“Hey,” I say again when I reach him.
“Hey,” he says. I start walking again toward our houses and he follows suit.
“I have a favor to ask,” I say. I keep my eyes on the ground as I walk.
“Okay,” Finny says.
“Could you make sure that Alexis and Taylor and Victoria and—” I stop myself from adding Sylvie. “And everybody don’t go around telling people that I’m pregnant?”
“Why would they do that?” he says. This solves a mystery, and part of me is relieved. I’d always wondered how someone like Finny could be friends with girls like them; apparently he doesn’t realize what kind of girls they are. I understand that. I used to not know either. And Finny always thinks the best of people; perhaps he thought that they asked if I was pregnant out of concern.
“Because—” I falter on how to say it so that I’m not insulting his friends.
“You’re not, right?” he says quietly.
“Phineas!” I say. I look up for the first time to glare at him. He looks straight back at me.
“I—” he says. “I mean, they did say it was a possibility—”
“No, it’s not.” I say. “I’ve never even had sex.”
“Oh,” he says. His face changes to the startled expression I expected him to have when I called his name. I look back at the ground. We walk in silence for another minute. We’re coming up on our houses now.
“Could you just make sure—”
“Yeah,” he says. His tone is curt and I think I’ve offended him. It is true though; they are capable of spreading a rumor like that. For all I know, half the school already thinks I’ll be a new mother in the spring.
“Thanks,” I say. He doesn’t answer me. I glance at his face. He’s frowning. We walk up the lawn together and part ways when we get close to the porches. He does not say good-bye to me.
***
I go straight to my room and crawl into bed. I close my eyes and try to sleep. My body is starting to relax when I remember the way Finny looked at me when I told him I was a virgin, the way he frowned.
A spike of ice impales me through the middle. I can’t breathe around the spike; it’s too large. The cold spreads from my stomach into my lungs and heart, but it does not numb the pain.
What does it matter to you? I ask myself. The ice melts into a puddle in the pit of my aching stomach.
My Finny.
He isn’t your Finny.
I know that. But there is a difference between knowing something and feeling it. I’ve known that he wasn’t my Finny anymore, but now he is on the other shore, separated from me by an ocean I am afraid to cross, and I can feel it.
23
I’m not feeling better until Christmas morning five days later. I eat the eggs my mother makes as if I haven’t eaten in years. My father comes downstairs and kisses my mother for longer than normal. I ignore them and keep eating. When I’m finished, he goes into the living room to take the first load of presents over to Aunt Angelina’s and I go upstairs to get dressed.
When we were small, Finny and I would camp out under whichever Christmas tree we would open presents at in the morning. We’d lie side by side, staring at the tree, adorned with either my mother’s perfectly color-coordinated, store-bought glass ornaments or his mother’s mix-match of exotic beaded tassels from India and her eccentric creations of clay or paper.
We would whisper together and stare at the tree until the lights became blurry. In the morning, we would wake together and then run to get our parents so we could open presents.
I put on a black skirt and a green sweater. After a moment of deliberation, I choose a silver tiara that is so low it is nearly a headband. There were three Christmases after The Mothers decided we could not sleep together anymore that Finny and I were in such a rush to get to each other that The Mothers could not convince us to get dressed, and we opened our presents in our pajamas as if we had stayed the night together. It hasn’t been like that for years,
“Hey,” he says. I start walking again toward our houses and he follows suit.
“I have a favor to ask,” I say. I keep my eyes on the ground as I walk.
“Okay,” Finny says.
“Could you make sure that Alexis and Taylor and Victoria and—” I stop myself from adding Sylvie. “And everybody don’t go around telling people that I’m pregnant?”
“Why would they do that?” he says. This solves a mystery, and part of me is relieved. I’d always wondered how someone like Finny could be friends with girls like them; apparently he doesn’t realize what kind of girls they are. I understand that. I used to not know either. And Finny always thinks the best of people; perhaps he thought that they asked if I was pregnant out of concern.
“Because—” I falter on how to say it so that I’m not insulting his friends.
“You’re not, right?” he says quietly.
“Phineas!” I say. I look up for the first time to glare at him. He looks straight back at me.
“I—” he says. “I mean, they did say it was a possibility—”
“No, it’s not.” I say. “I’ve never even had sex.”
“Oh,” he says. His face changes to the startled expression I expected him to have when I called his name. I look back at the ground. We walk in silence for another minute. We’re coming up on our houses now.
“Could you just make sure—”
“Yeah,” he says. His tone is curt and I think I’ve offended him. It is true though; they are capable of spreading a rumor like that. For all I know, half the school already thinks I’ll be a new mother in the spring.
“Thanks,” I say. He doesn’t answer me. I glance at his face. He’s frowning. We walk up the lawn together and part ways when we get close to the porches. He does not say good-bye to me.
***
I go straight to my room and crawl into bed. I close my eyes and try to sleep. My body is starting to relax when I remember the way Finny looked at me when I told him I was a virgin, the way he frowned.
A spike of ice impales me through the middle. I can’t breathe around the spike; it’s too large. The cold spreads from my stomach into my lungs and heart, but it does not numb the pain.
What does it matter to you? I ask myself. The ice melts into a puddle in the pit of my aching stomach.
My Finny.
He isn’t your Finny.
I know that. But there is a difference between knowing something and feeling it. I’ve known that he wasn’t my Finny anymore, but now he is on the other shore, separated from me by an ocean I am afraid to cross, and I can feel it.
23
I’m not feeling better until Christmas morning five days later. I eat the eggs my mother makes as if I haven’t eaten in years. My father comes downstairs and kisses my mother for longer than normal. I ignore them and keep eating. When I’m finished, he goes into the living room to take the first load of presents over to Aunt Angelina’s and I go upstairs to get dressed.
When we were small, Finny and I would camp out under whichever Christmas tree we would open presents at in the morning. We’d lie side by side, staring at the tree, adorned with either my mother’s perfectly color-coordinated, store-bought glass ornaments or his mother’s mix-match of exotic beaded tassels from India and her eccentric creations of clay or paper.
We would whisper together and stare at the tree until the lights became blurry. In the morning, we would wake together and then run to get our parents so we could open presents.
I put on a black skirt and a green sweater. After a moment of deliberation, I choose a silver tiara that is so low it is nearly a headband. There were three Christmases after The Mothers decided we could not sleep together anymore that Finny and I were in such a rush to get to each other that The Mothers could not convince us to get dressed, and we opened our presents in our pajamas as if we had stayed the night together. It hasn’t been like that for years,
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