The Best Laid Plans(36)
“You said I looked nice.”
“You do look nice,” he says. “But you just don’t look like you. This guy’s not worth that.”
“You don’t know him.”
“No guy is worth that.” He takes another bite of bacon and then pushes the plate toward me. “Want the rest?” I reach out and pick up the last piece, biting into it. “Next time you should just order your own.”
“Why would I order my own when I can have yours?” I smile, finishing the piece and licking the grease off my fingers. “You’re always too full to finish it.”
“Or do I pretend to be too full so you can have some?” He raises an eyebrow at me. “It’s like the chicken and the egg.”
“How appropriately breakfasty a puzzle this is. Eggs and chickens and bacon,” I say.
I’m glad things seem to be back to normal, but I know we’re both faking it a little bit, trying just a little too hard.
THIRTEEN
“YOU DID THE right thing,” Ava says Monday morning at school. “You can’t sleep with him right away, because then he’ll lose interest.”
We’re all gathered in the lounge, a “seniors-only” room with wall-to-wall lockers and a bunch of fluffy couches. It’s like Prescott’s version of the VIP section at a concert, and as freshmen, we were dying to get a glimpse inside. Now that we’re finally seniors, the excitement has worn off. It kinda smells like old milk.
We’re on the ancient blue couch by the window—Hannah, Danielle, Ava, and me—recapping the events of the weekend. There are only five minutes left until first bell, so the lounge is bustling with students, the noise blocking out our conversation. Ava looks around and lowers her voice. “He can’t know you’re a virgin because then he’ll think of you only as a virgin. Suddenly that’s what it’ll be about. He’ll just want to take it. Your virginity won’t be yours, it’ll be his.”
“Guys are experts at making everything about them,” Hannah says. She has our French textbook propped open in her lap, and she’s scribbling last-minute notes before class, the paper torn and wrinkled because it’s probably lived in her car for a week with the gum wrappers and takeout bags.
“What do you know about being a virgin?” Danielle says to Ava. “You haven’t been one since you were fourteen.”
Ava crumples a bit at Danielle’s comment, and I keep talking, trying to pretend I didn’t hear it. “You can’t lump all guys together though.” If what they’re saying is true, it’s all just too depressing. “Not all guys are bad. Maybe he won’t care I’m a virgin. Maybe it’s not a big deal.”
“I’m sure there are great guys out there,” Hannah says. “We just haven’t met them.” She sighs, closing her textbook and stuffing it back into her backpack. “Like, take Charlie.”
Hannah hasn’t brought up Charlie to anyone besides me for a while. He turned her into a crying, insecure, puffy-eyed mess, and we were all thankful when he graduated at the end of last year and moved away for college. Now he’s probably some poor girl’s problem in South Carolina.
“Charlie knew I was a virgin. He was my first relationship, obviously, and he knew that. And he was wonderful about everything. He said he loved me. We waited six months before we finally had sex, and I thought it was special. Turns out . . .” She doesn’t need to finish the story.
I look at the empty spot on Hannah’s neck where there was once a delicate chain, a silver “H” that Charlie gave her for Christmas. She used to fiddle with it constantly, probably liking the reminder of him every time she touched it. We threw it in the lake when he dumped her, but still her hands sometimes absently reach up toward her neck out of habit.
“Charlie was a Death Eater,” I say. “That’s a special case.”
“Okay, well, Chase then,” Danielle says, glancing around the room to make sure he’s not around. “Chase told everybody we did it like five seconds after he got his dick back in his pants. How’s that for special?” She pauses to let the words sink in and then we all burst out laughing.
It does seem like we’re surrounded by a special breed of assholes, but maybe that’s just guys in general. Even the good guys like Andrew still sometimes treat girls like shit, and I know it won’t be long before he gets tired of Cecilia.
I don’t want to be that girl, the one someone throws away. Danielle is right. I can’t let Dean find out the truth.
On Wednesday I have work again with Dean after school, and when the bell rings at the end of the day, I feel a little like I’m going to throw up. I still haven’t seen him since the night of his party, or more accurately, since the morning after, when I tiptoed out of his bedroom. Will he act differently when he sees me? Will he try to kiss me hello? I’ve never kissed anyone hello before, and the prospect of it floods me with anxious energy. How will I know which way to turn my head? How long should the kiss last? Will there be tongues involved? Or even worse—what if I only think he’s trying to kiss me hello but he’s actually just going in for a hug and I end up with his ear in my mouth?
There are a million ways this could go wrong.
Hannah’s field hockey practice has started back up after school, which means she’s unavailable for emotional support, so I have to ask Andrew for a ride to work instead.