I can’t help thinking about taco night, when the guys at school were so casually complaining about handjobs. Mouth or nothing, Simon had said, like he had any right to insist on anything. Is that what Dean wants? If I use my hands, will he be disappointed? Will he complain about it to his friends later the way Ryder did?
But I push those worries aside. James Dean is standing in front of me in his boxers and I want to touch him, want to see the expression on his face when I do.
“Okay.” My voice is barely a whisper. I reach my hand out toward his boxers, my fingers shaking. I’ve never touched a penis before and I don’t know what to expect. What does it feel like? How tight do you hold it?
And then I hear the jingle of the little bell. I scream, which is probably the worst thing to do, and jump away from Dean, scrambling to the other side of the room. He rushes to find his pants, tripping as he pulls them back up and over his hips. He’s smoothing out his shirt and fixing his hair, and he nods to me. “Your hair, Keely.”
There’s no mirror back here, but I run and check my reflection in the microwave and I can sort of see that my hair is sticking up everywhere. I run my hands through it to smooth it down as Dean leaves the break room and walks back out into the store, like nothing ever happened.
“Sorry,” I hear him say. “We were dealing with something in the back.”
“Was anyone watching the register?” It’s a deep gravelly voice I recognize—Mr. Roth! I feel a swirling in my stomach like I might throw up. I brush my hair to the side with my fingers, hoping I look presentable—that my lips aren’t too puffy or my clothes too rumpled so Mr. Roth won’t know what we were up to. What if he had walked into the break room? What if I had actually reached out my hand all the way, put it into Dean’s boxers, and Mr. Roth had seen? The thought is horrible and humiliating. I can’t believe I was so reckless.
“I was just gone for a second,” Dean says. “Nobody came in the store.”
“Someone should always be up front by the register,” says Mr. Roth. “I’m tired of this.”
I take a deep breath and walk out of the break room into the main room of the store, rolling my shoulders back and trying to stand up tall.
“Hey, Mr. Roth,” I say, my voice breaking and giving me away. “I was just taking a bathroom break. What’s up?”
Mr. Roth launches into a speech about a shipment of new books we’ll be getting later in the week, but I can barely listen to him. All I can imagine over and over again is the look he’d have on his face if he had walked in on us. Dean and I have to stop messing around in the store.
When Mr. Roth finally leaves, after what feels like an eternity, Dean pulls me close to his side, whispering into my ear.
“Come over after work tonight.” I can feel his lips against my skin. “I don’t want to be interrupted.”
“I can’t tonight.” The words cause a physical ache in my chest. “I have a history test tomorrow.” I’m torn, because a part of me wants to be close to him, wants to spend every possible second with him that I can, but another part of me is scared to be alone with him. The test is just a convenient way to stall.
“If not tonight, when?” he asks, pulling back to look me in the eyes.
“I promise,” I say, which isn’t a real answer.
“Didn’t realize you were so into playing games,” he says with a laugh.
“I’m not playing games.” I feel a prickling sensation in the bridge of my nose like I might be about to cry. He tilts his head to the side, studying me.
“Are you a virgin?”
My breath catches in my throat. His voice is low and I can’t read his tone, can’t tell how seriously he’s taking the question, which way he wants me to answer.
“I’m not,” I say, the words rushing out of me before I can stop them. “I swear. I really have a history test tomorrow.”
He smiles. “Good.”
Then he kisses me again and pulls away.
All I can think about is the stupid lie I just told. Now I’m stuck with it. There’s no backtracking from this. I’ll just have to pretend I know what I’m doing, and hopefully I’ll have enough natural talent that Dean won’t suspect me. I’m such an idiot.
“I lied to Dean about being a virgin,” I say to Hannah the next day, pulling her into the bathroom at school the moment I see her, the handicapped single stall on the first floor so I know we’re alone.
“What?” she asks, her eyes bulging.
“I didn’t mean to. It just came out before I had a chance to think about it, and then I’d already said it so I couldn’t take it back.”
“Slow down,” she says, putting her hands on my shoulders as if the weight of them will hold me down to earth. “What did you say?”
“He asked me if I was a virgin. I was put on the spot.”
“You should have told him the truth,” she says. “If you’re contemplating having sex with someone, you should be able to be honest. If you can’t be honest, then you’re not ready.”
Easy for her to say. She can look at the problem from a distance and act rationally. But when I’m around Dean, nothing feels easy or rational—my head is a mess.
“I know,” I snap at her, and then I feel bad. She’s just trying to help.
“Not everything Danielle says is right.” Her voice is soft. “I get that she told you Dean wouldn’t like you anymore if he found out, but that’s not necessarily true. If he likes you, he’ll wait.”
“When I lied to him, he seemed so relieved,” I say, looking up at her and then covering my face with my hands.
“He’ll understand if you tell him you lied,” she says. “And if he doesn’t understand, is that really someone you want to be with?”
“Yes!” I say, pulling my hands away. “I like him so much. He’s smart, and interesting, and way too cool for me, and I just don’t want to mess this up. You don’t get it, because it’s always been easy for you. You’ve always had guys who liked you. If you stop being interested in someone, it doesn’t matter, because you have a million other guys who can step up and take their place. That doesn’t happen with me. This is my only chance.”
Hannah’s chewing on her bottom lip as she studies me. “Do you really think that?”
“I don’t know why Dean likes me in the first place,” I say. “It’s like this crazy fluke and that’s why I don’t want to ruin it.”
“Do you really think it’s been so easy for me?” Hannah brings her hand up to fiddle with the skin on her collarbone, the place where her necklace used to lie. “Do you think Charlie was easy?”