looked up at him, her face close to his and her eyes very wide, all at once something inside him took over. It didn't matter now that he didn't know what to do; of its own accord his hand reached out and grasped hers, and he bent down his head and kissed her on the lips. Oh, it was strange, thrilling and strange! The touch of lips was new to him, and the sensation of it rang throughout his body. Her lips were hard at first, and dry; but then they softened and parted slightly, and she fell against him, her free hand draping across his back. In a moment Oliver broke away, besieged all at once by a different set of feelings.

There was a shame; shame and acute embarrassment at having done something so intimate and so wrong. But more than that there was a kind of terrible responsibility. What did it mean to this girl that he had touched her that way? What would she expect from him now? And would he be able to live up to her expectations? She was watching him, startled by his sudden pulling away; and from her parted lips and dazed, half-closed eyes, he sensed that she would still like to be kissing. Abruptly he turned from her.

"What's wrong?" said Cheryl. "Did I do something wrong? Oliver! What is it? Say something, please."

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "But … I thought you wanted to. You started it. They always said boys wouldn't respect girls who … did that, but I thought it would be different in here. Oh, Oliver, please tell me what's wrong!"

"I … maybe we should go look around," he said, still not looking at her. "Maybe there's another food machine."

After that, she stopped asking. They wandered slowly for an hour or so, not speaking, avoiding one another's eyes. And as they wandered, Oliver began thinking again of the touch of her lips, of her arm against his back; and as those memories became more intense, the shame and fear began to be forgotten. Soon he felt like kissing her again.

"Cheryl," he said, stopping in the middle of a flight. She turned to him with a melancholic, resigned expression.

"Could we go back now?" she said. "Maybe something happened back there.

"All right." He sighed, searching for words. "But … I just want to say, I'm sorry if I acted funny." He paused again. He couldn't tell her his real reasons: There was something unmanly about them. "It has nothing to do with you. It just … reminded me of something."

"Are you sure?" Cheryl said. "Because I got the distinct feeling you didn't like me. You don't have to like me, you know. I don't want you being nice to me unless you mean it."

"I do like you," he insisted, suddenly wanting the conversation to end. "But we better get back to the others. Come on."

They started down. But suddenly she gave a little cry and stopped. Below them, a red light was flashing on and off, glinting against the white surfaces. And all at once, the air was filled with whispering voices.