Free Light Years by Tammar Stein

favorite white shirt. She was the one who had pointed out that my panty line was showing the last time I’d worn these pants.
    “It’s embarrassing,” she said. “You don’t want people to be able to see your underwear, you want them to guess.”
    “Guess what?”
    “Is she or isn’t she wearing any?”
    “Ha, ha.”
    She lifted her brows. “Trust me.”
    I hadn’t gotten used to wearing thongs yet, though when I confessed to Daphna that I’d bought some, she swore they get to be more comfortable than regular panties. This was only my third time wearing one and I was very conscious of it. Also, my breasts were up higher than usual, pushing out, so when I looked down, I could actually see them rising out of my shirt. I felt very sexy but also slightly off balance. I didn’t quiteknow this new person I’d become. I liked her, but I didn’t know her.
    As I waited for the bus, I shook out a cigarette and dug through my purse for my matches. I wasn’t perfect at lighting a cigarette yet. There was a style to it, a way to do it fluidly, to look like a black-and-white photo from the forties. But I couldn’t bring myself to practice in the mirror. That seemed a little stupid, even for me.
    After losing two matches to the slight breeze in the open station, I was lit and glowing. I took a deep drag and blew out the smoke in twin streams from my nose, like a dragon. I didn’t really like smoking yet, didn’t like the way it tasted, but there was no better way to keep your hands occupied. My stomach was full of nervous butterflies and my heart was skipping just a little too fast.
    Dov will be there tonight, I thought for the thirteenth time. Not because of me, but because he was good friends with Daphna’s new boyfriend. Small world. Maybe. Or maybe he’d decided to come because he knew I would be there. My heart rate kicked up a little more and the cigarette trembled on its way up. Be cool. I tried to think of how Hen would handle him, but failed. Forget Aunt Hen. I tried to remind myself that he was chasing after me, not the other way around. I wasn’t sure what I felt for him yet, but my stomach and my damp palms were telling me they knew exactly what they thought of him. He was sexy and fine and Ilana wasn’t the only one who’d made some jealous little comment about him after our one lunch date.
    The bus arrived just as I finished my excellent pep talk. I tossed my ciggie onto the ground, making sure to step on it and crush it out before climbing onto the bus, about as steady on my high heels as a rowboat tied to a pier. I found an empty seat midway down the aisle and plopped down, my mind full of fantasies and lectures and nervous excitement. Would we kiss? Would he try? Should I let him?
    The bus pulled out with a lurch. There were people standing in the aisle and they all swung forward and then back again, like seaweed in a shallow sea pool. A young man sat next to me, looking out the window. He was dark-skinned and growing a wispy mustache that made him seem very young, probably a waiter or busboy coming home from work. I looked away from him and saw an older woman holding onto the strap above my seat. Her hair was covered by a black kerchief framing a round face with sagging jowls. She looked sixty, though she might have been younger. I could never tell when they were covered up like that. I was mildly surprised that no one had offered her a seat. Someone should have. I glanced down and saw her ankles were large and puffy above her tan-colored shoes. I looked at the people sitting down but with the exception of my seatmate and me, everyone else was older.
    I stood up.
    “
Giveret,
” I said in Hebrew. “You can have my seat.”
    She sat down without hesitation, pushing me slightly with her bulk. I staggered and grabbed for the handhold she had just vacated. She mumbled something at me, maybe “thank you.”
    I had expected something a bit more grateful.
    The waiter-boy turned and looked at me. I