“What’d be the point?” I ask.
“Uh, do I have to spell it out for you?!” When I don’t respond, Leti adds, “Because I could spell it out if you need me to. It wouldn’t be that hard. Three little letters. S, E—”
Eyes wide, I yank on his shirtsleeve with one hand and shush him with the other. “Be quiet!” I look around to make sure no one else is eavesdropping on our hushed conversation, but all the students within earshot are busy either talking amongst themselves or texting on their phones during the final precious seconds before class starts.
Leti laughs. “I’m just saying!”
“I hear you!” I drop my voice even lower. “But there’s no way in hell that would happen even if I did talk to him.”
“Why not? He obviously thinks you’re hot or he wouldn’t have made out with you.”
“Because I’ve never—” I stop myself. I can’t believe I almost just confessed that I’m still a virgin.
“You’ve never . . .” When realization dawns in Leti’s eyes, I can tell it’s too late. “You’ve never—” He gives me a look, and I nod.
He shakes his head in astonishment, that amused smile still plastered on his lips. “This just keeps getting better and better.”
Things just kept getting worse.
Later that week, Dr. Pullman gave a pop quiz to make sure everyone had been reviewing the basics like he had instructed us to do as homework, and I got a C. A freaking C! And of course, instead of blaming myself for being so easily distracted, I blamed a certain boy with disheveled brown hair, piercing gray eyes, and a very talented tongue.
The night before the quiz, I had dreamt about him. I’d woken up practically groping Dee. Talk about awkward . . . She hadn’t woken up, but I felt embarrassed as hell. I’d never had a dream that explicitly vivid in my entire life. I woke up out of breath, all my muscles aching. For a few minutes, I lied there hating myself for turning Adam down. I wondered if the real thing would have been as amazing as that dream . . .
So when Dr. Pullman handed out the quiz the next day, my attempts to concentrate on the questions instead of the sex-god-of-my-dreams sitting up front was pretty much impossible. I’d been reviewing the basics all week, but my brain was filled with too much Adam to remember them.
I blamed that dream on pent-up sexual frustration caused by the good side of my two-faced pastor’s son ex-boyfriend.
He texted me the day after we commandeered my car, left me messages begging me to just talk to him.
I caved and texted him back. I told him I would talk to him when I was ready.
Really, it was more courtesy than he deserved, but I felt a nagging need to end some of the pain he was feeling. Even after what he’d done to me, a part of me still loved him and hated seeing him so torn up. His constant texts and voicemails were numbing my anger to nonexistence, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. If I let go of the anger, what did I have—besides a huge gaping hole?
By the second week of classes, Adam had started arriving at French class late. By the fourth week, I never knew if he was actually going to show or not. He usually arrived with a girl or two or three, and most of the time, they were girls I’d never seen before. He brought new faces with him to almost every class he showed up to, and I started realizing that the pretty girls who tagged along with him weren’t even in our class at all—they just showed up with him, waited on him, and left with him. It was highly irritating.
A social life of my own probably would’ve helped, but every week, Dee got invited to parties and extended second-hand invitations to me, and every week, I found creative ways to turn her down.
Really, I don’t know why she ever wanted to be seen in public with me. After the novelty of having Adam in my class wore off and it became clear he was never going to notice me, I switched to full-on college-bum mode. I walked to campus in two-day-old yoga pants and baggy T-shirts, with flip-flops on my socked feet and my unkempt hair twisted up into a messy bun. Half the time, I didn’t even bother putting my contacts in and would show up wearing my rectangular black glasses instead. Dee would furrow her brow at me when I walked into history class, but I’d just grin at her. Once, I blew her a kiss, and she fiercely batted it away, which earned us strange looks from everyone who noticed.