“Isn’t.” Jasmine.

“Yes.” Me.

“No.” Jasmine.

Silence.

“Fine!” Jasmine says, throwing her hands up in disgust. “He’s my boyfriend. Whatever.”

“Oooh,” I chorus. “Jasmine and Dale, sittin’ in a tree.”

“Oh my God, you are so corny,” she says, rolling her eyes, but I can tell she secretly likes it. “Anyway, Simone, how are you doing with this whole thing?”

“I don’t know,” Simone says, looking at her hands. “I’m okay until I think about it. And then I can’t stop crying.” Her face flushes a deep red, and I look at her, feeling selfish for getting so upset over the stupid Drew thing. Simone definitely got the worst of this.

“Sweetie, he’s not worth it,” Jasmine says. “Any guy who has a sticker on his bedroom door that says ‘smack my bitch up’ is not someone you want to be involved with.”

“I don’t know what you saw in him in the first place,” I say, finishing my sixth brownie and washing it down with a swig of soda. I wipe my mouth with a napkin. No sense in being fat and dirty.

“He was different when we were alone,” Simone says. “He was sweet.”

“Trying to get into your pants,” Jasmine reports. “Oldest trick in the book.”

Simone looks at the floor. A tear slides down her cheek and lands on her jeans, making a dark circle of wetness. I pass her a tissue wordlessly.

“It’s okay,” Jasmine says, rubbing her back. “The good news is, no one ever ends up with the person who takes their virginity. So you’re no different from anyone else.”

Except me, I think, wondering for the first time if Corey and I are doomed simply because he was the first guy I’ve ever been with. Are there people who’ve only been with one person their entire lives? There must be. I mean, all those articles I gave Grant about high school sweethearts alone.

“But not everyone is dumb enough to think that they’re actually in a relationship with someone just because they had sex with them.” Simone sniffs, wiping her nose. “I just feel really stupid. And now, because of that article, everyone’s going to know.”

“Don’t feel stupid,” I tell her. “James is the one to blame, not you. He’s an asshole.”

Jasmine nods.

“But I’m a slut,” Simone says so softly, we have trouble hearing her.

“You’re what?”

“I’m a slut,” she repeats, now sobbing hard.

“You are definitely not a slut,” Jasmine says, putting her arms around her. “Having sex with a guy you like does not make you a slut. Now if you start having sex with every guy you like, then we’ll reclassify you according to level of skankiness.”

“I shouldn’t have slept with him,” Simone says softly.

“Maybe,” I say. “But you can’t let yourself get caught up in that. Besides, he didn’t dump you because you had sex with him—he dumped you because he’s an asshole.”