I smiled. Micah was my favorite member of Stop Motion, a boy band we loved. Sometimes I wondered if I was only attracted to guys I could never have. “At least he’s taller than me.”
The vibe between us felt more companionable as we turned onto the shortcut path through the woods. As we passed the tree house, I suddenly remembered the reason for Aubrey’s locker note.
“You said you needed to talk to me about something?” I prompted her.
She studied my face as if checking to make sure we were okay again before she proceeded. I gave her a reassuring smile, urging her on.
“So,” she said, clearing her throat. “Justin and I have been together for a few months now and um, well . . .” She burst into nervous laughter, her cheeks almost as red as her coat. “God, this is embarrassing. My mom’s not the type to discuss this type of thing with me, so . . .”
Ah. Now I got it. She wanted my advice about sex. With Justin. There were so many things wrong with that, I didn’t even know where to start. For one, the sum of my sexual experience consisted of a single, five-second kiss with a boy named A.J. the summer before ninth grade, and I’d only kissed him on a dare. Neither of us had enjoyed it. And two, the image of Justin doing that with anyone—let alone my best friend—made my chest throb like a toothache.
Everything in me wanted to sidestep this conversation, but I couldn’t. Aubrey needed to confide in someone, and I was it.
“Is he pressuring you?” I asked. If he was, my opinion of him would plummet lower than the current temperature.
“No. I mean, not exactly. He . . . well, I know he wants to.”
We emerged from the path and hooked onto the sidewalk along Fulham Road. I peered at Aubrey. “Do you want to?”
Her lips twitched into a tiny smile. “It’s not just guys who want sex, Dara. Girls want it too.”
I knew this, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t shocked to hear it come out of her prim and proper mouth. “Are you asking me if I think you should cash in your v-card?”
“No.” The tiny smile blossomed into a full grin. “I’m asking if you’ll come with me to the clinic tomorrow morning so I can get a prescription for birth control.”
I stared at her, wide-eyed, wondering when we’d progressed from sleepovers and cookie-baking to this. Maybe it would always be like this, Aubrey blazing the trail ahead of me and claiming all the “firsts” before they even had time to register on my radar.
But this wasn’t about me and my apprehension about being left behind. It was about me being there as a friend for Aubrey. “Sure,” I said with a shrug. “As long as I don’t have to watch you practice putting a condom on a banana.”
Aubrey threw her head back and laughed just as her feet met an icy patch on the sidewalk. She let out a squeal as she slipped, her arms windmilling in an effort to regain balance. I reached out to catch her, not letting go until the threat passed and she felt steady on her feet again.
thirteen
Senior Year
I’M GATHERING MY THINGS TOGETHER AFTER chemistry class when someone slides into the empty chair beside me. “Do you think he waxes it?”
Startled, I spin around and see Noelle Jacobs. She’s staring toward the front of the classroom, a thoughtful expression on her slightly freckled face.
“What?” I say, so taken aback by her presence that I drop two pencils and an eraser on the table. People don’t usually seek me out in class, either because they don’t know how to relate to the girl who killed her best friend or because they think I did it on purpose.
“Haggerty.” She nods to our chem teacher, who’s erasing the whiteboard. “There’s not a single hair on that man’s head. Not even any stubble. I bet he gets it waxed on a regular basis.”
I examine Mr. Haggerty’s smooth, hairless head and picture him at a salon with several wax strips pasted to his scalp. The image makes me want to giggle. “His nickname isn’t Mr. Clean for nothing.”
Noelle grins and gives an exaggerated toss of her own long, lustrous hair, which is the same red-orange shade as the changing leaves on the big tree outside the window beside us.
“Heading to the cafeteria?” she asks.
“Um, I was planning on it, yeah.”
“Well, I think you should rethink your plans.” She rescues my eraser from the edge of the table and hands it to me with another smile. “It’s Friday, and on Fridays we go to Subway for footlongs.”
“We?”
“Me, Hunter, and Ethan. And now you,” she adds, standing up. “Let’s go.”
I stay where I am and gape at her, speechless. We don’t even know each other. Still, I find myself kind of liking her, even though she’s pushy and a little strange. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t seem afraid to talk to me. Or maybe it’s because there’s something about her friendly face that eases my loneliness a little. In any case, I stand up to follow her after only a moment’s hesitation.
“Did Ethan ask you to invite me?” I ask as we leave the classroom together. I can’t imagine why he’d want me near his friends after the other day.
“No, but I asked him if I could. He gave me his blessing.” Noelle glances at me, worried. “I’m not overstepping here, am I? You guys are, like, okay with each other, right?”
I’m not sure how to answer. Ethan and I haven’t spoken since I showed up unexpectedly in Hunter’s backyard. I’ve noticed him in the halls, though. Despite the horrifying history between us, I still feel drawn to him. He’s a part of Aubrey—a living, breathing connection to her. Aside from me, he’s the only person who truly knew her. The only person who truly knows me.
“We’re fine,” I say, partly because I don’t want Noelle to feel awkward but mostly because I want it to be true. If Ethan thinks there’s still a friendship left to salvage, then I owe it to him to at least try.
We find the guys outside, leaning against the same black car I saw them sitting on the day Ethan told me he was glad I was back. “Dependable family sedan” doesn’t exactly fit the image of Hunter Finley, Rock God, so I figure it must be his mom’s.
“Hey,” Ethan says when we reach them.
Noelle wraps her arms around Hunter’s neck and gives him a loud kiss. After she extracts herself, she looks over at Ethan. “I told you she’d come.” Her gaze shifts to me and she adds, “He said you’d probably say no.”
Ethan ducks his head, suddenly fascinated by a small scratch in the car’s paint job.
“She had me at footlongs,” I say, and everyone laughs. It feels so good, so normal, my first instinct is to do what I always do whenever something feels good or right—resist it. Withdraw. But I don’t. Instead, I let the feeling snuggle up inside me, just for one quick moment. It’s been so long since I made a joke, or laughed, I almost forgot about the warm, floaty sensation it produces.