He shakes his head. His face is brick red, from his chest to the lobes of his ears. His heart is beating fiercely in his neck. “I couldn’t have done it, anyway.”

“What?” I’m confused.

“I don’t know what happened. I was fine while we were kissing and stuff, and I think my back is an erogenous zone because when you ran your fingers down it—wow. I was . . . good to go. But when it was time to actually do it, I don’t know. The little guy just wasn’t up for it.” He looks away. Coughs. “I think I got scared.”

This makes me feel somewhat (but only slightly) better. I try to cover my utter humiliation by being funny. “I see. So the little guy got stage fright.”

“Hey, he’s not that little. I just said little by comparison with the rest of my body. I believe him to be a perfectly average size, as penises go.” He smiles.

I do like that smile.

But I’ve made a mess of everything.

“It just wasn’t the right time,” he says. “Maybe we’re too young, you know? There’s a reason why grown-ups are always saying we should wait until we’re older.”

I nod.

“Maybe we could try again next year,” he says.

“Okay. Maybe next year.” I blow my nose again, and glance at the clock on the bedside table. “We should probably get back to the awards ceremony. We’ve been gone for more than an hour.”

My mom will have noticed my absence by now. But I try not to think about how I’m going to explain myself. Another lie, probably, which I am getting so sick of.

Nick leaps up and puts his pants on. He runs around and picks up my dress and underwear from the floor and hands them to me. “I can turn my back, if you want to go use my bathroom.”

“Thank you,” I say awkwardly. “I think I will.”

In the bathroom I pull on my dress again and smooth it down my legs. It isn’t too wrinkled. I wash my face with cold water. The mascara is supposed to be waterproof, but it’s no match for my torrent of tears earlier. I use the handy package of makeup remover that’s sitting next to the soap on the kitchen counter, and scrub all the makeup off my face. In the mirror I look like myself again, a blotchy, obviously-having-a-rough-night version of myself, but me.

Still a virgin, but okay with that.

Nick stands up when I exit the bathroom. He’s wearing his suit again, jacket and everything, but without the tie.

“You still look really pretty,” he says after a minute.

“So do you.”

It’s awkward between us as we go out.

And awkward as we wait for the elevator.

And as we ride the elevator to the bottom floor.