"Why so jumpy?" You're wearing a skimpy pale pink dress made of something clingy. It shows off every curve.

"You really should invest in a bra, you know." I'm pissed at you, and at me, and at how your breasts point at me and poke fun at my plight.

"Shelby>, you're flushed." Like a devoted mother, you put your lips to my forehead and feel for fever. You have no clue what you do to me when you do that. If you'd stop parading around in heels and dresses that are barely there, then I wouldn't be burning up alive.

"Perfect," I say, but you know me too well, and I see that frown you get when you worry.

"Olivia is waiting," you say. "You coming?"

"Sure." I run my sweaty palms through my spiked hair, making an already sticky situation into an unbearable mess.

"Shell, what is it?" Your hand on my arm melts my flesh through two layers of clothing.

"Let's just go."

We walk to my bike. Do you have to run up ahead so that I can get a great view of your ass? You're wearing a thong or nothing at all. I hand you the spare helmet. You take my helmet and place it on my head. Then you hop on behind me.

My pants feel two sizes too tight, the sun casts an unwelcome glare, and I get this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"Shelby, honey. You want me to drive?"

I take off with a cloud of pebbled dirt in my wake, but the only things that registers are your arms holding my waist and your thighs hugging mine. You know I'll keep you safe, and you trust me. It's a familiar dance, only this time you're promenading with someone else, and you're not returning home for the do-si-do. This time you're going to be Olivia's lawful wife. This time I'm giving you away for good.

Would you forgive me if I forgot the way to the airport or conveniently lost our tickets? What would you do if I kissed you? My heart is being ripped out of my chest, and this time, you won't be there to put it back. I can't imagine feeling any worse if I were going to my own funeral. And I damn well better not cry at this thing.

You were the prettiest girl in the graduating class of '01 and I was the homeliest. I'm not kidding. I was ugly with a capital Ugh. The kind of teenager kids couldn't help teasing and adults were always trying to fatten up, straighten up, or when all else failed, give up. My sister tried to tweeze my eyebrows one day, but after she'd plucked maybe three hairs, she ended up with a black eye. I swear it was an accident.

Mom bribed, threatened, and begged me to stop chopping off my hair with her fabric shears and to put on a little rouge. I was offered everything from a nose job--broke the schnozzola twice tackling the boys in the schoolyard just to prove they weren't so tough--to a trip to Disney. Seriously, Disney! I refused to have my teeth straightened and thought the overbite gave me character. My teeth were crooked, but so what? They worked.

Mom said I had such pretty blue eyes, and if only I'd use a bit of mascara since my lashes were so light, I could really show them off. Yeah, right, Mom. She said I'd be grounded if I didn't stay out from under cars, but her threats were meaningless, and I knew it. While other girls snuck cigarettes or gave head behind the bleachers, I was sneaking an oil change or doing brake jobs at Fred's body shop. Mom gave up for good when I told her I was joining the Marines.

Up until I left for Parris Island, you and I hung out in my basement getting high and listening to CDs, mostly heavy metal for me or pop rock and shit like that for you. You were the only person on the planet who didn't try to change me. You were my number one fantasy, and I never told you. Heck, I don't think I admitted it to myself.

I've relived your Sweet Sixteen party so many times. We played truth or dare. You looked suddenly shy, and I felt like a heart attack waiting to happen.

The boys punched their fists in the air, and more than a few girls joined in. "Do it! Do it!" The whistles and catcalls echoed in time with my heart. I walked over to you, took your hands in mine, and gazed directly into your sparkling eyes. You glanced at my lips and licked yours in what seemed like slow motion.

A boy had kissed me, once, but it was different with you. Monumentally different. We leaned in, the shouts grew louder, and I placed my lips on yours. I expected a friendly peck, but you had a better idea. You allowed me to taste you. That lingering caramel nougat flavor is forever in my brain.

Every cell in my body was on alert from that kiss. You put your hands in my hair and pulled me closer, I could feel your breasts, hipbones, and torso. I got carried away, and so did you. The cheering sounded distant and muffled. I felt every lick and suck as if it was happening to my crotch. I couldn't help it. I had to have it. There was no turning back. And then I let go. I came hard in my pants, shuddered slightly, and died right then and there, more mortified than I had ever been.

You pulled away first, looked at me for a second, and then turned to our audience. You curtseyed. It was all a show to you. You gloated like we'd just pulled off the greatest prank. I fled without looking back. We never talked about it. It feels like yesterday--not eight years ago--that I kissed you. I still keep a ready supply of nougats.

I'll never forget the first time I stepped out of a limo in my full Marine Corps dress uniform. They let me fly out of Okinawa for my sister's wedding and I'd convinced my family to invite you. I'd missed you like I'd never thought possible. Daily letters were never enough. Did your heart do a leap at first look? Mine did.

You flung yourself into my arms and I squeezed you tight, right there in the Synagogue. There wasn't time to talk, so we took our places for the wedding march. As I smoothed out my uniform, you gave me an appreciative glance. You sat close to the front, which distracted me, but I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

At the reception, when you caught the bouquet, I wished so hard that it was an omen for us that I gave myself a headache. It might have been all the champagne. Lucky for us, my sister married an ultra-Orthodox Jew in a traditional religious ceremony, which meant that the men and women sat, ate, and celebrated separately. This was not a hardship at all. We partied hearty. Too hearty.

I introduced you to Olivia, my distant cousin who was quite the handsome butch. That was it. The next day I left for Japan, and you wrote me letters filled with loneliness. I hated to see you unhappy. I didn't think you'd take me up on my suggestion to hang out with Olivia, but at least your letters sounded more like the cheerful and bubbly April I knew and loved.

Today, on your wedding day, you wear a vintage powder blue gown. I can see a hint of cleavage through the lace yoke. You do a quick spin and the effect is breathtaking. The unlined gown is made of a fine double knit material, which hugs your body. I help you with the center back zipper, trying not to linger. You turn towards me.

"Do I look okay?" As if you need to ask. "Mom had her heart set on this dress, and she's been so good about the wedding and everything, I couldn't let her down." I have to agree with you there. You look at me tentatively and suck in one side of your bottom lip.

"Perfect." I mean it, too. "My parents would send me a one-way ticket to Siberia> if I were doing this."

"Don't let anyone stop you from realizing your dreams, Shelby>. Promise me that." You brush my cheek with the backs of your fingers. I bite the inside of my cheek and turn away.

"Wait." You adjust my lapels so that they line up with my shoulders and even fix my belt. "There. You're so handsome in your uniform. And gallant. And the best friend a girl could ever have."

"Stop."

You kiss my cheek. "Have you seen Olivia? Mom is adamant about not letting me see her before the ceremony. How's she doing?"

"Fine. You'll see her soon enough. I'll let them know you're ready." I swallow hard and leave.

Olivia is a stud. I can't find fault with her no matter how hard I try. I know she's good for you and that she'll take care of you, but I hurt all over. I wonder if I had been home and not off being a Marine, if I could have been in her place.

When it is our turn, I take your father's place. I feel him watching from heaven as I walk you down the aisle.

"You're trembling," you whisper.

"Sure it's not you?"

"Maybe." You let out a nervous laugh. "I love you, Shell."

"I love you, too." I hold your elbow even firmer now. My dress uniform and your pale blue gown are a perfect match.

You and Olivia exchange a look that holds the promise of love and all that good stuff. I'd have to be blind to miss it. You exchange vows, rings, and a kiss.

I, too, kiss the bride--on the cheek.

"Mazel Tov, April." I shake your wife's hand. "Take care of her, Olivia."