I look around at a few tittering faces. Whether they’re laughing at Wesley’s question or my failure, I can’t tell. I focus on wiping up the table to block them out.
“Don’t sweat it,” someone says behind me. I’ve missed that voice, missed it calling me pretty, or asking if I wanted to grab pizza after school, or come over to watch him and his friends play FIFA. “Waitley burned the sleeve of her coat during that first experiment back in September, so who is she to judge?”
I look up. Lucas looks older than he did last year. Substantially so. I unfollowed him on all social media and usually only allow myself quick glances at him during class, so until now I hadn’t noticed his longer hair or sharper jaw. His curls look like golden leaves in the fall and his eyes look like wet mud after a fresh watering routine cycle. He smells earthy, like he just finished playing a soccer game, minus all the sweat. My brain is turning to mush. And he’s still waiting for me to say something back.
“Yeah,” I exhale in reply, hating myself instantly.
“I’m sure Cho will forgive you.” He cocks his head toward Wesley, who is now fumbling with the paper towel dispenser. Lucas leans on my desk while his annoyed partner glares from behind his shoulder. “We should catch up sometime.”
“Yeah,” I coo. He flashes me a lopsided smile, forcing me to look at his lips.
Wesley returns with a surplus of paper towels, mopping up the liquid while avoiding eye contact. I get the distinct feeling he doesn’t want to talk about his question, at least not right now.
I don’t know what I’d even say, to be honest. Like, Linds probably wants to have sex after prom … but who am I to really know? Why is he asking me and not, I don’t know, Lindsay herself? Virginal as I am, my golden sexual-advice rule is that if you can’t talk about it, you probably shouldn’t be doing it. Seriously, be a little mature.
Granted I just fell apart like a flaky pastelito when Lucas so much as uttered two sentences to me. So, kettle, meet pot, I guess.
The bell rings as Wesley tosses out the sopping paper towels, and he grabs his stuff and bails before I can get a word out. I consider chasing after him to let him know being a virgin isn’t anything to be ashamed of and to talk to Lindsay about this, but figure I can pull him aside at lunch to clear the air.
I head to trig, and it’s only once I’ve sat down and pulled out my bullshitted homework that I realize with a terrifying jolt that Lucas and I really talked. For the first time. In nearly a year. And he wants to catch up, right before prom.
I can’t stop myself from thinking that maybe my dream prom is still within reach.
* * *
I never get the chance to talk to Wesley about his Lindsay-prom-sex question though, because when we arrive at the bench for lunch, he’s nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Wesley?” I ask as Linds, Ags, and I sit in our usual configuration. Sammie shrugs before reaching across the table for one of the vegetarian empanadas Dad made me for lunch today. I slap his hand away.
“Can you text him, Linds?” Agatha asks as Lindsay offers Sammie a consolation bite of her vegetarian pot pie. “I need to tell him we’re having a prom-campaign photo shoot at his house after school on Friday.” Lindsay turns suddenly, pie crumbling off her fork and onto Sammie’s lap. I laugh as he brushes the wasted morsels off himself.
“When did Wesley offer up his house?” Sammie asks sourly, returning to his own snack of thick grapes. He looks to me with furrowed brows. “And why are you asking about him?”
“More importantly,” Linds interrupts before I attempt to stumble my way through a believable excuse, “when did I sign up for a photo shoot? I said I’d run; I didn’t say I’d turn into a pageant girl.”
“When will you people learn to trust me?” Agatha sighs. “I know what I’m doing.” The confidence in her voice sends me back to every surprise party and beach trip she’s whipped up last minute over the years. But my moment of silent praise slips away when I see the taglines she’s writing down in her notebook. She catches me staring and quickly covers the list with her hands.
“They’re not bad,” I lie—badly—and Agatha groans.
“I was hoping Wesley could also help me with ideas for slogans, but of course he’s AWOL the one day I actually need him.”
“How exactly is Wesley going to help with slogans?” Sammie asks with a scoff.
“Wesley can be funny,” she says, sounding unconvinced.
“Are we talking about the same Wesley? Tall Korean American guy with big muscles and no sense of humor whatsoever?”
“He’s creative, okay!” Agatha says. “I’m sure he could come up with something funny.”
“Did you just say Wesley has big muscles?” I ask Sammie.
“He draws little cartoons—he’s not a stand-up comedian,” Sammie says, ignoring me. He tosses several grapes into his mouth, then snatches the list of slogans from Agatha while she’s busy reapplying her purple lip gloss. “Although I think even he could do better than this.” He grows progressively less stoic as his eyes scan the page.
“They’re not that bad!” Agatha whines.
Linds smacks Sammie in the stomach and takes the list from him as he tries to calm himself down. But even she can’t bite back her laughter after reading the first few.
“Okay, screw both of you.” Agatha leans forward to grab back the list, but Lindsay dodges her with ease.
“Come on, Ags! ‘Linds is in’? Even the twins could’ve come up with something cleverer,” Lindsay laughs.
“Is cleverer even a word?” Sammie adds.
“Yes,” I reply. “And ‘Lindsay Hawk is worth the talk’ was my personal favorite.”
“You too, O?” Ags says.
“What? I’m being genuine! It’s cheeky!” I’m ready to admit that “Say Hey for Lind-Say!” is actually pretty catchy when I notice a familiar figure out of the corner of my eye. Talia is standing a few feet away, shifting her weight back and forth between her booted feet. She sees me looking and waves weakly with the hand that isn’t holding her big stack of books topped by her lunch tray.
“Sammie, you still think Snooze-cus is funny, so let’s be real, who the hell are you to—” Agatha starts, but I don’t hear the rest. I get up and head toward Talia, who stops fidgeting as I approach. Saturday suddenly feels like it was years ago, like it happened to another girl in another life.
Today she’s wearing a loose gray Ghostbusters shirt, ripped jeans, and her typical work boots. I feel my mouth go dry.
“Hey,” she says softly as I finally regain moisture in my mouth. Gross.
“Hey. Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” She struggles to balance her books and lunch. “I couldn’t find Zaq and thought maybe he’d be here with Wesley and you guys.” She nods to my friends, who are now engaged in a grape war.
“I don’t know where either of them are. Sorry,” I say. “But you can sit with us if you want.”
“Are you sure?” She looks warily over my shoulder as Lindsay and Agatha team up on Sammie, filling his curls with grapes.