Ten Things We Did (And Probably Shouldn't Have) by Sarah Mlynowski Page B

while seasoning the pot of beef.
    “What’s wrong with Valentine’s Day? Too cheesy?” I popped some cheddar in my mouth.
    “Yes,” she said.
    “You say cheesy, I say romantic. And practical. I started taking the pill the third week of January. We wanted to wait a month. That Saturday is Valentine’s Day. It makes sense to do it for the first time on a Saturday night.”
    “Will you cover your duvet in rose petals too?”
    “Oh, shut up,” I said, privately storing the idea away. Rose petals on the duvet could be really cute.
    “Can you make the guac?” Vi asked.
    “Um . . . we make guac? Don’t you just open it?”
    “No, darling. Get an avocado, an onion, and a tomato.”
    I did as I was told. And accidentally dropped a piece of cheese on the floor. Donut gobbled it up. Whoops.
    “Now cut the avocado in half, scoop it, smush it, and add in a diced onion and tomato.”
    Blink. Blink, blink.
    She laughed. “What did you eat before you met me? McDonald’s?”
    “My mom was a fan of the drive-through. Penny cooked, though. Lots of fish. Donut would have loved it.”
    Donut was now standing in front of the oven. “Meow?”
    “You just never helped.”
    “Not so much.”
    She nodded. “No wonder they kicked you out.”
    Ouch. That kind of hurt actually. To hide it, I stuck out my tongue and said, “Not exactly. So when is your big night gonna be?”
    “I’m thinking . . . the night before Valentine’s Day.”
    “Isn’t that just as cheesy?”
    “No. That way when I get to tell the story of how I lost my virginity, I get to say it was on Friday the thirteenth.”
    My phone rang. “Hey, Noah,” I said, laughing. “How was practice?”
    “Tiring,” he said over the static of his cell.
    “I think we made too much,” Vi said. “Tell Noah to come over for dinner.”
    “Vi wants you to come over for dinner. Where are you?”
    “Driving home. Thanks. I’m really tired, though. And my parents are expecting me.”
    “So tell them you’re coming here instead.”
    “Wish I could,” he said.
    I hadn’t realized I’d wanted to see him until he said he couldn’t come. “Can we talk later? We’re just cooking.”
    “Yup.”
    “Love you,” I said.
    “You too.”
    I clicked off the phone and dropped it on the counter.
    “Do you say ‘I love you’ every time you talk on the phone?”
    “Most of the time,” I said.
    “Does it mean good-bye? Or does it mean I love you ?” she asked.
    “Both,” I said. Which was true. Most of the time. Although lately I was always the one saying the “I love you,” and he was the one saying the “you too.” What was up with that?
    “Maybe I should invite Dean and Hud over,” she said, stirring the pot.
    “Sure,” I said, still thinking about Noah. “The more the merrier.”
    THE FIRST TIME WE SAID I LOVE YOU
    “What should I do?” I asked Marissa. It was right before sophomore year, the day after I’d come home from France, the day after I’d found out about Corinne and Noah. I was in her room and I couldn’t stop crying.
    “It sucks,” she said. “If I’d been around this summer and seen the two of them together, I would have kicked their asses.”
    “Thanks.” I sighed.
    “But you did tell him he could see other people.”
    “Yeah.”
    “I don’t know.” She shook her head and rubbed my arm. “I think you have to do what feels right. You either have to get over it, or end it.”
    “Break up?” The idea made me feel weak. Empty. Terrified. “What do you think I should do?”
    She bit her lip. “I think it would make me very sad if you broke up. You guys are an amazing couple—the best couple. You’ve been so much happier since you got together.”
    I knew what she meant—in the last nine months, since Noah and I had gotten together, I’d felt afloat. Even when my mom decided to move to Paris, I’d kept the black hole at bay. Noah was my lifesaver, I guess. Noah and Marissa. “So you think I should forgive him?