“We do?” he asks, leaning forward. “Is he a rebel without a cause? Does he have a motorcycle?” He takes a bite of bacon.

“Yeah,” I say. “He does.”

He puts the bacon back down. “Oh.”

“He works with me at the store. He had a party last night and invited me, so we all went.” I can see the information clicking into place in his head.

“So he goes to EVmU then?”

“Yeah, he’s a junior.”

“Hmm,” he says. Then he takes a bite of his own pancakes, chewing them for a while. I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t say anything more.

“What does ‘hmm’ mean?”

He runs a hand through his hair and leans forward, putting his elbows onto the table. “Just . . . be careful, okay?”

“What are you saying?” I know what he’s saying. It’s the same thing Danielle told me, the same thing I was worrying about last night.

“I know how guys think,” he says. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“We didn’t, like . . . have sex or anything,” I say, my voice coming out strangely high-pitched. After I say it, Andrew’s face turns red.

“Okay,” he says. “But he wants to.”

“How do you know what he wants?”

He gives me a pointed look. “He wants to.”

I’m feeling combative for some reason. Of course I know he wants to; he told me so last night, condom in hand. I swirl a spoon in a circle around my cup of coffee. I can’t look at Andrew. I take a deep breath and speak, my voice quiet.

“I’ve never . . .”

“I know,” he says. I look up at him then and the expression in his eyes is kind, the familiarity of it comforting.

“I haven’t told you, because, I don’t know, it’s sort of embarrassing to talk about. And you’re clearly, like, really experienced, and so is everyone else, and I’m pretty much the only one left.” The words all come pouring out before I can stop them.

“You’re—” he starts, but then the waitress comes back over, holding up a jug of coffee.

“How you guys doing? Anyone want a refill?” We both jump, turning to her with guilty faces.

“We’re fine,” I say, my voice catching. “Thanks.”

“No prob! I’ll come back in a little while with the check.”

We turn back to each other and I struggle to find something to say.

“You don’t have to tell me about it,” he says finally. He toys with the rest of the pancakes on his plate, using his fork to cut them up into fluffy little pieces.

“It’s okay,” I say. “It’s actually kinda nice to talk about. I’ve wanted to tell you about Dean forever, but it seemed weird. I didn’t know what you’d say.”