The Best Laid Plans(49)

The waitress comes back with our food and I jump as she interrupts. She sets our pancakes down and I force a smile.

“Careful. The plates are hot,” she says in a cheery voice as she walks away. “Enjoy!”

I pick up my fork and begin to tap it against the table, not touching my breakfast. Andrew takes a big bite of his pancakes. Apparently nothing is awkward enough to dampen his hunger. I take a deep breath and the words tumble out of me.

“I want to have sex with James Dean at prom but I don’t know what I’m doing. He’s clearly pretty experienced, like, he’s in college, right? So he doesn’t know I’m a virgin. But I don’t know if I really want him to know I’m a virgin because that might scare him away. I want him to like me, you know? And I’m just nervous, because I have absolutely no clue how to . . . um . . .” I trail off. “And you could probably help me. It was Hannah’s idea, so it’s totally fine if you’re not into it. Don’t feel pressured.”

He swallows his pancakes. “Um, okay. I can give you some tips, I guess.” He runs a hand over his forehead, scrunching his eyebrows with his thumb and pointer finger, then looks back at me, taking another bite of pancakes. “Why would I feel pressured?”

“Oh,” I say, realizing I haven’t actually gotten to the crux of it, haven’t actually said the part that’s the most important. “Oh. That’s not what I meant.” I clear my throat again and take a sip of coffee, but it’s tepid and bitter. I force myself to swallow and then push my mug aside. I lower my voice to a whisper, glancing behind me at the table of stoner sophomores. They’re not paying attention to us.

“Collins?” he asks. “Keely?”

I choke out a whisper. “I’m just sick of being a virgin. And I trust you. You would never spread rumors about me or anything like that. I just thought, maybe, we could”—I cough a little—“maybe we could have sex. Like, you could teach me. We could practice.”

He makes a choking sound and knocks over his mug of coffee with his elbow. It rushes across the table toward me, liquid spilling into my lap. I jump up, grabbing for a pile of napkins.

“Sorry.” He jumps up too, out of the booth, before realizing the coffee isn’t rushing in his direction. He sits back down, then stands up again, reaching for some napkins to help.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Forget I said it, okay?”

It’s so humiliating. I can’t believe I worked myself up, convinced myself to ask him. How could I have possibly thought it was a good idea? I turn to leave, gathering up my backpack.

“No, hey,” he says softly. “Sit back down.”

I feel tears stinging the corners of my eyes and I try to hold them back, already embarrassed enough as it is.

“Keely,” he says, and I sit back down in the booth, my eyes fixed on the pile of soiled napkins on the table. He’s silent for a moment, thinking, and then his voice comes out low and strained. “I haven’t . . . we haven’t . . .” He pauses. “You’re so important to me, and this isn’t how I—”

“You’re important to me too,” I say. “That’s the whole point.”

He pushes his pancakes away, putting his napkins down on top of his plate.

“I don’t like you like I like Dean, so there’s no pressure,” I continue.

“If you like Dean, why don’t you just sleep with him?”

“Everyone says the first time hurts when you’re a girl,” I say, my voice wavering. “I’d rather just get that over with. It’s different for guys. Your first time is . . . well, you don’t have to worry about pain, or bleeding, or getting called a slut. You saw what happened to Danielle. At least she can handle it. I’d die if someone started writing things about me.” I tap the fork against the table.

“And you think Dean would do that?”

“No.” I sigh. “I don’t know, not really. But being a virgin makes things complicated. I just want to be able to sleep with him without the added significance. I don’t want it to have to mean everything.” I set the fork down. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry I ruined everything.”

I dig through my backpack and find my wallet, setting a twenty-dollar bill down on the table. “Breakfast is on me today, okay? I’ll see you at school.”

“No, wait,” he says, holding out an arm to stop me. The expression on his face is unreadable. His eyes are crinkled at the corners under his glasses, and his mouth is pressed into a firm line. “Ah, fuck it,” he says, sighing and running a hand through his hair. “Okay. Okay, sure.”

My eyes widen and my breath catches in my throat. “Really?” I don’t know how to feel, whether to be relieved or excited or horrified. “Okay,” I say, sitting back down in the booth.

“Okay,” he says back, a goofy grin spreading across his face. “Um, when do you want to?”

“Oh,” I say. “Right.” I think for a moment. “Well, your house is probably better. We’ve slept in your bed more, so it might not be as weird.”

“I think my parents are going out with yours on Friday,” he says. “The symphony or something boring.”

“That could work,” I answer. “The symphony is like three hours, isn’t it? Will that be enough time?”