The Zit Queen and the Quarterback

Kayla had also been in the cafeteria that day. Like his buddies, she saw Cole's intervention as an aberration, a spontaneous reaction against injustice. Steve and Glen were jerks, she knew, and also knew Cole's penchant for defending the underdog. She didn't know about Cole taking Ellen to Clyburn Lane. What she did know is that Ellen and Cole had become somewhat chummy—a little too chummy. They talked together in the halls, and sometimes he'd sit next to her at lunch, inured to his jock friends' jokes and snickering. She was even in the bleachers on Friday nights, cheering him on. When she confronted him, he laughed it off, said he felt sorry for Ellen and was just trying to make her feel better.

If that's what he was trying to do, it worked. Her hair now had body and shape. Her zits weren't nearly as visible thanks to the right cosmetics. She also became more fashion conscious, more selective about what she wore. A model out of Seventeen, she wasn't; but she was no longer the class frump either. And she was experimenting with contacts, trying to get the hang of using them.

None of this was lost on Cole. He wanted to see her again, and not just in school or in the tight confines of his GTO, though he wouldn't mind another romp on Clyburn Lane, preferably in the back seat with her legs wrapped around him. But weekends were reserved for Kayla, as was the upcoming Damascus homecoming dance, a couples only affair. Showing up at the dance with Ellen instead of Kayla would subject him to more than the mostly good natured ribbing he'd been taking from his buddies. Kayla, of course, would feel hurt and betrayed, as would many of his classmates. He and Kayla were THEE couple, had been for the last two years. Some expected them to one day marry. It came down to either living through the expectations of others or doing what he felt was best for him. Wimps did the former, men the latter. That quote from Shakespeare's "Hamlet," culled from a unit in his English class resonated: "This above all: to thine own self be true."

The fact is, to his great surprise, if not dismay, he was starting to fall for Ellen Goldfarb. And it was no longer a case of feeling sorry for her or wanting to make her over. He liked her, genuinely liked her, and what better way to show it than asking her to homecoming.

Only one problem: She already had a date. Jeff Levine, a varsity basketball player, struck by Ellen's sudden metamorphosis, asked her to the dance and she accepted. She told Cole about it after he approached her with the idea of breaking his date with Kayla and taking her. "I just wish you had asked me sooner," Ellen had said. "I'd much rather go with you, but never thought in a million years you'd ask me. I just took it for granted you'd go with Kayla." He wasn't surprised at her reaction when he suggested she might break her date with Jeff. "He's the only guy who ever asked me to homecoming. I just couldn't do that to him. I, more than most people, know what rejection feels like."

So that's the way things stood on a crisp, December Saturday night when their senior class and recent Damascus High graduates filed into the Franklin Hotel ballroom, decorated for the occasion with subdued lighting, balloons and party favors atop the twenty round tables scattered over the shiny parquet floor.

Ellen, in a formal blue gown and high heels, stood just a shade shorter than six-foot three-inch Jeff Levine. Her hair was up in a French twist and her eyes looked more beautiful than ever—in contacts. She thought Cole looked absolutely smashing in his tux, felt pangs of envy seeing Kayla hanging on his arm. She and Cole nodded at each other at the door, then took their seats at adjoining tables. Jody and the Crewmen, a six-piece band, opened with "Dancing in the Street." The tables emptied for that one, a huge hit for Martha and The Vandellas the year before. After that, Todd Reinhardt, the school principle, hopped up on stage to welcome everyone. He praised the football team for another winning season. "It was a team effort, but who can deny that Cole Reynolds' golden arm led the way," he said. "I see Cole sitting over there with his main squeeze, the beautiful Kayla Ranucci, our senior cheerleader. "Cole and Kayla, stand up, would you?" They did as the room erupted in applause. The band followed with "Twist and Shout," "Lets Twist Again," "Mashed Potato Time," "Mickey's Monkey" and some cha cha number.

Then Jody, the band's busty, thirty-something lead singer, stepped up to the microphone. "We're gonna slow it down now for you guys and gals who wanna get up close and personal. It's an oldie but still a goodie."

"Are the stars out tonight?

I don't know if it's cloudy or bright

'Cause I only have eyes for you, dear..."

Ellen thought the band must have honed in on her mood. Jeff seemed like a decent guy, but maybe she should have followed Cole's suggestion. Her eyes were for Cole, not Jeff, as they waltzed within just a few feet of Cole and Kayla. She couldn't help but wonder if Cole felt the same way. She had her doubts seeing Kayla's head buried in his chest. But then, with Kayla's back turned, he winked at her, boosting her confidence that he might.

"The moon may be high

But I can't see a thing in the sky

I only have eyes for you..."

Cole did feel the same way. He did even thinking how great Kayla looked, felt, smelled. But Ellen looked pretty boss herself, especially in contacts. And oh what he'd give to see her legs in high heels. Ellen should be dancing with him, not Jeff Levine.

"You are here so am I

Maybe millions of people go by

But they all disappear from view

And I only have eyes for you..."

The music hadn't quite stopped when Ellen pushed herself away from Jeff, lifted the hem of her gown and then bolted from the room. Jeff threw his hands up, shook his head, then started to go after her. Cole, not yet seated, stepped in front of him and grabbed his shoulders. "Jeff, let me handle this. I think I know what's wrong."

"You do?"

"Yeah, you do?" Kayla said, looking just as confused.

"Listen, I'll be right back. Just sit down and relax."

He found her around the side of the hotel, crying and shivering in the cold night air, bare shoulders against the blustery wind. Without saying a word, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her as tight as he could. She sobbed for awhile, then wiped her eyes and looked up. "Look, you should get back in there. It's not fair to Kayla. I'm the one who screwed up."

Weighty words eluded him. So he kept things light: "How does it feel to cry in contacts?"

She managed a chuckle. "Well, not much different than with glasses," she said, blinking, "though they've fogged up a bit."

He hugged her once more, and this time she hugged him back. Then they started to kiss, deeply, passionately, and Ellen didn't stop him when he reached under her gown and began walking his fingers up her leg to her crotch. She moaned when he began to rub her moistening pussy over her panties. Then he started to dry hump her. And then he heard something he didn't expect—the sound of Kayla's voice, strident and angry.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she shrieked. She stood there, hands on hips, with a clueless Jeff at her side. "I guess this is your idea of making Ellen feel better."

Cole spun around and stepped forward. "Look, Kayla, I—"

"Sure, I know, you can explain everything, right? Well, so can I. Apparently, our zit queen here is giving you something I'm not."

Ellen looked down, held her head in her hands.

"It's not like that, Kayla," Cole protested.

Kayla got in his face. "No, of course not. It's her brains and vibrant personality that compelled you to drop me at the biggest social event of the year, aside from senior prom. Give me a break. I knew something was up between you two, and now this proves it."

She had the brains part right, Jeff thought, a truth he'd wisely keep to himself.

"Kayla, I'm very sorry about this," Ellen said, wiping the mascara that had run down her cheeks. "My apologies to you too, Jeff. I know it's asking a lot right now, but could you take me home?"

"Yeah, sure, why not?" Jeff said with amused insouciance. "Ya win some, ya lose some." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his car keys, threw them up in the air and caught them one-handed behind his back. "How about you, Kayla? You need a ride too or do you think you can patch things up with Cole?"

More anger flashed in Kayla's blue eyes. "Are you kidding?! This two-timing star quarterback and I are done. Finished. History. And I'll walk home before I get into the same car with that tramp. Why don't you take ME home, let her stay here with him, let them resume what they were doing before they were rudely interrupted."

Jeff nodded. "Fine with me. All hands in favor say I."

Nobody laughed.

Jeff and Kayla went back inside, grabbed their coats and left. Ellen, at Cole's prompting, returned to their table. "Switch partners did you?" one of the guys joked. Others just stared, shook their heads and whispered, not comprehending but too polite to ask. Ellen agreed to stay a while longer, if only so she could dance with Cole the way Kayla did, slow and close. She got her chance when Jody and the band did a cover of a recent Barbara Mason ballad.

"I don't even know how to love you

Just the way you want me to

But I'm ready, ready to learn, to learn..."

They waded onto the crowded dance floor and fell into each other's arms, ignoring the curious stares of onlookers who wondered what the hell Cole was doing snuggling with Ellen Goldfarb, of all people. Where was Kayla?

"I don't even know how to hold your hand

Just to make you understand

But I'm ready, ready to learn, to learn..."

Principle Reinhardt, a Damascus alumnus himself, strolled by, dancing with his wife. Catching Cole's eye, he shrugged, pulled on his black walrus mustache and mouthed the words, "what gives?" Cole shrugged back and kept moving.

"I don't even know how to kiss your lips

At a moment like this

But I'm going to learn to do

All the things you want me to

Are you ready? Yes I'm ready..."

More people noticed, especially when Cole and Ellen started smooching in the middle of the dance floor. Some shook their heads, concerned, if not alarmed. Others laughed, as if this was some sort of gag. People craned their necks toward Cole's table, presumably searching for Kayla. And the band played on.

"Are you ready? Yes I'm ready

To kiss me? Yes I'm ready

To love me?

To kiss you, love you, and hug you..."

Song over, they brushed by their table, exited the ballroom and made a b-line for the cloakroom, oblivious to the small crowd that had gathered, watching them split. Once inside the car, parked blocks from the Franklin, they fell easily into each other's arms, kissing with a passion that neither of them had ever realized. They were free at last to pour out their feelings, no longer constrained by convention, the prying eyes of significant others, self-righteous busybodies. Ellen had no defenses left when it came to Cole. The intensity of her emotions and pure carnal needs coalesced into one hot ball of desire. She'd surrender body and soul to this guy if that's what he wanted. She was, as the song went, "ready."

Cole kept his wits about him. One, he didn't have a condom; and two, if he was going to make love to Ellen, he wanted to do it in bed where they could strip down and bare all, where they could explore each other's bodies without climbing over seats and hitting a steering wheel. Doing it in his car now felt cheap. So he just held and kissed her, kept his hands and mouth away from places that might force him to lose control. He didn't, however, hold back from expressing how he felt. "I might be falling in love with you," he said.

"Might be?"

"Okay, I am."

"That's better, because I'm already there."

By the following week, the entire senior class, it seemed to Cole, knew what happened. He wasn't surprised. Word spreads fast in a small school like Damascus. He saw it as an opportunity to see who his true friends really were. He caught Glen Dawkins and Steve Harris snickering when he passed them in the hall. They almost took off running when Cole said, "You two have a problem?"

Travis Callahan didn't mince words when he confronted Cole at his locker. "Have you lost your fucking mind, Coley? What's thunder thighs got that Kayla doesn't?"

Cole considered the source, didn't get mad. He knew Travis would never understand. In fact, he made Travis' comment into a joke. "You just answered your own question, Travis. Thunder thighs, that's what." He walked away, leaving Travis scratching his head.

Kayla pretended he didn't exist. In class, she moved her seat as far from him as she could get. In the halls and cafeteria, she averted her eyes. It hurt him; but what could he do?

Ellen and Cole got closer over winter break. The day after Christmas, Ellen turned eighteen. Now they were both, as Barry McGuire's top-40 hit went, "old enough to kill but not for votin'." Consummating their love proved difficult with parents around, even for a romp on the sofa. So Cole suggested they go to a special place where they could—Times Square on New Year's Eve. Cole booked a room for two nights at the Americana in Midtown. This time he brought condoms, and this time there were no distractions. There were only the soft shadows filling their room on the forty-second floor, the sound of their bodies moving as young bodies do in the throes of youthful passion, the words of endearment spoken in tones soft and true. They welcomed in 1966 along with seven-hundred thousand others jostling each other as they watched the ball drop from the Allied Chemical Tower.

When they returned to school, nobody but Kayla seemed to care anymore. Football season was over, along with Cole's career as the school's star quarterback. He was yesterday's hero, playing out the final golden season of adolescence, cruising down Main Street in his GTO, the former zit queen by his side.