“Is it really that hard?” Layla asked.
“Well. It is if he can’t stay hard . . . ,” Alex explained, using her right pointer finger and left hand to demonstrate the problem.
“Ohhhhh, okay,” Layla said, finally wrapping her head around the mechanics. She let out a big laugh. Alex laughed too.
And then it got quiet again.
“But that’s camp,” Layla said softly. “What about us?”
Alex knew that question was coming.
“I guess . . . ,” Alex said, trying to explain it to Layla and maybe also to herself at the same time “ . . . by the time I got home, Emma had already seen some stupid posts online from the camp girls, and then you and Zoe just couldn’t stop giggling. And you were all asking what it felt like to do it, and the thing was . . . it basically felt like we had done it. We decided to. And I wanted to. And . . . I let him try. So. If he could’ve, we would’ve. And the more I thought about it, the more it felt like saying we didn’t do it was just as much of a lie as saying that we did.”
“Technically, you’re still a virgin, but . . . ,” Layla said, still wrapping her head around it.
“Yeah. There’s a ‘but.’ I know it sounds strange, but I had a feeling you’d understand.”
“It’s different, obviously, but I feel like that with Logan sometimes too,” Layla said after a bit of time had passed. “Like, we’ve thought about having sex so much and talked about it so many times that it almost feels like we’ve done it already. Not actually, of course, but . . . sometimes I find myself wondering, what’s the real difference, you know?”
“I do know,” Alex said. “But I think the ‘difference’ might actually be everything.”
147 days until graduation . . .
EMMA always saw things more clearly in the darkroom.
The irony wasn’t lost on her, but the whole point of a darkroom was to give film the time and space it needed to develop. It occurred to Emma that high school, in theory, was sort of like a darkroom for teenagers, a time to find out who you really were and a space to turn into the kind of adult you were supposed to be. Or wanted to be. Or something.
The problem, Emma realized, was that in order to turn into the adult version of yourself, you sort of already had to know who that person was. And how could you know without meeting them first? It was a vicious cycle of epic proportions. It was simply impossible to know what should come first: who you wanted to be or who you’d turn out to be. All Emma knew was that there were only about five months left of senior year, and she felt farther away from figuring herself out now than she did on the first day of high school.
Everyone in Emma’s life—her friends, her parents, her older sisters, even her teachers—everyone was expecting her to already be fully developed. They wanted superlatives. They wanted answers. They wanted college acceptances. Basically . . . everyone wanted fireworks. But the process of getting there, of lighting the fuse or whatever it was that made the fire actually work, seemed to be undervalued or maybe even just lost completely.
Emma was so deep in her own thoughts that it took her a second to realize that someone was knocking on the darkroom door.
“Em?” Nick called from outside. “You still here?”
“I’m here, yeah,” Emma responded. “One sec!”
Emma finished developing her last photo, hanging it on the line to dry, and then told Nick it was safe to come inside. Maybe it was because (almost literally) the last time she’d been alone with him he’d (actually literally) been inside of her, but when he walked into the dark room, there seemed to be something even more adorable than usual about Nick’s lips and his bed-head hair and the sweet expression on his face.
Emma could feel Nick—and all of his attraction—from across the room, and all she wanted to do was feel all of him again. She stepped forward, pulling him close and pushing her lips on top of his. It was a big, sloppy kiss, all hormones and anticipation. Nick kissed Emma back with just as much intensity, and all of a sudden his hands were everywhere. On her chest. And then unbuttoning her shirt buttons. Her hands rushed to keep up with his, moving to his zipper and then into his boxers.
Emma didn’t know how long they’d been kissing before Nick pulled back just long enough to say the word “yes.”
It was a statement kind of question.
Emma nodded, definitely yes.
And so Nick pulled her back in closer, grabbing her thighs and lifting her up so she could sit on the counter. He pulled his jeans and boxers down to the floor as Emma slid her own cords and underwear off too. She was thankful she was wearing a simple black thong and not a pair of granny panties or something with polka dots or the days of the week on it or any other equally embarrassing options that were currently sitting in her underwear drawer.
“You good?” Nick asked as he pulled a condom out of his pocket and started to roll it on.
“Yeah,” Emma said, her whole body tingling. “You?”
“Yeahhhh,” Nick said like an exhale.
“You’re adorable,” she said.
“And you’re sexy as hell.”
No one had ever said that to Emma before.
She mostly thought of herself as weird. Or smart. Or maybe pretty if she was in a particularly good mood. But sexy? That was new. “Thank you,” she said.
“No, thank you.” Nick chuckled and then took a step toward Emma.
With Emma sitting on the edge of the counter, and Nick standing in front of her, their hips were at exactly the same height. Nick pushed inside of her with far more confidence than he had the first time. Everything seemed to fit better this time around . . .
It maybe even felt good, Emma thought.
But the fact that she still had to think about the way it felt and also that her thoughts still included the word “maybe” made her wonder if she had any clue what “good” actually felt like.
When it was over, Nick slid down onto the floor. He was close enough that she could see the little beads of sweat on his forehead, and his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. He was close enough that she could tell he was still processing what had just happened. She liked everything about the way he looked right now in this moment, all honest and vulnerable. All she wanted to do was take a picture of him. She probably would’ve, too, if her camera wasn’t so far away and out of reach and his pants weren’t still down around his ankles.
She didn’t want to take that kind of picture.
“You still good?” Nick asked again, looking up at her.
Emma nodded, noting his use of the word “good” again. “You?” she asked.
“Ye-ah,” Nick said quickly.
Emma could hear the implied “duh” in his voice.
He took off the condom, concealing it inside of a paper towel before dropping it into the nearby trash can. Nick leaned forward, pulling his boxers back on and then his pants, too . . . but then it seemed to occur to him that he may have forgotten something.
“Ohhh,” he said, with another implied “duh” afterward.
He slid over to the counter where Emma was still sitting and rocked up onto his knees.
His head was now exactly the same height as Emma’s waist.
“What are you doing?” Emma asked, even though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer to her question.
“I want you to . . . finish.”
For a brief moment, as the f of the word “finish” started to come out of his mouth, Emma thought he might be saying “firework,” and she had to bite down on her lip to keep from laughing. “Unless you don’t, um, want to?” Nick asked, misreading her lip biting for hesitation.
“No. I . . . I do,” Emma said softly but quickly, as if she were trying to take up as little space as possible with her words. And she really did. But she must’ve looked nervous, because Nick asked if she trusted him. Which she did. And so she told him that she did. And then he looked up at her with his big green eyes, holding her gaze as he pulled her underwear back d
own to her ankles. “I’m gonna . . . kiss you,” he added, as if to make sure there wouldn’t be any confusion.
Emma nodded again, this time with a smile.
Maybe that’s what Nick had been waiting for, her smile.
He smiled back and then leaned forward into Emma’s legs.
Between her legs, actually. . . .
And she felt his tongue against her body. Inside her body. And that definitely felt good—no question about it. Just like there was no question that her entire face was turning bright red, Zoe style. And she was sure her whole face got even redder as she suddenly thought about where Nick’s face was and exactly what he was doing with it—and also with his lips and his tongue and then also his fingers . . . and all of it together, all of it at the same time. And it all felt so good that Emma would not have been surprised if her entire body somehow turned bright red.
After a minute or two Nick pulled back. His face was flushed and his lips were slightly wet. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Why? Do I not seem okay?”
“No, no, you do,” Nick assured her.
What Emma really wanted to ask was if she looked weird or smelled weird or tasted weird or anything like that. She wanted to ask if her parts measured up to any other parts Nick might have seen or smelled or tasted before. But that would’ve involved far too much talking and way too many questions for this moment. Still, Emma couldn’t keep the words “no one’s ever . . .” from escaping from her lips. Nick raised an eyebrow as he waited for Emma to finish her sentence. “This is my . . . I mean, no one’s ever done what you’re doing before. I just . . . I want you to know that.”
“That’s cool,” Nick said sweetly. “I sorta figured.” Emma wanted to ask him why he “sorta figured” and also a dozen other anxious questions, but before she could ask any of them, Nick found her eyes again and simply said, “Thanks.”
“For telling you?” she asked.
“For letting me.”
Then he moved forward, leaning back into her again . . .
. . . and she leaned back against the wall, letting herself get totally lost in the moment with Nick and his tongue and all of her feelings . . .
. . . and it was good.
And then pretty soon it was even better than that.
And then . . . it was everything, all of the things at the very same time.
So.
Many.
Fireworks.
* * *
LAYLA had never blushed at a text message before.
She’d laughed at them.
She’d cried at them.
She’d gotten nervous and excited and maybe even turned on by them.
But she’d never actually blushed . . . until she saw Emma’s texts about Nick’s tongue and the massive fireworks display they’d set off in the darkroom earlier this afternoon.
Layla was already sitting at the dinner table with her family when Emma texted The Chat. Her little sister, Maxine, was lobbying their mom for a spring break trip to the beach. Her little brother, Avery, was discussing the incredibly important and rapidly approaching fantasy basketball trade deadline with their father. And Layla did everything she possibly could not to choke on the piece of mustard chicken that was already in her mouth. She coughed and coughed, causing enough mild alarm to be excused from the table.
She ran upstairs and closed her bedroom door, scrolling back through The Chat as quickly as she could. There were already dozens of old texts to read, but new texts from Emma and Alex and even Zoe kept pouring in too.
WAIT, Layla texted. I want to hear all of this . . .
SCROLL UP, Alex texted.
No no I want to HEAR it. Trampoline in ten?!?
Layla knew it was a long shot to get the whole crew together in person after dinner on a school night—they all had rules and curfews and all that—but she figured it was worth asking. Zoe said her parents had already turned on their alarm, which meant that unless she wanted to pull a Joey and climb out her window and down the tree, she was stuck inside for the night. Alex said her parents were still out to dinner, which meant she was hanging with Max. Emma texted that she totally wouldddddd come over, but she was about to put on her pajamas.
Okayyyyyyy, Layla texted. Do I have to mention that there are only so many more times we’re actually going to be ABLE to all meet in person before the-day-that-hurts-Emma’s-heart?
NOT UNLESS YOU WANT ME TO FREAK OUT AND HAVE A PANIC ATTACK, Emma texted back in all capitals.
A panic attack AND an orgasm seems like a lot for one day, Layla teased.
HAHAHA, Emma texted. Jealous? she added.
YES, Alex responded immediately.
It’s fine, Emma texted. I got you and your mental picture. OH and Layla now I’ve even got your progress report: Sex twice, once with an orgasm.
OMG, Zoe texted.
Now you all need to get your shit together . . .
TRYING, Layla texted.
What happened to no pressure?! Zoe texted.
There’s still no pressure, Emma teased. You’re all just missing out . . .
Oh now look who’s cocky! Alex texted.
Thank you, Emma. Thank you so much, Zoe added.
You’re welcome. But seriously, now what do I do?
Do it again. Do it better, Layla texted.
HA! That’s basically what you said when there weren’t any fireworks.
Guess that’s how it works. You do it again when it’s good and you do it again when it’s not as good, Layla texted, feeling like there must be a metaphor in there somewhere.
Emma, you did say sex was like pizza, Zoe managed to add.
IT IS LIKE PIZZA, Emma texted back, again in all capital letters.
Layla actually laughed out loud at her phone screen. The texts paused for a moment, and Layla was pretty sure everyone else was laughing too.
Em, that still makes no sense, Layla insisted.
IT ACTUALLY MAKES SO MUCH SENSE.
OK, OK, Layla texted. Start from the beginning . . . mental picture ready go.
Alright. Emma obliged. So. I was in the darkroom after school . . .
I like this already, Alex texted.
Ohmigod.
Guys. Let Emma type.
And they did.
And she did.
She described all the details, especially the fireworks—and the way that they felt . . .
Is this turning anyone else on? Layla finally had to ask, disobeying her own instructions to let Emma type. She couldn’t help it. It was all too good.
YESSS, Alex texted back quickly.
Really?! Ohmigod.
OHMIGOD YES, ZOE, Alex teased.
Layla’s face hurt from smiling and her chest hurt from laughing and her heart felt full and her whole body felt warm . . .
I couldn’t possibly love you more, Layla texted. ALL OF YOU.
SAME, Alex and Emma texted back at exactly the same time, one right after the other. It looked like Zoe had maybe also tried to text the word “same” at the exact same time as the other girls, but it ended up showing up in The Chat as SMALL instead.
Small what, Zo? Layla asked, knowing she was being an asshole.
Damn autocorrect, Zoe texted. Then she tried again: SMAEE. And again: SEMA. And one more stupid time: SMALL.
Layla couldn’t stop laughing as she thought about Zoe’s adorable little fingers, struggling with the touch screen keys.
Ohmigod . . . Whatever, Zoe texted. I told you, this keyboard sucks and autocorrect hates me. At least you all love me . . .
THE MOST, Layla, Alex, and Emma all texted at the very same time.
145 days until graduation . . .
EMMA sat at her usual computer in the yearbook room.
She was the first one there, and the rest of the computers were still empty.
It wasn’t like Emma to be early, ever, but she’d woken up a full hour before her alarm clock this morning. Apparently, Emma still couldn’t sleep, but at least now it was from exci
tement and contentedness and not fear.
“Hey!” Savannah suddenly appeared in the doorway.
“Hey . . . ,” Emma replied. Something about the look on Savannah’s face told her to proceed with caution.
“Heard you had a good night last night. Or afternoon maybe.”
“You heard?”
“Well, overheard. I was being nosy,” Savannah said as she sat down at the computer next to Emma’s and flipped open her notebook.
“Uh-oh. Why do I feel like I’m not gonna like this?”
“Sure sounded like you liked it,” Savannah teased a little, knowing it would get under Emma’s skin.
“You’re the worst.” Emma smiled, shaking her head. She liked Savannah’s playful demeanor, but she didn’t like the sinking feeling that Nick was spreading rumors about her.
“Not rumors, exactly,” Savannah clarified. “His locker’s near mine, so I just heard him talking to a couple of his friends.”
“About me?”
“Well, yeah. Specifically, you and him . . . in the darkroom.”
“Oh God,” Emma said, burying her head in her hands. “I’m gonna die . . .”
“Don’t die. He said you were great . . .”
“Too late—I’m already dead.”
“No. Stop. Come back. It’s not a big deal. I swear I only listened for a minute or two—”
“A minute or two? How long was he talking about me?” Emma asked, mostly embarrassed, but maybe the littlest bit proud, too. “Why is he telling people?”
“Because he’s excited. You told your girls, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but that’s different.”
“Is it?”
“I tell them everything.”
“Maybe he tells his boys everything.”
“That’s not exactly making me feel better.”
“I’m just saying, I don’t think we can blame him for bragging about you . . . You’re way out of his league.”
“Thank you,” Emma said with a laugh. That sounded like a compliment, but she wasn’t entirely sure.
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