Right, I could do this.

The toilet flushed and he reappeared, tying back his hair with a rubber band. He didn’t look at me. Guess we’d entered the part of the evening where we avoided eye contact. Awkward. This wouldn’t do.

“John, look at me.”

He did as told. “Yeah. Everything okay?”

I nodded, smiled.

His smile slowly returned. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Good.” He sighed, relaxing a little. “You want me to give you a lift back to your place?”

“To Hang’s would be great. Thanks.”

A nod.

I grabbed my cell and shot off a text.

 

Me: Back in 15

Hang: ???!!!

Me: You still at party?

Hang: No, come to my house.

 

“We’re fine, right?” I asked, not at all slightly nervous. “Still friends?”

He looked up in surprise. “Of course.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Shirt and shoes back on, he stood, hands on his hips. “Nothing’s changed.”

“Right,” I said. “Thanks for that. For what we did.”

“Sure.” Another smile. “Ready to go?”

“Absolutely.”

 

 

That weekend, I did the laundry as a non-virgin. I also cleaned the kitchen, attempted to study, and then tried to start reading a new YA sci-fi series. Studying didn’t work as well without John, but texting him to come over so soon after last night’s events felt a bit weird. Eventually I gave up and took a nap.

Still, all of these miraculous feats were performed minus a hymen.

Remarkably, nothing much seemed to have changed. I still succeeded in doing the laundry, and failed on both the studying and reading fronts. Just like my previously hymened self. When we went out for lunch together at a local taqueria on Sunday, Mom didn’t even notice how her daughter had apparently become a woman. Of course, Hang guessed what had gone on. She’d taken one look at my messy hair and makeup and squealed with glee. Though, she’d been in on the planning stages.

I didn’t wake up the next morning feeling particularly wiser or more mature. Things down there were a bit sore, but that was about all.

Honestly, so long as there was consent and protection, the biggest danger in doing it for the first time seemed to be the memory you’d make and carry with you for the rest of your days. To be able to live with your decision and the whole reality versus expectations, etcetera. But once you’d started, did that automatically mean you should continue and just automatically do it with the next person you liked? Though that didn’t really make sense. Guess it depended on how you felt about the next person. And also, the risk of things getting emotional. If the person you’d had sex with ignored you after, or talked crap about you, that would suck. (Learning how to deal with assholes did, however, seem to be an unfortunate part of life.) I don’t know. Everyone’s different. And how I’d feel when I saw John again, I had no idea.

Found out first thing Monday morning in English class, though.

Ripped jeans, a faded T-shirt, and the mother of all yawns. He gave me a chin tip. I gave him a smile. Awesome. Not awkward at all. We’d survive this whole having-had-sex thing no problem.

“Hey, how you doing?” I asked, turning in my chair.

“Good. You?”

“Good.”

He pulled out his book and a pen, getting sorted. “Want to study tonight?”

“I’ll text you later.” I turned back to face the front of the class.

This was great. How stupid of me to have worried about how having sex would change things! Why, the scent of his sweat, feel of his skin, taste of his mouth, warmth of his breath, noises he made, weight of his body, strength of his hands, and his eyes, oh God, his beautiful eyes, never even entered my head.

We were still just friends. Excellent. Everything was perfectly fine.

 

 

While all remained apparently cool between John and me, the school grapevine was abuzz. Gossip had apparently been flying all weekend. We’d left the party together. Ooh!

There’d been some scuffle between John and Duncan over me. OMG!!

But at the end of the day, the possibility that the John Cole could be interested in someone like me was just so fantastically HAHAHA!!!

No one could bring themselves to believe such a ridiculous thing.

Duncan had attempted to corner me outside of Spanish class. I’d made vague gestures at my watch, apologized profusely, and done one of my finer disappearing acts. Now that I’d had sex with John, now that I knew exactly what was involved and how it felt . . . the thought of doing anything remotely similar with Duncan (or anyone else for that matter) freaked me out just a little. Sex was so intimate, so private. I’d hung a closed sign over my girl parts for the time being. Much easier. Not even the thought of dating appealed.

“How about pole dancing?” asked Hang in the cafeteria over lunch. “Any experience in the live adult entertainment industry and/or exotic dancing areas?”

“No. Sorry.”

“Damn. Sadly, that rules out a big chunk of the employment market.” She flicked through the local newspaper employment pages on her cell. “Cat grooming services?”

“Maybe.”

Hang tapped a finger against her lips. “I’m sort of highly allergic. But they have good allergy medicines these days, right?”

I just looked at her.

“No. Okay.” She took a sip of her soda. “I’ll keep searching.”

“Good idea.”

“What’s a good idea?” asked Anders, squeezing his sweaty self onto the seat between Hang and me.

“You going and having a shower,” said Hang. “Yuck. You stink.”

“I smell manly.”

“No. You smell like unwashed feet.”

Anders threw his hands up into the air. “Why are you so mean to me? What did I ever do to you?”

“Go. Shower. I’m done with this conversation.” After pushing her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose, Hang returned to studying the want ads. “Edie, do you have any secret business credentials you haven’t seen fit to share with me?”

“Um, no.” I bit into my apple, crunching away. “In fact, I’m reasonably certain I’m going to fail math.”