Shut Out(25)

“I wish I had a story to tell,” Mary murmured to me as we filled up another bowl of popcorn in Susan’s kitchen. Since she and I had eaten the last pieces, the other girls decided it was only fair that we make the next bag. I was more relaxed away from the crowd, and the air in the kitchen felt much cooler than it had in Susan’s packed bedroom.

“Don’t worry about it,” I told her, shaking the hot bag of popped kernels into the orange bowl we’d been using. “Having stories isn’t what really matters.”

“I know. And I haven’t kissed Finn since we started the strike, like you told me. But it’s just…” Mary trailed off, twisting the fingers of her left hand in her chocolate-colored hair. In her right she gripped the can of Diet Coke Susan’s mom had forced on her, knowing Mary would never ask for it.

“Just what?” I asked, picking up my own Diet Coke and taking a sip.

“Am I weird?” she whispered as she glanced over her shoulder toward the living room, where Mrs. Port was watching a Lifetime movie. “I mean… is it weird that Finn and I have never…?”

“No,” I said, then hesitated. “I mean, I’m sure you’re not the only one. I don’t think you’re weird.”

Mary shrugged, still twisting her hair. “I just hear all these stories, and sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who’s never done it. I feel like I’m behind or something. Like it makes me a prude.”

“You’re not weird, or a prude, or a tease, or any of that,” I assured her. “Actually, I think it’s great that you’re waiting. It’s sort of refreshing. And sex is a big deal, so you shouldn’t rush it just because everyone else is doing it. I think it’s a major decision. Honestly, I—”

“Lissa! Mary!”

I jumped, almost spilling my Diet Coke as Chloe’s voice rang down the stairs. I’d been so caught up in my conversation with Mary that I’d completely forgotten about the girls in Susan’s room.

“What the hell is taking you two so long? I want some popcorn, damn it!”

“I guess she finished all the brownies,” I said with a small laugh.

“Can you girls keep it down a little?” Mrs. Port called, without anger, over the back of the living room couch.

“Come on,” I said to Mary. “Let’s get up there before poor Chloe starves to death.”

Mary giggled and I smiled at her. It had taken a few hours, but after hearing everyone’s stories and eating way too much junk food, I had loosened up a little.

“Finally.” Chloe grabbed the popcorn bowl from me as soon as we reached the top step, and she ran into Susan’s bedroom. Mary and I glanced at each other. I took a deep breath and smiled at her one last time, and then we walked back into the crowded room.





chapter eleven


Apparently the girls weren’t the only ones swapping gossip about their love lives. The boys had been talking, too. I guess when a bunch of high school jocks don’t get laid, word starts to spread that something is seriously wrong, because by Monday, the guys were worried.

“What’s up with all the girls?” Randy asked me during the drive to my house that afternoon. For once, he didn’t have football practice, and he’d decided to take my father up on his ever-present dinner invitation and make up for the date we’d missed on Friday.

“What do you mean?”

I knew exactly what he meant, though.

“Like… I don’t know. I’ve heard stuff.”

“Such as?”

“Like, you’re all distant,” he said. “Finn’s girlfriend won’t even kiss him, and ever since last weekend, you’ve been acting weird. Shane says even Chloe’s not putting out, and she’s a slut, so we know something’s wrong.”

“Don’t call my best friend a slut,” I told him. “Just because people think so doesn’t make it true.”

“But it is true.”

“It’s relative,” I said. “I’d bet money Shane has slept with more people than Chloe. Correct?”

“Probably. Shane’s the man.”

“You don’t call him a slut, so please don’t call Chloe one.”

“Okay, okay.” Randy shrugged and turned the Buick onto my street. “Sorry. Whatever… But you never answered my question.”

“What question?”

“What’s up with all the girls?”

Crap, I thought. Changing the subject usually worked with Randy. He got so distracted that he didn’t even notice I’d nudged him away from the original topic. That was part of the beauty of dating him; I never had to worry about him cornering me into a conversation I didn’t want to have.

Except now.

Naturally, when sex was involved, Randy managed to stay focused.

“We’ll talk about it later,” I said as his car slid into my driveway. Before he could argue, I climbed out of the passenger’s seat and started walking toward the front door.

I could have slapped myself. There was a huge hole in my strike plan; we’d never discussed when or how to tell the boys. Eventually we’d have to, obviously, because the whole point was to get them to hear us out, to listen to our demand that they end the rivalry. But now, with Randy asking questions, I was nervous about answering him.