mean
dish?”
Marta fluttered one hand in the air. “Dish, scoop, whatever. Tell me what’s going on. Why are you doodling Wes’s name on anything, much less in red paint?”
“Because you had the blue?”
She glared in mock impatience, and I shifted in my seat, hating the attention. I wasn’t the gossipy girlfriend sort, especially not over my love life. I’d never had one to speak of, and sadly enough, still didn’t. “I don’t know what to say. There’s nothing going on.” Other than Wes coming to my house and sitting in my driveway and cracking open that bronzed heart of his and revealing wounds from his past…. Okay, maybe there was something to tell.
I took a deep breath. “Wes came over last night. When I said we were just friends, we are. His dad wanted me to look out for him, but I sort of had been doing that anyway. I’m drawn to him.”
Marta nodded, urging me on. “But?”
“Well, I was lying in my driveway, which I know is weird, but it’s this thing I do sometimes, and he showed up and sat with me.” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. “We talked about parental stuff, and he actually opened up a little. Lost the macho act for once, you know?” I stared at my cup, which was easier than looking into Marta’s understanding, encouraging gaze. “We really connected. Until he tried to kiss me.”
She gasped, and my eyes darted to her face, which was flushed with excitement as if she’d been the one in danger of losing her heart instead of me. “Did he?”
“I stopped him.” Even as I said the words out loud, I mentally smacked my forehead with one hand in regret while proudly patting myself on the back with the other. “It’s not right. We’re too different.” Like night and day. Oil and water.
Gummi bears and lemon drops.
“I thought the rule was opposites attract.” Marta smiled, but it faded when I didn’t smile back. “Oh, Addison. Do you regret it?”
“Yes. No.” I pushed my mocha around the table in a smallcircular pattern. “It would have been my first kiss.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Impressive.”
“I guess it is sort of rare.” Sixteen and never been kissed. I used to be proud of that, like I’d reached some sort of pinnacle of PK success. Avoid temptation, check. Protect virginity at all costs, check. Even then my true-love-waits ring glinted under the lights of Got Beans, a shimmering, solid white-gold band my dad gave me when I was twelve that I hadn’t taken off since. I stared at it now, somehow doubting Sonya’s father ever got her one. Did they really help? Or was it the fear of God drilled into me working the protective powers instead?
Marta leaned forward, her voice lowering. “If it makes you feel better, I’ve been kissed, but I’m still a virgin.”
“You are?” I wasn’t shocked, just somewhat surprised. Marta had such a cultured, adult attitude to her that I could have realistically seen that one going either way. But it did make me feel better. A lot better. Now there were at least two confessing virgins in the eleventh grade. Probably more hiding in the chess team.
I wasn’t naive enough to think everyone saying they’d done it had actually done so—I knew the power of peer pressure could lead to embellishments and lies to save face. Thankfully, since I’m a PK, no one ever asked me about it. They assumed, and they assumed correctly, and likely blamed my dad for a lot of my decision. So no persecution for that one. It was like I got a free pass.
Or was that just another wall of my father’s I hid behind?
“I made that decision years ago,” Marta said. “For personal reasons, for faith-based reasons, for family reasons.” She shrugged. “It’s the right choice for me.”
“I thought European teenagers were more … advanced … in that area of life.” It was hard to say the actual terminology outloud, even to Marta. Sex was a four-letter word in our house. I never got “the talk” from my dad—I got a
dish?”
Marta fluttered one hand in the air. “Dish, scoop, whatever. Tell me what’s going on. Why are you doodling Wes’s name on anything, much less in red paint?”
“Because you had the blue?”
She glared in mock impatience, and I shifted in my seat, hating the attention. I wasn’t the gossipy girlfriend sort, especially not over my love life. I’d never had one to speak of, and sadly enough, still didn’t. “I don’t know what to say. There’s nothing going on.” Other than Wes coming to my house and sitting in my driveway and cracking open that bronzed heart of his and revealing wounds from his past…. Okay, maybe there was something to tell.
I took a deep breath. “Wes came over last night. When I said we were just friends, we are. His dad wanted me to look out for him, but I sort of had been doing that anyway. I’m drawn to him.”
Marta nodded, urging me on. “But?”
“Well, I was lying in my driveway, which I know is weird, but it’s this thing I do sometimes, and he showed up and sat with me.” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. “We talked about parental stuff, and he actually opened up a little. Lost the macho act for once, you know?” I stared at my cup, which was easier than looking into Marta’s understanding, encouraging gaze. “We really connected. Until he tried to kiss me.”
She gasped, and my eyes darted to her face, which was flushed with excitement as if she’d been the one in danger of losing her heart instead of me. “Did he?”
“I stopped him.” Even as I said the words out loud, I mentally smacked my forehead with one hand in regret while proudly patting myself on the back with the other. “It’s not right. We’re too different.” Like night and day. Oil and water.
Gummi bears and lemon drops.
“I thought the rule was opposites attract.” Marta smiled, but it faded when I didn’t smile back. “Oh, Addison. Do you regret it?”
“Yes. No.” I pushed my mocha around the table in a smallcircular pattern. “It would have been my first kiss.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Impressive.”
“I guess it is sort of rare.” Sixteen and never been kissed. I used to be proud of that, like I’d reached some sort of pinnacle of PK success. Avoid temptation, check. Protect virginity at all costs, check. Even then my true-love-waits ring glinted under the lights of Got Beans, a shimmering, solid white-gold band my dad gave me when I was twelve that I hadn’t taken off since. I stared at it now, somehow doubting Sonya’s father ever got her one. Did they really help? Or was it the fear of God drilled into me working the protective powers instead?
Marta leaned forward, her voice lowering. “If it makes you feel better, I’ve been kissed, but I’m still a virgin.”
“You are?” I wasn’t shocked, just somewhat surprised. Marta had such a cultured, adult attitude to her that I could have realistically seen that one going either way. But it did make me feel better. A lot better. Now there were at least two confessing virgins in the eleventh grade. Probably more hiding in the chess team.
I wasn’t naive enough to think everyone saying they’d done it had actually done so—I knew the power of peer pressure could lead to embellishments and lies to save face. Thankfully, since I’m a PK, no one ever asked me about it. They assumed, and they assumed correctly, and likely blamed my dad for a lot of my decision. So no persecution for that one. It was like I got a free pass.
Or was that just another wall of my father’s I hid behind?
“I made that decision years ago,” Marta said. “For personal reasons, for faith-based reasons, for family reasons.” She shrugged. “It’s the right choice for me.”
“I thought European teenagers were more … advanced … in that area of life.” It was hard to say the actual terminology outloud, even to Marta. Sex was a four-letter word in our house. I never got “the talk” from my dad—I got a
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