The Best Laid Plans(35)

“Okay, now can we go?”

“Just Jan’s,” I say. “No craft fair.”

“Just Jan’s.”

He jumps out of the car for real this time, and I follow him out, stumbling a little in the sequined heels. Just as I right myself, I feel my phone vibrate. There’s a text from Dean.

    Why’d you sneak out?





I feel warmth flood through me, relieved he’s contacted me. I pause for a minute, trying to think of something to say in response. What would Danielle say?

    Had to be somewhere





There. Appropriately aloof. He texts back a minute later.

    Nice. See you at work. Last night was fun





Andrew waits impatiently as I put away my phone. I feel a goofy smile spread across my face, and I can see him trying to figure it out.

We head down the sidewalk toward Jan’s, me about five paces behind him because his legs are so much longer than mine, and he’s wearing sensible footwear. Once we get there, I scamper inside as quickly as possible, and he rolls his eyes at me.

It’s not until I have a big pile of steaming pancakes in front of me that Andrew finally breaks down and asks.

“Okay, so what the hell?”

“What?” I feign innocence and reach over to grab a piece of his bacon. He swats my hand away and the bacon drops back onto his plate.

“Why were you hiding in the woods dressed like my aunt Mildred?”

I take a bite of pancakes to stall for time, and they burn the roof of my mouth. “There’s a guy,” I say finally, feeling my face get hot.

Andrew takes a long sip of his coffee and then puts it down on the table, running a finger absently around the rim. “Who is he?”

“We call him James Dean.” I lower my voice so that hopefully he can’t hear me. He does.

“We do?” he asks, leaning forward. “Is he a rebel without a cause? Does he have a motorcycle?” He takes a bite of bacon.

“Yeah,” I say. “He does.”

He puts the bacon back down. “Oh.”

“He works with me at the store. He had a party last night and invited me, so we all went.” I can see the information clicking into place in his head.

“So he goes to EVmU then?”

“Yeah, he’s a junior.”

“Hmm,” he says. Then he takes a bite of his own pancakes, chewing them for a while. I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t say anything more.

“What does ‘hmm’ mean?”

He runs a hand through his hair and leans forward, putting his elbows onto the table. “Just . . . be careful, okay?”

“What are you saying?” I know what he’s saying. It’s the same thing Danielle told me, the same thing I was worrying about last night.

“I know how guys think,” he says. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“We didn’t, like . . . have sex or anything,” I say, my voice coming out strangely high-pitched. After I say it, Andrew’s face turns red.

“Okay,” he says. “But he wants to.”

“How do you know what he wants?”

He gives me a pointed look. “He wants to.”

I’m feeling combative for some reason. Of course I know he wants to; he told me so last night, condom in hand. I swirl a spoon in a circle around my cup of coffee. I can’t look at Andrew. I take a deep breath and speak, my voice quiet.

“I’ve never . . .”

“I know,” he says. I look up at him then and the expression in his eyes is kind, the familiarity of it comforting.

“I haven’t told you, because, I don’t know, it’s sort of embarrassing to talk about. And you’re clearly, like, really experienced, and so is everyone else, and I’m pretty much the only one left.” The words all come pouring out before I can stop them.

“You’re—” he starts, but then the waitress comes back over, holding up a jug of coffee.

“How you guys doing? Anyone want a refill?” We both jump, turning to her with guilty faces.

“We’re fine,” I say, my voice catching. “Thanks.”

“No prob! I’ll come back in a little while with the check.”

We turn back to each other and I struggle to find something to say.

“You don’t have to tell me about it,” he says finally. He toys with the rest of the pancakes on his plate, using his fork to cut them up into fluffy little pieces.

“It’s okay,” I say. “It’s actually kinda nice to talk about. I’ve wanted to tell you about Dean forever, but it seemed weird. I didn’t know what you’d say.”

He puts his fork down on the plate and folds his hands in front of him on the table. “Just be careful with this guy, okay?” he says again. “Does he know? That you’re a . . . um . . . that you’ve never . . .” He trails off.

I shake my head. “I haven’t told him yet.” I add the “yet” for Andrew’s sake. I’m not sure if I’m ever going to tell Dean, but that feels too complicated to express to Andrew.

“You shouldn’t dress like someone you’re not for his sake,” Andrew says. He taps his shoe against my sparkly heel under the table.