"I don't suppose you want that?" Heather pointed to the last bit of chocolate in its silver foil between her and Sally on the park bench. Heather's hand grabbed for it--she shoved the chocolate in her mouth before Sally could answer. She puckered her lips to wipe her mouth on the white cuff of her blouse, leaving a dark smudge of chocolate and lipstick. A mess, and she really didn't mind if it never washed away. Hands were wiped upon skirts and stockings; lips were subjected to the sleeve like a gentle practiced kiss.

"Actually, I did want that." Sally inhaled from her cigarette and blew the smoke at Heather. The target didn't blink. Late afternoon and the girls were killing the time between days at school and evenings out. The park bench had seen them through the most boring of times. Carved scarred names were proof to that. This preference to nature was only a matter of convenience. Free from the confines any walls or any parents, the girls were more at liberty to be themselves. Selves they modeled themselves to be, not expected to be--it was a matter of being a teenager.

"You should've said something sooner. Now, I've been hearing things about Anna. Frankly, I'm concerned--she has stopped coming out and rarely even speaks to us anymore. May I have a drag?"

"No. I have heard some things about her, but I don't think I should tell you." Sally did not turn to look at Heather as she spoke. Her mind was lost with empty thoughts, stared out at from the bench under the trees. The sun was beginning its crawl into the hills for the night.

"Well, you should tell me. I couldn't bear to think she were mad at me. She isn't, is she?"

"No, it's not that at all. I will tell you," Sally's gaze slid from her blank thoughts in air to Heather's school bag, "but give me half the chocolate bar in your bag. I know you bought two at the shop. I hardly think a candy bar is dearer than friendship."

Heather sighed as acceptance and pulled out the chocolate bar with much rustling through her bag. She offered it out to Sally: "It will go straight to your hips. Tell."

Sally took the chocolate bar and set it into her own bag. She moved slowly for her news to swell in a dramatic pause. She finished her cigarette. With a flick it was on the ground, destroyed under her shoe. She breathed in before saying, "Anna is in love. That was my suspicion, but Jennifer saw her kissing a boy outside the station last week ."

"But kissing means nothing--I've kissed boys."

"Anna isn't like that--she is much more serious about love."

Heather frowned. "Does she not know?"

"Anna has looked happier lately."

"But she is ignoring us."

"Perhaps it is love. Haven't you noticed that way she looks lately with that certain smile, that certain shine? Almost like a secret she is about to say but decides to keep to herself."

Heather replied, "So now she is holy?"

"Don't be that cynical. Thinking like that will make you old. Love is quite nice."

"Have you even been in love?"

"No, but I am sure it is quite nice. At least, it often seems that way in novels and movies."

"I thought I was in love once. It didn't turn out so well. At the time I thought I might die."

"Yes, your unrequited two week romeo? Look, I don't think that love should really involve fear. Heather, you're talking all the wrong parts."

"Stop being all butterflies and rainbows. You make out that these are two separate loves--an ideal and a miscast. But it's both. It hurts, and it makes your heart soar--at the same time. There are just as many sleepless nights even if you know someone loves you. It's a compromise, to yourself, the other, and the rest of the world. I'm just trying to be honest and tell it like it is. Anna will be a different person at the end of this."

Sally lit another cigarette; she exhaled slowly considering. "I'm not sure I believe anything you say. That's your version of how it is. How did you get so bitter? You are still upset that Jonny Balden didn't return your affections."

"This talk about love is dangerous. Love stories are only told because they are a tragedy. Your novel loves sent Ophelia mad, Anna Karenina to a train, Madame Bovary to poison..." Heather's voice trailed off. The park lights began to flicker, blinking on and shining steady until sunrise. "It's late--I should be off."

Heather left the park; the shortest route to her house took her through the town center. At outdoor cafes sat couples chatting whispered lovers' talk, visibly sighing, or staring lost in the other's face. Heather turned the corner and walked down the next block past the movie theater. Outside the movie house she collided with a man; he was more concerned with alternating his glances between his watch and the corner. A woman walked up from behind him and tapped his shoulder; on her face was that certain smile. Heather looked around her--the town had become overrun with lovers. And on each face that certain smile as Sally had said. Heather walked on. She knew where it would all lead--to tears and arguments. In a glance she saw another also walking down the street; the face was set hard and the mouth bitter. Heather shook her head; the other girl moved exactly. She took a step back realizing it was her own reflection in the shop window. Heather turned her head and continued walking down the street. "It isn't the falling in love that bothers me--it's the letting oneself go so completely."