Trust(49)

“What?” I said, finally.

He let loose a breath. “I’ll do it.”

My mouth opened. I blinked. Somehow, it seemed my brain had stalled. He couldn’t possibly have just said what I thought he’d just said because that would be crazy.

CRAZY.

“What?” I asked. “What did you say?”

“I said, I’ll do it.” He hesitated, face grim. “If you want.”

“Wow.”

Both of us stood in utter silence for a minute, everything bizarre as all hell. Then he swallowed hard. “So you want me to do it or not, Edie? Yes or no?”

“Y-yes. Okay.”

A grunt.

“Thank you.” I stood immobile, a lot perplexed. “I thought you didn’t like virgins? You know, the possible sight of blood and stuff.”

“I don’t, normally. But I like you. Come on.”

“Is this going to affect our friendship?” I asked, uncertain and maybe just a little scared.

“No.” He got into the car, reached across, and flicked the lock on the passenger-side door.

I climbed in, put on my seat belt. “We have to make sure it doesn’t.”

“It won’t,” he said, sounding so sure of himself that a lesser woman would have been insulted. No hesitation, no second-guessing. His face was set. “One time only. Then that’s it.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll go to my place. My uncle’s out.”

Anxiety had me in a stranglehold. I did my best not to fuss, but to sit still, face calm, looking straight at the road ahead. John and I having sex. Getting naked. Doing it. My mind couldn’t begin to fathom the enormity of the situation. Luckily, I remembered to text Hang and tell her John and I were going for a drive. The way I kept disappearing on her at parties, it quite possibly made me the worst friend ever.

Time began to behave strangely. The drive took forever and yet we got there too soon. We pulled up outside a two-story house surrounded by tall trees. The porch light had been left on in welcome.

No words were spoken as I followed him inside the dark house. Suddenly light dazzled my eyes, showing a room littered with books on horticulture, football paraphernalia, photos of hills and lakes and stuff, and the largest flat-screen television in creation. Nothing here really said John. His boots thumped up the stairs and I trailed slowly behind. I found him standing in the middle of a bedroom, looking around. A lamp on the bedside table glowed softly.

“It’s a mess,” he said, before springing into action. Shoes and clothes were thrown into the closet, his schoolbag and books shoved aside. “I only changed the sheets yesterday, promise.”

I lingered in the doorway, uncertain how to proceed. “Okay.”

He hadn’t unpacked everything; a stack of boxes sat to one side. Yet photos of him and a similar-looking, slightly older boy hung on the white wall. Had to be his brother. Next was a full family shot including his mom and dad, then came a picture of a much younger John and a woman posing beside the Charger. Navy-blue curtains, a Ramones poster, and his big bed.

Okey-dokey.

“Sorry about this,” he said, still cleaning with a vengeance. “I don’t usually bring girls here.”

“It’s fine.”

He paused. “Come in. Sit down.”

I did as told, taking the final fateful step into (gasp, shock, horror) a boy’s bedroom. Once I started moving forward, things seemed easier. As instructed, I sat on the edge of his bed, the mattress sinking a bit beneath me. Firm but bouncy.

“John, really it’s fine. Stop fussing.”

A furrow sat between his brows.

“It’s just me,” I said, attempting a smile. “Relax.”

He huffed out a laugh. Guess we were both nervous. Then he said, “Condoms,” and raced out of the room. Rifling noises came from the bathroom across the hall and he returned triumphant, a string of silver packages hanging from his hand.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

I nodded. “But what about you? Are you sure about this?”

He closed the bedroom door, the lock clicking.

My heart punched hard. “Are you sure about this?”

John just looked at me. “Shoes are awkward. Let’s get rid of them now.”

“Right.” Instructions were good. I could follow instructions. My fingers fumbled over the laces, hands shaking as I pulled off my boots. Neatly, I tucked my socks inside, then pushed them under the bed, out of the way. “Done.”

With his back to me, he stood, flicking through a book. An expensive-looking new laptop sat on his desk. Wonder if it was part of his getting-serious-about-school thing.

He sat beside me, placing the open book in my lap. “Here,” he said.

“What’s this?”

“In case you had any questions,” he said. “Are you okay at telling the boy and girl things apart or do you need some help?”

If I had, the biology text he’d provided me with had several large and neatly labeled diagrams explaining the relevant anatomy and the process of fornication in depth. Not only informative, it was a heavy book and would make a fine weapon. I slapped it shut, using it to try and hit him over the head. Sadly, the boy was too fast. He dodged my blows and tore the book out of my hands, sending it flying. I settled for slapping him around, instead.