been waiting to ask this very question, how long those words have been strung together in her brain, waiting to come out.
I’m not ready to answer, but I have to. I look down at my binder and hope nobody noticed the panic that has shot through my stomach and up my throat like a ball of fire. I focus on the equation written there to steady myself. 1 CH 4 + 0 2 –> CO 2 + 2H 2 0. Logic and numbers and balance, exactly how life isn’t naturally, exactly how life isn’t unless you make it so. But there’s no way I’m telling Angela the reality. So I reinvent the truth.
“It was last summer. A guy from that art class I took.”
“You took an art class last summer?” Angela looks as surprised as if I said I killed someone last summer. I mentally want to kick myself for saying something so stupid. Not only do I have zero artistic ability, but I spent most of the summer hanging out with Angela and obviously never mentioned any art classes.
“My mom made me go twice a week,” I say quickly. “She was in her ‘try new things’ phase.”
Angela nods and I feel a pang of guilt. I’m not just a liar—I’m a good liar. And that makes it even worse.
“Anyway, there was this guy there. Luke. We went out a few times and one thing led to another, and we, you know, did it.” I almost choke on his name. I haven’t said it out loud for so long that it feels like a wad of poison I have to spit out.
“Why have you never mentioned him before?”
“I don’t know; it just never came up. And he moved back to Nevada.”
“So let me get this straight.” Faye props herself up on her elbows. “A guy crossed a state line for some art class ?”
I cast a sidelong glance at her, hoping she doesn’t punch any more holes into my story.
“He was spending the summer in California with his dad,” I say.
She nods, causing her hair to pool around her shoulders. “I can see his point. Nevada in the summer can get pretty dull. Even Vegas gets old. What part is he from?”
“You’re from Nevada,” I say slowly. Of all the states, why did I have to pick the one Faye is from? Probably because it’s true. The real Luke is from Nevada, although I have no idea where he is now.
“I’m from Sparks. Born and bred,” she says with an eye roll. “Your guy? Maybe I know him.”
“No, Carson City,” I say, feeling a sliver of relief. Maybe I can pull this off after all. “He was from a rich family. Told me they wanted to get rid of him for the summer.”
“Do you still talk to him?” Angela says. Her eyes are wide with curiosity.
“No,” I say, a bit too quickly. “Well, not regularly. We e-mail from time to time. I don’t know if anything will come of it, though.”
“A summer romance,” Faye says, eyes raised to the ceiling. “I had one of those once.” She gives me a deadpan look. “I was thirteen. He bought me ice cream and we made out behind my parents’ shed.”
“Well, I can’t believe you didn’t mention him before,” Angela says, and I can tell she’s hurt. “You’d be the first person I would tell. Probably the only person.” She glances at Faye and her face reddens slightly.
“I wanted to tell you,” I say, my voice small. “I was just waiting for a good time.” I want to smile to prove it, but the corners of my mouth don’t want to turn up, leaving my mouth a quivering line. I didn’t know Angela when I really lost my virginity, and I could never tell her the truth. But if I close my eyes and imagine things were different, I can almost visualize having a normal first time and telling my best friend about it. Almost.
“What was it like?” Angela averts her eyes. “You know, the sex part. Did it hurt?”
I look down at the lined paper again, the equation written there. I can train my mind to be a formula, too.
“A bit, I guess. I don’t know. It was nice. He made it special.” My throat hurts with the effort of choking out the words.
“I remember my first time,” Faye says.
I’m not ready to answer, but I have to. I look down at my binder and hope nobody noticed the panic that has shot through my stomach and up my throat like a ball of fire. I focus on the equation written there to steady myself. 1 CH 4 + 0 2 –> CO 2 + 2H 2 0. Logic and numbers and balance, exactly how life isn’t naturally, exactly how life isn’t unless you make it so. But there’s no way I’m telling Angela the reality. So I reinvent the truth.
“It was last summer. A guy from that art class I took.”
“You took an art class last summer?” Angela looks as surprised as if I said I killed someone last summer. I mentally want to kick myself for saying something so stupid. Not only do I have zero artistic ability, but I spent most of the summer hanging out with Angela and obviously never mentioned any art classes.
“My mom made me go twice a week,” I say quickly. “She was in her ‘try new things’ phase.”
Angela nods and I feel a pang of guilt. I’m not just a liar—I’m a good liar. And that makes it even worse.
“Anyway, there was this guy there. Luke. We went out a few times and one thing led to another, and we, you know, did it.” I almost choke on his name. I haven’t said it out loud for so long that it feels like a wad of poison I have to spit out.
“Why have you never mentioned him before?”
“I don’t know; it just never came up. And he moved back to Nevada.”
“So let me get this straight.” Faye props herself up on her elbows. “A guy crossed a state line for some art class ?”
I cast a sidelong glance at her, hoping she doesn’t punch any more holes into my story.
“He was spending the summer in California with his dad,” I say.
She nods, causing her hair to pool around her shoulders. “I can see his point. Nevada in the summer can get pretty dull. Even Vegas gets old. What part is he from?”
“You’re from Nevada,” I say slowly. Of all the states, why did I have to pick the one Faye is from? Probably because it’s true. The real Luke is from Nevada, although I have no idea where he is now.
“I’m from Sparks. Born and bred,” she says with an eye roll. “Your guy? Maybe I know him.”
“No, Carson City,” I say, feeling a sliver of relief. Maybe I can pull this off after all. “He was from a rich family. Told me they wanted to get rid of him for the summer.”
“Do you still talk to him?” Angela says. Her eyes are wide with curiosity.
“No,” I say, a bit too quickly. “Well, not regularly. We e-mail from time to time. I don’t know if anything will come of it, though.”
“A summer romance,” Faye says, eyes raised to the ceiling. “I had one of those once.” She gives me a deadpan look. “I was thirteen. He bought me ice cream and we made out behind my parents’ shed.”
“Well, I can’t believe you didn’t mention him before,” Angela says, and I can tell she’s hurt. “You’d be the first person I would tell. Probably the only person.” She glances at Faye and her face reddens slightly.
“I wanted to tell you,” I say, my voice small. “I was just waiting for a good time.” I want to smile to prove it, but the corners of my mouth don’t want to turn up, leaving my mouth a quivering line. I didn’t know Angela when I really lost my virginity, and I could never tell her the truth. But if I close my eyes and imagine things were different, I can almost visualize having a normal first time and telling my best friend about it. Almost.
“What was it like?” Angela averts her eyes. “You know, the sex part. Did it hurt?”
I look down at the lined paper again, the equation written there. I can train my mind to be a formula, too.
“A bit, I guess. I don’t know. It was nice. He made it special.” My throat hurts with the effort of choking out the words.
“I remember my first time,” Faye says.
Similar Books
