He starts to say something else, but before he can even get the first word out, I interject. I know what he’s going to say, so I might as well just cut to the chase. This whole conversation is filling me with anxiety and the sooner it ends, the better.
“It’s really not that big of a deal, Kelley. It’s just sex. It’s not like I’ll actually be losing anything by having sex with Tyler. Virginity is a social construct. I’ll still be the same person the next day. I’m not going to become someone entirely different just because I’m going to ask him to insert his penis into my vagina.”
Kelley winces, but he’s listening.
“I’m informed, I’m prepared, and I’m ready for this,” I state, watching him closely. When he doesn’t respond, I reach out my hand and place it over his. Quietly, I reassure him, “it’s not going to change who I am, Kelley. I’ll still be your best friend. I’m not going to drop you.”
He’s not looking at me anymore. He’s staring down at the cafeteria table when he pushes out, just above a whisper, “But you’re not in love with him. Don’t you want your first time to be special and with someone you love?”
“Just because I’m not in love with him doesn’t mean it’s not going to be special, Kelley.” I’m frustrated. It’s times like this when I feel like I’d be better off with a girl as my best friend instead of a boy.
Am I in love with Tyler? I don’t think so. But I care about him a lot, and I trust him. I’m ready to have sex. Isn’t it a good thing that I do it with someone I care about and trust after taking the time to prepare and become informed?
Heck, I feel like I deserve a pat on the back for how mature I’m being about this whole thing.
Why can’t Kelley be supportive?
I’m just about to ask him that question when something dawns on me, and instead of ending the conversation like I probably should, I voice the thought that’s come to my mind.
“Kelley, are you upset because you haven’t had sex yet? Are you mad that I’ll be doing it first?” I watch him carefully as I wait for his answer.
I’d always just assumed he was having sex. He’d never told me for sure that it happened, but Shelby made a big scene about it in the locker room earlier this year. Shelby and Kelley started talking over the summer, and the fact that the relationship lasted this long—albeit on and off—is unprecedented. Kelley dates. A lot. But never keeps a girl around for long.
“What? Fuck, Ivy, no.”
“So, you’re not a virgin?” I press.
Kelley laughs loudly, and it sounds like he’s mocking me. I’ve never, ever felt hurt by Kelley until right now, in this moment, because of the way he is laughing at me, and I find myself rubbing at an ache in my chest.
“Are you fuckin’ kidding, Ivy? You know I’m not.”
He stands from the table and grabs my empty lunch tray, but I remain sitting. Kelley’s been getting snappier lately. Easily irritated. But usually with his parents, Shelby, his teammates. Never with me. I don’t like how it feels.
“Okay, so then why are you being such a jerk about this? Awfully hypocritical of you, right? Unless you’re telling me you’re in love with Shelby?”
Kelley looks down at me, and for a brief moment, all I see in his eyes is agony. Loss. Grief. But in an instant, he blinks, and all those emotions vanish.
“You’re right, Ives. I’m being an asshole,” he says, but he’s not sincere. He’s being condescending, and as he stoops down to pick up his backpack, he adds, “Let me know when you’re tryin’ to fuck Tyler and I’ll give you some of my condoms.” With my empty lunch tray in his hand, he walks away without a backward glance.
And I’m left sitting with a pain in my chest, watching him go and replaying every word of the strange conversation we just had. Questioning everything I thought I knew about Kelley. Questioning what I thought I knew about our friendship.
8
Walking into Ivy’s apartment, I’m hit with an aroma of chocolate and something sweet and find Bailey in the kitchen wearing the Wonder Woman apron Ivy got her for National Cookie Day. We all thought it was a holiday Ives made up but turns out there’s actually a National Cookie Day in December.
“What are you baking, Baile
y?” I ask her as I slide up to the kitchen island. There are rows of chocolate cookies cooling on wax paper, and when I reach out to grab one, she smacks my hand with a plastic spatula.
“Ow! Fuck, Bailey!” I cradle my hand to my chest and flash her a shocked glare.
“Oh, that didn’t hurt, ya baby. Don’t touch ‘em.” She points to me with the spatula and then to the cookies. “They have to cool first. That way you can experience the proper texture and consistency.”
I pout at her, and she laughs.
“Nope. That shit doesn’t work on me like it does V. Go point that lip at someone else.”
“You’re stingy,” I tease. “Is she getting ready?”