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The mixed crowd of the state youth conference danced and wound through themselves while I fought my way outside. After I uttered the last unheard excuse me, I was finally out of the makeshift dance hall. I savored the outside smell, the feel of the slight breeze through my t-shirt. The streetlight over the counselor's parking lot shone a brilliant blue. The chow hall door closed behind me. I had made it out. I had escaped from the noise, the chaos, and the bodies. I had escaped from the polite and final "No, thank you."

My cabin was across the quad. Nobody was there. Nobody I wanted to talk to, anyway. The world came back into focus when I put my glasses back on. I walked towards the end of the porch. The music was loud; a quick glance behind me caught the logo of a football team on someone's jacket. The door's springs slammed it shut again.

Kristen was inside there, somewhere in the noise and crowd. She was not overstimulated, heart pounding doubletime syncopation to the music. She navigated it coolly. I was just a nervous wave splashing against the hull, then swirling in her wake.

The sob came from the parking lot. Only counselor's cars were there. Our parents would not be here to get us until the morning, and the oldest of us "youth" was still a year away from a learner's. I found her sitting on the curb, hidden between two cars. Her hair hung plain and straight, meeting the knees she had tucked under her chin.

"Hi," I said.

She did not look up, face hidden between knees and bangs. Still, I recognized her. She was in Kristen's cabin. I had seen her with Kristen earlier today. She had probably even come from the same town as Kristen. I sat, and felt through my shorts how the curb had cooled in the evening air. This far from the noise, I could hear the soft chirping of crickets in the grass. I tried again.

"Not having much fun tonight, huh?"

Her smile was bitter, but she looked up, wiping a tear from her face.

"No. I... Well, no. I decided that I don't like dances."

"I don't like them either. Completely lame." Another smile, one that was a little more honest this time. "But why aren't you hanging out with Kristen? I'm sure she's having fun."

The smile dropped away. "She's hanging out with Michael. Who most emphatically does not want to hang out with me."

I knew him, too. Michael was on the first floor of my cabin. He lived only a few miles from me, but between the football, muscles, and expensive shirts I knew he was not interested in talking to me. He had been talking to Kristen inside. I had not put it together. I had not wanted to put it together.

She broke my reverie. "Why aren't you inside? Do you know Kristen?"

Perhaps it was a laugh, short and caught in my throat. It was a new sound for me, one that fit.

"I just know Kristen a little bit. I wanted to, you know, talk to her more. Tonight. But she didn't want to." She made a small sympathetic noise in her throat. "Yeah," I said, "I guess it was Michael."

Our eyes met, and a laugh billowed up between us, silencing the crickets.

"Cigarette?" she offered.

"Oh, God, yes." She rummaged through her purse as I continued. "My mother went through all my stuff before I left. I haven't had one all weekend."

She lit my cigarette; the lighter so new the warning sticker was still attached. My hand cupped against the wind touched hers holding the lighter. We broke eye and hand contact a few moments after the cigarette was lit.

"I got these from my cousin Therese. She's a counselor here. This is her car." She smacked on the slightly rusted door before leaning back against it, lighting her own cigarette.

We smoked for a while next to Therese's old Escort. Brief stings of music punctuated the doors opening to let others in and out of the dance. Nobody even glanced in our direction.

"You should know this," I said, "Michael drools in his sleep."

She smacked my shoulder. "No, really!" I said. "He was taking a nap this afternoon, and I totally saw him drooling. Looooooooser."

She laughed, a full, real laugh. "Kristen plucked all her eyebrows for tonight. They're totally drawn-on now." She laughed again. "Are you trying to catch mosquitoes in your mouth? C'mon, close it!"

"Are you serious? All of them? The whole thing? On purpose?"

Her right hand made a small cross over her breast, and then she kissed her fingertips.

"But what was wrong with her eyebrows?" I asked.

She shrugged. "It's what's beautiful, I guess."

I pushed my glasses back up the ridge of my nose. I took a last drag on the cigarette and tossed the butt out into the street. We still utterly failed to attract any attention from the doors of the dance.

"I mean, that's just stupid, right?" I said. "Why can't she - whey can't women just be accepted for who they are? Why have these dumbass standards of what and who is attractive?"

She scooted a little closer to me. "I don't know. I mean, it's like, who decides how many buttons to leave undone?" She leaned over, unbuttoning the top button of my shirt. She did not lean back.

"There," she said, "isn't that better?"

"Do you want to go in there?" she asked. "With me?"

I heard the flash of a song, and I looked to see if it was Kristen leaving. Kristen's friend was not as close when I looked back.

"No, thanks. Go ahead on in, if you want. I'm going to see if I can catch Kristen on the way out."

She stood up, brushing off the back of her clothes.

"Thanks for talking to me."

"No problem," I said, and watched her go into the dance.

She came out later with another boy's arm around her shoulder. They laughed, looking like all of the other couples. They joined some others at the end of the porch, then headed behind the buildings.

I watched until the last cleanup lights were off.

I never saw Kristen leave.