“My parents go to sleep at like nine thirty.” She snaps the mirror shut and turns to us, smiling at Andrew and me with equal dazzle. “But just in case—do I smell like booze?”
She leans closer to me and breathes in my face and I cough. Her breath is sharp and tangy, the remnants of red wine. I start to nod but she leans past me toward Andrew. “You’ve been drinking too, Collins. You won’t be able to smell it.” And then she grabs the front of Andrew’s shirt and pulls him even closer, so her mouth is only a few inches away from his. She breathes again. “All good?”
Andrew laughs and shakes his head. “You smell like a bar.”
“Shut up, Reed,” she says. “Like you’ve ever been in a bar.” And still their mouths are only a few inches apart. She’s leaning over me, her body pressed into mine like I’m not even there, and her hair is in my face. I move it out of the way so I can see them, even though seeing them is making it hard to breathe.
“Thanks for dinner,” she says, and then kisses him squarely on the lips. It’s not a real kiss, just a quick pressing of her lips to his, and it’s over in a second—but it hits me in the chest. Before I can help it, I make a strangled sound and then feel my face turn a brilliant shade of red, because I’m horrified I’ve made any sound at all.
She pulls back and then seems to remember I’m sitting between them.
“Oh, sorry, Collins.” She pulls her hair behind her shoulder so it’s out of my face. “Forgot you were there.” I turn to look at Andrew’s face, to see if he’s embarrassed or excited or sorry, but his expression is blank and unreadable. “All right,” she says, opening the door to the truck and hopping out. “I’ll see you kids later.” And then she slams the door shut and we’re alone.
He doesn’t start the truck right away, and we sit silently beside each other, listening to the radio, which has changed to some local commercial for a grocery store, some silly song about fruits and vegetables. I focus intently on the words of the song, trying not to think about what just happened. I don’t want to process my thoughts, don’t want to think about the sharp pain in my chest, the way my breath felt strangled when I saw their lips touch. I’ve seen Andrew kiss so many girls, in way more intimate ways—tongues and teeth and hands—so this innocent peck on the lips shouldn’t matter. It’s just—this is the first time I’ve seen Andrew kiss a girl since he kissed me.
He drums his fingers on the steering wheel and then he reaches out and turns the key. The truck rumbles to life.
“Okay, let’s get you home.”
So he’s not going to talk about it.
He looks behind him and backs the truck out of the driveway. I move into the passenger seat and buckle the seat belt—far enough away from him now so our arms are no longer touching.
“Why didn’t you tell me about that New Year’s party?” I ask suddenly, because I can’t stand the silence between us.
“I don’t need to tell you everything.” His tone is clipped, his posture straight and tense.
“Why are you mad?” I ask, because I can tell. He runs a hand through his hair, further proving my point.
“I’m not mad,” he says. “I just don’t get why you care. That I didn’t tell you.”
“I don’t care.” I realize we’re getting nowhere. We’re going to keep spinning in circles unless one of us starts speaking the truth. “So you’re a thing with Danielle now?” I turn to face him. Our eyes meet and I can’t stand it, so I look away and down at my hands, picking at my nails. I don’t ever paint them, but right now I wish I did, so I would have something to chip off.
“Yeah,” he says.
“What about Abby?” I ask. “You’re just done with her?”
“There was never anything with Abby.”
“Okay then, Cecilia?”
“Cecilia knew it was coming.”
“That still doesn’t mean it’s a very nice thing to do to someone.”
“Because you’re the expert on relationships.” His words sting.
“Some of these girls might actually like you, you know. Have you ever actually liked any of them?”
“Oh they might actually like me?” His tone is sharp. “Thanks for the reassurance. It’s good to know somebody might hook up with me because they want to—not just for practice.”
I feel the guilt of last night suddenly and completely, the stupid, stupid Plan spreading back over us like a virus. Even if we’ve claimed that nothing has changed, there’s no way we can go back to the way we were before. Our friendship is infected.
“That’s not what I meant.” I feel like I’m spinning out of control, like I need to find a handhold to steady myself but am grasping at air. “You’re good with girls, Drew. It’s not an insult. I just think—maybe you’re too good with girls. I mean, Sophie Piznarski really liked you, and you dumped her out of nowhere. And now it’s become this pattern—”
“That was freshman year. Are you seriously criticizing me for something like three years ago?”
“No!” I say. “But you haven’t had another girlfriend. You just move on to a new girl anytime you see something better. You haven’t dated anyone since.”
“Neither have you,” he says, throwing my words back at me. “Unless you’re dating Dean. But I really don’t think you see it that way.” I feel my stomach clench at his words. “And why am I supposed to have a girlfriend? Why are you pushing me?”
“I’m not.” I bring my hands up to rub my face. I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. I don’t want Andrew to have a girlfriend—especially not someone like Cecilia or Danielle—but somehow my words are coming out all wrong. “I just want you to stop acting like girls don’t matter. It’s insulting!”
“They know what they’re getting into,” he says, his voice rising. “And who are you to say they’re not just as into hookups as I am? You can’t shame girls for liking sex just because you don’t.”
His words feel like a slap in the face. I can feel the impact of them, red on my cheek.
We arrive at my house and he pulls the truck off the road and parks, but neither of us makes a move to get out. He takes a breath and lowers his voice back into a whisper. “And they’re not stupid. They know what they’re signing up for. Besides, I—”
“They know you don’t like them? That you’re just going to ditch them? How could they possibly know?”