The Anti-Virginity Pact Read online

  For the first time in eighteen years, a boy is kissing me, but there are no fireworks. I suddenly realize I have no idea what to do, so I open my mouth and sit there. And it feels…weird. For a moment all I can focus on is how weird someone else’s lips feel—soft and kind of squishy—how inconvenient is it to have teeth in this situation, how weird your tongue feels in your mouth when you don’t know where to put it. It’s nothing like in middle-school slumber parties when everyone kissed their hands for practice.

  Sam, on the other hand, clearly knows what to do, so I follow his lead. He keeps one hand cradled around the side of my face and traces the other down my back.

  I start to get a sense of the way to move my mouth with his, and then suddenly it doesn’t feel so weird anymore. It feels good. The blood rushing through my body runs hot, but not the nervous kind. It’s like electricity is buzzing along my skin and the air between us is on fire. He pulls me closer, and I wind my hands around the back of his neck and into his hair because I’ve seen people do that in movies.

  But then he starts to lay me down, and the heat that floods my system is not the electricity kind. My entire body tenses and I pull back. He immediately backs off, his hands resting on my arms.

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

  “It’s okay,” I say at the same time.

  For a second, we just stare at each other in the darkness, a little out of breath. His cheeks are flushed, his lips slightly swollen, and I blush furiously when I realize I did that. He reaches up and tucks my hair behind my ear, but neither of us says anything.

  “Um.” I scoot away from him a little. “We should probably—” I nod my head toward the movie screen.

  “Yeah.” He slides back into place at my side. For a moment, a a cold wave of terror washes through me that I’d done something wrong, and now things will be awkward between us. But then he holds out his arm, an offering, and I settle back against his chest, listening to the pounding of his heart starting to slow.

  I feel that stupid urge to grin again, but I can’t fight it this time. Because I think I finally understand why these are the kinds of kisses parents worry about.

  10

  When I show up to the library late Saturday morning to meet Johanna and Ashley, I’m still buzzing from the night before. I keep catching myself smiling, and even when I pinch my lips together to stop, the smile pops back out a few minutes later. I can’t help but marvel that I’d actually done it. I’d made it through a date without freaking out, or breaking down, or scaring Sam off by being too awkward and weird. We’d actually talked. Let alone the other things we did. It was probably incredibly tame by anyone else’s standards, but just thinking about it makes my cheeks burn.

  “So, I take it the date with Sexy Sam went well.”

  I startle. I must have been lost in thought again, because I didn’t even see Johanna come into the library, but now she’s standing across the table from me, arms crossed over her chest, a wide smirk on her purple lips.

  I wipe the grin from my face, but my lips tremble with the effort. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh my God!” Johanna slides into the seat next to me and throws her bag on the table. “You can’t stop smiling! And you’re blushing!” She pokes my cheek.

  “Stop!” I laugh, swatting her hand away. “It went well, okay?”

  Johanna’s jaw drops open. “He kissed you.”

  “I didn’t say that!”

  “I can tell!”

  “Tell what?”

  Ashley is standing on the other side of the table, eyebrows raised expectantly. She’s in an all-black tracksuit with some designer’s name stamped down the side of the leg. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a messy high ponytail, and judging by how smeared her eye make-up is, it’s leftover from the night before.

  I wonder how long she’s been standing there.

  But if she’d heard anything important, she wouldn’t be asking.

  “I can tell that we’re almost done with the project,” I say. It sounds even dumber out loud than it did in my head.

  Ashley narrows her eyes like she, too, thinks I’m an idiot before lowering herself into the seat across from us. “So, did you guys do your part, or what?”

  She pulls out her laptop and a stack of papers from her bag and sets them on the table. We divided up the paper based on the type of research, and decided we’d all just edit together the chunks we’d written later on. Johanna tosses her own pages into the center of the table. I set mine down in front of me.

  “Well, does someone want to start editing it together, and the other two can start making the PowerPoint for the presentation?” I offer.

  “And by that, you mean I edit the paper and you two go off and make the slides,” Ashley says, deadpan.

  “Do you want to make the slides?” Johanna asks.

  “I’m just saying,” Ashley huffs and swipes the pages from the center of the table.

  What she’s saying, honestly, I’m not entirely sure.

  “Do you have something to say?” Johanna snaps.

  “Jo,” I warn under my breath.

  Ashley’s gaze slides between the two of us slowly, like a snake sizing up a mouse.

  “We could all edit the paper and then all work on the PowerPoint,” I offer.

  “And have to spend my entire Saturday stuck here with you two?” Ashley mutters, shuffling the papers in her hands until they all line up.

  Johanna folds her hands on the table and leans forward, smiling. “Then what would you like to do, Ashley?” Her voice is so sweet, it makes my teeth hurt.

  I kick Jo under the table, but when I glance back up at Ashley, it seems like she didn’t even hear us. Her gaze is trained somewhere over our heads, her eyebrows pinched together, tension lining her mouth. Her hands are starting to crumple the papers she’s holding. I try to follow her gaze, but all I see are the library stacks.

  “Ashley?” I ask. “Are you okay?”

  She immediately snaps out of it and sets the papers down a little too loudly. “I’ll start editing the paper.”

  “Are you sure?” Johanna asks slowly.

  “It’s fine,” she snaps and whips open her laptop.

  “Well, if you want to switch off halfway through or something, let us know,” I offer, taking out my own computer.

  She ignores me and stuffs headphones into her ears.

  I glance over my shoulder again, but all I see is a girl in the stacks by the windows. She’s crouched down, her face turned away from me. I’m about to turn back around when I notice a second girl, half hidden by the shelves, bent over next to her, a hand rubbing circles on the first girl’s back.

  “You want to start with the text and I’ll look for images?” Johanna asks. “Mare?” She pokes my arm.

  I turn around. Now my eyebrows are pulled together. It was weird, sure. But what’s weirder is why it interested Ashley so much.

  “Sure,” I mumble to Johanna, though my gaze is focused on Ashley, who is scowling at her laptop screen, the music from her headphones loud enough to hear from here. Oddly enough, it sounds like she’s listening to jazz. She glances up and catches me staring at her, but she just glares at me for a few seconds before returning to her work, nails tapping furiously against the keyboard.

  ✦✦✦

  We work mostly in silence. The project only takes an hour or so to finish, and the second we print out the final paper, Ashley bolts. Seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone move that fast without actually running, blonde ponytail whipping behind her.

  Jo and I linger for a bit, packing up our things and chatting in hushed voices, until we head out to our cars. My phone dings with a text from Sam, a video of a Maltese puppy, which looks a lot like Squirt, fast asleep with its head inside of its owner’s tennis shoe.

  “Why are you grinning like an idiot?” Jo teases.

  “No reason.” I shove the phone in my
back pocket as we reach the parking lot.

  Johanna eyes me for a second, nodding slowly. “Mmm-hmm. Don’t think I don’t know it wasn’t lover boy.”

  “Want to come over?” I offer, pausing outside my car. Jo’s is a little further down the lot.

  “Ugh, I wish.” She fishes her phone out of her bag and frowns at the screen. “My parents are flying back in today and I told them I’d pick them up from the airport.”

  “Damn. How long are they staying this time?” I wince as I say it. The Palmers aren’t exactly an off-limits topic, but we somehow always manage to avoid it. If her parents’ persisting absence bothers her, she doesn’t show it. She says she’s used to it—that’s the life of a pilot and flight attendant’s daughter—but I know it can’t be easy. Johanna just shrugs.

  “Who knows. How about tomorrow?” she offers.

  “I can’t. I promised Maman and Harper a girl’s day.”

  Johanna pops her eyebrows. “Yikes.”

  We stand there for a beat, and I twist my car keys around in my palm. We used to hang out almost every weekend and drop by each other’s houses constantly during the week. And I know it’s just because we’re both busy, but I can’t help but notice as graduation gets closer we see each other less and less.

  Johanna must see it on my face, because she throws her arm over my shoulder and squeezes me tightly against her side. “Don’t worry about it, Mare Bear. We’ll just do it next week. Text me about any updates with Samuel.” She jostles my shoulders.

  Laughing, I pull away. “Tell your parents I say hi.”

  She rolls her eyes and waves as she starts walking backwards to her car. “Yeah. If I can get a word in.”

  I watch as she climbs into her Jeep and cuts out of the parking lot, swerving around cars so she can weave through the rows instead of going over the speedbumps. It isn’t until her break lights disappear around the corner that I turn back to my car and get inside.

  11

  For the first time in years, I wake up Sunday morning feeling something other than dread. In fact, I’m so excited to see Sam that when my parents start praising Jesus and listening to some Christian radio station at the breakfast table, I manage to sit peacefully in my seat instead of bristling in discomfort.

  Harper, on the other hand, sits across the table from me, staring at her pancakes as if the sight nauseates her. We haven’t really talked since Tuesday, at least not about anything of real substance. I want to have another conversation with her, but I don’t know what to say that will make her feel better, and I don’t know how to approach it. All I know is I refuse to leave her alone in this any longer.

  She glances up and catches me staring at her, but instead of responding with her usual scowl, she just looks away.

  Since it’s another overcast day and it’s still pretty chilly out, Maman lets me and Harper wear pants, but not even this small victory is enough to lift Harper’s spirits. And now that I’m paying attention, I realize she’s been acting like this for a while now, as if she’s trying to disappear into a shell. What I’d thought had been her usual moodiness and general unpleasant attitude was fear. Shame.

  I have never felt like a more horrible human being than I do right now.

  We’re some of the first people to the church that morning, as usual. As I start to break off from the family to wait for Sam, I pause.

  “Harper?” I call.

  She glances at me over her shoulder.

  “Do you want to sit with me and Sam today?” I offer.

  Maman and Papa freeze in the doorway, and at first I think they’re going to explode about destroying our united front, but when they turn, they’re both beaming.

  “What a wonderful idea!” Papa exclaims.

  “Magnifique!”

  “Um, okay.” Harper joins me by the tables, looking half-relieved, half-confused, as Maman and Papa disappear inside.

  As Mr. Johnson’s car pulls into the lot, I grab Harper’s arm. “I’m about to tell you a really big secret, so I need to know that I can trust you. That you won’t tell Maman and Papa.”

  Harper narrows her eyes. “Okayyy.”

  “We’re ditching the service and going to the coffee shop across the road instead.”

  Harper’s jaw actually drops. “Is that what you guys did last time? I knew I didn’t see you anywhere in the back!”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Do you want to come with us or not?”

  Harper shoots a look at the church over her shoulder, and when she turns back to me, she lowers her eyebrows and crosses her arms over her chest. Usually, the motion would look standoffish, but there’s something about the way she hunches her shoulders in, like she’s trying to make herself smaller, that hurts my heart. “We won’t get in trouble?” she asks.

  The service doesn’t start for another half-hour or so, and the early arrivals are mingling in the lobby, occupied with their conversations and pastries from the coffee cart.

  “No one will notice,” I say. “And even if they do, it’s still early enough that we could say we just ran to get better coffee before the service.” I nudge her. “Besides, what’s the harm in missing it just one time?”

  Harper still looks unsure. “But what if—”

  “Shh!” I hiss as Sam and his dad approach.

  “Bonjour, Meredith and Harper!” Mr. Johnson waves. His pronunciation is a little better than last time. “I’ll leave you to it then.” He pats Sam on the back and heads inside. “Au revoir!” he calls over his shoulder. It comes out as aww vah.

  Sam scrunches his nose at the sound. “He totally butchered that, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah.” I smile at him. I can’t stop smiling at him, which would be completely embarrassing, but he’s grinning right back at me.

  Harper looks at me, then at Sam, her face scrunched together. “What is the matter with you two?”

  I snap out of it, ordering myself not to blush. “I invited Harper to come with us. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Of course!” Sam’s grin returns, and he really does look happy and not like he’s just trying to be polite. “I’ve been wanting to talk to the little sis anyway. Get some dirt.”

  Harper’s usual stoic mask cracks, just a little. “If it’s dirt you want, I’ve got plenty of that.”

  I swat her lightly on the arm. “You do not.”

  “Come on, Harper, let’s walk.” Sam hooks his arm through hers and begins to lead her toward the coffee shop.

  “I’ll just leave you two to it, then,” I call after them.

  “Aw, don’t feel left out. Hop on.” Sam motions to his back.

  “You are not giving me a piggyback ride.”

  “No? I’m sorry, Harper, hold on one second.” He releases her, turns to me, and in one fluid motion, he sweeps me over his shoulder so he’s clutching my legs with one hand (thank God for the pants) and I’m dangling against his back.

  “Sam!” I squeal. Yes, I actually squeal.

  He calmly walks to where Harper waits, re-hooks his other arm through hers, and resumes walking.

  “You two are disgustingly adorable,” she says. I can’t see her face from this angle, but I imagine it’s a mixture of a smile and a look of disgust—the two usually go hand-in-hand with her.

  Sam doesn’t release me even after we reach the coffee shop. When we walk in the door, the barista makes a squeak of surprise, but Sam just carries me to the same table we sat at last time, deposits me in a seat, asks Harper for her order, and then heads to the counter for the drinks.

  Unfortunately, the shop isn’t empty like last time. There’s a middle-aged man sitting in the corner with a laptop and gigantic headphones, staring at us with his lip curled back.

  Harper takes the seat beside me and rests her hands on the table. Her gaze flickers from her hands to my face a few times before she finally says, “Thanks for letting me come with you guys. I know you’d probably rather be alone—”

&nbs
p; “Harper,” I cut her off. I consider reaching out and taking her hand, but that might be a bit much. “I’m glad you’re here. Really.”

  She smiles, and it’s a real one. I honestly can’t remember the last time she smiled like that, and at me. Over the past few years, our entire relationship has been reduced to snarky comments, eye rolls, and curt replies.

  “So, are you two, like, a thing now?” she asks.

  “Yes.” Sam appears with the drinks and sets them on the table. As he takes his seat, he looks me directly in the eye and says, “Totally a thing.”

  “So, Sam,” Harper cuts in before I can respond, but that doesn’t stop the violent burning rushing to my cheeks, or the way my lips quirk up into a stupid smile at Sam’s words. How casually he’d thrown them out, as if it were obvious. “What are your plans for after high school?” She clasps her hands together on the table and raises her eyebrows at him like an interviewer. Like she’s scoping him out for me.

  Sam seems completely unfazed. “I’m planning on majoring in journalism,” he tells her. “Not as impressive as your sister’s fancy veterinarian endeavors, but at least I’ll get one of those cool notepads. Or are those for detectives? You know what, it doesn’t matter.” He waves a hand. “I’m getting one anyway.”

  Harper nods slowly—it’s apparently an acceptable answer—and takes a sip of the drink Sam brought her. She has to suck in the corners of her mouth to hide her disgust as she sets it back down. Why she asked for a black coffee when she can’t drink anything unless it contains half her weight in sugar, I have no idea.

  “I’ve heard you’re quite the artist.” Sam tilts his cup to her.

  Harper’s head whips toward me.

  I shrug innocently.

  “Must have been a pretty boring date if you guys had to talk about me,” she jokes.

  Sam meets my eyes, and I can’t stop my mind from flashing back to the way his mouth felt, to sitting so close I could feel the heat from his skin and the beat of his heart through his shirt. The smell of his aftershave. The rough feel of the stubble beneath his jaw. There’s something behind his eyes that tells me he’s thinking about the same thing. His gaze erases everything else around me, and it’s just me and him, my vision tunneling and blocking out everything else.