But then.
Last night, as she was lying in bed, searching for new quotes online and feeling uninspired, she suddenly felt compelled to count the days on the calendar. And so she did. She counted down, all the way down from today, Monday, April 13, to graduation day on June 22 . . . and she just simply had to laugh. She certainly believed that the universe had a mind of its own, but she didn’t think it was perverted. But maybe it was. She counted the days on the calendar again, a second time, and then, just to be safe, a third time too, and realized that as of tomorrow, Tuesday, there would be exactly sixty-nine days until graduation.
Sixty-nine.
Of course she would reignite her interest in the calendar and the counting and all of that right before the most overtly sexual day of the whole countdown.
If Layla had ever gotten a sign from the universe, this might be it.
She texted Wyatt right away and made a plan to see him after school. They’d hooked up a couple times since that first make-out session at the skate park before spring break. He was still fun and still uncomplicated—but Layla still knew that she didn’t want to sleep with him. Even so, she decided she’d still like to make some sex pact related progress with him.
“You’re gonna sixty-nine him?” Alex asked as she unwrapped a protein bar.
“I think we have to say that I’m gonna sixty-nine with him,” Layla said so seriously that it caused everyone else to laugh.
“Okay, grammar police . . .”
“No, it’s just . . . it’s not something I can just do to him. He has to do it to me, too, which is kind of the whole point . . . ,” Layla said, trailing off.
69 days until graduation . . .
LAYLA drove over to Wyatt’s house right after school.
They quickly found themselves alone in his room.
On his bed.
With the door closed.
Wyatt’s parents weren’t home from work yet, but Layla got the vibe that they wouldn’t care about an open door policy even if they were. Wyatt was pointing out all the constellations on his ceiling: the Big Dipper, Orion’s belt, and all the rest. He’d painted them with glow-in-the-dark paint. He was very proud.
“Wyatt?” Layla said, interrupting his tour of the galaxy.
“Yeah?” he asked with a big smile on his face. A big smile crept over Layla’s face too. “Whatever you’re thinking, I can already tell that I like it.”
“I’ve never . . . ,” she started, and then stopped to make sure she was choosing her words carefully. “I graduate from high school in sixty-nine days.”
“Whoa, crazy . . . ,” Wyatt said.
Layla could tell that he didn’t entirely understand what she was trying to say. “And. Also. I’m realizing that’s something I’ve never done before.”
“Graduate from high school?” Wyatt asked, clearly teasing.
“The other part. But the reason I’ve never done it is because no one’s ever . . .”
“ . . . gone down on you?” Wyatt asked, completing her sentence. “Is it because you didn’t want them to?”
“I’m not really sure what I wanted,” Layla said truthfully.
“But now you do,” Wyatt said, his grin still finding ways to grow.
“I, um, well . . . ,” Layla said, trying to qualify her statement or maybe just even lessen it in some way, so as not to seem too brash or demanding, but Wyatt didn’t seem to need any of that.
“I got you,” Wyatt said before sliding down to the bottom of the bed, taking Layla’s jeans and underwear down with him.
The universe might have a sick sense of humor, Layla thought as she looked back up at the constellations on Wyatt’s ceiling, but in the grand scheme of things, it definitely seemed to know what it was doing. After Wyatt spent some time between Layla’s legs, he stopped what he was doing and asked if she wanted to sixty-nine, since it was numerically appropriate and all.
The answer to Wyatt’s question was unequivocally yes.
Yes, she wanted to do that.
And yes, it was the right day and all that, but that wasn’t why she wanted to do it.
To be totally honest: She just did.
It was the same but opposite way she knew she didn’t want to have sex with Logan.
She just didn’t.
And that was okay.
And this was okay too.
Once they finally (awkwardly) got situated in a sixty-nine position (on their sides facing each other), it all became so much more than okay.
So. Much. More. And then . . .
. . . after a while of tongues and lips and pressure and pleasure . . .
. . . it all exploded into synchronized fireworks.
Yes, Layla thought afterward.
So. Much. Yes.
68 days until graduation . . .
ALEX had been successfully avoiding Layla’s progress reports for a few weeks.
After Oliver and the picture and all that, the girls had given Alex some space in the boy department. But now they were starting to ask questions again.
“You sure there’s nothing you want to tell us?” Layla asked.
“Oh, I’m sure.” Alex grinned, trying to play coy.
She wanted to tell the girls about Joey, she really did, especially after how mad Zoe got about Cameron and camp and everything. But the problem was that she didn’t know what to say. She wanted to at least know what was happening before she told the girls that it was happening, but in order to get any clarity about the situation she was going to have to ask Joey. Her fear was that asking him about what it was (exactly) would ruin whatever it was (actually).
Whatever it was it all just seemed so strange and dreamlike.
No one (except for her and Joey) knew what had happened. Alex had never even said the words—I kissed Joey Reed—out loud. She had no one to say them to.
To Alex’s surprise Joey was the first one to bring up the issue of telling Zoe. You can tell her if you want, he texted late one night when they were both already in bed.
I don’t want to tell her if it’s just gonna be a fling, Alex texted back.
After an oversized pause, Joey replied: Yah.
Alex noticed that Joey had added a period to the end of his Yah and she suddenly hated it so much. That period. It was so small, but also so stupid and so frustratingly definitive. What she wanted him say was Of course it’s not a fling. Or The truth is, I’m really into you. Or I want to be with you. Or I might even love you—let’s make out forever and ever.
Any of that—or all of that—would’ve been perfect.
Alex waited for what felt like another forever for him to type something else, something more, something anything . . .
But he didn’t.
Unfortunately, for now, that one small, stupid word was all Alex was going to get out of him. So she texted it back exactly the same way: Yah.
She hoped he’d notice the period at the end.
She hoped he’d hate it as much as she did.
She hoped he’d be hoping for more too . . .
. . . and maybe he was, but he didn’t text anything else.
And so neither did Alex.
She turned off her phone just to be sure.
64 days until graduation . . .
EMMA and Savannah held hands in the movie theater.
It was their first real date night. And Emma figured that hand-holding was the sort of thing you were supposed to do on a real date night. All in all the holding only lasted about five minutes, but that was approximately four minutes and thirty five seconds longer than Emma had ever held anybody else’s hand. She could tell that it meant a lot to Savannah. And that was the whole point anyway.
After the movie the girls ended up back at Savannah’s house. Emma’s parents texted her to say they were running late to pick her up. Emma certainly wasn’t complaining about the lateness. Especially when she and Savannah found themselves alone in Savannah’s bedroom. Sitting on Savannah’s bed. And Emma realized it was the first
time they’d ever been alone somewhere that wasn’t the yearbook room.
Savannah pulled Emma in for a kiss . . . which then quickly turned into a whole string of kisses . . . and soon Savannah’s hands were everywhere, and then Emma’s hands were also everywhere, and things were decidedly different (and better) for Emma than ever before, because part of that “everywhere” included Savannah’s boobs. Emma had touched her own boobs, of course, and that always turned her on, but touching Savannah’s boobs was a whole new ball game. And then—then—when Savannah touched Emma’s boobs . . . Emma didn’t really have words to describe the sensation, except that it felt like there was a direct connection between her nipples and her vagina and it felt like all the hormones in her entire body were swirling between her legs and Emma started to feel like she might firework from that feeling alone . . .
. . . but then Savannah pushed forward and unzipped Emma’s pants and slid her hand into Emma’s underwear . . . and all the feelings and all the swirling just went into absolute overdrive and it felt like Savannah’s fingertips were somehow all over Emma’s entire body all at once.
And it was the fastest orgasm she’d ever had in her whole life.
* * *
“Shit,” ALEX said in an uncharacteristic whisper as Emma finished recounting the whole date night/hookup story at the froyo table.
“You should’ve taken a sexie.” Zoe smiled.
“Yeah, but Savannah didn’t firework and then my parents showed up like two seconds later, and I had to go home, so . . .”
“Oh. Is that how it works?” Zoe asked sincerely. “Is it only . . . I mean . . . like . . . ?”
“Zoe . . .” Alex laughed.
“I’m trying to ask how exactly you would define having sex with another girl, but that might just be a stupid question.”
“Definitely not stupid. I think I still have that same question,” Emma said, laughing.
“Basically you’re saying it was good, but you’re not sure it was totally sex?” Layla said, trying to clarify the situation.
“I guess we have to define what ‘it’ actually is,” Emma said as her thoughts drifted back to the day after she’d first had sex with Nick. She remembered they’d had to define some words then too. With a boy the “it” was easy: penis in vagina. Ironically, the “good” was more elusive. With Savannah, it was exactly the opposite. The “good” was incredibly obvious while the “it” that was proving more difficult to wrap their heads around. “I think Savannah and I would both have to firework in order for it to really count as sex . . .”
“Since when do you care about counting?” Alex asked. “I thought it was all about the process . . .”
“Well, the process is totally fun”—Emma laughed again—“but I want to make Savannah feel that way too.”
“Oh, you will . . . ,” Layla said reassuringly.
“Oh. Cool,” Zoe said, newly frustrated. “According to that definition, if I was a lesbian, I’d still be a virgin.”
“Or maybe then you would’ve orgasmed?” Emma asked, trying to make a joke, but she realized it came out sounding rather insensitive. “Sorry, Zo,” she added.
“It’s okay,” Zoe said, returning to her froyo.
“Savannah said her ex-girlfriend considered ‘sex’ any hookup that involved an orgasm for either girl,” Emma added. “If we’re looking at it like that then maybe technically you could say we did have sex, but I think it should be all systems go before I’ll feel like it’s official.”
The other girls realized that was the first time the G-word had come out of Emma’s mouth. G-word meaning “girlfriend,” not “graduation.” Still it was a big deal. But none of the girls pointed that out to Emma. They didn’t want to freak her out. And, to be fair, she hadn’t described Savannah as being her girlfriend . . . she was talking about Savannah having an ex-girlfriend who used to do the kind of things with Savannah that Emma was now doing, but still . . .
Suffice it to say the word did not go unnoticed.
Then, the stack of phones in the middle of the table started to buzz.
Zoe thought it might be Austin. She had told him that he could come over later. She told Emma that she could check. Emma reached for the phone stack. She checked Zoe’s phone, but the new text wasn’t for Zoe.
It was for Alex.
* * *
ALEX had a sinking feeling about the situation.
“Who is J?” Emma asked slowly.
“Um. Why?” Alex asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
“Well. He just asked what you’re wearing, so . . .”
The girls all laughed as Alex breathed a little sigh of relief. Considering some of the other sext messages Joey had sent her recently, she knew his question could’ve been a lot worse. Also, she was so incredibly grateful that she’d put him in her phone as J and not Joey. She had no clue how she would’ve explained that to Zoe right here and now.
Luckily, she didn’t have to.
“It’s Jordan, isn’t it? From the basketball team?” Layla asked, in detective mode.
And Alex smiled that Mona Lisa smile. The one that kept getting her into trouble. This time, she thought, it might actually be her saving grace. She still didn’t want to tell the girls about Joey. Not yet. Not until she knew if it was real or not. So she just let her smile say yes.
“I knew it!” Layla laughed, thinking she’d solved the case.
“Should we text him back?” Emma asked.
“Oh no . . .” Alex shook her head.
But then Alex’s phone buzzed again.
And it was still sitting in the middle of the table, and the girls saw the text before Alex could hide the screen.
PLEASE tell me it’s the panties again
Now Zoe, Emma, and Layla all lost it, exploding into a new burst of giggles, and that made the heads of all the Bigg Chill customers turn toward them and their corner table. “Again?” Layla squealed.
“Who says ‘panties’?” Zoe laughed.
“At least he didn’t call them moist—that is literally the worst word.”
“Shhhhh,” Alex said as her light brown cheeks turned a distinct shade of red. She slid the phone toward her, trying to hide the screen, but it was too late.
“You have to text him back,” Layla insisted.
“Yes,” Zoe agreed.
Alex knew Zoe would die, absolutely die, if she knew who J really was, but she wasn’t sure how to get out of it now, especially as another string of texts poured in:
Or just say ur wearing nothing
In my head I’ve already taken them off
With my teeth.
“Oh. My. God,” Layla said.
“Okay, see, now you have to say something,” Emma pushed.
Alex didn’t seem to have much of a choice.
Mmmhmmm, she texted back.
“And what does that mean exactly?” Layla asked, taking mental notes.
TURNED ON, Joey texted back in all capital letters.
“Oh, okay, got it,” Layla said, laughing.
“And now what?” Emma asked after a few minutes. “Why isn’t he saying anything else?”
“He’s probably jacking off . . . ,” Alex said matter-of-factly.
“Ohmigod,” Zoe said, shaking her head. She turned her attention back to her vanilla froyo as Emma and Layla brainstormed some sexy things for Alex to text next. Alex couldn’t help feeling bad about how Zoe would feel if she knew who was on the other end of this phone, but she was already feeling bad about Austin, and Alex didn’t want to do anything that might make the girls suspicious. She knew there was nothing left to do but go with it. And so they did.
Laughing and squealing and sexting . . .
“Can everyone just please remember that we are in public?” Zoe asked when it all got particularly loud at one point.
“Sorry,” Alex said.
Really, she was apologizing for the entire situation and not just for the volume of their conversation . . . Lucki
ly Zoe was blissfully oblivious.
Alex decided that was definitely for the best.
61 days until graduation . . .
ALEX sat in the front of Oliver’s car, texting Joey on the way to school.
Lately, Alex and Oliver’s car pool rides had been quiet and friendly, mostly just filled with the sound of the radio. They’d nod to say hello. And then they’d wave good-bye on the way out of the car. But that was it. They really didn’t have much to say to each other. Not since the crying and everything. It was just too much. And now that Oliver was dating Caroline—not just hooking up—there was even less to talk about. This morning Alex found herself laughing out loud at one of Joey’s text messages. She wasn’t trying to rub it in Oliver’s face, but it just sort of happened like that. She could tell that Oliver wanted to ask her about who she was texting with and what the text message said and all that, but he didn’t or he wouldn’t or whatever, and Alex wasn’t going to offer up the information, so the silence continued.
Then, Joey texted that he had something serious to tell her.
The word “serious” jumped off her phone screen. Ugh. He’s breaking up with me, Alex thought. But then she felt stupid, because they weren’t even officially together. What exactly was there to break?
But then Alex realized that the seriousness wasn’t about them at all . . . it was about her.
Her picture.
Joey was still friendly with some of the younger guys on the track team, and he’d been in a big group text, along with a bunch of athletes, for a while now. But just last night Oliver admitted to doing it. Doing what, Alex started to type before she realized she didn’t have to. Joey was trying to tell her that Oliver had, in fact, Photoshopped the naked picture of her and sent it to everyone on the Internet. Joey explained that Oliver had been bragging about it pretty extensively. At first Alex wanted to argue with Joey. She wanted to say that Oliver couldn’t possibly have done it — he’d told her he hadn’t . . . but, then again, she knew that his word didn’t really mean much of anything at all.
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