The Best Laid Plans(44)

When Andrew lost his virginity, the last thing he was probably thinking about was whether or not the girl would respect him in the morning. People don’t write horrible things on the wall about guys who’ve had sex.

“He just doesn’t realize how good he has it,” I say.

“Well, maybe he could teach you,” Hannah says, shrugging. She crumples up her empty sandwich wrapper and throws it into the trash, then pulls out a bottle of iced tea. The lid twists off with a satisfying pop.

“Yeah, I’ll just have him tutor me,” I say, laughing. I flutter my eyelashes in imitation of Abby Feliciano. “He’s such a good tutor.”

“That’s seriously not a bad idea,” Hannah says, offering me a sip of the tea. I take it from her, still laughing.

“What?”

“He could tutor you. If you’re worried about what you said to James Dean, Andrew could give you a few pointers. He obviously knows what he’s doing.”

“I guess I could ask him for some advice,” I say, feeling my ears get hot. I take a sip of tea and hand it back to her. Now that Andrew and I have started talking about my sex life, maybe it isn’t so weird anymore. We got through that conversation in the diner in one piece. Hannah has a point: Andrew could probably tell me some pretty helpful things if I’m brave enough to ask him.

“You could ask him for some advice, sure,” she says, shrugging. “Or you could just have sex with him.” Her tone is casual, like she’s suggesting something completely normal. I snort, hitting her on the arm.

“Yeah, totally,” I say. “Brilliant idea. Inspired!”

“Keely, I’m not kidding,” she says, and I feel the color drain from my face.

“Hannah, no.” I lower my voice to a whisper and look around, worried someone might have heard. Nobody’s paying us any attention. I laugh awkwardly, making a strangled sound as the laugh catches in my throat.

“Think about it,” she continues. “Obviously he cares about you and respects you. And he clearly knows what he’s doing if the junior girls are any indication, so he could get you ready for James Dean. It could be like . . . warm-up sex. A practice round before it really matters.” She leans toward me, getting more excited as the idea takes form. Her eyes are practically sparkling. “Would you show up to the major leagues having never once played the game? Having never even touched a bat? No, you’d get a coach and you’d practice, and you’d suck at first, but then you’d get better. Practice makes perfect.” She claps her hands together, squealing in a way that rivals Ava. “Besides,” she adds. “Then your lie won’t matter. You won’t be a virgin anymore.”

“It’s not that easy,” I say. “We’ve been friends for too long. Friends don’t just . . . have sex with each other.” Even saying the words out loud makes me uncomfortable. Despite the breezy spring air, I feel hot and clammy, my mouth dry.

“Friends totally have sex with each other,” she says, as if I’m being ridiculous. “What about Ron and Hermione?”

“Ron and Hermione didn’t sleep together,” I say.

“They definitely slept together! They had kids, remember? You know they got it on down in her Chamber of Secrets.”

I laugh. “Okay, sure. But they liked each other. Which Andrew and I do not.”

“Good point!” she says. “But friends with benefits is a thing, isn’t it? People definitely do that. And it’s not like there’s any risk of you guys liking each other, because you like James Dean and Andrew likes the entire junior class.”

“I can’t believe we’re even discussing this,” I say.

“It can’t be that outlandish that you guys would sleep together. Your parents thought you had, remember? If parents aren’t even shocked by something, then you know it’s pretty tame.”

“Even if I did think this was a good idea, which I don’t, because it makes no sense, there’s no way I could possibly ask him. What would I say? It would completely freak him out.” She’s making me nervous; the idea is making me nervous.

“He’s a guy. Straight guys don’t turn down opportunities to sleep with hot girls.”

“Now you’re just trying to butter me up with compliments,” I say, and she smiles.

“I only speak the truth.”

“You’re a horrible person.”

The bell rings to signal the end of lunch.

“I know, but I’m your horrible person, remember?” She pats my knee. “Good, I’m glad that’s settled.”

“Wait, nothing is settled.” My heart is in my throat.

She stands and picks up her backpack. “Aren’t you glad you have me here to solve all your problems?”



Later that night, I can’t sleep. Every time I feel like I’m starting to drift off, Hannah’s words slam into me, jerking me back to miserable consciousness. When I close my eyes, images of Andrew float in front of me—memories of the times I’ve seen him with girls, seen him pressing them into the walls at parties, lips fused together, hands tangled in hair. I try to imagine him kissing me instead, just testing out the idea, and my eyes shoot open, an embarrassed feeling washing over me like somehow, in his own bed a few blocks away, he can tell what I’m thinking. I hate that Hannah has planted the seed there, but her words are like a wriggling worm in my brain.