Blue Smoke

dated. Because she’d known what she wanted. She’d known since that long hot week in August.
    She wanted the fire.
    So she’d studied, with her eye focused on more than learning. On scholarships. She worked, tucking her money away like a squirrel with nuts in case the scholarships didn’t come.
    But they had, so she was here, at the University of Maryland, sharing a room with her oldest friend, and already thinking about the grad courses down the road.
    When the semester was over she’d go back home, work in the shop, carve away most of her free time down at the fire station. Or talking John Minger into letting her do ride-alongs.

    Of course, there was Bella’s wedding. There’d been little on the menu but Bella’s wedding for the last nine months. Which, come to think of it, was a really good reason to be here, alone in her room on a Saturday night.
    It could be worse. She could be back at Wedding Central.
    If she ever got married—which meant she’d need an actual, official boyfriend first—she was going to keep it simple. Let Bella have the endless fittings of the elaborate dress—though it was gorgeous—and the endless, often weepy debates about shoes and hairstyles and flowers. The plans—more like a major war campaign—for the enormous reception.
    She’d rather have a nice family wedding at St. Leo’s, then a party at Sirico’s.
    Most likely, she’d just end up being a bridesmaid, perennially. Hell, she was already an expert in the field.
    And for God’s sake, how many times could Lydia listen to the theme from Beauty and the Beast without going into a coma?
    On a sudden inspiration, Reena sprang up, kicked her way over to the portable CD player and pushed through the masses of jewel cases.
    With her teeth set in a fierce grin, she plugged in Nirvana and blasted “Smells Like Teen Spirit.”
    While the war raged between diva and grunge, the phone rang.
    She didn’t turn down the music—it was a matter of principle now—just shouted into the phone.
    A third blast of music assaulted her ear as Gina shouted back.
    “Party!”
    “I told you I have to study.”
    “Party! Come on, Reene, it’s just starting to roll. You gotta live.”
    “Don’t you have a lit final Monday?”
    “Party!”
    She had to laugh. Gina could always make her laugh. The religious phase she’d gone through during the summer of the fire had morphed into a poetry phase, into a rock star phase, then a fashion diva phase.
    Now it was all party, all the time.
    “You’re going to tank it,” Reena warned.

    “I’m putting it all in the hands of a higher power and am reviving my brain with cheap wine. Come on, Reena, Josh is here. He’s asking where you are.”
    “He is?”
    “And looking all sad and broody. You know you’re going to ace every damn thing anyway. You better come save me before I let some guy take advantage of my drunken self. Hey, on second thought . . .”
    “Jen and Deb’s place, right?”
    “Party!”
    “Twenty minutes,” Reena said on another laugh, then hung up.
    It took her nearly that long to change out of ancient sweatpants, wiggle into jeans, decide on a top and deal with the hair that was currently an explosion of curls down to her shoulder blades.
    She kept the music blasting while she dressed, added blusher to relieve the cramming-for-finals pallor.
    Should study, should get a good night’s sleep. Shouldn’t go. She flicked on mascara, lectured herself.
    But she was so tired of being the one who always did the sensible thing. She’d just stay for an hour, have a little fun, keep Gina from getting into too much trouble.
    And see Josh Bolton.
    He was so good-looking with the sun-swept hair, the dazzling blue eyes, that sweet, shy smile. He was twenty, a lit major. He was going to be a writer.
    And he was asking where she was.
    He was going to be the one. She was ninety-nine percent sure of it. He was going to be her first.
    Maybe tonight. She set the mascara down and stared at herself in the mirror. Maybe tonight she’d finally know what it was like. She pressed a hand to her belly as it jittered with anticipation and nerves. This could be the last time she looked at herself as a virgin.
    She was ready, and she wanted it to be with someone like Josh. Someone dreamy and sweet, and with some experience so there wasn’t a lot of embarrassing fumbling.

    She hated not knowing what to do. She’d studied the basics, of course. The anatomy, the physicality. And she’d