Chapters (39)
- Cover
- Dedication
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
He puts his fork down on the plate and folds his hands in front of him on the table. “Just be careful with this guy, okay?” he says again. “Does he know? That you’re a . . . um . . . that you’ve never . . .” He trails off.
I shake my head. “I haven’t told him yet.” I add the “yet” for Andrew’s sake. I’m not sure if I’m ever going to tell Dean, but that feels too complicated to express to Andrew.
“You shouldn’t dress like someone you’re not for his sake,” Andrew says. He taps his shoe against my sparkly heel under the table.
“You said I looked nice.”
“You do look nice,” he says. “But you just don’t look like you. This guy’s not worth that.”
“You don’t know him.”
“No guy is worth that.” He takes another bite of bacon and then pushes the plate toward me. “Want the rest?” I reach out and pick up the last piece, biting into it. “Next time you should just order your own.”
“Why would I order my own when I can have yours?” I smile, finishing the piece and licking the grease off my fingers. “You’re always too full to finish it.”
“Or do I pretend to be too full so you can have some?” He raises an eyebrow at me. “It’s like the chicken and the egg.”
“How appropriately breakfasty a puzzle this is. Eggs and chickens and bacon,” I say.
I’m glad things seem to be back to normal, but I know we’re both faking it a little bit, trying just a little too hard.
THIRTEEN
“YOU DID THE right thing,” Ava says Monday morning at school. “You can’t sleep with him right away, because then he’ll lose interest.”
We’re all gathered in the lounge, a “seniors-only” room with wall-to-wall lockers and a bunch of fluffy couches. It’s like Prescott’s version of the VIP section at a concert, and as freshmen, we were dying to get a glimpse inside. Now that we’re finally seniors, the excitement has worn off. It kinda smells like old milk.
We’re on the ancient blue couch by the window—Hannah, Danielle, Ava, and me—recapping the events of the weekend. There are only five minutes left until first bell, so the lounge is bustling with students, the noise blocking out our conversation. Ava looks around and lowers her voice. “He can’t know you’re a virgin because then he’ll think of you only as a virgin. Suddenly that’s what it’ll be about. He’ll just want to take it. Your virginity won’t be yours, it’ll be his.”