“You had sex with Colt, and you didn’t tell me?”
“I know, I’m sorry. I just thought … I thought you’d think I was lame, making a big deal out of sleeping with someone. I didn’t want you to think I was dramatic or anything. Of course, if I’d known you were a virgin—”
“Don’t make this about me,” she said. “Shit. You really slept with Colt?”
I nodded. “Is it … Is that weird for you? Since he’s your cousin and all?”
“I mean … I reckon it’s a little weird, but I really ain’t that surprised.”
“You sure acted surprised.”
“I’m surprised you slept with him,” she said. “But not surprised something happened between y’all. It’s obvious he likes you.”
It’s not like I didn’t know this. Colt told me so himself. But it still made me smile a little.
“Wow. You slept with Colt … Well, I guess that’s the something I didn’t know about you.”
“Guess so … I’m still hung up on yours. You’ve really never slept with anybody?”
Bo snorted. “Told you you wouldn’t believe me.”
“No, no. I do. I’m just …”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’ve done a lot of other stuff,” she said. “I’ve fooled around with a lot of boys. Kissed even more boys. And a girl.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I threw up my hands. “Forget the sex. What girl’d you kiss?”
She sounded embarrassed—and maybe for good reason—when she answered. “Dana Hickman.”
“What? When?”
“New Year’s. Seems that was a big night for both of us. Dana was the one who drove me home. I was upset and she was being nice and we made out in her car.”
“Wow,” I said. “But you two aren’t dating or anything, right?”
“No.” She sighed, and I could tell she was more than a little sad about that. “Her daddy’s a deacon at the church down on Peyton Street.”
She didn’t have to say anything more than that.
“Poor Dana,” I said.
“Yeah.” Then, in this rush of words, like she was making herself ask even though she didn’t want to, she said, “How do you feel about me liking girls?”
I was caught so off guard that I just sat there, gaping, for a second.
“You’ve been nice about it,” she said. “But we never really talk about it. And I know you go to church with your parents every Sunday and—”
“Bo,” I said, putting a hand on her arm. “Honestly? At first, I … I was uncomfortable. I didn’t say anything about it because I liked you, and I didn’t want to push you away. But … the more time I’ve sorta sat with it … Yeah. My preacher has always said it’s a sin to be with people of the same sex. But my parents always taught me that being a good person matters more than anything. And you’re a good person.”
“Not everybody thinks so.”
“Well, they’re wrong,” I said. “You are. And you kissing a girl might be a sin, but me sleeping with a boy I’m not married to? That’s definitely a sin. And the truth is, I don’t regret that at all. So, the way I see it, I’m nobody to judge.”
“So … you’re all right with it, then? Me being … bisexual, I guess? I ain’t never used that word before, but … you’re all right with it?”
“I think so. As long as you’re okay with me fornicating with your cousin.”
She laughed and leaned back against the windshield again. “Oh shit, Agnes. If people only knew. Slutty Bo Dickinson’s a virgin who kisses girls, and sweet, innocent Agnes is fucking an older guy. A no-good Dickinson, to boot. I think I’ve about ruined you, Agnes Atwood.”
“No,” I said, sliding over and leaning my head on her shoulder. “You’ve made me better.”
In a couple hours we’d have to drive the car back to Bo’s trailer and walk to my house, pretending like we’d taken the bus. We’d have to go back to all the rules and the worries and the eyes watching us both.
But for that moment, on the hood of that car down by a dirty brown river, just Bo and me and nobody else—
For just that moment, everything was perfect.
I walk along the shoulder of the road with my thumb out, both hoping and scared somebody’ll stop for me.
It ain’t until now that I think how dangerous this might be. I’m a girl. I’m alone. And I’m small. I can throw a good punch, and I’ve fought with girls twice my size. And maybe I kicked that jerk’s ass last night, but he was scrawny. And drunk. And Agnes had helped some. There’s no chance I’m a match for someone big and sober. Not alone.
But I can’t think what other choice I got now.
I go maybe half a mile down the highway before somebody stops. It’s a truck. A big eighteen-wheeler. And when it stops next to me, I try not to panic. The window rolls down, and I take a step back.
“Where you headed, honey?”
It’s a woman’s voice, though. Deep and raspy, but definitely a woman. And I feel awful relieved.
I tell her Daddy’s last known address. I got it memorized by now.