After eleven solid minutes Nick finally stopped talking and took his first extended breath of the second semester of their senior year. Emma seized the rare, quiet moment and snapped yet another picture of him. This time his lips were closed. Finally, that felt right. As always, Emma was thankful to her camera for giving her purpose. Without it, she knew she probably would’ve been stuck awkwardly staring at Nick’s lips forever.
When Emma was about nine years old, her staring became so prolonged and intense that her teacher, Ms. Benton, recommended she go see a therapist. Even her parents had to admit she was a bona fide creeper, which was not an official diagnosis but still quite accurate. It turned out that Emma was totally fine. She just had an überlong attention span, which was rare. Most of Emma’s friends could get bored watching a six second video, but Emma could sit and stare at people for hours. It didn’t even matter what they were doing, exactly; she just had this overwhelming urge to look at them. If Emma did the looking all by herself, it was weird and felt invasive. If she did it with a camera in her hands, she could call it art, and it felt important.
She snapped a few more quick pictures of Nick’s lips. They were full and pink. A solid, masculine sort of pink. And they always tasted like ChapStick.
Now that she thought about it, her own lips were actually pretty chapped. Maybe she should just walk right up to the front of the classroom and kiss Nick. Of course, the more practical thing to do would’ve been to just borrow his ChapStick and use it herself, but at this moment all she wanted to do was stand up and go plant a wet, slippery kiss on his ChapSticky lips.
Emma was really glad that no one could get inside her head. More than half of her thoughts were incredibly embarrassing, even though she was the only one who knew about them. Emma exhaled, trying to clear her mind. She ran her fingers through her straight black hair, pushing it into place behind her ears. As features went, Emma liked her ears. They were symmetrical and round and not too big. In fact, Emma really liked the way she looked in general. She felt like it all just kind of worked. She had olive skin and deep, dark brown eyes that slanted ever so slightly, commonly prompting people to ask her where she was from. “Born and raised in Southern California” was her first answer, but when people grew more persistent and/or rude, she’d go on to explain that her dad was Irish American and her mom was Japanese American, which made her one-fourth Asian and three-fourths Caucasian, which also has the word “asian” in it and always made Emma crack a smile. Not because she thought it was funny, but because it was a strange quirk of words and spelling.
It was weird, just like Emma.
“Em, can you do me a favor?” Nick asked from across the room. Everyone else had already begun working on their assignments. “Can you show the newbie how to use the page layout software?” Emma nodded, glad to have something productive to do. She walked over to the bank of computers where Savannah, “the newbie” girl, was sitting.
Savannah was petite, rocking a pixie cut and thick glasses. Emma couldn’t help but notice that her thin lips were a light, bright, grapefruit shade of pink. Emma had the feeling that their lips might be the exact same color, but she wouldn’t be entirely sure until the next time she looked in a mirror.
Emma slid down into the empty chair next to Savannah and immediately got a weird sensation of déjà vu. Her forehead crinkled.
“Everything chill up there?” Savannah asked, gesturing toward her head.
“Oh yeah . . . sorry . . . just having too many thoughts all at once.”
“Tell me about it,” Savannah said, seemingly unfazed.
Emma knew that was a common expression, but something about Savannah’s tone made it sound like she might actually want to hear a real answer, so Emma responded honestly, opening the door to her weirdness ever so slightly.
“I’m having déjà vu all of a sudden,” she said.
“Tell me about it,” Savannah said again, with newly added emphasis.
Emma thought she just had.
“Sorry . . . ,” Savannah added quickly. “You said ‘déjà vu,’ and apparently I thought that meant it was okay for me to act like a total weirdo . . .” Emma was glad she wasn’t the only person in the room who was capable of such weirdness. “Okay, anyway,” Savannah said. “I’m Savannah.”
“Hi. Emma.”
“Hi.”
166 days until graduation . . .
LAYLA couldn’t stop smiling.
“Uh-oh,” Zoe said warily as Layla joined the rest of The Crew at their usual lunch table in the middle of campus. “The last time your face looked like that, you convinced everyone at this table that we should all have sex together.”
“But not together together,” Emma teased.
“Don’t worry. This is still that same face,” Layla said, still just excited as she’d been on Sunday. It had been about sixty-five hours since the girls agreed to the sex pact, and Layla was pretty sure she’d been grinning continuously ever since. “Guys. It’s happening. All of it. First, I bought a box of blond highlights on the way to school this morning. Then, I asked Mr. Moore for an extra credit assignment in AP English and informed him—and also the universe—that I will be getting my grade up to an A by the end of the semester.”
“What did the universe have to say about that?” Zoe asked.
“Ob-vi-ously, the universe is thrilled. Thanks for asking. And so is Logan. I’m sorry you didn’t get to see the look on his face that night.”
“Was that before or after you were sucking on it on the trampoline?” Alex asked.
“It was when I told him we’re gonna have sex.”
“Wait, wait. You told Logan?” Zoe squirmed. “I thought we weren’t telling anyone about the pact.” To be fair, The Crew hadn’t officially decided whether or not they were telling anyone, but, as an ongoing rule, whatever happened at the froyo table stayed at the froyo table.
“I didn’t tell him about the sex pact. But I did tell him that we’re gonna have sex. As in, him and me. I figured he should know that much.” Layla winked and then instantly regretted it. She was not a winker.
“You told us before you told Logan?” Emma laughed.
“Well, yeah.” Layla didn’t even think that was strange. Of course she’d tell the girls first. “But he wouldn’t care. He’s just so excited. It’s gonna be his first time too, so . . .”
“Sometimes I forget he’s a virgin,” Emma said.
“I know, right? He’s good at sex stuff, but he hasn’t actually . . .”
“What do you mean by ‘stuff’ exactly?” Zoe asked before Layla could finish her sentence.
“She means he gives good head,” Alex offered.
“Ohmigod . . .”
“Well, no,” Layla said, correcting Alex. “I mean he’s a good kisser—phenomenal, actually—and he knows—”
“Hell. No,” Alex interrupted. “Don’t tell me he’s never gone down on you.”
He hadn’t.
He’d never even really tried.
And Layla had never thought to ask him.
“I don’t think I’d like it,” she said.
“How do you know if he hasn’t done it?”
“I don’t know . . . I just . . . I mean . . . have you thought about where his head would have to be in order to do that?”
“Um, yes. Yes, I have.” Alex grinned.
“I’m pretty sure he’d do it if I asked him to. I think he’s done it before, ’cause he mentioned that it tastes like fish . . .”
“Layla. It does not taste like fish,” Alex insisted.
“How do you know?” Emma laughed.
“I don’t personally, but I know that fish crap is some super silly boy bullshit Logan’s trying to pull.”
“Yep. Total bullshit,” Emma added. “And it’s not like dick tastes all that great or whatever.”
“Exactly,” Alex agreed. “Boys want head, but then they don’t want to give it back. Not only is that lame, but it also sucks because it’s, like, probably
the best way to orgasm—”
“Ohmigod, ohmigod . . .”
“Or firework or whatever we’re calling it for Zoe . . .”
“I can think of a few other best ways.” Emma said with a bit of a laugh.
* * *
EMMA didn’t realize that was such a bold statement . . .
. . . but it made Alex smirk and Zoe squirm and Layla’s mouth drop open.
“Emma. O’Malley,” Layla said after a moment. “Tell. Me. Everything.”
“There’s not really a whole lot to tell,” Emma said, suddenly feeling shy.
It was hard to believe that after more then ten years of friendship and thousands of school lunches and hundreds of helpings of frozen yogurt that there could still be new topics for The Crew to discuss, but the truth was they’d never really talked about this before. Orgasms were completely uncharted territory. They’d talked about kissing, almost endlessly. About tongues and teeth and saliva. They’d talked about breasts and nipples and the appropriate amount of squeezage. About which boob moves turned them on and which ones made them feel like a cow being milked. They swapped stories about hickeys and dick pics and which boys knew how to unhook a bra with only one hand. They’d talked about what to do with their lips or tongues or teeth or hands whenever they were in close proximity to a boy’s lips or tongue or neck or penis. They’d talked about penis size and shape and width and color. About shaving and waxing and even what made them wet . . .
. . . but they’d never really talked about this.
At least not until now.
“But you’ve . . . you’ve fireworked?” Layla asked. Emma nodded. “With who?”
“Oh. Mostly it’s just . . . well, me. I have a vibrator.”
“Whoa,” Zoe said.
“Well. It’s not, like, a vibrator vibrator,” Emma clarified. “I think it’s supposed to be like a back massager or something, but it vibrates, so . . .”
“How often do you use it?” Layla asked.
“Um . . .” Emma thought for a minute. “Not, like, a lot . . . but sometimes.”
“Same,” Alex added. “I don’t have a vibrator, though.”
“I’ve never tried . . . ,” Layla admitted.
“Ever?” Alex asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
“Yeah, no . . . ,” Layla said, making a mental note to at least consider adding “masturbate” to her to-do list.
“I haven’t either,” Zoe offered. “But you guys obviously knew that already.”
“I made sure to put a couple links about it in the Sex Doc.”
“The Sex Doc? Is that what we’re calling that textbook you sent us?” Alex grinned.
“You’re welcome.” Layla smiled. “Did you read it?”
* * *
ZOE shook her head.
“There’s, like, a thousand articles . . . ,” Zoe said as if that were the only reason she hadn’t read Layla’s extensive Google Document of sexcentric information yet. Unsurprisingly, the whole thing made Zoe nervous. From what she’d skimmed last night, the doc was basically a data dump of everything and anything anyone could possible want to know about sex alphabetized and color-coded by subject matter: what to do, how to do it, where to do it, when to do it, how to be safe about it. There was a whole section on birth control and condoms and morning-after pills. There were links to first person articles about losing your virginity and an extensive collection of YouTube videos. It was basically the most Layla thing ever, Zoe thought as she unzipped her hoodie. She wasn’t sure what the most “her” thing ever would be, but it definitely wouldn’t be something like that . . .
“Whoa,” Emma said, her eyes on Zoe.
“Whoa, what?” Zoe looked down at her tank top. “Did I spill something?”
“It’s . . . your boobs.”
“Ohmigod, stop.”
“They’re hot, Zo,” Alex added. “Just use them wisely . . .”
“Ha. Right.” Zoe blushed. “I don’t know the first thing about using them.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out pretty quick.”
Zoe was still getting used to having them attached to her body let alone trying to figure out what to actually do with them. Zoe turned to Alex, hoping to change the subject. “Speaking of figuring it out, I have an important question for the sexpert.”
* * *
ALEX was definitely not a sexpert.
“Okay, but in comparison to the rest of the table you are,” Zoe insisted.
“Maybe your answer is somewhere in the Sex Doc,” Alex said, but Zoe was already forging ahead with her question.
“So, last night, when I was talking to Dylan—”
“Wait, you two are still doing that?” Layla asked.
“Oh. Yeah. We fall asleep on the phone almost every night.”
“Forget the sleeping part,” Alex said. “Who talks on the phone?”
“Me! My fingers are too fat for texting.”
“Zoe.”
“What? They are. And autocorrect hates me. I’m completely unkeyboardinated and can’t type without making every mistake possible. I also never know what to type in the first place.”
“But you somehow know what to say for hours every single night?”
“Yeah. It’s really so much better. You should try it sometime.”
“I can’t imagine having that much to say to the same person, even Logan,” Layla said.
“Yeah, I don’t know.” Zoe smiled. “It’s really just the easiest . . .” Then she ran her fingers through her hair again and launched back into her question for Alex, the sexpert, which basically boiled down to: Does the G-spot actually exist?
The truth was, Alex had absolutely no clue what a G-spot was, let alone whether it existed.
What she did know was that there was only so much longer she could go without setting the record straight about what actually happened with Cameron at sleepaway camp.
Or, more accurately, what didn’t happen.
There was a good reason why Alex’s sex dreams always ended in exactly the same place, right before the actual sex part . . .
It was because she never really made it to the actual sex part.
165 days until graduation . . .
ALEX never meant to lie about it.
Technically, she didn’t actually lie about what had happened, but she also definitely didn’t have sex with Cameron that night at camp.
It was an honest misunderstanding, she thought as she laced up her shoes in the locker room before track practice. Surely the girls would get that too, at least once she had a chance to really explain it to them. Still, the thought wasn’t doing much to quell the growing pit in Alex’s stomach. Now that the sex pact was in play, she knew she would have to set things straight with The Crew as soon as possible . . . but getting up the nerve to do it was the hard part.
As Alex walked out of the locker room, she heard a chorus of laughter coming from Coach Kolbert’s office at the end of the hallway. Coach K, as everybody called him, had been coaching track for almost twenty years, longer than all kids on the team had even been alive. They teased him about being an old man, and he had no problem teasing the “young kids” right back. He was wise, but also playful, which was why everybody loved him so much. Alex watched him for a moment through his office window as he laughed with a few older boys she recognized as former members of the track team. They were all recent graduates. Alex figured they must’ve still been home from college for winter break.
One of the boys in particular caught her eye.
It was Joey Reed.
Alex always found it rather funny that his name rhymed with Zoe’s, but apparently that was a total accident. Mr. and Mrs. Reed were formal people and only called him by his full name, Joseph, for the first six years of his life. It wasn’t until he got to elementary school that people started calling him Joey. By that point Zoe was already four years old, and they certainly weren’t going to change her name, so there was nothing anyone could do to stop the
rhyming: Joey and Zoe forever.
Alex had known Joey ever since she and Zoe met back in first grade, but they become friends in their own right more recently through their time on the track team. Joey hung out with the kind of stupid boys who liked to play pranks or make lame jokes, but he wasn’t like that. Joey was a sweetheart, and he’d go out of his way to apologize for his friends. Alex watched Joey and the other boys closely for another minute as they kept talking to Coach K. College life seemed to be agreeing with all of them. They were only a year or two older than she was, but they looked so much more mature and comfortable in their own skin. And their bodies, too. Especially Joey. Especially his body. Alex didn’t want to walk over and interrupt the reunion, but she hoped he would look out in her direction so she could wave hello.
He didn’t.
Things didn’t always work out the way she wanted them to.
Oh, well.
An hour later, in the midst of track practice, Alex still hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Joey. She should’ve just gotten over herself and said hello. It was stupid she hadn’t, but it was too late to do anything about it now. Especially right now, at this moment, as she sprinted around the track, pushing herself as hard as she could. She could feel the blood pulsing from the ends of her fingertips all the way down to the tips of her toes. She could feel her knees buckling beneath her. But mostly she could feel every single second of time as it slid away from her.
She knew too much time had slipped off the clock even before she crossed the finish line.
“Almost,” Coach K said, looking at his stopwatch.
Alex let out an exasperated groan. She had been stuck at “almost” for months now—and she hated it. “Almost” doing something just meant that you almost didn’t do it as much as you almost did. “Almost” certainly wasn’t going to help her break the state record.
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