Notes from a Former Virgin

by Emma Chastain

  Noelle flipped the phone back to her face and said, “What the hell did you do to Reese?”

  “She didn’t tell you?”

  “She’s furious. She said you’re psychotic and Grady’s delusional, but she wouldn’t elaborate.”

  I’d known this was coming, but still, it was a kick in the shins to hear it out loud.

  “Grady texted her,” I said, “and told her to back off.”

  Noelle widened her eyes. “Go on.”

  “He told her he doesn’t think they should talk anymore, he’s over her, and he’s not going to break up with me.”

  She laughed in an amazed way. “Wow. He has balls, I’ll give him that.”

  “He had to say something. You saw her hitting on him!”

  “She wouldn’t shut up about him the whole time we were skiing. It was so annoying.”

  “So how can she say he’s delusional?”

  “You know what she’s like.”

  I do. She’s like a dictator who cares nothing for the truth. She makes the truth. In fact, the more obvious her lies, the better. Every time she forces the rest of the class to accept her obviously fake version of reality, the more they have invested in her reign of terror. Once you’ve decided an individual is more important than the truth, you have to support the individual even if it’s snowing and she tells you it’s a hot summer day and makes you walk outside wearing a bikini.

  I felt sick. “What’s she gonna do?”

  Noelle rubbed her eyes. They were all smudged with yesterday’s mascara and eyeliner. It looked great. “I’m not sure.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Like I said, she’s not talking to me about it yet. She’s still at the quiet planning stage.”

  “So what could happen?”

  “You know already. She could get the squad to turn on you. That would take two seconds. She could try to get a big chunk of the class to hate you, ignore you, make fun of you in the halls, all that stuff. Creating a villain out of thin air—she does that twice a year. It’s a way of keeping everyone else in line. The more randomly she turns on someone, the better, because it makes people realize they could be next. That actually protects you, because you have history with her. Some kids would wonder if she was trying to get back at you for going out with her ex-boyfriend, so they’d be suspicious of whatever she says about you. She’d have to get around that.” Noelle was terrifying me and impressing me. She was good at this! She was like some genius lady-in-waiting who looked innocent enough but secretly understood more than the royalty she was supposedly serving.

  Noelle stared off into space. “She could spread a rumor about you.” She looked back at me. It was obvious we were both thinking about the time Reese told everyone that Noelle had a threesome in France.

  “What else?” I said.

  “She might do nothing. Going after you—it’s a risk. It could make her look jealous.”

  That was something. Maybe it would all go away. “Will you give me a heads-up? After she decides what to do?”

  Noelle shook her head. “I can’t. I shouldn’t even be talking to you like this.”

  “I knew this would happen. I told you you couldn’t be friends with both of us.”

  “Will you calm down? I just spent 15 minutes schooling you on Reese’s operating tactics.” She frowned into her phone, using it as a mirror as she tried to smooth out her hair. “Did I mention my mom’s going away for work? I haven’t told anyone yet, but I’m having a party on February 3. You won’t be grounded then, will you?”

  “That’s the day after I’m done.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Do you think Reese will come?”

  “Definitely. Oh, stop looking like that. You can’t avoid her forever. Maybe you guys can talk.” She grinned. “It’ll be interesting!”

  Yeah, interesting like putting Snickers into a closed room with a squirrel.

  Sunday, January 21

  Reese hasn’t texted Grady (or so he says, and I believe him). She hasn’t posted anything menacing online. No scary Snaps. One smoldering Instagram captioned with some Cardi B lyrics, but that could mean nothing. Everyone smolders and quotes Cardi. I need to stop stalking Reese and do my homework instead of cycling through every app in sequence like a gerbil stuck on a wheel.

  Monday, January 22

  She’s ignoring me and Grady completely. It’s like we’re ghosts. She’s also putting on a big show of giggling and shrieking in the halls like she’s at an amazing cocktail party, tipsy on champagne. Not a care in the world. Grady who? That kind of thing. Her squad trails her everywhere, as usual, and they all sneak little glances at us, looking excited and mean while they do it. It should be a relief, sinking beneath her notice, but it feels terrible. To me, anyway. Grady seems fine with it. He wanted to talk about politics at lunch—US ones, not school ones.

  Tuesday, January 23

  Everything would be so much better if I could lie down with Grady in my bed with the door closed. It’s not only the sex. I want to talk to him in private. I want to feel his breath on my nose.

  I waited until right before bedtime, when Miss Murphy had gone upstairs to brush her teeth and Dad was turning off the lights in the living room, and said, “Dad, think I could get a few days off for good behavior?”

  I was smiling, and he was too as he said, “I’m sorry, kiddo.”

  “I’m lonely,” I said. “I miss my friends.”

  He paused by the couch. “You’ve been doing a great job, honey. It’s almost over.”

  “You’re being unreasonable!” I’d planned to stay calm, but I was shrieking a little.

  “I see why you’d say that,” he said. “I don’t want to be unfair. But I said a month, so it’s got to be a month.”

  “You’re you! You’re talking like past you is some federal judge you can’t get around! You can change your own mind!”

  “I figured out when you were a toddler that if I didn’t stick to my word, it didn’t go well the next time for either of us.”

  “I’m not a toddler anymore. I’m 16, and I have a boyfriend I haven’t seen in a month.”

  “I’m not going to say yes, Chloe.”

  I was going to storm out, but he left the room before I could do it.

  Wednesday, January 24

  School was over for the day, and I was standing near my bike with Grady. “I miss you,” I said.

  “I miss you too,” he said, instead of “but you see me constantly at school,” because he knew what I was really talking about.

  “I can’t stand this,” I said.

  “Only a week left, right?” he said. He reached into my jacket and put his hand on my side and then slid his fingers under my shirt.

  He was right: we were almost there. But that made it less bearable. When I knew we had to get through a month, it was easier. Now that I was days away from feeling his strong Grady body on top of mine, I couldn’t take it.

  “Let’s go to my house,” I said.

  “We can’t,” he said, but his hand was still under my shirt.

  “Your house, then.”

  “Bear’s there with the babysitter.”

  “OK, my house.”

  “What if we get caught?”

  “We won’t. Miss Murphy’s the one who can leave early sometimes, and I know for a fact she’s staying late tonight.”

  Grady was wrinkling his eyebrows skeptically, but he was smiling, too, and I knew I’d talked him into it.

  “Hurry up,” I said, and started unlocking my bike as fast as I could.

  The bliss of having sex after not having sex! It makes me want to get grounded all over again! (Not really.) It’s better than water when you’re thirsty or a cheeseburger when you’re starving. I can’t say for sure, but I bet it’s better than doing drugs or winning a marathon or visiting the moon. It’s the WHOLE POINT OF BEING ALIVE!

  Maybe if I keep rhapsodizing about sex forever, I won’t have to write about the disaster.

&nb
sp; Dad came home. It was about as bad as it could have been. We were on our third time already, so at least we weren’t still at DEFCON 1 levels of horniness, but Grady’s penis was actually inside me when we heard the door open downstairs. Thank the Lord we were in the midst of one of those staring-into-each-other’s-eyes-and-breathing-heavily bones and not a yelping-and-biting-each-other one, because otherwise we never would have heard him come in. There was maybe one second where we looked at each other in shock, and then we were pulling on our clothes like firefighters when the alarm goes off. Grady was silent. I was swearing and stubbing my toes. Pants on. Bra on. Shirt on. Hair still wild, probably. Underwear on the floor. I kicked it under the dresser. Two used condoms clearly visible in the trash can! I grabbed an old copy of the New Yorker and threw it over the evidence. Dad started coming up the stairs.

  Grady was looking around like maybe he could hide under the bed or climb out the window.

  Dad knocked.

  “It’s too late,” I said to Grady, not even whispering, and opened the door.

  Dad was shocked to see Grady there, I could tell. He’d come home early, intending to catch me—why else would he leave work in the afternoon for the first time in years?—but he hadn’t really thought he’d find anything.

  “Hi, Mr. Snow,” Grady said. It must have REEKED of sex in my room.

  “Grady,” my dad said, nodding at him. For a second I thought it might be OK. Then Dad said, “I’ll ask you to leave now.”

  Grady looked at me like he wasn’t sure what to do, but he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t exactly stand his ground.

  “See you tomorrow,” I said.

  On his way out, he kissed my hand.

  “You’re in big trouble,” my dad said as soon as Grady was gone.

  I was so scared my legs felt trembly, so I sat down on the bed, which was a mistake. Dad stayed standing, and he loomed over me like an interrogator.

  “You disobey me like this? You have your boyfriend over when no one’s home? You take him to your bedroom and lock the door? You’re acting like . . .”

  He didn’t finish the sentence, but I could imagine what he’d almost said. Like a slut. Like a skank. Like a whore.

  “This would be unacceptable behavior even if you weren’t grounded,” he said. “But you are.”

  “Until when?” I said. I wanted to know the worst right away. Was he going to extend the punishment?

  “That’s all you have to say?” he said. “No apology?” The look of disgust on his face made me furious, and I stood up.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry I’m a normal teenager.”

  He shook his head.

  “I’m so sorry I can’t be 12 years old forever, Dad,” I said. “I’m sorry you can only love me when I’m a child.”

  He laughed, to show me how ridiculous I was being.

  “I know Miss Murphy’s pregnant,” I said. He stopped laughing, which I guess was what I intended. I don’t know what I intended.

  “You think I don’t notice anything,” I said. “Well, I do.”

  I thought he might apologize, but he looked angrier than ever. “Marian’s pregnancy is not a bargaining chip you can use against me.”

  My nose prickled. I was about to start crying.

  He left abruptly. Then I did start crying. A few minutes later he came back in. I was embarrassed to be caught in tears, but I thought maybe he’d calm down when he saw how upset I was. I even thought he’d say he was sorry I’d found out about Miss Murphy on my own. But he just pointed his finger at me and said, “If you’re taking risks and YOU get pregnant, you can’t imagine the pain you’ll feel.”

  In a cold voice I said, “I have an IUD.” The look of shock on his face made the whole argument worth it.

  Thursday, January 25

  Dad and I have barely spoken. Miss Murphy hovered near my bedroom while I was in there doing my homework with the door open, but I didn’t look up, and she didn’t come in.

  Auditions are on Monday. The closest I’ve gotten to preparing is watching The Addams Family, which I really loved. I wish I could be like Wednesday: stoic and steely. I don’t want to be murderous, obviously, but it would be fun to be murderous onstage.

  Friday, January 26

  Miss Murphy hovered again, and again I didn’t look up, but this time she came in anyway.

  “Can I interrupt you for a second?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  She perched on my desk chair. I was sitting on my bed with my history textbook open across my lap.

  “I’m sorry everything’s so strained around here,” she said.

  I shrugged and said nothing.

  “And to add to the chaos . . . I’m pregnant! As you know.” She was still wearing her work clothes: dark-green pants, a gray blazer, a silky navy-blue shirt.

  “Congratulations,” I said. “I kind of noticed.”

  “The morning sickness?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m sorry I kept it to myself for so long. To be honest, I was dreading the conversation a little. I was worried I’d upset you, and I put off telling you for that reason.”

  I didn’t want to have a frank discussion with her about my feelings, so I said, “When’s your due date?”

  “July 10. My mother had me two weeks late, though, so late July is probably more realistic.” She tried to catch my eye. “How does all this grab you?”

  “Uh, it’s OK.”

  “Because I can imagine it would feel like you were being supplanted.”

  “No, I know Dad still loves me or whatever.”

  “He does. I do too.”

  She’d been great up to this point, but now I was grossed out. At best, Miss Murphy feels affection for me. Love is what she’ll feel for her baby.

  “It might be fun to have a brother or a sister,” she said.

  “Half,” I said. “Half brother or sister.”

  Her face fell. “Right.” She stood up. “Well . . . it was good to talk.”

  “Congratulations again,” I said.

  Saturday, January 27

  Dad and I still aren’t really speaking to each other. I know he’s waiting for me to apologize for sneaking Grady in, and probably for having sex, and possibly for getting an IUD without informing him, but I can’t seem to do it. I did help him shovel the driveway without being asked, though. When we were done, I said, “Am I still grounded after Thursday?”

  He plunged his shovel into a snowbank to get it to stand upright. “No. Marian’s talked me out of it. But I am going to ask for more details before you go out.”

  “What, on Friday?”

  “Anytime. I need to know you’re safe and supervised.”

  “Like I can’t go to the movies with my friends if a parent isn’t there?”

  “The movies are fine, as long as I know who will be there and what time you’ll be home.”

  Noelle’s party, I thought. He’ll never let me go.

  Sunday, January 28

  Snickers and I got back from a walk before lunch, and he ran to the kitchen to stare meaningfully at his food bowl while I took off my coat. “Hey,” I called to Dad and Miss Murphy.

  “Hi,” they called back.

  I followed Snickers to feed him and found the adults sitting at the island looking at a book together.

  “What about Camilla?” Miss Murphy said.

  “Parker Bowles?” said Dad.

  She rolled her eyes. “No one under 50 will make that association.”

  “Catherine?”

  “Nice,” she said in a polite tone.

  “OK, not Catherine. Alex?”

  “I like Alex for a boy. Or, wait, what about Axel for a boy?” Miss Murphy said.

  “AXEL?”

  They were giggling and leaning into each other.

  “What do you think, Chloe?” Miss Murphy said.

  “I like Wednesday for a girl,” I said.

  If she knew I was being rude, she didn’t acknowledg
e it. “Hey, speaking of Wednesday, are you set for auditions tomorrow?”

  “Oh.” I took Snickers’s water bowl to the sink. “I actually decided not to audition this year.”

  When I turned around, I was happy to see dismayed expressions on their faces. I’d said what I’d said impulsively, but knowing I was getting to them made me want to stick with it.

  “You’re kidding,” Miss Murphy said. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” I said.

  Dad looked grim. “Don’t try to prove a point at the expense of doing something you love,” he said.

  “I don’t know what that means,” I said, which was a lie.

  “Fine.” He looked back down at the baby names book.

  “If you change your mind, please come tomorrow,” Miss Murphy said as I headed upstairs.

  I called Tris right away, and for half an hour he tried to talk me into auditioning. He said he’ll miss me, it’ll be boring without me, my college applications won’t be as strong if I skip a year, etc., etc. It was flattering, and he’s right about the college applications. But then again, the baby name book and my new and searing hatred for my dad and Miss Murphy.

  Monday, January 29

  When I passed by the auditorium after school, all the theater kids were outside, waiting for Miss Murphy to unlock the doors, hugging each other and talking in loud, excited voices. “Chloe!” Olivia called. “Where are you going?”

  I stopped. Maybe I should audition after all. I was completely unprepared, but could I fake it through a scene and a song well enough to squeak past today, after which I could prepare hard for callbacks?

  The doors opened and Miss Murphy appeared, smiling and holding a clipboard.