I sigh, flipping over onto my stomach. I can’t believe I’m even considering it. In the most likely scenario, Andrew would say no and then things between us would be awkward and weird. And would it be any better if he said yes?
Still, as much as I don’t want to admit it, Hannah has a point. It’s the perfect solution to my problem. I want to lose my virginity to someone I can trust unconditionally, to someone I know won’t stop talking to me after, won’t judge me for being nervous, or clumsy, or scared. If I bleed too much and ruin Andrew’s sheets—it’s okay. I’ve already peed my pants in front of him. Multiple times. He’s seen me at my weakest, my grossest, my sweatiest, and he’s stuck by me.
If I have sex with Andrew, I can get the uncomfortable, painful, awkward first time out of the way. I can learn the basics—can practice until I feel comfortable, until I know what to do and how to do it. And then sleeping with Dean will be easy. I won’t have to worry about my lie.
But it’s too strange. Despite all the good puberty has done him—and the confidence and the girls it brought with it—he’s still my gangly childhood friend with the freckles and the messy hair. He’s still the boy who used to burp the alphabet in my face, who once pretended to be a dinosaur for a week straight, answering all of my questions with a toothy roar. I can’t reconcile those memories with the boy he is now, can’t see him the way Hannah sees him.
My phone beeps and I roll over to reach for it. There’s a text from Dean. A rush of adrenaline spreads through me, thoughts of Andrew temporarily and mercifully pushed away.
What are you doing?
I squint at the time on the screen. It’s 2:00 a.m. on a school night. What does he think I’m doing? I wonder if I’m supposed to be out somewhere. Is he out somewhere?
Can’t sleep
A few minutes later, he texts back.
Want to not sleep at my place?
My heart is thudding wildly in my chest. What am I supposed to say? It’s a lot harder without Danielle here to instruct me.
I can’t. It’s Tuesday
There’s no way I can sneak out of the house and be back in the morning before my parents find out. Besides, I’m already wearing my retainer. My phone beeps.
That’s cute
I type back.
What’s cute?
He takes a few minutes to respond, and I stare agonizingly at my phone screen. Finally, it beeps.
You are. Sure you won’t come over?
And somehow that’s all it takes. Somehow I find myself crawling out of bed, pulling on a sweatshirt, and heading over to the bathroom to wash my face and get ready. There’s an excited flutter in my chest at the thought of sneaking out—not just breaking the rules, but breaking the rules for a boy. When someone like James Dean calls you cute, that’s worth any consequence.
Just for a minute, ok? You’ll have to come pick me up
* * *
• • • • • •
I climb into Dean’s car down the end of the block, far enough away so the running motor won’t wake my parents. He’s looking sleepy in a maroon EVmU sweatshirt, his hair sticking up to one side. I’m reminded of when I woke up next to him in bed, how cute he looked all rumpled and asleep, and I feel myself getting flustered all over again at the memory.
I’m nervous—not just about getting caught, but about seeing him again outside of work. There are so many ways this night could go. Suddenly the whole Andrew debate seems meaningless. I feel electric.
“Were you in bed?” I ask as I get in, making sure to close the door as quietly as possible. Our neighbors have a pair of loud dogs that will bark at the smallest sounds.
“No, Cody and I had some people over but they all went home.”
“On a Tuesday?” I ask, and he grins at me.
“You’ve got a lot to learn about college.”
I blush, thankful it’s dark and he can’t see it.
“I thought you drove a motorcycle.” I motion at the patched interior of the Honda. It smells a little bit like old French fries.
“This is Cody’s car. I thought the bike might be too loud.” He leans toward me, bringing a hand behind my head and threading his fingers through my hair. Then he pulls me toward him and kisses me, his tongue teasing my lips, entering my mouth in a way that feels practiced now, and natural. His tongue slides against mine and the sensation of it raises goose bumps on my whole body.
He pulls away from me slightly so our faces are a few inches apart. “Plus,” he says, his whisper laced with a smile, “it’s kinda hard to do this on a bike.” He clicks off his seat belt and moves closer to me, lifting his body so he’s almost on top of me in the passenger seat.
I pull away from him. “Do what, exactly?”
“You know what I mean.” He laughs and tries to kiss me again.
“Dean.” I move my head to the side so he’s forced to kiss the soft skin of my neck. I shiver at the contact and turn my head, giving in for just a second. But then I force myself to pull away. “Dean, we’re in a car.”
I don’t know what to say or what to do. How can I explain to him that I don’t want my first time to be here in this car without admitting it’s my first time?
“That’s okay,” he says. “No one will see us.”
“That’s not the point. I want to be with you,” I say, wishing I didn’t sound so much like I was begging. “I do, just not here. Not tonight. It’s Tuesday, it’s not . . .”
“I want to be with you too,” he says. “When is it going to be the right time?”