“You remember what we talked about?”
“Um.”
“My dad’s gone tonight.” He leaned in and kissed me again. “We’d have the house to ourselves.”
“Oh.”
My face felt so hot, I was surprised Landon’s forehead hadn’t melted into mine.
“Um.”
My heart raced.
“Want to come over?”
I almost wanted to.
Almost.
But what if Landon didn’t like the way I looked?
What if I was too big?
What if I was too small?
What if we didn’t fit together the way Landon wanted us to?
What if I didn’t like it?
What if I didn’t want it yet?
“Um.”
Maybe that was the only thing I was capable of saying anymore.
Landon looked up into my eyes.
“What do you say?”
I swallowed. “Nervous.”
“It’ll be fun. I promise,” he said. “I want this for us. Don’t you?”
“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”
He frowned.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I mean it’s a big step. For me.”
“Well. You’ve got to take it sometime. Right?”
I don’t know why it bothered me, the way he said it. Like I had to want sex.
There were lots of people who didn’t.
To be clear, I did want sex. I really did.
And I even thought maybe it would be fun to do it with Landon.
But every time I thought about it, it felt like the end of the world. I don’t know why, but it did.
I was scared.
I thought maybe I’d be ready for sex when that fear was overshadowed by the wanting. When the gravity of my desire shifted.
“I . . .”
Landon sighed. He opened his mouth but then glanced to the side.
We heard footsteps again, right around the corner. And voices.
“Dude, you struck out so hard.”
“Shut up.”
It was Chip and Trent.
“It was painful to watch. Like having teeth pulled,” Chip said.
“Whatever.”
“I’m not sure I can be seen in public with you anymore.”
“Like that’s new.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chip asked.
“I mean I only see you at school, or when we’re watching Evie. It’s like you’re ashamed of me or something.”
“You’re my best friend.”
Someone’s shoe scuffed the floor. The squeak echoed down the hall.
Landon bit his lip and glanced between me and the corner where Chip and Trent stood, just out of sight.
We were trapped.
“Then why don’t you act like it?” Trent said. “You always . . .”
But whatever Chip was always doing, we didn’t find out, because they picked that moment to round the corner.
Trent stared at us—our arms around each other, Landon pressing me back against a locker—while Chip’s brow furrowed.
“Oh,” Chip said. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I said.
Trent’s lips curled. His eyes lingered where Landon’s fingers were still hooked under my waistband.
“Um.”
“Taking a break?” Chip said.
Landon nodded. “It was getting kind of stuffy in there.”
“I think we’re going to take off soon,” Chip said. “Seems like things are kind of winding down.”
“Oh.”
“We’re gonna go back to mine and play video games or something. A couple other guys from the team are coming. You two wanna join?”
I looked at Landon.
“I think we’re gonna go back to my place.” He grinned at me. “Spend a little time together.”
Trent snickered.
“Time to play the foreskinned fiddle?”
Time stood still, like we were all suspended on the event horizon of some black hole about to swallow us.
And I finally understood why Trent had started calling me D-Cheese, right after Chip saw me in the locker room.
My eyes met Chip’s for a split second. They were full of shame and panic.
“What the heck, dude?” he shouted.
And even though my ears were ringing, and I felt like a stellar nursery had ignited in my chest, I thought about that. How Chip said “heck” instead of actually swearing.
Trent just laughed. “What?”
Chip had this horrified look on his face. Like maybe he was the one who wanted to cry.
Landon looked at me, and then Chip, and then Trent, and then back to me. He studied my burning cheeks and bit his lip.
“Not cool.” Chip shoved Trent down the hall.
“Have fun!” Trent cackled. “Rubber up!”
Chip dragged Trent away, shooting me an apologetic look as he went.
Landon stepped away from me, and I shivered, with the cold locker against my back and Landon’s warmth removed from my front.
“What was that about?”
“What?” My voice croaked. I cleared my throat. “Um. What?”
“That got really weird all of a sudden. When he mentioned us having sex.” He glanced down at my pants. “Playing the ‘foreskinned fiddle,’ huh?”
“Trent is an asshole,” I said.
And then I said, “They both are.”
“I thought Chip was your friend?”
“So did I.”
I pulled away from the locker and wrapped my arms around myself.
I still kind of wanted to cry.
“So are you . . .” Landon’s eyes darted down again.
“What?”
“You know.”
I shook my head.
“Uncut?”
“Intact,” I said.
“Oh. Huh.”
I hated that word: huh.
I wiped at my eyes, because I wanted to cry but I didn’t want Landon to see me do it.
I was more or less immune to Trent humiliating me. I had adapted.
But what was I supposed to do when it was Chip who did it?
“It doesn’t bother me. I’ve hooked up with uncut guys before.”
“Hooked up?”
“Just jerking off and stuff.”
I didn’t want to know about Landon masturbating other guys.
“Is that all you want to do? Hook up?”
“No. That’s . . .” Landon’s cheeks were on fire. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
My own cheeks began to burn too.
“Why are you so mad at me?”
“Why won’t you be honest with me? Why does Chip know you’re uncut anyway?”
“He saw me that day when I got hurt.”
I wiped at my eyes again.
This felt like a knee to the balls.
Worse, even.
Landon stared at me for a long moment.
And then he said, “Do you have a thing for Chip?”
“What?”
“Do you like Chip?”
“He’s my friend,” I said. “That’s all.”
I didn’t have a thing for Chip.
I couldn’t.
“You won’t even take your shirt off around me. But he’s seen your dick?”
“That’s just soccer,” I said. “It was an accident. But us . . . you . . . I need more time. I told you I’m not ready.”
“Well, what about what I need? What about what I’m ready for? Why is it always about you?”
“It’s not,” I said. “I care about you. And what you want.”
“I’ve told you sex is important to me. But you never want to talk about it. You want to go to dances and look cute together, you want me to cook for you and your family, but when it comes to doing stuff—stuff that I told you I wanted, stuff that matters to me in a relationship—you say you’re ‘not ready.’ We’ve been together for four months now and you won’t even take your shirt off around me. You’re a coward. And you’re selfish.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry. I’m not ready.”
“But you’ll go around swinging your dick in front of Chip?”
“It’s a locker room. What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t even know.” Landon closed his eyes. “You know what? I’m going to go.”
“What?” I squeaked.
“It’s clear you’re not coming home with me. Are you?”
“Um.”
I wanted to say yes.
I wanted to say yes to everything.
But I couldn’t.
I wiped my eyes and said, “Landon . . .”
But he shook his head and said, “This is bullshit.”
And then he said, “I’m leaving.”
And then he walked away.
SUITABLY MELANCHOLY
I wanted to follow Landon.
I wanted to chase him into the rain, and reach out for him, and have him change his mind and turn around, and tell me he was wrong and he was sorry and everything would be okay.
But first of all, it was barely drizzling. Not nearly heavy enough for any sort of dramatic reconciliation.
Second, I was a coward.
And third, I didn’t know anything I could say that would change his mind.
I hovered inside the double doors while he waited for his ride to pick him up. Once he was gone, I slipped outside into the empty parking lot and watched the car’s taillights disappear into the haze, which at least felt suitably melancholy.