My eyes widen and my breath catches in my throat. “Really?” I don’t know how to feel, whether to be relieved or excited or horrified. “Okay,” I say, sitting back down in the booth.
“Okay,” he says back, a goofy grin spreading across his face. “Um, when do you want to?”
“Oh,” I say. “Right.” I think for a moment. “Well, your house is probably better. We’ve slept in your bed more, so it might not be as weird.”
“I think my parents are going out with yours on Friday,” he says. “The symphony or something boring.”
“That could work,” I answer. “The symphony is like three hours, isn’t it? Will that be enough time?”
He laughs softly. “That’ll be enough time.” A devilish grin crosses his face. “Should we do it in my parents’ bed and leave the condom wrapper behind?”
I smack his arm, relieved he can joke at a time like this. Maybe I haven’t ruined things after all.
EIGHTEEN
THE RIDE WITH Andrew from Jan’s to school is jumpy and strange. We’re both trying to act normal, but there’s a weird current under all of our interactions, a buzzing secret buried beneath everything we say. If I was acting weird before about touching him, it’s even worse now. We both reach for the radio at the same time, our hands brush, and I immediately burst out into uncomfortable laughter, pulling my hand back as if I’ve been burned.
“Are you going to be like this forever?” he asks. “Because then I take it back.”
“No, not forever,” I say. “Just let me freak out for the rest of this car ride and then I’ll be back to normal. I promise. I’m just . . . I’m still processing.”
He smiles at me. “You’ve had lots of time to process. I should be the one freaking out here.”
“Yeah, but I have lots of emotions,” I say, my voice stuck in a higher pitch than usual. He reaches over and grabs my hand. I try to pull away, but he holds on, linking his fingers with mine.
“See?” he says, lifting up our joined hands. “We’re touching and the world hasn’t ended.”
“Right,” I say, calming down a bit. It’s true—his touch feels comfortable and familiar and normal. I’ve been holding his hand for years. He has a scar on his palm from when he fell off his skateboard in fifth grade, and his right thumb is calloused from playing the guitar.
He rests our hands on my knee and bounces them along to the beat of the song on the radio. It’s an old song from the Arctic Monkeys, one of my favorites. I smile, feeling myself relax.
When we get to school, we part ways, going to our separate classes. I text him from Greek mythology, feeling light and goofy.
Plan set in motion. T-minus 3 days till completion. Over & out
He texts back, and I discreetly check the message, trying to hide my phone from Ms. Galloway, who has a reputation of throwing kids’ phones out the window onto the lawn, even though her classroom is on the third floor.
I’ve heard the Virgin Islands are nice this time of year
I smile, typing back under the desk. Soon we’re going back and forth fast enough I forget I’m in class.
ME
They are very nice indeed. Lots of fun activities
ANDREW
I’ve heard the spelunking is excellent
ME
spelunking?
ANDREW
cave exploration
I snort, and then look up at Ms. Galloway guiltily, trying to keep my phone hidden. Ava looks over at me curiously.
“James Dean?” she mouths, pointing toward the screen.
“Ladies, phones away or they will be confiscated.” Ms. Galloway stops writing on the board and crosses her arms. “And the sprinklers are on right now in the field, so you really don’t want your property out there.”
I throw the phone into my backpack, looking back at her with perfect innocence.
It turns out it’s fun sharing a secret with Andrew. It feels like it did when we were kids and used to organize secret missions against our parents. Mission: Steal a piece of cake out of the fridge without getting caught. Mission: Crawl under Mom’s desk while she’s on the phone and steal one of her shoes. Mission: Take Keely’s virginity.
I haven’t told Hannah yet about the Plan—which has become such a monumental deal in my panicking brain I’ve started thinking of it with a capital letter—and I’m not sure I will. A part of me likes the fact it’s just between Andrew and me. It’s our secret. And even though it was Hannah’s idea to begin with, I’m a little embarrassed to tell her that I’ve decided to go through with it. That I’m too scared to tell Dean the truth.
I’ve gone a little wild with the research. I want to make sure we’re extra careful—I’ve seen enough stupid reality shows about teen pregnancy to know it’s a bad idea. I’m curious about sex tips too. I know the internet is exploding with information, but I don’t know how to find any of those websites, and I’m terrified that if I look up porn on my phone, my parents will see it on the bill. Do they list websites you look at on the phone bill? I think about googling it to be sure, but what if they list that on the bill too?
I decide that books are safe. Books are full of useful information, and they can’t be too graphic if someone decided to print them and put them in a bookstore where even grandmas and kids can see them. I pick up three, paying cash just in case: a huge textbook called Sexual Bodies Explained, an illustrated guide called The Art of Love—which features a cartoon couple engaged in hundreds of different freaky positions—and Wings of Passion, a paperback romance novel I grab at the last second, hoping it might give me emotional insight.
I start reading The Art of Love late at night under the covers, trying to learn as much as I can. There are chapters on kissing I’m dying to try out with Dean, and heat floods through me as I look at the illustrations and imagine they’re the two of us instead of the cartoon people.