I start reading The Art of Love late at night under the covers, trying to learn as much as I can. There are chapters on kissing I’m dying to try out with Dean, and heat floods through me as I look at the illustrations and imagine they’re the two of us instead of the cartoon people.

By the time the Plan is done, I’m going to be a bona fide sexpert, and James Dean won’t know what hit him. So I know I’m doing the right thing. I have to be.

NINETEEN

FRIDAY NIGHT IS here way too fast and I haven’t had enough time to research. I haven’t even started Wings of Passion, and suddenly I’m in Andrew’s kitchen and the Plan is about to actually happen. I might throw up.

There’s a plate of crackers and hummus in front of us on the counter, but I can barely touch it.

“Are you sure you guys don’t want to come?” his mom asks, fastening an earring. They’re about to leave for the symphony, which is about an hour away in Burlington, so they’ll be gone for most of the night. “We could probably get some extra tickets. Rob is friends with the first violinist.”

“No, you guys go.” Andrew pops a cracker into his mouth.

This is the least I’ve ever felt like eating in my life.

I’ve brought my backpack with me, and inside are the educational sex books and a bunch of condoms I grabbed from the nurse’s office in school when no one was looking. I had to fake a stomachache to get close enough to the counter. Now I can feel the weight of the books against my back.

“We’ll just stay here,” I say, my voice coming out squeaky. Andrew gives me a look. I know I’m acting suspicious, and we need our parents to leave. I clear my throat and eat a cracker to keep from speaking further. It tastes dry and salty in my mouth. “Probably just gonna watch a movie,” I say, forgetting I’m trying not to speak and choking a little on the cracker. “You know, just normal stuff. Man, this cracker is dry.”

He kicks me and narrows his eyes.

“Okay, well, we’ll be home late,” my mom says, coming over to us. She kisses the top of my head loudly, and then moves over to kiss the top of his.

“But don’t have anyone over,” his mom says, pulling on her coat. “We won’t be home that late.”

“Have fun. Be good,” my dad says, waving. Then finally they’re all out the door.

And we’re alone.