None of the Above(6)

At the time, Vee and I had laughed about how stupid it was to describe a diamond disintegrating, because they’re, like, the hardest thing in the universe. But in the end it turned out Aunt Carla was right.

The morning after, things were different. Uncentered.

I called Vee first thing. Right away, I regretted it.

“What?” she answered, cranky as all get-out. It was eleven o’clock, but I must’ve woken her up.

“If you’re busy, I can call you later.”

“No.” I could practically hear her rubbing her eyes. “I’m not doing anything. What’s up?”

I told her that Sam and I had done it. I didn’t tell her that it hadn’t seemed quite . . . right. “It still hurts when I pee,” I said instead.

“It’ll get better. It’s about time the two of you did it. So how was the Homecoming King?” she asked in a voice that was half honey, half salt. “He any good?”

I hesitated. “Yeah. He was nice.”

“Nice, huh?” I could see her eyebrow arch in my mind. I hated it, the way she always knew what I was trying not to tell her.

“You said yourself the first time always sucks. Didn’t your mom take you to a doctor after you and Bruce did it?” I asked. Vee had enjoyed telling me about the exam. Making me squeal. “Do I need to be, like, tested?”

“You guys used protection, right?”

“I’m not stupid. Besides, I got the Depo shot, remember?”

“You shouldn’t be preggers, then.”

“I just said I’m not stupid.” She drove me crazy when she was like this. “I mean . . . you know, HPV. I don’t think the vaccine always works.”

“I know,” Vee said, her voice finally serious. I was quiet, thinking about my mom. Vee sighed, and gave me her gynecologist’s number.

“Want me to come with you?” she asked.

I could tell she was being sincere, and I wanted to say yes. Instead I said, “Nah, I’m a big girl.”

“’Kay, then.” Her tone lightened. “It’s not like I’m dying to spend my free time watching someone look at your vajayjay.”


“Ha-ha.” I went over to thumbtack the doctor’s number onto a sliver of free cork on my bulletin board. The board was covered with pictures of our junior class trip, and Vee smiled out at me from the center of every group.

“So how was your night?” I asked.

She paused a second too long before responding. “Oh, you know. We had to come up with some new positions.” Because of the cast, I thought. She tried a little too hard to sound casual, but before I could ask her what was wrong she launched into an OMG-have-you-heard about Mandy Woodson’s date, who’d been so wasted that he peed on someone’s lawn and had gotten arrested.

After we hung up I lay on my bed staring up at my broken ceiling fan, thinking about how Vinnie McNab had taken Sam’s Homecoming King scepter and gone around pretending to “rule” the Court. First thing he’d done was thwack Bruce’s butt with his scepter.

“Get your King a drink, lordy-boy,” he had shouted. “If you do, I promise to put this up your ass, just the way you like it.” A bunch of their football teammates had laughed. Bruce had been so pissed you could see the muscles in his jaw jumping up and down. When they were done with all the Court photos, he’d stormed off the stage without saying good-bye to anyone, and he and Vee had left soon after that.

Sam and I hadn’t made it to the after-party. I was too traumatized. When I thought about it, it was strange that Vee hadn’t mentioned my absence. Then again, maybe she had been glad not to have me there as a reminder of the election gone wrong.

The dance already felt like a distant memory. My dad had finished his breakfast by the time I stumbled downstairs. He handed me a cup of tea, which I downed gratefully.

“Good night?” my dad asked with a grin. He nudged my tiara. I’d left it on the kitchen table last night with my keys and cell phone, next to a stack of mail.

I looked down into my mostly empty mug; decades of spoon stirring had created a network of gray rings on the inside. My mom had always been a big tea drinker, practically a walking Celestial Seasons ad: Irish Breakfast every morning, Black Cherry Berry after dinner with dessert, and Lemon Zinger whenever anyone was sick. I breathed in the peppermint tea my dad had made me, and closed my eyes, steadying myself.

I mustered as much enthusiasm as I could, and lied.

“Yeah, it was great.”

The next Monday was maybe the first time ever that I dreaded a morning run. Sam and I had texted a little over the weekend, but mostly as part of a group convo about how Kimmie Perkins wore her bra and underwear into the hot tub at the after-Homecoming party, and went commando for the rest of the night. We hadn’t discussed what we’d done. What we’d barely done.

I still had twinges of pain when my running shorts rubbed the wrong way. As I jogged across my lawn to meet Sam, he stopped his stretching to stare at me like he was trying to read the fine print at the bottom of a sign.

“Hey,” he said, touching my shoulder. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. Except I knew right away that he wasn’t, because Sam never just touched my shoulder. He always draped his arm around me, establishing ownership. But that day he hovered just out of reach.