Nantucket Blue

Thirty-seven





IT HAPPENED IN MY LITTLE ROOM with the slanted ceiling right before the sun came up and all the champagne was gone. It wasn’t what I thought it would be at all. It wasn’t as easy as they make it look in the movies. It took kind of a while to get everything all lined up and protected and ready to go. The actual sex part was pretty short, and I was relieved it was short. I know I’m supposed to want it to last, but I didn’t. I’ve heard that’s kind of normal for a first time. I kept my eyes open, when I always thought I’d be the type to keep them shut. Oh, and the kissing was still my favorite part, which isn’t what I thought, that the first thing you do with a boy could be the best. And I did feel different afterward; I felt all shaky and energized. Maybe that’s because it’s good exercise. I think that’s what they say, anyway. And my face was really hot, and that made me feel pretty. I didn’t think I would feel pretty. Or if I did, I thought it would be in a flowing-white-nightgown kind of way, not a cheeks-full-of-embers way.

I wanted to call someone. And not because I wanted to spill every little detail, but because I wanted it to be known that something had happened to me. I wanted to stay awake, even as Zack seemed to be drifting off. I touched his muscular back. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I picked his button-down shirt off the floor and put it on to sleep in. It smelled like him. I promised myself I would always remember the moment of putting on his shirt.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t be embarrassed to go out with me?” he asked, his arm around me as we spooned.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure.” This time, I meant it.

He kissed my hair and I heard his breath deepen as he fell asleep.

I thought I was awake all night, because I remember the sky whitening and the birdsong and smiling at the ceiling. But I must’ve drifted off, because when I heard the knock at the door, I was dreaming I was back in Providence, sitting in front of a roaring fire on the big sofa in the living room. In my dream it was winter. Outside, a snowstorm howled. The sky was purple-gray, snow was flying sideways, and the wind was knocking against the windows, but I was under the cream-colored blanket. I was warm, warm, warm.

But the knocking was too persistent for a dream. It was real.

“Cricket?” a voice said. I knew that voice. I missed that voice. I loved that voice. The sound of it lured me out of the warm bath of sleep. My eyes fluttered open. There was Jules with Lulu the pig in one hand and a waffle topped with whipped cream in the other. For a second, I smiled. She’d brought Lulu to Nantucket! She’d found my room! She’d remembered my birthday! She’d made a waffle and carried it all the way from Darling Street! And oh, there was something I needed to tell her. As I held my breath trying to remember what it was that was so important, so wonderfully important, I watched her face register disgust.

“Zack?” she asked.