Cherry

by Lindsey Rosin

  “‘The only normal people are the ones we don’t know very well,’” Emma replied. Layla had sent that quote to The Chat one time. Emma loved it so much she wrote it down on a Post-it note and stuck it on her bathroom mirror.

  “So then you agree that I’m weird?”

  “Oh, totally. But I am too.”

  “You keep it together pretty well.”

  “God no. I told you,” Emma insisted. “My thoughts . . .” She considered how much crazy she was willing to unleash into Savannah’s world before deciding to open up a little bit more. “Okay, so you want to put your hands in people’s pockets? Fine. That’s weird. No question. But my weirdness is that I literally want to kiss everyone I meet.”

  “Everyone?”

  “Yup. Everyone.”

  “By ‘kiss’ you mean, like, a peck on the cheek or you actually want to stick your tongue inside their mouth?”

  “Tongue in mouth,” Emma said with a giggle, but she was entirely serious. “It’s not really even sexual, either. I just have this urge to know what it’d be like.”

  Emma had never said that out loud before. She didn’t know what it was exactly, but something about Savannah made her want to say it.

  “All right. I feel good about that,” Savannah said.

  Emma did too.

  150 days until graduation . . .

  ALEX still wasn’t quite sure how she felt about Oliver.

  “It’s complicated,” she explained between bites of her chopped salad.

  “Obviously. It has to be complicated or you would’ve gotten bored forever ago,” Layla said without judgment.

  “True,” Alex agreed. “Sometimes I think he’s a misunderstood nice guy. Other times I think he’s the asshole everyone thinks he is. I can’t tell. This morning he finally asked if he could see me somewhere besides his car.”

  “Wait, what?!” Layla asked excitedly.

  “Yeah. He said he wants to take me out somewhere,” Alex explained as if it weren’t a big deal. “Act-u-a-lly he said he wants to go somewhere sexy with me, which sounds ridiculous, but I swear it came out of his mouth.”

  “It’s only ‘ridiculous’ if you actually mean ‘hot,’” Layla said.

  “It was hot, too, I guess, but who just says that?” Alex asked.

  “A guy with a lot of confidence in the size of his penis,” Emma quipped.

  “You know,” Layla said seriously, “penis size is actually not the most important factor in determining the amount of pleasure a woman has in any given sexual experience.”

  “Are you quoting the Sex Doc?” Zoe giggled.

  “O-kay. I’m not having sex with Oliver. At least not on our first date,” Alex clarified.

  * * *

  EMMA thought it was weird that Alex was even having a first date in the first place.

  But, then again, maybe she was the weird one since everyone in The Crew seemed to be dating, too: Zoe and Austin were about to go on their second date. Layla and Logan had an official sex date on the calendar. And now Alex and Oliver.

  “It’s cool,” Emma said, tucking her hair behind her ears. “You guys go ahead with all that . . . I’ll just hang out by myself. It’s fine. Totally fine.”

  “You sound totally fine,” Alex teased.

  “Let’s find you someone to date,” Layla said excitedly. “Or maybe someone you might want to hang out with. Like, for the pact . . .”

  “I don’t want to ‘hang out’ with someone just because of the stupid pact.”

  “Emma. The pact is not stupid,” Layla defended.

  “You’re obsessing about it. It’s all you want to talk about anymore.” Emma directed that statement mostly to Layla, but she meant it for the other girls too.

  “Em, it’s just supposed to be fun,” Layla said, trying to calm Emma down.

  “I think it’ll be a lot more fun if we stop making such a big deal about it.”

  “I swear I’m not trying to stress you out,” Layla insisted, “but I am trying to say that I think it matters. Or that I think it should matter. But it’s obviously not something you have to do—”

  “No, I know I don’t have to,” Emma replied. “but school ending is already stressful enough, and now you decided that this has to have the same due date—”

  “Emma!” Layla said, finally getting exasperated. “You’re the one who’s mushing it together with graduation”—Emma flinched at Layla’s use of the G-word—“but for real if you don’t want to do the pact, for whatever reason, just say so.”

  “I want to do it!” Emma declared. But she knew there was a “but” somewhere inside of her too. She paused for a moment, trying to find the right way, or at least the right words, to best explain herself to her best friends. “But,” she finally managed to add, “there’s nothing more frustrating than a feeling you can’t quite explain.” The girls all nodded. Emma was relieved to see that they seemed to understand what she was saying even if she didn’t quite understand it herself. “I’m starting to think that something is seriously wrong with me,” she added.

  “Nothing is wrong with you,” Layla insisted. “And we always want to know what’s going on, even if it’s confusing, or hard to explain, or whatever.”

  “I’m just, like, frustrated all the time and I don’t know why . . .”

  “Sounds like you need to get laid,” Alex teased, like only she could.

  “Ha. Thanks,” Emma said, finally cracking a real smile.

  “Oh, look, there she is,” Layla said, seeing Emma’s grin.

  And Emma felt more like herself again, at least for a moment.

  And she really did still want to get laid.

  Or at least she still liked the idea of the pact.

  Mostly, she liked that the girls were all in it together.

  A few hours later, after Emma’s last class of the day, she walked into the yearbook room, and was glad to find Nick, sitting by himself, working on the copy for the Superlative page.

  “Lookin’ good,” she said.

  “Just trying to keep up with you . . .” Nick smiled. Emma slid a chair up next to his computer and watched him work for a minute. He didn’t seem to mind. “So . . . what’s up with you?” he asked after some time had passed. It was an innocent enough question, but Emma couldn’t help but hear the weight of all her frustrations inside of it.

  “Ohhhh . . . ,” Emma started, but before she could finish, she heard Alex’s words from the lunch table echoing in her head: Sounds like you need to get laid.

  “Ohhhh,” Nick echoed back to her when she failed to say anything else. “I know you, Em, and I know something’s up. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

  Emma shuffled through her bothersome thoughts and ultimately decided to play it safe: college applications and grades and the end of high school and all that, she answered.

  “Yeah, it blows.” Nick nodded. “Especially when you don’t know what you’re doing next.”

  Yep, Emma thought.

  “My early application got rejected from NYU,” he added after another moment.

  “Oh, that sucks,” Emma said before she could filter herself.

  “Thanks,” Nick said, chuckling.

  “Sorry, I mean—”

  “No, you’re right. It does suck. And basically everyone I’ve told so far just wants to say sorry and talk to me about things ‘happening for a reason’ or finding a ‘bright side’ and all that bullshit. But it’s like, what if I don’t want a bright side? Maybe I just need to sit in the rain cloud for a little while, you know?”

  “I do,” Emma said, appreciating Nick’s honesty.

  “And what if things don’t happen for a reason?” Nick asked, picking up steam. “What if it’s all just random and the time we spend trying to make sense of everything is actually time that we’re stupidly wasting because there is no meaning?” Nick looked up from the screen, catching Emma’s eyes. She couldn’t seem to take them off him. “I’m glad you get it,” he said.

  Em
ma did get it. She totally, totally got it . . .

  . . . just as long as she didn’t have to define what “it” actually was.

  “I feel like there’s something more you’re not telling me,” Nick said intuitively. “I can practically see the thought bubbles floating up out of your hair.”

  Emma shook her head no.

  “Really? No? I put all my lameness out on the table and you still don’t want to share?”

  Nick licked his lips.

  They looked particularly kissable.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to share . . . it’s just . . .” Emma could hear Alex’s words echoing in her head again: Sounds like you need to get laid.

  “Come. On.” Nick pushed one more time. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Sex.”

  “Ha. Right.”

  Emma had answered so quickly and without hesitation that it took Nick an extended moment to realize she wasn’t kidding.

  “Wait, actually?” he asked, his eyes popping a little. Emma focused her attention on her fingernails. “Oh, all right, well, I didn’t mean . . . ,” Nick bumbled, still surprised by Emma’s boldness. “You know, sex is just, like, basically in my head a hundred percent of the time while all my other thoughts attempt to exist in front of it, so . . .”

  Emma nodded, finally looking up long enough to make eye contact.

  “Can you keep a secret?” she asked. Emma knew it was against protocol to talk about the pact with anyone outside of The Crew, but telling Nick felt right. She knew he’d think it sounded cool. He’d probably say it was “awesome sauce” or something nerdy cute like that.

  “Wow,” Nick said after she brought him up to speed. “That’s amazeballs.”

  “It is,” Emma said, smiling at his nerdy cute word choice—she was impressed with herself for calling it, “but now the girls are making a big deal about it.”

  “Your girls make a big deal about everything. No offense.”

  “None taken.” That was Emma’s point exactly. “But the pact’s not, like, binding or anything,” she clarified. “There’s no pressure, or whatever, but I don’t want to get left behind . . . I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”

  Nick nodded, maybe a little too enthusiastically. “Well. Hey . . . ,” he said with a chuckle, “if you end up needing any help with that . . .”

  “Help with what?”

  “The . . . the pact,” Nick said, suddenly turning into a ­jumble of nerves. “I’ve . . . you know I’ve had sex before. Not, um, a lot. But a few times. Probably a decent amount. And we’ve . . . you know, I think we kiss well, together, and, so, I just want you to know that I’m . . . I’m here.”

  “Thanks . . . ,” Emma said, unsure exactly what he was getting at.

  “I’m just saying if you ever need, like, a hand . . . or . . . or a penis . . .” Nick laughed before the word “penis” even came all the way out of his mouth, “I’m happy to help.”

  “Aw,” Emma said. “No one’s ever offered me their penis before.”

  “Ha. Yeah. So. That’s all. I’m here, and I have a penis . . . and that’s, like, half of the whole sex thing right there, so, yeah.”

  “Nick.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you saying you want to have sex with me?”

  “Mostly I’m saying, um . . . well, no pressure, but if . . . if you wanted to have sex with me . . . then . . .” Nick finally cut the bullshit. “Yes, Emma, that is what I’m saying. I would very much like to have sex with you . . . but, now, looking at your face, we should probably just. . .”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah. Okay. That’s what I . . . can we just please forget I said any of that?”

  “No,” Emma said, feeling as calm and confident as she had in a very long time. “I mean: yeah as in yes. I would very much like to have sex with you, too.”

  149 days until graduation . . .

  EMMA didn’t believe it was actually going to happen . . .

  . . . until she heard the doorbell ring.

  Her parents had a weekly Saturday night date night. They were always out of the house and on their way to the movies or some charity function or something by 7:00 p.m. at the latest. Nick had been over to her house at least a dozen times before, mostly to work on the yearbook or other assignments for class. He had met her parents quite a few times. but this time, since he was coming over for a very specific and completely non-school-related purpose, Emma felt like it made sense to avoid any unnecessary or potentially awkward parental interaction by telling Nick to come over at seven fifteen.

  He rang the doorbell exactly on time.

  She opened it.

  And he was standing there.

  And that was it.

  She knew it was going to happen.

  Yesterday, before Emma had left the yearbook room, she’d told Nick that she would have the house to herself all night and that he could come over and they could watch a movie or whatever. They both knew that the “or whatever” clearly meant “have sex,” but it was just a little bit too awkward for Emma to actually say out loud. It occurred to Emma that if it was too awkward to say out loud, then maybe it would also be too awkward to do in real life, but she decided not to dwell on that thought. Especially since there were so many other more important questions to take its place, like: (1) Would it hurt? (2) Did she have a condom? And (3) When was the last time she’d shaved her legs? The answers were: (1) Hopefully not. (2) Nick would bring one. And (3) Absolutely no clue.

  Emma made sure to shower that afternoon and shave her legs, armpits, and bikini line. Then she tried to figure out what to wear. Normally, she was a jeans and hoodie kind of girl, but that outfit seemed rather casual for the occasion. Emma reminded herself that one of the upsides of sleeping with Nick was that it would be casual.

  But still.

  There was a fine line between being laid-back and being lazy, and even though she definitely didn’t want to obsess about this moment or stress about it . . . she still wanted it to be significant. Ultimately, Emma decided to just be herself and wear her favorite dark blue jeans and her softest, most perfectly worn-in purple hoodie. It felt right, so Emma went with it.

  Nick had apparently also showered and shaved since the last time Emma had seen him. She appreciated the effort, as well as the fact that he also seemed to be hanging out in the space between “casual” and “significant.” He showed up wearing too much aftershave on his baby face and too much gel in his hair, but he had the perfect mixture of sweetness and nervous excitement in his smile.

  “Are you hungry?” Emma asked as she led him inside her house. Mostly the question was just a way to fill the silence.

  “I ate dinner at home, but if you’re . . .”

  “No, I ate too.”

  “Okay. Cool.”

  And then there was more silence.

  “I was thinking I’d make some popcorn,” Emma said after another moment.

  “Yes!” Nick said enthusiastically. Making popcorn seemed like a safe warm-up activity, and, since they’d technically talked about watching a movie together, it made sense.

  “Beer?” Nick asked, as they waited for the popcorn to pop.

  He pulled three Sam Adams Christmas edition beer bottles out of his backpack, explaining that was all he could take from his dad’s refrigerator in the garage without getting caught. “Hopefully they’re still good or whatever.”

  Emma took a sip, realizing that she wouldn’t be able to tell if they were good or not. Beer always just tasted like beer, and she didn’t particularly like the taste, but the ­bubbles felt good on her tongue.

  Emma and Nick took the popcorn and went into the den, where there was a big flat screen TV. Apparently continuing the we’re-just-here-to-watch-a-movie narrative felt good for both of them. To that end, Emma’s parents had a very extensive DVD collection. Her mom had taken all the discs out of their cases and arranged them alphabetically in oversized three-ring binders. Nick started flipping through the firs
t book, which contained all the A–G movies.

  “What do you want to watch?” he asked before looking up and catching Emma’s eyes. He seemed to know what her look meant. “You don’t actually want to watch anything, do you?”

  All Emma wanted to do was kiss him.

  She wasn’t sure exactly how many times they’d kissed before, but she knew they’d made out on four or maybe five different occasions, which made her wonder how many kisses there were in a make-out session: a hundred? A thousand? She had no clue. Emma realized that they’d never really planned any of their kisses before. They were always drunken or spontaneous, usually at a party in an upstairs bedroom or a guest bathroom or something. One time they made out for an hour on the trampoline in Layla’s backyard. Emma couldn’t help but think that out of all the hundreds (thousands?) of kisses they’d shared, this very next one would be the most important one of all . . . and so now, thinking about all that, all Emma really wanted to do was put her lips on Nick’s lips and stick her tongue in his mouth.

  That was it.

  That was literally all she could think about, as if that one thought was filling her entire head and pushing everything else to the edges of her skull. The one kissing thought was so strong and overwhelming that she was worried it might ultimately pop all the other thought bubbles inside of her and somehow smush her brain up against her skull and destroy her entire capacity to function.

  Emma shook her head no.

  “Do you actually want to watch something?” she asked back.

  Nick shook his head no too.

  Clearly, Nick had come over (with beer and lube), planning to have sex. But judging by his quickening breath and the sweat on his forehead, he was still nervous about it . . .