book and a brochure.
“Statistically, European teens have more experience. But the teen pregnancy rates are lower. We’re taught differently about sex education and protection.” Marta waved one hand in the air. “All of which is good, but I wish more of my friends would choose abstinence for themselves. It’s one thing to protect against an unwanted pregnancy or disease, but you can’t protect yourself against the emotional side effects of having that kind of intimate relationship at our age. I’ve seen what those choices do, the hurt they leave behind.” She tapped her finger against her coffee cup. “I decided for myself it wasn’t worth it.”
“I agree.” And I did. Didn’t I? Funny, this wouldn’t have ever crossed my mind in the first place if not for Wes’s random appearance last night. Though I had to admit, the thought of him making out with Sonya and then offering a kiss to me burned my insides up with too many emotions to define.
“Besides, abstinence before marriage is what the Bible instructs, and I figure God has a reason for His rules.” Marta winked. “But you know all about that.”
Oh, trust me
.
She continued. “So why didn’t you kiss him? Because you didn’t want him to be your first kiss? Or because you think there is no hope for a relationship there?”
“Definitely not the first.” My lips twisted to the side as I thought. “Somewhat the latter.”
“I’m guessing there’s a third reason lurking?”
“He has a girlfriend, who isn’t his girlfriend.”
Marta just sat back and shook her head like she wasn’t even going to try to figure that one out.
“Remember the lemon-drop girlfriend I mentioned lasttime we were here and saw Wes?” I gestured around the shop.
Marta nodded. “What is that reference about, again?”
“Long story. But anyway, Wes told me last night when I asked about her that he’s not into labels.” I took a fortifying sip of my mocha. “And I’m not into knockoffs.”
She blew out her breath. “So it’s not ideal.”
“Not at all.”
We stared at our coffees until Marta finally looked up. “Guess we should get back to the gym and paint some posters—ones without boys’ names on them.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at that as we gathered our trash and slipped outside. Too bad it wasn’t as easy to paint over the impression Wes left on my heart.
Chapter Eleven
S ince I had “volunteered” to organize the fund-raiser for the talent show, everyone assumed I also needed to be at every rehearsal and paint party between now and then. The final list of chosen contestants had been posted earlier in the week, thankfully minus Kelly’s accordion and Tyler’s violin. I was glad to see a couple of popular names listed under hip-hop group dancers, as well as a ballet solo. Maybe this wouldn’t be such an epic fail after all.
I don’t know who had the biggest laugh over seeing my name written as assistant director under Mrs. Lyons—me or Marta. But when I realized it wasn’t a joke, I stopped laughing.
“It will be a good experience,” Marta consoled me as I banged my head against a bank of lockers.
Looking up at the six-foot backdrop we were supposed to paint and my two “volunteers”—two football players playing sword fight with the only available brushes—I could pretty much assure her it wouldn’t be. “Hey, guys, can we focus?”
They turned surprised glances my way, as if realizing I was there for the first time. I fought the urge to steal their “swords” and bean them on the head. “The black background goes on first.” That should have been common sense, but with these guys, it wasn’t worth the risk of assuming. They dutifully got to work, pausing only once to dab each other’s T-shirt sleeves with paint. That was probably as good as it would get.
“Just keep it on the canvas, okay? No paint on the floor.”
The cavemen grunted what I hoped was an agreement, and I made my way through the wings toward
“Statistically, European teens have more experience. But the teen pregnancy rates are lower. We’re taught differently about sex education and protection.” Marta waved one hand in the air. “All of which is good, but I wish more of my friends would choose abstinence for themselves. It’s one thing to protect against an unwanted pregnancy or disease, but you can’t protect yourself against the emotional side effects of having that kind of intimate relationship at our age. I’ve seen what those choices do, the hurt they leave behind.” She tapped her finger against her coffee cup. “I decided for myself it wasn’t worth it.”
“I agree.” And I did. Didn’t I? Funny, this wouldn’t have ever crossed my mind in the first place if not for Wes’s random appearance last night. Though I had to admit, the thought of him making out with Sonya and then offering a kiss to me burned my insides up with too many emotions to define.
“Besides, abstinence before marriage is what the Bible instructs, and I figure God has a reason for His rules.” Marta winked. “But you know all about that.”
Oh, trust me
.
She continued. “So why didn’t you kiss him? Because you didn’t want him to be your first kiss? Or because you think there is no hope for a relationship there?”
“Definitely not the first.” My lips twisted to the side as I thought. “Somewhat the latter.”
“I’m guessing there’s a third reason lurking?”
“He has a girlfriend, who isn’t his girlfriend.”
Marta just sat back and shook her head like she wasn’t even going to try to figure that one out.
“Remember the lemon-drop girlfriend I mentioned lasttime we were here and saw Wes?” I gestured around the shop.
Marta nodded. “What is that reference about, again?”
“Long story. But anyway, Wes told me last night when I asked about her that he’s not into labels.” I took a fortifying sip of my mocha. “And I’m not into knockoffs.”
She blew out her breath. “So it’s not ideal.”
“Not at all.”
We stared at our coffees until Marta finally looked up. “Guess we should get back to the gym and paint some posters—ones without boys’ names on them.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at that as we gathered our trash and slipped outside. Too bad it wasn’t as easy to paint over the impression Wes left on my heart.
Chapter Eleven
S ince I had “volunteered” to organize the fund-raiser for the talent show, everyone assumed I also needed to be at every rehearsal and paint party between now and then. The final list of chosen contestants had been posted earlier in the week, thankfully minus Kelly’s accordion and Tyler’s violin. I was glad to see a couple of popular names listed under hip-hop group dancers, as well as a ballet solo. Maybe this wouldn’t be such an epic fail after all.
I don’t know who had the biggest laugh over seeing my name written as assistant director under Mrs. Lyons—me or Marta. But when I realized it wasn’t a joke, I stopped laughing.
“It will be a good experience,” Marta consoled me as I banged my head against a bank of lockers.
Looking up at the six-foot backdrop we were supposed to paint and my two “volunteers”—two football players playing sword fight with the only available brushes—I could pretty much assure her it wouldn’t be. “Hey, guys, can we focus?”
They turned surprised glances my way, as if realizing I was there for the first time. I fought the urge to steal their “swords” and bean them on the head. “The black background goes on first.” That should have been common sense, but with these guys, it wasn’t worth the risk of assuming. They dutifully got to work, pausing only once to dab each other’s T-shirt sleeves with paint. That was probably as good as it would get.
“Just keep it on the canvas, okay? No paint on the floor.”
The cavemen grunted what I hoped was an agreement, and I made my way through the wings toward
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