“That picture makes me feel old,” she said. “Elderly.”

But he liked it. It proved they had a shared past.

Theo had known Antoinette his entire life. And so there was nothing to hide. She baby-sat once when he was thirteen and certainly old enough to baby-sit his sisters and brother himself. Except that his parents were going off-island, to Boston for a long weekend. Antoinette slept on the sofa under an afghan that Theo’s grandmother crocheted, and she slept in the nude. Theo got up in the middle of the night to pee, and he sneaked down to the living room, and there was Antoinette asleep on the couch, covered with the afghan, her clothes in a pile on the floor. It was dark, but his parents kept a light on over the kitchen sink at night and so Theo saw part of her shoulder, a slice of her ass, and what he thought was a nipple poking through one of the holes in the afghan. His penis grew so hard it actually hurt, and he hurried back to his bedroom and stroked himself until he came. Antoinette was his fantasy for a long time after that.

But it wasn’t an obsession or anything. Because before this past April, Theo had been a normal kid. He did well in school, he played third base on the varsity baseball team, he had friends and girlfriends. The summer between his sophomore and junior years, he’d had sex with two girls-Gillian Bergey from his class, and a summer girl named Ashland. He’d told his dad about both girls. His dad asked if Theo had used a Trojan, and Theo said, Of course. (Though a couple of times with the summer girl he’d forgotten, but she’d sent him three perfumed letters the following fall, and there was no mention of any problem.) His dad had said, “Sex is healthy and highly enjoyable, but I always want you to be smart. And considerate. Do you hear me?”

Theo had known Antoinette his entire life, but she didn’t enter his life until the April evening when he bumped into her at the Islander Liquor Store.

Nearly every night after baseball practice, Theo shuttled his teammates Brett and Aaron (catcher and left field) to the Islander to get Cokes and chips and Slim Jims, and Theo-the only one of them who was eighteen-bought scratch tickets and a tin of Skoal for Brett, who was addicted to the stuff. They sat on the curb outside the store and opened the Cokes and the bags of Doritos and pork rinds, they scratched the silver film off their scratch tickets with quarters, and when nobody won anything, they flipped the tickets into the trash bin near the front door. Theo was well-deserving of this hour and its pleasures: the hot shower in the locker room, the blaring radio in his Jeep, the soda, the chips, the cold curb under his rump as he turned his baseball hat backwards and shot the breeze with his friends.

The night Theo saw Antoinette, he gnawed a Slim Jim, and Brett spat nasty brown loogies into the parking lot. Aaron talked about his job that upcoming summer as a beach boy at the Cliffside Beach Club and how he would date all the hot nannies.

“Nanny,” Theo said. “There’s something twisted about that word, man. It’s like something you would call your grandmother.”

“I call my grandmother Gramma,” Aaron said.

“I call my grandmother Mimi,” Brett said.

“What about Granny?” Theo said. “Rhymes with nanny.”

“You know, the foreign chicks aren’t technically nannies,” Aaron said. “They’re au pairs.”

“You need to find an au pair who’s got a pair,” Brett said.

Antoinette rode her bike into the parking lot while they were laughing about that. It was getting dark, but there was no mistaking Antoinette-curly hair, wearing a black leotard and leggings and black Chuck Taylors. Brett let out a low whistle. Theo bowed his head. Because he wasn’t exactly elated to see one of his mother’s friends as he sat on the curb outside a liquor store. Antoinette didn’t see him. She leaned her bike next to the trash bin and went into the Islander, the bells on the door jingling.

“That woman is fine looking,” Brett said.

“I love black women,” Aaron said. “Like Naomi Campbell? I would definitely do it with Naomi.”

“Fuck you guys,” Theo said. “I know that woman.”

“You do not,” Brett said. He spat.

“She’s a friend of my mother’s,” Theo said.

“You’re kidding,” Aaron said. “I wish my mother had friends like that.”

The bells jingled again a few minutes later, and Antoinette came out. She pulled three bottles of wine from a paper bag, tossed the bag into the trash bin, and slid the bottles into the black leather backpack she was carrying. Theo watched her, trying to decide whether or not to say hello. Antoinette didn’t look their way; she wasn’t the kind of person to pay attention to teenagers. She threw one graceful leg over her bike. Then Brett spat and Antoinette glanced over. She locked eyes with Theo, but in a way that let him know she wouldn’t say anything unless he did. Aaron knocked Theo with his knee.

“Hey, Antoinette.”

“Theo.”

That was all she said, just his name, but it brought back a host of tucked-away feelings. Her voice was deep and throaty.

“Do you want a ride?” he said. “I have a car.”

She laughed. Immediately, he felt like an ass. “No thanks,” she said. “You guys just keep on keeping on.”

“Bob Dylan,” Aaron whispered.

Brett spat again-he claimed the urge to spit with tobacco was uncontrollable-but it was disgusting. Theo reddened.

“Antoinette,” he said. “These are friends of mine from the baseball team. Maybe you want to come see one of our games sometime?”

She laughed again and pedaled away.

“Damn,” Aaron said.

That very night, the phone rang. Almost always the phone was for Theo or Jennifer, but this time when his mother answered, she kept talking. Theo was upstairs in his room with the door cracked, half reading The Scarlet Letter, half listening to his mother’s voice. When she hung up, she said to Theo’s father, “That was Antoinette. She wants to come with me to Theo’s next game.”

And so, truth be told, it wasn’t Theo who did the pursuing. Had Antoinette not called, he probably would have forgotten all about her.

“You wanted me, didn’t you?” he asked her, months later. “You wanted my ass.”

She shrugged, said nothing.

Antoinette came to the game against Nauset High School. She stood out in her black T-shirt, black jeans, Chuck Taylors; she looked like she belonged on a street corner in New York City asking for change. Theo’s mom on the other hand looked like the other moms: blue jeans, white turtleneck, lilac fleece vest. Antoinette was her eccentric friend in tow. Everyone stared at her, including Brett and Aaron, who whispered something about your mom’s hot friend, smoking hot as they sat on the bench waiting to bat. Theo felt the need to impress just as he did when some chick was there to watch him play. When his turn came at the plate, he tapped the bat against the insides of his cleats, knocking off clumps of dirt. His mother clapped and said, “Come on, Theo!” Antoinette said nothing as far as he could tell. (He was too self-conscious to look her way.) Theo stood for four balls in a row and then trotted to first base, where he got stranded.

Theo kept his attention resolutely on the game, although as a rule he hated when guys on the team acted too absorbed in the game to say hello to their own mothers. He knew his mother had three other children and better things to do with her time than sit on a wooden plank on a chilly afternoon watching him play baseball, and yet, because Antoinette was there, he didn’t go over to say hello. He was nervous, embarrassed; he had butterflies. His second time at bat, he popped up to Nauset’s first baseman. Theo did make one great play on defense-catching a line drive and then nailing the runner on second. Everyone clapped and his mother yelled, but Theo, who occasionally took a bow after making a good play, didn’t even smile. His third time at bat, he walked again.

His team won, 1-0.

After the game, Theo listened to Coach Buford’s speech about who needed to work on what at practice the next day ( “the whole team, batting… the batting in this game left something to be desired… “). Then he put on his letter jacket, tucked his glove under his arm, and trudged over to where his mom and Antoinette were waiting for him. Antoinette had goose bumps on her arms, and she wore no bra. Her nipples poked out like hard little pellets.

“Hey,” Theo said.

“Great double play,” his mom said. “I can’t wait to tell Dad.”

“Thanks,” Theo said. He took a deep breath and smiled at Antoinette. “What did you think?”

“You’re quite an athlete,” she said.

“The batting wasn’t very good for either side,” Theo said, gazing out at the now-empty field.

“I enjoyed it,” Antoinette said.

Theo’s mother hitched up the strap of her purse and checked her watch. “Listen, I have to pick up Cassidy B. in town in like five minutes, and then go home and get dinner. Can you do me a huge favor, mister, and give Antoinette a ride home?”

“You don’t have to,” Antoinette said. “I can walk.”

“Walk? To Polpis?” his mother said. “Theo will drive you. He loves to drive.”

“I’ll drive you,” Theo said, looking at the ground, embarrassed and thrilled. “Just let me shower. I’ll be fifteen minutes.”

“You sure?” Antoinette said.

“Sure.”

He got ribbing from Brett and Aaron when he told them he couldn’t hang out at the Islander because he had to drive Antoinette home.

“Holy shit,” Brett said. “You lucky dog.”

Aaron rubbed Speed Stick under his arms and pulled a gray T-shirt over his head. “You’d better fuck her,” he said, “or we’ll never forgive you.”

The locker room smelled like feet and clanged with locker doors opening and closing. Mist from the showers gave everything a shimmer.