Somewhere in the shadows, someone whispers, “Poor Amber,” but it is loud enough to make Amber flinch, to remind her why she should never have come here, why she doesn’t belong with these people.
“You know what’s weird?” Connie says. “No one at school talks about Sam being a slut, but she totally sleeps around, right? Why is Amber a slut but Sam is not?”
“I’ve heard people call Sam a slut,” says one of Sam’s drama club friends.
“Thanks,” says Sam.
“But still not as much as Amber, right?” says Connie. “Like, not with as much hatred. Like if you had to choose who was considered a bigger slut by the majority of students at Prescott High School, Amber would win, even though they both have sex with lots of guys.”
“Can we stop using that word? Like right now?” Sam says. “Can we all agree to just stop using that horrible word? I mean, it’s bad enough what guys do, what they say about us. Do we really have to do this shit to each other?”
No one realizes that Amber is gone. They see her still sitting with them, but they do not know about her talent of leaving her body when it gets too painful to stay inside it. She doesn’t want to think about what makes her different from Sam. She doesn’t want to think about the hole inside her that nothing will fill.
“There’s judgment on the other side, too,” Grace says. She clears her throat and looks around the room. She takes a deep breath. “For virgins. For girls who choose to stay virgins. The way we talk about sex sometimes, it’s like we assume everyone’s having it. But we’re not. I’m not.”
“Me neither,” Krista and Trista say in tandem.
“Me neither,” Elise grumbles. “But not willingly.”
“I’m not either,” says someone else. “All the high school boys I know are losers. I’m waiting until I get to college to find someone worthy.”
“I’m still a virgin,” says another girl. “But I am sooo ready not to be. It’s my boyfriend who says he’s not ready.”
“I can’t believe we’re actually talking about this,” says another.
“I’m curious,” Grace says, her voice a little louder. “Who here is still a virgin?” Slowly, hands pop up, one by one, until about half the girls have their hand in the air. “See,” Grace says. “We’re not some weird minority.”
Erin did not raise her hand. She is looking down, into her lap, wringing her hands. Rosina tries to make eye contact, but Erin is trapped inside herself, trying to stay safe.
She didn’t raise her hand.
Rosina feels the floor crumble and fall away, and her heart goes with it. Erin has a secret Rosina never even considered.
“Erin,” Rosina whispers. “What’s going on?” But Erin does not respond.
“Our church tells us to save ourselves until marriage,” Trista says. “But you know what’s weird? It’s really just the girls who are considered damaged if they have sex, not the guys.”
“We’re supposed to be so scared of sex,” Krista says. She looks around the room, takes a deep breath. “And I am. I’m terrified.”
Erin’s eyes are down and she is rocking slightly, her back softly padding the wall behind her. Rosina knows she would have left by now if she wanted to leave. There must be a reason Erin is staying, something safe here despite all these scary words, something contagious in the bravery it takes to say them.
“That’s how my old church was for sure,” Grace says. “Girls wore purity rings and everything. But I’m not like that. My mom’s definitely not like that. She’s not telling me I’m going to hell if I have sex before marriage. It’s just my choice, you know?”
“Amen,” someone says.
“All the purity-ring girls are just letting other people make decision for their bodies,” Trista says. “They’re letting the church make decisions for their bodies. Their dads buy them the ring and give it to them like he’s, like, her boyfriend. Or like Jesus is her boyfriend. It is so gross.”
“There’s some truth in that, for sure,” Grace says. “But maybe try to look at it from their side for a minute. Most of them really think they’re doing the right thing, and for some of the same reasons we’re doing what we’re doing. They believe choosing virginity is a way to respect themselves and their bodies. It makes them feel strong, just like we’re trying to feel strong, because they’re not giving in to peer pressure, not doing something just because everyone else is. And I don’t know, I don’t think there’s one correct faith for everyone in the world, and I don’t judge anyone in here for their choices.” Grace looks around the room, sitting tall, meeting people’s eyes. Her voice is strong as she says, “But, personally, yeah, I kind of agree with them. My old church was backward in a lot of ways, but some of the things stuck with me. Like how sex should be sacred, between two people who are committed and love each other. How our bodies are temples. When I have sex, I want it to be with the person I want to spend my life with. I don’t want to share that with anyone else.”
Barely anyone notices Amber Sullivan get up and slip out of the room. Some girls are so good at being invisible.
“But why not?” Sam says. “No offense, but who decided sex was this precious, holy thing that has to be so deep and special all the time? Why can’t it just be fun? I mean, if you take away all the religion and repressive sexist bullshit, sex is this super fun thing that bodies are, like, made to do. What would happen if we just ignored all the people who make it seem like something evil and did what feels good and didn’t feel bad about it?”
“Yeah!” someone says.
“People would have sex all the time,” Krista says with wide eyes. “With everyone. And then everyone would get pregnant and have gonorrhea!”
“Jesus Christ,” Rosina says, hanging her head in her hands.
“Honey, that’s why you get yourself on the pill or an IUD pronto,” Sam says. “And use a condom every single time. No matter what.”
Krista looks horrified at this prospect.
“I totally respect your point,” Grace says carefully. “But for me personally, I think there’s more involved in the decision than just my body. Like my head, and my heart and soul.”
Sam lets out a big sigh. “I like thinking our bodies are less like temples and more like amusement parks,” she says. “Less sacred, more fun.”
“I don’t think it has to be either/or,” Melissa says.
“It can be both,” someone says.
“So you’re going to wait until marriage?” someone asks Grace.
“I don’t know,” Grace says. “Maybe not. Maybe I’ll fall in love and it’ll feel like forever and I’ll want to do it then. And maybe that’s not the guy I’ll end up marrying. All I know is I’m not in a hurry. Life is complicated enough already.”
“I wish I’d waited,” says an unfamiliar voice—Allison Norman. “But I thought that’s what I had to do if I wanted to be popular. I was so afraid of saying no.” Her eyes fill with tears. “Fourteen is so young.” Connie puts her arm around her friend.
“So what’s the right age?” someone says.