Summer, and the August sun baked me under my flimsy white dress. The temperature had been unbearable for the past few days, soaring into the high thirties and melting away previous records. There was nothing to do but but close all doors and windows, turn on the air-conditioning full blast, and cower in the cool basement to wait for the rational chill of fall. Draught seemed inevitable, the tar in our driveway had melted to sludge, and the air was still and dry, fairly crackling with static heat.

It was into this that my mother sent me out one afternoon. The air-conditioner in her bedroom had broken down, and she wanted an electric fan to keep her cool while waiting to get it fixed. Despite my protests, she pushed me out the door. "It won't take you that long. You'd be back already if you'd have gone instead of whining so much," she said heartlessly.

I grumbled, alone on the porch, then set off reluctantly. I decide to take the longer way around, down the streets lined with tall, shade-giving trees. Anything to be out of that sun! My shoulders had already turned brown, then peeled raw pink, and I could almost hear my flesh sizzling. I envied my father, sent on an unexpected business trip to Reykjavík.

After a few minutes of plodding heavily down the street, my skin was covered in a patina of sweat, acrid and sticky. I tugged irritably at the straps of my dress and wished I had the guts to pull it off and walk around naked. But even that wouldn't cool me down.

A thin stream trickled along the curb, and I could hear the sound of running water. An auditory mirage, I supposed, born of my desperate, miserable ability to stand the heat. But rounding the corner, I saw that someone had set their sprinkler out in the middle of their front lawn, blatantly flouting the water-regulation laws reinforced in times of draught.

And right beneath the jet of water, tilting her head up to catch the spray on her face, was a girl wearing very little clothing.

A few feet away, eyes wide and staring, I leaned against the hedge. Frail thorns clawed at my arm, but I barely noticed.

She seemed to be around sixteen, my age. She was only around five-foot-four, with a lithe, compact body. Her hair, still dry, was russet-coloured. Her eyes were closed and water dripped from her lashes and hit her half-open mouth, then slipped past her full lower lip, down her chin and onto her soft-lined collarbone, disappearing into the sheen of water on her chest. She wore microscopic denim shorts. Her slender legs were firmly planted on the ground; her knees were grubby. The pendant on the gold chain around her neck hung in the damp hollow of her cleavage. The white blouse tied beneath her breasts, soaking, sheer, and plastered to her skin, revealed a flat expanse of apricot-coloured skin, and a golden stud winking in the curlicue of her navel like a furious miniature sun.

And I was still staring, hypnotized, my stomach sucked in and my breathing slowed. I watched as she bent over, her shirt sliding over her back, to dip her hair under the water. She straightened quickly and threw her head back, and water flew over her in a glittering arc. A drop hit me on the temple; I touched a finger to it and brought it to my lips. The girl opened her eyes and saw me.

"Hi," she said, and my heart thudded so hard it made my spine quake. She smiled. "You look about to melt."

"I am," I confessed.

She held out her hand. "Come here. Cool down for a second."

I took her hand and she pulled me on her lawn, in front of her, straight in the path of the sprinkler, which had turned toward us again. I gasped when the freezing water hit my back, and she laughed. "Refreshing, isn't it?"

"Very," I said, teeth chattering.

"You'll get used to it," she said cheerfully.

The ground was soggy and waterlogged, and I sank and nearly tripped over my own feet trying to steady myself. "Careful!" She grabbed me around the hips to keep me from falling. "You're getting mud all over your flip-flops."

"That's alright." I closed my eyes. She hadn't let go of me, and I could feel her body heat despite the cold and soaked dress clinging to my skin. I opened them again. She smiled at me, a slow upcurving of her pomegranate lips over sharp-looking teeth, the corners of her eyes turning up. Her lashes were impossibly long. She was impossibly everything. My gaze drifted down to her chest - her blouse wasn't buttoned high at all, and I could see the border between her tan and the lily-white, softer-looking skin. I made myself look back up at her face again. I clenched my thighs and took a step back. It was harder than I thought it would be. "I, um - I actually had to go somewhere, and..."

"And I got you all wet!" she exclaimed, dismayed.

"Yeah." I grinned. "It doesn't really matter - I'll get dry within seconds in this heat..." I stepped clumsily off her lawn.

"I guess I'll see you later," she said.

"Yeah," I said again, and I started to walk off. Before rounding the corner, I turned back. She was kneeling down on the grass, back and neck arched toward the sky, and water was leaping off her shoulders and neck, coursing between her breasts.

I swallowed hard and started to run. My flip-flops made loud smacking noises and left wet tracks in the middle of the street, evaporating almost instantly.

The next day I was restless. I slept a long time, and sinuous apricot shapes flitted in and out of my dreams continuously. When I finally woke up, well past noon, I headed straight for the basement, planning to spend the day sipping soft drinks and doodling. But my doodles turned inexplicably into sketches of tense, wet shoulderblades, long downy arms, and pierced navels above the crenelated lines left by the waistband of tight denim shorts.

Around six in the evening, I gave in and gave out. "I'm going for a walk," I called, letting the screen door close gently behind me. I left quickly, before questions could be asked. I made my way to her house on autopilot, my feet led by the dim, deep knowledge of what I wanted. My brain was buzzing. I hoped she'd be happy to see me, or at the very least that I wouldn't be bothering her. She'd said I'll see you later, and that could definitely be interpreted as an invitation.

How did she get her skin so perfectly golden? An image of her rubbing tanning oil onto her hard stomach made me swallow dazedly.

She wasn't on her front lawn. I'd so expected her to be there, still under the sprinkler, that I stared, deflated, at her house for a few seconds, wondering if I had the guts to ring the doorbell. I probably never would have. I probably would have gone back home if I hadn't heard a loud splashing noise just then, coming from her backyard.

After another second's hesitation, I crossed the lawn, stepped over a flowerbed, and came to a wrought-iron gate half-hidden by overgrown ferns. I leaned over it as far as I could, craning my neck. I could see part of a swimming pool, and a red flash under the water - then her hands grabbing the side of the pool, the muscles in her arms rippling under the skin as she pulled her body out, and her legs on the concrete, her tan set off by the aquamarine paint. She stood up and turned her head as she stretched, spotting me.

My heart thud-thunked in my chest again, but she grinned at me. "I was hoping I'd see you again!" she called. "Come on in. The gate's unlocked." I shoved it with my knee, and it swung open with a creak. She watched me walk toward her, then turned and swan-dived into the water, barely displacing it. She surfaced, floating on her back, looking at me. "Want to swim?"

"I didn't bring a bathing suit with me," I told her, bemused. I was wearing my shortest skirt, an indigo ruffled thing that showed off the planes of my inner thighs whenever I bent over, and a turquoise bra, very visible beneath my white shirt. I never dressed like that, normally, but I had the faint feeling that if anyone could appreciate my legs in that skirt, it would be her; and I knew that hers was the only appreciation I wanted. She wore a tiny red bikini and looked delicious in it.

"You can swim in your bra and panties," she said. "Unless you're shy."

There was a flirty glint in her eyes, I thought. "You wouldn't mind?"

"Not at all." She grinned again, and before I was fully aware of what I was doing, I'd pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it in the fuschia depths of a rosebush. She watched me kick my sandals off and wriggle out of my skirt. I stood in front of her in my turquoise bra and matching panties, cheeks burning. "Into the water with you!" she said, and I jumped in.

It felt like falling through ice; it was that cold. I gasped when my head broke the surface and curled my arms around my knees. "It's fucking freezing," I breathed.

"It's not that bad, you wimp," she laughed, drifting closer to me. "See?"

And she was right; I forgot all about the cold, too caught up in staring at her. I could see the constellation of freckles on the bridge of her nose, the dent in the middle of her lower lip. She ducked her head underwater, and I did the same. We both had our eyes open. She reached out, and her fingertips grazed the center of my palms. Her russet hair floated in tendrils around her face. I was so absorbed in counting the bubbles that escaped from her mouth that I forgot to breathe.

I surfaced, choking, spluttering, but kept my eyes on her supple back, her thighs, paler than the rest of her. She sank and touched my ankle, as lightly as a shy tropical fish, then kicked off and surfaced at the other end of the pool. She pulled herself out and sat on the edge of the pool, legs in the water; I swam up to her and put my elbows up on the concrete between her knees, chin in my hands, looking at her.

"I'm Leslie," I said.

"Hi, Leslie." She smiled softly, brushed a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

"I'm sixteen."

"So am I." She wriggled her toes in the water and seemed on the point of adding something, when a voice rang out from inside the house.

"Honey! Dinner!"

My sleek siren leapt to her feet and reached down into the long grass for her shorts. She hopped on one foot trying to get into them, grinning sheepishly at me. "I should probably go," I said awkwardly, climbing out of the pool.

"No, you can stay for dinner. My mom wouldn't mind." Her eyes twinkled. "You'd have to put your clothes back on, though."

I followed her into the house, into the cool, dark dining room where her mother was setting the table. I couldn't see any trace of her russet-and-gold beauty in her mother, a plump bland-looking woman with bleached hair.

"I brought a friend for dinner."

If her mother was displeased or even surprised to see me there, uncertain and disheveled, with my clothes sticking to my wet skin and my hair dripping on the floor, she didn't show it. "Hello, dear," she said, then turned back to her daughter. "So you won't be eating alone tonight. Good. Well, all the hamburger fixings are on the kitchen table, Christine - you can assemble them yourselves."

Christine. I knew her name now.

Christine walked to the fridge and took out a can of soda. She leaned heavily against the counter and pressed the can to her forehead, rolled it down her neck and across the top of her chest, biting her lip. I stared, helpless, as water condensed on the aluminum surface and shimmered on her skin, dripped down her bikini top. Her nipples were hard. I pressed my thighs together and died slowly at the sight.

"Tina, don't do that," her mother clucked disapprovingly. "That's disgusting." She picked up her purse off the counter. "Well, I'll be back around nine, sweetheart - be good. Don't set the house on fire. Goodbye, dear," she added absentmindedly in my direction, and headed for the door.

"Goodbye," I echoed blankly.

"Bye, mom," Christine said. The door closed. She turned back to me. "Are you hungry?"

My stomach seemed to be swimming still, churning inside me from nerves and excitement at being alone with her. "Not really."

"Me neither." She glanced dismissively back at the food spread on the table. "Want to go up to my room?" she offered. "We could listen to music." She grinned at my stunned hesitation. "It's got air-conditioning."

"Sure," I managed to say. My knees rippled as I followed her up the stairs, and I had to hold on to the banister, pale-knuckled, to keep from tumbling. I kept my eyes on her legs, her ass in its fire-engine-red bikini bottom; I saw everything through a golden haze. I could feel the heat rising in my neck and face. Calm down before you burst into flames, I told myself. She opened the door for me and flattened herself again the frame to let me through first, gallant and cocky, and I brushed against her as I went in.

Her room was small and dark, because the blinds were drawn against the sun, only letting a few rays in where they twisted over the quiet air conditioner. For a moment my field of vision swarmed with sunspots; when they cleared, I saw a cluttered desk, an overflowing closet and a narrow bed with a dark-blue bedspread. I sat down on it, near the edge, hands neatly folded on my knees. "Nice room," I said.

She closed the door and looked at me. "You should brush your hair," she advised, "otherwise it'll dry funny. Hang on - I'll do it for you." She picked up a comb from her dresser and sat on the bed behind me, her hands in my damp hair. She was kneeling, her legs on either side of me, and I could feel the heat from her thighs against my back. The comb's teeth scraped against my scalp, making it tingle, and soon my neck and shoulders were burning. I wriggled my toes and drummed my fingers against my thighs nervously.

"Stop fidgeting," she said, tugging at a knot, and I tried to still myself, but it was impossible with her fingertips grazing my neck and the scent of her sunscreen filling me to the brim. She leaned a hairsbreadth closer to me. "I heard people are dying of heatstroke," she said.

I could feel the moist intake of breath when she spoke, her lips so close to my earlobe. I turned to look at her, eyelids heavy. "I think I might die right here," I told her.

She laughed, deep in her throat, and tipped her face toward mine. I was sure I was going to faint, and it must have been obvious : she pressed one hand to the side of my face and the other to my hip to steady me before she kissed me.

I was helpless, pinned between her hands. Despite them, I still felt like I was about to fall – not a cliché, that, but a dizziness that gripped me and summoned the sunspots again for a few seconds. I held on to her shoulders, and my skin clung hotly to her. Her mouth opened above mine; the tip of her tongue brushed against the cleft in my palate. I clung to her arms, shivering. She laughed again, the sound vibrating in my mouth, then let go of me and shifted to the other end of the bed.

My heart sank. I thought she'd changed her mind, or had enough of me. But I took another look at her. She was lying back, propped up on her elbows, with her knees apart. She flashed a coy grin at me. "Get over here," she ordered, and I couldn't move fast enough. "Take your shirt off - " and it hit the wall with a damp smacking sound. She pushed me on my back and leaned over me on her side.

"I love how obedient you are," Christine said, looking devilish. She spread her fingers out and traced the hollows between my ribs, scratching lightly when she got to my stomach. I tried to steady my breathing and focused on her rosy, lovely face. I noticed how her lips were parted and her eyes half-glazed in concentration as she pored over my skin. She bent her head to kiss my stomach, grazing her teeth over my navel, then turned to lie between my legs. She looked me up and down very slowly, licking her lips. "Where should I touched you?" she asked.

I liked to see that dull glow of lustful indecision in her eyes. I sat up and reached behind me to unhook my bra, letting the straps slide down my arms, and tossed it aside. "Everywhere," I told her. I pushed her down on her back and leaned over her. "But let me first. I want to taste your skin…"

Her lips curved upward. "Wasn't expecting that," she murmured happily, but I was past the point of wanting to make conversation. Her thigh was between my legs; I slid down on her slightly-raised knee. I reached toward her, held her by the waist and kissed her hard. I still had a lurching giddiness in the pit of my stomach, as at the moment of takeoff, when the ground dropped out from under me. I wondered if lips could bruise. I wondered if I was holding her too hard. But she didn't seem to mind at all.

The sheen of sweat on her skin had condensed in the cool air. The hollow of her collarbone gleamed wetly, and droplets coursed from her temples down her neck. I chased them with my tongue. She whimpered when my teeth grazed the spot where her pulse beat, so I bit down gently until she had a mark, like a winestain, just beneath her ear.

Her bikini top peeled off easily. The skin here was softer and paler than the rest of her, her nipples pink and hard as strawberry drops. I kissed my way down her honey-apricot stomach, where the rare rays of sunlight in the room were pooled. She raised her head when my teeth reached her navel. "What are you doing?" she asked, too breathless to be disapproving.

"Savoring the moment," I grinned.

I tugged off her bikini bottom and settled between her knees. There was a fading yellow bruise on her hipbone, and on her right thigh, I could see small red veins beneath the pale skin, like fireworks. I brushed them with my fingertips.

"If you're quite done examining me - " she murmured.

"Sorry," I laughed. I licked the places my fingers had been and looked up at her. "Christine… you're so wet you're nearly dripping on the bed."

She flushed, then managed a smile. "I like the way you say my name…"

"I have a better use for my tongue right now." I bent my head and licked again, and was rewarded with another whimper. She tasted salty-sweet, like her skin but stronger. I traced little circles with the tip of my tongue. "Is this any good?" I had no real idea what I was doing, but I liked the way she twitched when I neared a certain spot.

"Don't stop or I'll kill you," she gasped. I laughed again.

I found a rhythm, orienting myself by her little throat-noises and the writhing of her legs on either side of me – her reactions were even more delicious than her taste. When I applied my teeth to her flesh, she arched her neck, and her quiet moans of appreciation crescendoed into a keening, desperate cry, until at last she fell back with a noise that was half-sob, half-chuckle.

I pressed a hand flat against her stomach, feeling the subtle spasms beneath her skin. "Are you alright?…"

"Never been better," she breathed. Damp tendrils of hair clung to the side of her face. She sat up against the wall. "Your turn," she added, pulling me onto her lap.

We were both hot and sticky from sweat, but we were far past caring. I sank down on her, and she wrapped an arm around my back, slipping her free hand inside my panties. "You'll have to tell me what feels good," she said.

"You're doing just fine on your own," I managed, just before her fingers brushed against a sensitive spot and rendered me incoherent.

It was the first time anyone but myself touched me like that, and I remembered phrases from my mother's romance novels in a hazy jumble of words. It did feel like sparks going off in my stomach, like electricity, like my blood was on fire and my flesh was melting; and at the same time it felt like the most natural thing in the world to lean toward her for a kiss before arching my back with a sigh when she pressed her thumb right there.

"Christine…"

"I like that." In the heartbeat-space between two kisses, she said, "Say my name when you come? I can tell you're close."

I tried to laugh, but it came out as a choked, guttural moan. "I'll say anything you like –"

She kissed me again. "Here?" she asked, her fingers circling.

"Yes –"

I came with my eyes screwed shut against her loveliness. The sunspots were back, fiery against my inner lids, and I thought I would collapse, but she held me steady, dropping butterfly kisses against my neck. When my heartbeat had slowed down to normal, I pulled away. "I really should be going," I said regretfully.

"My mom will be coming back soon," she said, running a hand through her hair.

My clothes weren't on yet, and I tugged them on uncomfortably.

"Leslie," she asked as she picked her bikini off the floor, "where do you live, anyway?"

"Oh – on Cedar Crescent."

"That's really close by." She hooked my bra for me, and her breath on the nape of my neck made me shiver.

"I know," I said, turning around. "I wonder how we managed not to meet before."

She smiled and kissed me. "The important thing is that we did, in the end."

I took her hand, and she led me back downstairs. "But summer's nearly over," I sighed.

"Don't think about that," she said simply, in the doorway. "You live two streets down. We'll still see each other. I promise."

"Tell your mother thanks for dinner, okay? Even if I didn't eat it."

"Okay." She smiled, that coy grin of hers that was already engraved in my mind. She leaned over the steps for a last, lingering kiss. "See you around, Leslie."

I didn't have to look back to know that she was still on the steps watching me walk away. I felt like a lighted candle as I made my way back, still too hot for comfort despite the cooler evening air. At home, my mother shot me worried looks and touched my forehead. "Are you alright? I think you have a small fever. Where were you, anyway?"

"Making a friend," I answered dazedly. I still felt very light-headed.

"That's great," she smiled.

"Better than great," I murmured.

I locked myself into the bathroom and spent half an hour in the shower, leaning heavily against the slick tiles, letting cold water wash over me. It wasn't enough; my flesh still burned and smarted when I got out, as much from the girl as from the sun. I curled up in bed without towelling off.

Maybe it was just a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing, I thought. A girl can hardly be held accountable for everything she does on hot days like this, in the summer. But I remembered that smile of hers, her voice at my ear while she brushed my hair, her writhing death threat... "And she did promise," I said out loud.

Summer was nearly over; but winter was coming, and Christine would need someone to keep her warm in the cold...

I think I fell asleep with a smile on my face.