Cheyenne's notes: So here is the story of fifteen-year-old Angelo, who I'm sure you'll find quite different from the grown-up of "America The Beautiful". I love being able to write about him as this young, self-centered (but still utterly lovable!) thing, because throughout the story he transforms, and that transformation is what the story is about. You also get to see the history that is only touched on in "America The Beautiful", so it should be interesting and fun. I really hope you like it!
-Cheyenne

Beginnings Of An Angel
by Cheyenne

“Check. Her. Out.”
The cute brunette dancing barefoot in the middle of the floor was the subject of this observation by my oh-so-jealous friends, the person she had chosen to grind herself against being none other than yours truly, who had spent the better part of the night in her company.
“Angelo looks like he’s SO into her too.”
“Yeah, what is that?”
“He gets more chicks than me.”
“Dude, everyone gets more chicks than you.”
“I really wanna cut in on them. He’ll forgive me. Call him out here.”
My friend Nahom took that moment to step up to me and my barefooted cutie, all dressed in turquoise, and cut in. I stepped away, ready for a break anyway. I grabbed a soda and sat on the couch where some of my boys were at. “Party’s so hot,” I conversed. We were at one of the exclusive joints thrown by Tammy and Amanda Chavez, their parents in Europe (again), and their gorgeous isolated mansion in the hills available for just us cool kids to kick it in (again).
James gestured for me to lean in, and when I did, he nodded to Turquoise, now dancing - a lot less naughty might I add - with Nahom. “Do not tell me,” he began. “That you are not attracted to her.”
I sipped my soda, watching her silently. She was cute. She was very short, with wavy short brown hair held back by a turquoise scarf. The curves of her body, average weight or maybe more in all the right places, were noticeable in her pastel spaghetti-strap top. She was very cute.
“I’d have to say I kind of am,” I said. “She’s pretty sweet. However,” I said, interrupting the look of confused irritation on his face that showed he was about to ask anyway, “It’s not like I’d, you know, fuck her or anything.”
His next question confused me. “Why not?”
“Umm... because I don’t do chicks,” I said, priding myself for my patience with this totally clueless friend.
“You just said you were attracted to her. I’m just trying to figure you out.”
“Trying to figure what out?” our friend Jesse said, coming from the dance floor and sitting close enough to me to be in my lap. He was one of those straight guys who, for whatever reason, felt the need to flirt with you. He was fun.
“I said I’m attracted to Turquoise over there,” I explained, pointing to her, who was now dancing and talking with her friends. They all looked at me, and the two friends giggled. Turquoise kept her cool though, sending me a little wave and then her disregard.
“She’s cute,” he nodded.
“She is. He thinks that because I said that, I should feel compelled to get into her pants.”
“No,” James corrected. “I know you can tell if girls are cute. It’s like when straight girls call each other cute, right? Or even, I can look at you and not like want you but still know you’re, well...”
I giggled at his discomfort with the point he had led himself to make.
“You’re good-looking, you know? But I’m not attracted to you.” He turned to look at Turquoise, still dancing. “You just said you were attracted to her.”
I had. But... no, I had. I was attracted to her, and had honestly said so, and now I didn’t know what I meant because James’ question was suddenly valid.
“Whatever,” I said, suddenly finding that word masterly for its ability to dismiss it all. “You’re over-fucking-thinking it. I wanna dance. Where is she?”
“Ha!” James exclaimed. “Your first thought was to dance with her again, even though we’re at a goddamn party, and Tammy deliberately invited that country boy you like just so you could score with him. You just said ‘Where is she?’”
“I’ll dance with you,” Jesse volunteered, not wanting to have us debate the utterly ridiculous topic all over again, and also just wanting to dance with me because what can I say? I’m a stud muffin.
I led Jesse to the middle of the dance floor and we started moving against each other. Everyone was very aware of and used to the fact that I preferred to dance with boys, so we turned only a few heads. I turned and grinded backwards into him, and he placed his hands on my hips, moving them from there to my stomach, never quite going below that because he did have some boundaries, but not too many to make me not think once again, “This straight boy is the bomb.” We caught a very hot rhythm together, and I got back into the pulsating careless vibe, although I did take notice when Turquoise and her friends reappeared. She was watching me, and she looked very neutral, as if maybe she didn’t understand, her eyes watching Jesse’s hands on me as I full on freaked with this other boy.
She turned to her friend and asked about me - I could tell she was asking about me - and her friend looked lost. Now she began to look hurt.
“Dang, you is not fooling nobody. You are hung up on her,” Jesse said, when I turned to face him, to look away from Turquoise. I looked into his eyes, and I was overcome with the most upsetting feeling of confusion. I wanted to cry.
It didn’t help when for some unholy reason, a slow song came on, and Jesse looked over my shoulder, then back at me. “Ama go dance with that girl, alright?” he said, in reference to someone random, and patted my behind affectionately before leaving me in the middle of the crowd with the most alone feeling overcoming me.
I went and sat on the couch and watched everyone slowdance. After the song went off, Nahom found me and sat beside me.
“What happened?”
His alarm was warming.
“Do you know where the girl went?”
He shrugged. He looked at me sideways. He shrugged again, saying, “Kiss her or something.”
“What? Why?!” I didn’t realize how clued-in he was.
He repeated himself. “Kiss her or something. If you’re not totally fucking grossed out, then you’re not straight and have nothing to worry about.”
I giggled. Then, “Nahom, I can’t just - I -”
“Then don't. Don’t worry about it. I suggest you just do what you feel towards her. I mean, you like her. Just go with it.”
I saw her then. She approached me, and glanced at Nahom for a second before speaking. “I lost you. You wanna dance still?” Her voice possessed a bounciness, a giggly femininity that so contrasted the whispers of boy lovers I knew. I held out my hand. She took it.
We danced. Somehow the mix of everything was making me not care, bringing me to press my lips to hers, and to kiss her desperately as I backed us against the wall, pressing her body against mine and running hands everywhere. I felt irritated for realizing I did not know her name, and tried to find an alternative way to address her.
“Baby,” I whispered into her ear. “Let's go somewhere. I want you like, now.”
She looked up at me. “Want... me?”
I nodded, continuing my invasion of her personal boundaries, and I could see she not only understood, but was just as willing as I.
I had done this before. Sex was not for people in love, because that would require falling in love, and that would be to screw yourself over. I had loved. It was not something I cared to repeat.
She took my hand and led me upstairs. I followed, and not once did I feel bad for using her for nothing more than to answer my questions.