Rules for Being a Girl

“Of course not,” Chloe says, gathering the chip crumbs up off her lap and tossing them into the wastebasket tucked under my desk.

“Really?” I ask. “Because it sounds like maybe—”

“Marin!” Chloe laughs a little then. “Come on. Hey. It’s me. That’s not what I think.”

“But?” I prompt.

“No buts!” Chloe promises. “That’s awful, if he did that. That’s

totally gross. Was there like—” She breaks off.

“Was there what?”

“I mean, what exactly happened?” she asks, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “Like, was it just a grandma kiss? Was there tongue? What?”

I think of his hand on my face, his palm sliding southward. It feels like somehow I’m not explaining this right. “No,” I admit finally. “No tongue.”

“Okay,” Chloe says, sounding relieved. “Well, that’s something, at least.”

“I guess.” I blow a breath out. “I’m sorry. I’m just—yeah.” I spin around on the carpet, lying back on the floor. “Do you think I should tell somebody?” I ask the ceiling.

“You just told me.”

“No, like, DioGuardi or someone? I mean, I didn’t even tell my parents.”

“What,” Chloe asks, “to, like, try to get him in trouble?”

“I’m not trying to get anyone in trouble,” I say, popping up on my elbows.

“No, of course not,” she says quickly. “I didn’t mean that how it came out. I guess I just . . . obviously I believe you about what happened, but are you sure he didn’t just, like . . . get confused by your vibe, or whatever?”

I startle. “My vibe?”

“You know what I mean!” Chloe defends herself. “Or maybe you were confused? I’m definitely not saying you were, I’m just trying to figure out—”

“I’m not confused.” Ugh, this isn’t going how I thought it would at all. I take a deep breath, try to regroup. “It was weird behavior, right? Objectively, for a teacher? It was inappropriate.”

“Yes, of course. One hundred percent,” Chloe says, even as she’s shrugging noncommittally. “But it also sounds a little like maybe you’re freaking out a disproportionate amount? I wasn’t there, obviously, but, how many times have we talked about how hot he is, or whatever? Maybe he was just picking up what you were putting down, or trying to make it not weird, or—”

“Seriously?” I interrupt. “How does kissing me make it less weird?”

“I don’t know!” she says. “I’m just trying to make sense of it, that’s all. And if you feel like you need to, like, go to the authorities or whatever, then I’m not going to tell you not to.”

“But you wouldn’t,” I say, flopping back onto the carpet.

“I mean, no,” Chloe says quietly. “I wouldn’t try to ruin somebody’s whole life over something I wasn’t even sure I interpreted correctly.”

“I’m not out to ruin anyone’s life!”

“Of course not,” Chloe says. “But that’s what would happen, right?” She shrugs again. “You tell DioGuardi, and they fire him or whatever, and then he can’t get another job because he’s got this thing on his record that maybe wasn’t even . . .” She trails off, reaching out and balancing a tortilla chip on my knee. “I don’t know. It’s Bex, Marin. He’s literally your favorite teacher.”

And mine, I can hear her adding in her mind. And everyone’s.

“It’s not like we have a totally normal relationship with him anyway,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say, closing my eyes for a moment. I don’t know why all of a sudden I feel like I might be about to cry. “I guess you’re right.”

For a long time neither one of us says anything. Finally Chloe rolls up the bag of chips. “I’ve gotta go,” she says, reaching for the plastic clip on my nightstand. “I told my mom I’d have the car back by eleven.”