Page 5 of A Real Goode Time

“I’m not talking about this with you,” I said.

But my blush gave me away. My pasty-white skin turned bright pink when I was embarrassed or turned on.

“You have!” Leighton shrieked. “Okay, so I can see how it would be a little weird for both of you to have had the same guy’s penis in your mouths.”

“Ohmygod, gross,” I said. “Don’t say it like that.”

She cackled. “What? You can do it, but not talk about it?”

I laughed, covering my face with both hands. “It’s weird. Max and I never talk about what we do together, physically. It’s always been, like, not secret, but…just…a thing we do that we don’t talk about or reference. And it’s always at his apartment, always at night. And I always come home right after.”

Leighton chuckled. “You need to get laid, girlfriend.”

“I’ve waited this long for it to be right,” I said, “I may as well keep holding out until the right guy comes along.”

“But what’s right, Torie? How will you know? Some magical sensation in your hoo-ha?” Leighton snorted. “And trust me, your first time ain’t something to write home about.”

“I’d be an adult,” I said, approaching this delicately, “and it’d be…voluntary.”

“Not a child and against your will?” she muttered. “Like poor little ol’ me?”

“Not how I meant it, but…yeah, basically.”

She was quiet a long time. “Well, Tor, for your sake, I do hope your first time ends up being worth the wait. I really do.”

“And, for my part,” Jillie added, “I agree with you, Torie—you’ve waited this long, so keep waiting for the right guy at the right time. For it to be worth it. Just don’t give it away cheap.”

I sighed. “That’s the plan.”

“But first,” Leighton said, “get to Alaska without getting raped and murdered.”

“Yeah, that too,” I said.

Friday afternoon,4:00 p.m., after a midday shift.

Mr. Sokoli, my boss, had given me the okay to take time off—I’d told him I’d be gone something like three weeks, and that I’d call him if I needed more time. I’d worked for him part-time and full-time since I turned fourteen, so I had a guaranteed job at his restaurant pretty much whenever I wanted.

I’d checked the bus times last night, so I knew I had plenty of time to walk to the Greyhound station from the restaurant and buy a ticket as far as half of my cash would take me.

I said goodbye to everyone at the restaurant and I set out. It started out pleasantly enough—cool and overcast, but a good day for walking. I had earbuds for my phone, but I didn’t use them. I wanted to preserve the battery life of my phone, as it was old and prone to dying pretty quickly.

It was six miles to the bus station, and I figured I’d need an hour and a half or two to get there. As I was nearing an hour in—too far to turn back but barely halfway there, the overcast sky began to darken from a slate gray to a heavy, threatening, sullen coal color.

The wind picked up.

The cool day turned almost cold.

I felt a droplet of rain on my head. “No.” I stopped, and stared up at the sullen, blackening sky. “No, don’t you dare.”

Drip-drip. Dripdripdrip.

SPLAT.

SPLATSPLATSPLATSPLAT.

I whimpered. “You bitch,” I said, staring up into the rain, which turned into steady fat drops. “You absolute and utter bitch.”

I was in the middle of suburbia with nowhere to duck in and wait out the rain.