“Oh,” I shrunk guiltily. “It wasn’t a big deal. Nothing happened.”
“I know that, but people in this school are stupid. If you don’t want them talking about you, don’t do something that will make them talk.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said with a shrug. “They’ll talk about me even if I stand still all day.”
Sara laughed. “You’re probably right.”
“Are we done with this?” I questioned, slightly annoyed. “Are you going to tell me about your week, or what?”
Sara didn’t hold back. What she couldn’t fit in before our first class she continued with at lunch. I don’t think Evan was all that thrilled to hear her talking about his brother. He finally said something about needing to talk to his coach before the next period. I was pretty sure he just needed to escape.
“I’ll see you in Art.” He departed with a kiss on my cheek.
“What’s with him?” Sara asked, noting his sudden need to leave.
“Sara, you’re dating his brother. Don’t you think it’s kind of weird for him?”
She shrugged as if she hadn’t considered it before. “I guess. I don’t know.” When she’d exhausted all things Jared, she blurted, “So what do you want to know about sex?”
My eyes widened, not braced for the question in the middle of the cafeteria.
“Tell me what you’ve done so far,” she inquired with all the seriousness of a therapist.
“Do we really need to talk about this now? You’re the one who warned against giving ammunition to circulating rumors. This is definitely not something I want anyone overhearing.”
“Fine,” she replied. “Come over after practice tonight.”
I hesitated. I wasn’t embarrassed to talk about sex, I was just… okay maybe I was a little. It wasn’t like I’d ever had the talk. What I knew, I’d learned in health class, so I wasn’t exactly well versed on the subject. Sara would share stories, but she’d never go into explicit detail, like auditory porn or anything.
“If you get any more red I think you may catch fire,” Sara observed with a shake of her head. “Just come over later, okay?”
“Okay.”
When we returned to our lockers after lunch, Sara pulled a textbook from her messenger bag. “This will help.”
I took the book and my eyes spread wide at the title, Our Sexuality. "Omigod, are you serious?" I flipped through the pages and shut it quickly when I saw way more skin than I was anticipating.
“It’s a college textbook,” Sara explained casually. “Thought you might appreciate the technical explanations versus the Cosmo version―you know, the science behind it.”
“Uh, thanks.” I went to shove it in my locker and it fell to the floor, spreading open with the spine up.
“Here,” Evan said, bending down to pick up the splayed textbook. I scooped it up before he could touch it, my pulse racing so fast I couldn’t talk.
“What was that?” he questioned, when I stuffed it in my backpack.
“Just pointers on how to pleasure you,” Sara whispered with a smirk before walking away. I about fell over. I looked up at Evan with my mouth dropped open. He arched a brow curiously.
“Really?”
“We’re going to be late for class,” I rushed, slamming my locker door shut. My heart was pounding so hard I was beginning to sweat. He let out an amused laugh and followed after me.
“You don’t need the textbook,” Evan murmured in my ear from his stool beside me.
“Evan!” I strained in a whisper with wide eyes.
“Sara has no idea, does she?” he continued with a sly grin.
“We are not talking about this,” I stated adamantly, burying my fiery face in my hands. He chuckled.
“Good afternoon,” Ms. Mier greeted from the front of the class, setting a large piece of wood on an easel. “Today we are going to create visual art using nails.” On the board was a profile of a woman created with various oxidized nails pounded into the wood at different depths and angles to create a three dimensional work of art. I was fascinated by the technique―the way the nails created the slope of her cheek bone and tilt of her nose.
“I’ve laid out boxes of nails for you to work with. You can each select a plank of wood and a hammer to get started.”
“I can guarantee I’ll have a purple thumb by the end of this assignment,” I commented, turning towards Evan. He nodded, not looking at me.
We retrieved the supplies from the front of the classroom. I was considering what I wanted to create while filling my bowl with nails.
When I got back to the stool, Evan had the hammer balanced in his hand―examining it like he’d never seen one before. He ran his eyes over it, appearing a million miles away.
“Evan?” I sat down and tilted my head toward him to look up at his face. “Evan, are you okay?”
He was pale and wouldn't focus on me. “Evan, what’s wrong?”
Without a word, he set down the hammer and left the room. It took me a moment to realize he’d just walked out. I rushed to the door to go after him, but he wasn’t in the hall. I stood in the middle of the corridor, at a complete loss.
I returned to the Art room and slowly lowered onto my stool.
“Is everything okay with Evan?” Ms. Mier questioned when she came around and found Evan’s spot vacant.
I don’t know,” I answered honestly. I didn't make much progress with the assignment because I kept watching the door, waiting for him to return. He never came back.
Evan wasn’t at my locker after class either. I took my phone out of my backpack and texted, Where are you? Are you okay?
I set the phone to vibrate and stuffed it in the front pocket of my jeans, pulling my sweater over it so my Calculus teacher wouldn’t see it.
Halfway through class, my phone vibrated. I slipped it out and held it under my desk to read, Not feeling great―went home
I read it again, baffled.
Want me to come by after practice?
Evan responded, No. See you tomorrow OK?
Nothing about this felt right. He hadn’t seemed sick all day. I was obviously missing something, but I didn’t know what else to think so I typed, Okay.
“I’m going to go home after practice tonight,” I told Sara as we gathered our things at the end of the day.
“Everything okay?” she asked, taking in my somber mood.
“I hope so,” I answered before shutting my locker door. “I’ll call you later.”
“Alright,” she answered, studying me as I skulked away.
I called Evan as soon as I got in my car after practice. He didn’t answer. I was wrecked with worry by the time I got home, my stomach twisted into knots.
“Maybe he’s really sick,” Sara consoled when I called.
“Maybe,” I agreed, but I didn’t really believe it.
“Don’t start overthinking like you do.”
I won’t,” I assured her, but I’d already gone there―replaying everything he and I said throughout the entire day. I still couldn’t figure out what would've caused him to leave school so suddenly. Something must have happened in those few minutes I was away from him in the Art room. Maybe he got a text that I didn't see? Whatever it was, it was sudden, and he wasn't sharing.
“We’ll see if he’s in school tomorrow. Text me if your brain hijacks you and you need to vent.”
After I hung up, I pulled my books from my bag. I needed to distract myself, and I was hoping homework would help.
I was interrupted from the miserable depths of political theory by a knock at my door. Before I could respond, my mother stuck her head in.
“Hi,” she said, opening the door wider upon seeing me on my bed. “I wanted to see if Evan wanted to come to dinner tomorrow night. I thought he might be up here with you.”
I’d opened my mouth to answer when she picked up the textbook Sara had given to me. It had slid halfway out of my backpack. I scrunched my face when she read the title out loud.
r />
“What’s this?” she asked, then started flipping through the book. “Wow, they’re really teaching you everything in high school these days. I could have used this when I went to school.”
Before I could consider the results, I blurted, “It’s not for school.” My mother's eyes widened and her mouth rounded in sudden realization. I wanted to close my head in the book.
“This is for you?” She asked, the shock still on her face. “You're still a virgin," she slowly concluded, like she wasn't expecting that to be the truth. The mortified look on my face made it obvious that it was. “I would have thought that you and Evan…” I dropped my head face first on my bed. This day could not get any worse. “Do you want to talk about it? I never thought I'd have to give the talk before, but I can if you want.” My head shot up at her offer, and that's when I found Jonathan paused in the hallway―yup, it had just gotten worse.
“No… really, um, that’s okay,” I stammered, cringing inwardly.
“Really, you can ask me anything,” she continued. I think she would have sat down on my bed to keep talking about it if Jonathan hadn’t knocked on the open door, letting her know he was there.
“Are you ready?” he asked. I couldn’t look at him. I wanted more than anything to disappear.
“Oh, yeah,” my mother responded, brought back to what she was supposed to be doing before she crossed all mother-daughter boundaries. “Well, ask Evan about dinner, okay?”
I could only nod, my explanation of his illness lost in the back of my throat. When she set down the book, I quickly shoved it deep inside my backpack.
Jonathan held the door open to let my mother pass, then said, “Goodnight.” I looked up, and he grinned widely.
“Goodnight,” I returned, my entire body on fire.
A few minutes later, I heard the closing of the front door. I tried to turn my focus back to my assignment, but kept finding myself checking my phone―begging it to light up with a message from Evan.
About an hour later, it did. Sorry I missed your call. I’m okay. Pick you up in the morning?
Yes, I texted back. I knew I wouldn’t find the relief that his text was supposed to provide until I actually saw him.
Falling asleep in the restless house was never easy. Staying asleep was virtually impossible. I flipped on the light next to my bed with my heart thumping. I stared at the door. A moment ago I could have sworn it had a hammer driving through it, trying to shatter it to pieces so she could get to me. In the light, the black door was intact and still.
I got out of bed and pulled on a sweatshirt before quietly tiptoeing downstairs to escape the panic that still shot around inside of me. Exhausted, but knowing sleep was probably a good hour away, I settled on the couch with a blanket covering me. I found a movie that had more dialogue than action, the perfect plot to drone me to sleep.
About a half hour later, the creak of a step drew my attention. Jonathan cringed at the sound with a slight pause before continuing down the stairs.
“Hey,” he greeted wearily, pulling the blanket off the back of the loveseat and sitting next to me on the couch. “What did you find?” He motioned toward the television.
“Not sure,” I whispered, not completely surprised to see him up. “I have no idea what’s going on.”
After watching the underwhelming drama on the screen for a few minutes, he asked without looking over, “Do you always have the same nightmare or is it different each time?”
"It's different each time," I answered, with my head pressed against the pillow. "But they usually end right when I'm about to die."
Jonathan was quiet.
I turned my head to find him appraising me, his mouth bowed in sympathy. "I take it yours aren't like that, huh?"
He shook his head, redirecting his gaze toward the TV. "Mine are always the same," he answered lowly, his jaw tightening as he stared straight ahead. His eyes hardened as he muttered, barely audible, "They won’t let me forget." The features of his face looked carved from stone as he pressed his lips together in a tight line. The dim light glinted off his dark, pupilless eyes. A chill ran through me.
I almost asked what it was the kept him up most nights, but then again, I wasn't sure I wanted to know what it was that made him suddenly so... hateful. He looked like a different person―a person I didn't want to know. I pulled my legs in tighter to ward off the frigidness.
Jonathan faced me, his lips turned up and his eyes creased around the edge―instantly returned to the guy who started a squirt gun fight. I wanted to shake my head, wondering if I'd just imagined the transformation. Maybe it was the lighting, and my lack of sleep, messing with me.
I pulled the blanket further up under my nose. “I just want to sleep,” I murmured, my eyes burning with fatigue.
“I know,” Jonathan yawned.
We returned our attention to the movie. My lids were getting heavy, harder to blink open. I was thinking about going back to bed when he asked, “So, do you need any guy advice?”
Sleep was instantly wiped from my eyes as color rushed to my cheeks. "Don't even start," I threatened, sitting up and hitting him with the pillow. He held up his hands to ward of the blow and started laughing.
"You should have seen your face when my mother offered to give you the talk," he chuckled. "I was trying so hard not to laugh." His chest spasmed with laughter.
"Oh, yeah, that was hilarious," I shot back. "Can we please not talk about one of the more humiliating moments of my life?"
Jonathan smiled widely, his perfectly straight teeth gleaming in the low light. "Sorry."
"Are those real?" I blurted without thinking.
"What?" he asked, completely perplexed.
"Your teeth," I continued to stare. They seemed too white in this low light, and too straight. I couldn't stop looking at them. A true indication that I needed to go to bed.
"That was a rather bizarre change of subject," he noted in amusement. "And yes, they're real. After years of braces, of course, but they're mine." He shook his head, still grinning.
"What?" I pushed, not sure why I wanted to know what kept the grin on his face. But I asked anyway.
"Forget it," he played, "you don't want to talk about it."
I rolled my eyes. "My personal life is not up for conversation."
"Not your personal life," he corrected, "your sex life."
"I don't have a sex life," I retorted quickly, my face flushing as soon as I said it.
Jonathan laughed again. "I know."
I buried my head under the pillow and groaned.
"Why is everyone making such a big deal about it?" I murmured from beneath the pillow.
"Because it is a big deal," Jonathan responded bluntly. His tone lost its humor when he confirmed, "But you're serious, right? You and Evan?"
I peeked out from under the pillow and found him waiting for me to answer. I nodded.
"And what's going to happen when you go to Stanford?"
"Hopefully he's coming with me," I answered, sitting up and smoothing the hair that was floating around my head.
Jonathan nodded. "He's as smart as you?"
"Pretty much. He also has some influence that I don't."
"Money," Jonathan concluded with a smirk.
I shrugged. "Part of it."
"And powerful parents," he added. He didn't even wait for me to answer. "Do they want him going to Stanford with you?"
I looked down, not wanting to think about Stuart's harsh words on New Year's Eve.
"Aahh," Jonathan surmised. "Not so much."
"It's his dad," I explained lowly. "He doesn't exactly approve of me."
"Not approve of you?" he laughed like that was completely ridiculous. "It's probably the money. I know that dad. But I went to college with her anyway."
His words caught my attention. He nodded guiltily. "I did it too. Fell in love with the rich girl. Her parents approved of me enough, until they realized how serious we were. But we went to Penn State together an
yway, even though I really wanted to get as far away from this area as possible―and Pennsylvania was still too close." He took a deep breath. "I shouldn't have stayed."
"You broke up," I concluded, even though the answer was obvious since he was now dating my mother.
"Something like that," he grinned, the smile not reaching his eyes. I could tell by his uneasiness that the emotion was still raw, even after all these years. "College is... different."
I waited, not sure if I should ask him to continue―but wanting to know the story.
Jonathan gripped the blanket and looked toward the dark foyer. I could tell he was thinking about it, what happened between them.
"People change. I mean you barely know who you are when you enter, and you spend that time figuring out what you want from life, and who you want in it. The next thing you know, the people you always thought would be there, aren't. And the person you thought you could trust with everything, isn't the person you ever knew at all."
His shoulders sank. "And then six years later, you have a fraction of the life you thought you would."
I was quiet. I wanted to say something to distract him from going back there, to the place that bowed his head and caved his chest. But he did it himself.
"I got into USC," he declared with a proud smile, dispersing the emotion with ease.
"You did?! Jonathan, that's so great. Congratulations." I was genuinely happy for him, but then it hit me. "Wait. You haven't told her yet, have you?" I closed my eyes in dread.
"I will," he sighed.
All of a sudden, I felt the air go out of me, like someone just punched me in the stomach.
"Emily, what's wrong?" His voice was heavy with concern.
"He was supposed to know by now," I gasped, unable to catch my breath―consumed by panic. "If he got in... he was supposed to know."
"Evan?" he confirmed. I nodded, my chest squeezing. The entire day was starting to unravel. His needing to leave at lunch. And then right after in Art, the look on his face. He couldn't look at me or even answer my call.
"He didn't get in." I couldn't breathe.
"Emma, don't do this," Jonathan soothed. "Don't start freaking out before you know for sure."