I try to grab the notebook, but he holds it easily over his head and out of my reach and starts reading from it. Damn my perfect penmanship. Why couldn’t I have chicken-scratch that no one but me can read?

“1. What will increase my chances of getting laid this year. 2. Research—”

I jump up in a freak moment of dexterity and manage to snag the notebook from his hand.

“Smells good in here,” Fletch says, coming into the kitchen and going right to the stove, lifting the lid on the sauce.

I close my eyes and clutch the notebook to my chest. I am going to die. How much did Shane see?

I think better on paper, and I think best using science. I have a problem, so I relied on both to help me figure it out. I need to get better with boys. I need to go on dates, get kissed, and see a penis that doesn’t belong to a porn star. So I started to break it down in my notebook using the scientific method because that is how I think.

I need Shane to not have seen too much of my notes.

“Why is your face so red?” Fletch asks.

“The steam from the noodles.” I nod toward the sink. “I was just straining them.”

I cast a warning glance at Shane. Pleading with my eyes for him to shut up.

“Are you really a virgin, Penelope?” he asks.

Well, that answers how much he saw.

I slump into a chair and groan. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe you just asked me that.” I put my head down like we used to on our desks in school. I wish I could transport myself back there. Life was so much simpler then. I look up. “I’m not answering you.”

“It’s none of our business,” Fletch adds, shooting Shane a look and turning almost as red as I am.

“Yeah, none of your business,” I echo. “Could you just forget you saw that? Please?”

“What did you see?” Fletch asks.

“Velma here has been using her composition notebook to track her very naughty progress through her sexuality.”

“Stop it and don’t call me Velma. Seriously, if you keep talking I am going to my room and never coming out.”

“You’ll come out. I’m cooking tomorrow, and you like my Rice-a-Roni.”

“I will move out.” To a hermit cave deep in the woods. I will live alone and make soup out of pine cones and edible grasses. I will never speak to another human again.

Fletch fishes the strainer out of the sink and pours the noodles back into the pot. “Is there garlic bread?”

I nod. “Yeah, sorry. I need to put it in the oven.” I don’t set my book down as I go to finish the dinner.