“Do you want—”
“Yes.” I answer before he finishes the question.
And then we’re both in a hurry, though I keep my top on. Shane scrambles for a condom, and I don’t care why he has them. I’m just glad he does. He’s so close. We’re both trembling. He kisses me as it happens, and I know this changes everything. I don’t care. For these moments, he’s part of me. I’m part of him. It’s quick and strange and deep, like diving from a high board. I come up for air, gasping, holding on to him as he shakes.
Afterward, he holds me. I stroke through his hair. “Tell the truth, did you plan this?”
“What do you think?”
“You had protection.”
“Would you believe I was a Boy Scout and my motto is Be Prepared?”
“Unlikely.” I use his word. Our word.
“Then, no, I didn’t plan it, but let’s say I hoped.” His smile is too beautiful for this world, and I am dying of love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I go to school the next day … and everything is different. People are whispering, staring at me. I check my clothes to make sure nothing’s unzipped or tucked in where it shouldn’t be. No, no wardrobe malfunctions. No TP clinging to the back of my shoe. It’s weird, and I don’t spot Shane at our locker. God, I hope he’s okay. Maybe something happened to him last night after I left, and that’s why everyone is talking. They just don’t know how to break the bad news to me.
Shit. I’m about to panic when I get swept into the pre-bell rush. Somehow I end up in my first class, but nobody will make eye contact. Whatever it is, this is bad. I can’t hear the teacher. I can barely keep from screaming. I look for him in the hall between classes, but I don’t see him. My stomach doesn’t settle until Shane sprints into geometry, a few periods later.
He smiles at me and whispers, “I overslept.”
Some of the sour feel eases from my stomach. At least whatever’s going on, Shane is all right. The strange behavior from the rest of the school continues until lunch, however. People aren’t greeting me like they did, no friendly smiles or fist bumps, no “sup, Shage” when I’m walking with Shane. In fact, one guy mutters to him, “Wow, you’re brave, dude.”
This can’t be what I’m afraid it is. It can’t. Then Dylan strolls by, smiling. He makes eye contact and his expression ripens into a grin. He aims a finger gun at me and pulls the trigger.
Worried, when I reach our table, I ask Lila, “What’s going on? Have you heard?”
She shakes her head. “They aren’t talking to me. People know I will cut a bitch if they start something with you.”
Today, our crew is sparse, just me, Ryan, Lila, and Shane. I spot the others scattered among other tables. Whatever it is, I guess they heard … and they’re gone. I try not to mind; I mean, they’re freshmen and sophomores. They can’t afford any social errors.
After lunch, I’m at my locker with Lila. It becomes crystal clear when a guy I don’t know steps up to me, ignoring his friends’ nervous laughter. “So … is it true?”
“What?” I fold my arms, pretending to be bored, when it feels like I might hurl. I have an inkling where this conversation is going, based on Dylan’s clue.
“That you killed your mom.”
My breath goes in a rush, and I literally see sparks, so Lila has to catch me. She helps me lean against the lockers, then she takes a step forward. “You will step off right now, unless you want to eat your nutsack.”
When the kid doesn’t move, she lunges at him and he flinches backward. It’s enough for her to clear a path with an arm around me. I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m puking up the lunch I packed. Then I sit down on the toilet, not crying, but shaking. I can’t stop.