Tease(16)

There’s a blast of light and sound from the hall, and then I’m alone.

“OMG, you’re such a slut!” Brielle is practically screaming at me and laughing, and I would be afraid of the rest of the house overhearing, but the music is still on really loud. “On the floor?! God, who knew D-Bag was such an animal!” Her plastic cup waves in the air as she half dances, half hugs me. “Woooo!”

I can’t help it—I’m blushing like crazy. I’m embarrassed, but proud, too. I did it. I feel like my blood is pumping in double time, like my whole body is thumping along with the music.

Brielle has me sort of pinned in a corner of the living room, which is packed with people, but across the mob I manage to spot Dylan playing flip cup with a bunch of guys from the baseball team. It’s the last night they can all drink without really worrying about getting in trouble with the coaches, and it looks like they’re going to make sure they have enough beer to last the whole season. Still, when I see Dylan—even just the side of his face, just for a second—my heart sort of convulses. My stomach tenses like I’m going to throw up, but in that good way, like when you’re just so excited about everything you can’t handle it.

“You need another drink!” Brielle shouts. “Follow me!”

I kind of always thought that losing my virginity would be a little more . . . private, I guess. Like Dylan and I would go to a rustic little cabin in the woods somewhere, and the room would have a fireplace, and we’d stay up all night talking afterward. Not that my mom would let me go to a hotel with Dylan, obviously. She’d have to pay for a babysitter to watch my brothers while I was gone, for one thing.

Anyway, Brielle is totally taking care of me. We stumble toward the kitchen, and from the flip-cup table, Dylan catches my eye and gives me a little smile. I think I’m going to just melt into a puddle right there on the kitchen floor, but then Brielle’s shouting again and putting a plastic cup in my hand.

“This is the best party EVER!” she shouts. She yells it just as there’s a little break in the music, but instead of laughing at her, the whole room bursts into wild hoots of agreement.

Just as the music starts up again, Brielle grabs my arm and says, “Okay, you have to tell me everything! Everything everything. Every. Thing.”

I laugh and take a deep breath, wondering where to start, wondering if Brielle is going to think I did it all wrong, wondering if maybe we should talk about this later, after the party, but at the same time wanting so badly to talk about it all right now.

But just when I open my mouth, Brielle’s hand grips my arm harder, too hard, and her jaw drops. For a second she seems totally sober. “Oh. My. Freaking. GOD,” she says. She’s staring at something across the kitchen, and I follow her eyes.

It’s Emma. She’s talking to Jacob Walker, and it looks like she’s upset about something. Surprise, surprise. He’s got his arm around her all comforting and shit—God, that girl will do anything for attention.

“Skank.” I think it’s Brielle hissing the word for a minute, and then I realize it was me who just said it. It feels good. I say it again. “What a total skank!”

I must be kind of loud, because a couple of girls I don’t know that well turn around and look at us. Brielle shoots them a glare and turns to me, all serious. “Don eeeven worryaboutit,” she slurs. “God, I mean, who even uses Facebook anymore?”

“Shh!” I hiss at her. “You know we’re not—” I don’t get to finish my sentence because now she’s pulling herself up to sit on the counter, knocking over a stack of plastic cups in the process. I’ve had too much to drink, definitely, but I know better than to announce to the whole room that we set up the Fat Beyotch page. It’s already been taken down by the system administrator, but we heard at school that Emma got pulled into the guidance counselor’s office, and who knows what she said in there.

“WhatEVER,” Brielle is saying now, swinging her legs and kicking the cabinets with the pair of Jimmy Choos that I happen to know are her mom’s. “I’m so sick of talking about that nutcase. And now you’n D-Bag are all”—she holds up her hand and crosses her fingers—“and then”—she wraps her other hand around the first one, intertwining all her fingers, then starts waggling her tongue.

I burst out laughing again, despite myself. “Stop it!” I squeal. She’s, like, making out with her hands now, doing these gross moaning noises. The girls who were staring at us before look like they don’t know whether to laugh or run away.

Brielle starts grabbing at me, going, “Oh, Sara! Oh, Dyyylaaaan!” and I’m trying to push her off, but still laughing, and while we’re basically wrestling my eyes move to the other end of the room again.

Emma and Jacob are looking at us, obviously a little stunned that we’re acting like such freaks, but whatever.

And then, finally, it occurs to me.

That bitch can’t call me a tease anymore.

“C’mon,” Brielle says, clumsily hoisting herself back off the counter. She stalks across the kitchen and plants her hands on the island where Emma and Jacob are standing. I follow her, setting down my plastic cup and tossing my hair over my shoulder. It might not be red, but it’s long and curly(ish) and I kind of like how tously it looks after my . . . um . . . time with Dylan.