“Yeah, I’ll just have him tutor me,” I say, laughing. I flutter my eyelashes in imitation of Abby Feliciano. “He’s such a good tutor.”

“That’s seriously not a bad idea,” Hannah says, offering me a sip of the tea. I take it from her, still laughing.

“What?”

“He could tutor you. If you’re worried about what you said to James Dean, Andrew could give you a few pointers. He obviously knows what he’s doing.”

“I guess I could ask him for some advice,” I say, feeling my ears get hot. I take a sip of tea and hand it back to her. Now that Andrew and I have started talking about my sex life, maybe it isn’t so weird anymore. We got through that conversation in the diner in one piece. Hannah has a point: Andrew could probably tell me some pretty helpful things if I’m brave enough to ask him.

“You could ask him for some advice, sure,” she says, shrugging. “Or you could just have sex with him.” Her tone is casual, like she’s suggesting something completely normal. I snort, hitting her on the arm.

“Yeah, totally,” I say. “Brilliant idea. Inspired!”

“Keely, I’m not kidding,” she says, and I feel the color drain from my face.

“Hannah, no.” I lower my voice to a whisper and look around, worried someone might have heard. Nobody’s paying us any attention. I laugh awkwardly, making a strangled sound as the laugh catches in my throat.

“Think about it,” she continues. “Obviously he cares about you and respects you. And he clearly knows what he’s doing if the junior girls are any indication, so he could get you ready for James Dean. It could be like . . . warm-up sex. A practice round before it really matters.” She leans toward me, getting more excited as the idea takes form. Her eyes are practically sparkling. “Would you show up to the major leagues having never once played the game? Having never even touched a bat? No, you’d get a coach and you’d practice, and you’d suck at first, but then you’d get better. Practice makes perfect.” She claps her hands together, squealing in a way that rivals Ava. “Besides,” she adds. “Then your lie won’t matter. You won’t be a virgin anymore.”

“It’s not that easy,” I say. “We’ve been friends for too long. Friends don’t just . . . have sex with each other.” Even saying the words out loud makes me uncomfortable. Despite the breezy spring air, I feel hot and clammy, my mouth dry.

“Friends totally have sex with each other,” she says, as if I’m being ridiculous. “What about Ron and Hermione?”

“Ron and Hermione didn’t sleep together,” I say.

“They definitely slept together! They had kids, remember? You know they got it on down in her Chamber of Secrets.”