Like It Never Happened by Emily Adrian Page A

page.
    â€œEvery square inch of her,” confirmed Tess.
    â€œUse once and discard,” said Tim.
    I felt my eyes go wide with horror.
    â€œThe condom, that is.”
    I moved across the room to grab the note from Charlie, but he held it high above his head before passing it to Tess. Like the whiskey, the note made the rounds. I had to refrain from lunging like an idiot while everyone scribbled their names.
    Finally, Liane dropped the page in my lap.
    Be it resolved that the five essential members of the Thespian Troupe of Bickford Park Alternative School of the city of Portland shall amend their pact such that members “Rebecca Rivers” and “Charlie Lamb” are hereby authorized to perform the necessary acts associated with dating each other provided that these acts do not interfere with or compromise the collective artistic potential of the Essential Five. The foregoing resolution is hereby consented to by the Essential Five as evidenced by their signatures hereto.
    I looked at Charlie, slumped in my desk chair. His lips were twisted in amusement but his gaze rested somewhere on the carpet. Days ago, on the bus, I had wanted to crawl inside his mind and see the scenery the way he saw it. Now I wasn’t sure I wanted anything to do with the corners of Charlie Lamb’s mind.
    I tried to take a quick inventory of the ups and downs of our friendship, or flirtation, or whatever it was. The way he smiled at me outside of the hotcake house last December: up. The way he ignored me all summer at camp: down. The way he kissed me on the ride home: up, up, up. Followed by a long, confusing silence.
    I kept trying to catch his eye, but he wouldn’t actually look at me.
    I signed my name. It was too late to do anything else. And besides, I told myself, maybe the pact had been the problem all along.
    For a while our friends teased us. Tess wanted to know who had come on to whom. Tim asked, “Did you lock eyes across a crowded sing-along?” and Tess said, “No, I bet they were partners in a three-legged race.”
    â€œHot,” said Liane.
    Tess asked if we used the top or bottom bunk.
    Charlie, for his part, displayed the right amount of embarrassment and triumph on his perfectly proportioned face. But he also acted like I wasn’t there, and I had to wonder why it felt so shitty to get exactly what I had always wanted. I guess I hadn’t imagined it involving so much paperwork.
    Liane kept reaching across the bed to reclaim the bottle. I watched her from the corner of my eye, looking for the moment she transformed from regular Liane to drunk Liane. But either I missed the moment, or there wasn’t one.
    Outside, the party was dying down. Somebody turned Bruce Springsteen on full blast. Somebody turned the music off altogether.
    When engines started rumbling in the street, my friends filed out of my bedroom and down the stairs. I lingered on the front porch while they went their separate ways. In the backyard, my parents slurred appreciation for their departing guests. My mother kept pushing leftover shrimp cocktail on people.
    From behind, somebody draped her long arms around my neck. I smelled Liane’s shampoo—the cheap, fruity stuff from Costco.
    â€œGuesswha,” she whispered in my ear.
    â€œWhat?” I asked. I couldn’t take my eyes off the street, where my boyfriend was saluting me good-bye.
    â€œHe told me first.” She straightened her spine until she was a full head taller than me.
    â€œTold you what?”
    â€œThat you kissed. That you . . .” She gestured with her hand, implying waves rolling, or some kind of sexual satisfaction I had never achieved.
    â€œWhen?” I asked quietly.
    â€œAfter,” she confirmed. “He showed up at my tree house like twenty minutes after you left.”
    I looked at Liane in the porch light. Her jaw was tense, her eyes glazed. There were a lot of things she could have said to me,