My good mood lasted all the way through to Monday afternoon. I mean, what was there to be irritated about?
Nothing. Things were back to normal at home. My friends hadn’t dragged me to the Nest in weeks. Oh yeah, and
I’d just gone on a date with the perfect boy. Who could complain?
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy,” Casey observed as we pulled out of the student parking lot. Her voice
was full of pep, an unfortunate side effect of cheerleading practice, and she bounced up and down in her seat. “It’s
so refreshing!”
“God, Casey, you make me sound suicidal or something.”
“It’s not that,” she said. “It’s just that you haven’t been as bitter as usual lately. It’s a nice change.”
“I’m not bitter.”
“You are so.” She reached over and patted my knee. “But that’s okay, B. It’s just part of your personality. We accept
it. But you aren’t bitter now, and that’s freaking awesome. Don’t take it as an insult.”
“Whatever.” But I broke into a smile.
“See there!” Casey cried. “You’re grinning. You can’t stop, can you? Like I said, you’re happier than I’ve ever seen
you.”
“Okay, maybe you’re kind of right,” I admitted. It was sort of true. I had Casey and Jessica back. Things were
normal again with Dad. Why complain?
“I always am.” She leaned forward and changed the radio to some shitty Top 40 station. “So, what’s up with you
and Toby? Anything gossip-worthy?”
“Not really. He’s coming over this afternoon.”
“Ooh!” She sat back in her seat and winked at me. “Sounds gossip-worthy to me. You’ve picked up some extralarge
condoms, right?”
“Shut up,” I said. “It’s not that kind of thing, and you know it. He’s just coming over to work on our editorials for AP
government. It’s—”
I was cut off when my cell phone, which was lying in the cup holder, started vibrating and playing loud music. My
fingers instantly clinched around the steering wheel. I knew who I’d set that ringtone for, and those few chords were
all it took to derail my entire afternoon.
“Britney Spears? You have ‘Womanizer’ as a ringtone, seriously? OMG, B, that song is so, like, two thousand
eight,” Casey laughed.
I didn’t say anything.
“Aren’t you gonna answer it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t wanna talk to him.”
“Who?”
I didn’t respond, so Casey picked up my cell phone and checked the ID. I heard her let out a knowing sigh. A few
seconds later, the music stopped playing, but I couldn’t force my body to relax again. I felt stiff and anxious, and it
didn’t help that Casey had her eyes glued on me.
“You haven’t talked to him?”
“No,” I muttered.
“Since the day I picked you up from his house?”
“Mm-mm.”
“Oh, B,” she sighed.
The car became quiet—well, except for the annoying sound of an untalented pop singer on the radio, but she was
too busy whining about her cheating boyfriend to care about my issues.
“What do you think he wants?” Casey asked when the song ended. She sounded a little bitter.
“Knowing Wesley probably a booty call,” I grumbled. “It’s never anything more than that.”
“Well, then, it’s a good thing you didn’t answer.” She tossed my phone back into the cup holder and folded her
arms over her chest. “Because he doesn’t deserve you, B. And you’re with Toby now, and he’s perfect for you and
treats you the way you should be treated unlike the douche bag.”
Part of me wanted to stop her. To defend Wesley. He hadn’t really treated me badly. I mean, yeah, he’d called me
Duffy to no end, which was annoying and hurtful, but overall, Wesley had been good to me.
I didn’t tell Casey this, though. I didn’t say anything at all. She didn’t know about that last night with Wesley, how he
had been my friend for about twelve solid hours. She didn’t know about Dad’s relapse, or the way Wesley had
stood up for me. Those were things I could never tell her.
She was getting pissed at him only because she was scared. Scared I’d run back to him and forget about her and
Jessica again. Defending Wesley wouldn’t have helped put that worry to rest.
Toby had gone from geek to hero in Casey’s mind in a matter of days. Simply because he hadn’t taken me from
her. I wasn’t spending every afternoon with him the way I had with Wesley. I didn’t really want to. Sometimes that
scared me, but I figured that that was normal. This was a healthy, nonescapist relationship, unlike what I’d had with
Wesley. And at the moment, I was really happy to be spending some time with my friends.
I turned into Casey’s driveway and hit the automatic unlock button on my door. “Don’t worry about me. You’re right.
Toby is awesome, and he’s made it so much easier to move on. I already have. Things are going well for me, so
don’t worry.”
“Okay,” she said. “Good. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, B.”
“Bye.”
She climbed out of the car, and I drove away, wondering whether I’d just lied to her. Honestly, I wasn’t sure.
On the way home, Wesley called again.
I ignored him.
Because things were going well for me.
Because I was moving on.
Because talking on a cell phone and driving at the same time just isn’t safe.
I pushed Wesley out of my mind when I saw Toby’s car already parked in my driveway. Dad wasn’t home from work
yet, so he sat on the front porch steps with a book. The sun glinted off the rims of his glasses, making them look
extra sparkly. Like he was a trophy.
I got out of the car and hurried up the sidewalk toward him. “Hey,” I said. “Sorry. I had to take Casey home.”
He looked up at me with a smile.
Not a crooked grin.
I had to shake myself. I wasn’t going to think about Wesley. I wasn’t going to let myself miss him. Not when I had
Toby. Sweet, normal, sparkly-smiling Toby.
“It’s fine,” he said. “I’m enjoying the weather. It’s so unpredictable in the spring.” He stuck his bookmark in the
pages of his novel. “It’s nice to have a little bit of sunlight.”
“Brontë?” I asked, seeing the cover of his book. “Wuthering Heights? Isn’t that a little girly, Toby?”
“Have you read it?”
“Well, no,” I admitted. “I’ve read Jane Eyre, which was definitely full of early feminism. I’m not saying that’s a
problem. Personally, I’m a total feminist, but it’s a little sketchy for a teenage boy.”
Toby shook his head. “Jane Eyre is Charlotte Brontë. Wuthering Heights is Emily. The sisters are very, very
different. Yes, Wuthering Heights is usually considered a love story, but I disagree with that. It’s almost a ghost
story, and there’s more hate than romance. Every character is atrocious and spoiled and selfish. It’s kind of like
watching an episode of Gossip Girl in the eighteen hundreds. Except, of course, much less ridiculous.”
“Interesting,” I muttered, chagrined that I secretly watched Gossip Girl on a regular basis.
“It isn’t a favorite of most boys my age, I guess,” he said. “But it’s a page-turner. You should read it.”
“I might.”
“You should.”
I smiled and shook my head. “Are you ready to go in or what?”
“Absolutely.” He snapped the book shut and got to his feet. “Lead the way.”
I unlocked the door and let him walk inside ahead of me, where he immediately took his shoes off. Not that we live
like pigs or anything, but no one ever does that in our house. I couldn’t help being impressed.
“Where will we be working?” he asked.
I realized suddenly that I was watching him and looked away. “Oh,” I said casually. “Um my room? Is that okay?”
God, I hope he doesn’t think I’m a stalker freak for staring at him like that.
“If it doesn’t bother you,” Toby said.
“No, it’s cool. Come on.”
He followed me up the stairs. When we reached my bedroom, I pushed the door open a crack, checking quickly for
embarrassing items (bras, panties, et cetera) that might be lying on the floor. Sure the coast was clear—and
praying I hadn’t been too obvious—I swung the door the rest of the way open and gestured for Toby to walk inside.
“Sorry it’s a little messy,” I said, looking down at the pile of unfolded, clean clothes that always stayed on the floor at
the foot of my bed and trying not to think about the last time I’d had a boy in my room and how he’d laughed at my
neurotic clothes folding. What would Toby think of it?
“It’s fine.” Toby moved a stack of overdue library books out of my chair and placed them on the desk. Then he sat
down. “We’re seventeen. Our rooms are supposed to be messy. It wouldn’t be natural if they weren’t.”
“I guess not.” I climbed onto my bed and sat with my legs crisscrossed. “I just didn’t want it to bug you.”
“Nothing about you could bug me, Bianca.”
It took everything I had to ignore how cheesy that sounded. I smiled anyway and looked down at my purple
comforter. I’d never received so many compliments from one person, and I wasn’t very good at accepting them.
Mostly because I was always too busy mocking how mushy they were. But I was working on that.
And the truth was, I was kind of blushing.
I didn’t even notice Toby had moved until he was sitting beside me. “Sorry,” he said. “Did I embarrass you?”
“No well, yeah, but in a good way.”
“As long as it’s in a good way.”
He leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek, but I didn’t let him stop there. I turned my head and pressed my
lips against his, just as he started to pull back. It didn’t go quite as smoothly as I’d hoped. I mean, his glasses kind
of knocked me in the face for a second, but I pretended I hadn’t noticed.
His lips were so soft that I wondered if he used ChapStick. Seriously, nobody has lips that perfect naturally, do
they? He must have been disgusted by mine, which probably felt rough and scaly to him.
But if he was, he didn’t show it. His hand moved up my arm and rested on my shoulder, pulling me a little closer.
We sat on my bed and kissed for a few minutes, but the sound of my cell phone broke the moment. Damn it!
And of course, it was that same Britney Spears ringtone—the one I wanted least to hear at that exact moment
—that seemed to scream at me. Toby pulled away and looked down at the floor where I’d dropped my purse.
When I didn’t move, he turned back to me with raised eyebrows.
“Ignoring someone?” he asked.
“Well, um, yeah.”
“Are you sure you don’t need to answer it?”
“Positive.”
Before he could ask any more questions, I kissed him again. Hard this time. And even though he hesitated for an
instant, he returned it. I fumbled to take off his glasses and placed them on the nightstand beside my bed before
our arms twisted around each other, the kiss deepening.
I pulled him down onto the pillows with me. There wasn’t quite enough room for both of us on my twin bed, so he
had to lie partially on top of me. One of his hands was in my hair, and the other rested near my elbow.
He wasn’t trying to grab my boob, he hadn’t slid his hand up my shirt, and he didn’t attempt to unzip my jeans.
Actually, Toby didn’t try anything risky. I had the feeling I was going to have to make all of the big moves, like
loosening the buttons on his shirt, which I did.
For an instant, I wondered if he was hesitating because of me. Because I was the Duff. Because he didn’t really
find me attractive. Despite all those compliments he paid me, it didn’t feel like he wanted me. Not the way Wesley
had.
No. I knew that wasn’t right. It wasn’t that Toby didn’t want the big things—he was a teenage boy, after all—but he
was a gentleman. A patient, respectful boy who didn’t want to cross any lines. And we’d only been dating for a
couple of days.
Did that make me a slut? The fact that we’d only been dating for, like, four days and I was already rolling around
with him in my teeny-tiny bed? Had my thing with Wesley totally twisted my perception of sex?
Or did every girl do it?
Vikki slept with most of her boyfriends on the first date.
The whole school thought Vikki was a whore, though.
Casey had slept with Zack only a week after they’d started going out.
Casey had been fifteen at the time, and Zack was her first real boyfriend. She was naive and stupid, and she didn’t
hesitate to admit that it was a major mistake.
But I knew I wouldn’t feel that way about Toby. I mean, I was the one pushing this forward. I wanted to go farther with
him. Because I liked him. Because he was cute and sweet. Because he wasn’t ashamed to date me. I couldn’t
think of one good reason not to sleep with him.
God, I just wanted to stop thinking. I kissed him harder, pulled him closer, trying to re-create that mind-numbing
feeling I’d had before with Wesley. But it wasn’t working. I couldn’t stop thinking.
I undid the rest of the buttons on Toby’s shirt and helped him throw it onto the floor. He was kind of scrawny with
hardly any muscle—Casey would have called him “skinny chic” or something. Tentatively, his hands began to lift the
hem of my T-shirt. He moved slowly in case I wanted to stop him. Just like how he kissed me, always worried he
might have crossed the line. I hooked my leg around his waist and ground my body against his. No lines. Maybe
there were no lines. Maybe I’d never had any to begin with.
God knows how long we spent making out on my bed, pieces of clothing being removed at a snail’s pace. I was
already breathless by the time he had the nerve to pull my T-shirt over my head and toss it to the carpet. While part
of me appreciated his patience, I couldn’t help thinking, Took you long enough.
I could feel his right hand inching—like a turtle—toward the clasp of my bra. At this rate, it would have been
midnight before he got it off, and for some reason, I felt urgent and anxious. I wanted him to get it off. I wanted to
feel attractive and desired. I wanted to stop thinking. So I pushed him away and sat up, my legs still wrapped
around him. We both breathed heavily, gazing at each other.
“Are you sure about this?” Toby whispered.
“Very.”
I reached around to undo the clasp, but right when my fingers grazed the hook, there was a knock on my bedroom
door.
“Bianca?”
Toby and I jumped. Both our necks snapped around just as the door swung open.
Wesley Rush stared back at us, frozen in the doorway.
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