Forever by Judy Blume

Aronson.”
    Tommy Aronson ? I mouthed his name and my father
     nodded. “I’ll take it upstairs,” I said.
    I picked up the extension in my parents’
     bedroom and cleared my throat before I said,
     “Hello . . .”
    â€œKatherine?”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œThis is Tommy Aronson . . . remember me?”
    â€œI remember.”
    â€œI’m home for the weekend.”
    â€œThe weekend’s just about over.”
    â€œI’m not going back until tomorrow morning.”
    â€œHave a nice trip.”
    â€œI see you haven’t changed.”
    â€œHave you?”
    â€œWhy don’t you come out with me tonight and decide for
     yourself?”
    â€œSorry . . . I can’t make it.”
    â€œOh, come on . . . I’ll behave.”
    â€œIt’s not that . . .”
    â€œThen what?”
    â€œI’m going with someone.”
    â€œOh . . . anyone I know?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWell . . . in that case . . .
     what’s your girlfriend’s number?”
    â€œI have a lot of girlfriends.”
    â€œThe little one . . . you
     know . . .”
    â€œErica?”
    â€œThat’s the one.”
    â€œHer last name’s Small and she’s listed in the
     book.” I hung up before he could say anything else. The nerve ofhim, coming back into my life today, of all days! And asking for Erica’s
     number just to make me jealous—as if I care one way or the other!
    I went back to the kitchen and sat down at the table. My cheeks were
     burning. “That was Tommy Aronson,” I said.
    â€œWe know,” Mom told me.
    â€œWhat did he want?” Jamie asked.
    â€œTo go out tonight.”
    â€œAre you going?”
    â€œOf course not . . . I wouldn’t be caught dead
     with him!”
    â€œYou used to like him,” Jamie said.
    â€œA long time ago . . . things have
     changed.”
    â€œIs Michael going to be your only boyfriend?”
    â€œFor now,” Mom answered, before I could. She smiled and
     offered me another half bagel.
    I shook my head. The phone rang again. “That Tommy can’t take
     no for an answer,” I said, picking it up. “Hello . . .”
     I sounded irritated.
    â€œKath?” It was Michael.
    â€œOh, hi . . .”
    â€œWhat’s wrong?”
    â€œNothing . . . I thought you were someone
     else . . . hang on a second and I’ll take it upstairs.”
    â€œHow’re you doing?” he asked me when I picked up the
     extension.
    â€œI’m fine . . . and you?”
    â€œOkay . . . I just wanted to tell you I thought about
     you all night.”
    â€œSame here . . . about you, that
     is.”
    â€œAnd that it was very special for me.”
    â€œFor me, too . . .”
    My mother came to my room that night. “I cut this article out of
     today’s Times ,” she said, handing it to me.
     “I think it has a lot to say . . . you might find it
     interesting.”
    I got comfortable in bed, adjusted my lamp, and looked at the article.
     Maybe Mom could tell about me after all. The title was What about the
     right to say ‘no’? and the subtitle was Sexual
     liberation. It was written by the director of medical clinics at Yale. He
     said that he always asks adolescents (am I still considered an adolescent?) four
     questions when he talks to them about sex.
    Â 
    1—Is sexual intercourse necessary for the
     relationship?
    2—What should you expect from sexual
     intercourse?
    3—If you should need help, where will you seek
     it?
    4—Have you thought about how this relationship
     will end?
    He went on to explain each question. In his discussion of question two he
     said that enjoyable love-making, culminating in orgasm, isn’t