Machine Dreams

across the floor itself looked pale and wishful, glowing in midair.
    “Is the dance floor nice?” Danner asked.
    The girls had already turned away, but Bonnie Martin looked back quickly. “Yes, dear, it’s nice,” she said.
    “Though the drain in the middle is a bit tacky,” Dawn Marie added.
    “Dawn Marie is a little tacky herself tonight,” Bonnie Martin said, and put her arm around Dawn affectionately. “Steve Rafferty has the bad taste to like pedal pushers.”
    Dawn Marie laughed, and winked at Danner.
    Danner smiled, hoping it was the right response, and walked out the sidewalk toward the pool and the lawn. She looked for Billy and saw him standing at the edge of the dance crowd with two boys his age. He wouldn’t want her to give him the money in front of them; she’d have to wait. Why had Dawn Marie winked at her? She was meant to know something she didn’t know. The band was tuning up and Danner walked toward the sound. The whines of the guitars were plaintive, punctuated with show-off riffs from the drummer. All around, leaves in the trees were lifting gently. The breeze didn’t smell of rain though; and the expanse of grass looked so unbroken, beautifully green. Dannerwalked twice around the pool, curious and pleased because she’d never seen it so empty of swimmers.
    The dance had become a spot of brighter light on the big lawn. Danner moved toward it and realized she didn’t see anyone she knew, so she sat down on a bench near the dance floor. When she heard voices and looked up, Steve Rafferty stood close beside her, with Dawn Marie.
    “I remember you,” he said, looking down. “What a nice white dress; you just get cuter all the time. Now, where was it I used to see you?” He crossed his arms and regarded her.
    Dawn Marie stepped closer to him, glaring at the side of his face. “Maybe in a French convent, or in that eighth-grade gym class you impregnated. That’s what she is you know, an eighth grader.”
    He turned to her with a measured movement and put his hands hard on either side of her face. “Poor Dawn,” he said, sarcastic, “always jealous of the unspoiled and the innocent.” Holding her, he put his lips on hers and kissed her for a long time, turning his face a little to the side and pressing against her as though he were drinking from her mouth, slowly and deeply. Danner sat motionless, scared, afraid to move. When Steve pulled away from Dawn, he still held her and looked at her levelly, daring her to try to resist.
    She stared back at him, her eyes wet, and didn’t try to move. “Big man,” she said, her voice shaking, “you’ll end up running a gas station in this hick town.”
    “Just as long as you’re running it with me, sweetheart.” His tone was practiced but his fingers slid down her throat almost helplessly, and he touched the ribbed neck of her thin sweater.
    Danner stood then and brushed past them, heading across the lawn toward the trees and the tracks. Behind her the dance had actually started. Music rang out loudly but Danner wasn’t conscious of which song, which words. She walked quickly toward the cover of the brush, and the music grew less noticeable. Far away, she heard the faintly shuddering rumble of a train approaching. She didn’t care anymore about changing her clothes; she just wanted to stay away from the dance until it was time to go home. Now, away from the lights, it was really almost dark; she couldsit near the tracks by the river and the train shack. She liked the shack, a dilapidated second-story room on stilts. The dangerously wobbly foundation was nothing but boards nailed around the outer supports to make a high-ceilinged space over the earthern floor. No one went there because it might be full of snakes, but the upper room had a door and windows, and rickety metal stairs with a railing. When the train thundered by, the little room shook; the tops of boxcars flashed by just beneath the windows.
    The train moaned again now, still a ways off. As Danner emerged from the bushes near the tracks, she saw the round light of the engine, the small glow approaching through the trees. She heard brush rustle behind her and turned; it was Billy.
    “What are you doing following me?” She held the beach bag tighter as though he might intuit its contents.
    “I want my money, to get a coke. I yelled at you as you walked off, but you didn’t turn around.”
    “How could I hear you over the band?” She relaxed her grip on the bag and