Page 17 of Dark Notes

She tumbles into a sprawl beside me, all arms and legs and smiles. What is she up to?

In a volume too low to be heard beyond our huddle, she asks, “What do you think of him?”

Kill me now. I’m not going there with her. “He’s stern.”

She glances at Mr. Marceaux, and lines form in her forehead. “Not him. I mean, yeah, he’s stern and sexy and… hello? Didn’t you hear about his other uses for his belt?”

His belt? I shake my head. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just hearsay. I want to talk about Chris Stevens.”

I don’t have an opinion on Chris, other than he tried to sleep with me sophomore year, and I’ve been avoiding him since. “What about him?”

“Have you fucked him?”

My cheeks burn. “What!”

Mr. Marceaux cuts his splintery eyes at me.

Shit. I lower my voice, clipping the words. “I haven’t done anything with him.”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just….” She separates a lock of her hair and proceeds to plait it into a skinny braid. “I know you’ve been with Prescott and Sebastian and…others. They don’t shut up about it, and well, never mind. It was rude to assume.” She drops the braid and flashes me a pair of dimples. “Are we gravy?”

“Yeah, we’re good.” I guess?

“Cool, because I need some advice.” She lowers her chin, whispering, “On sex. And since you’re…um…”

A slut? A tramp? A dirty whore? I fight my shoulders into a relaxed position. “I’m what?”

“Experienced.”

I grit my teeth.

She doesn’t seem to notice. “Chris and I are kind of a thing. Like, we’ve made out and stuff, and I’ve been…I don’t know, saving my V-card for something special, you know?”

No, I don’t know. I can’t imagine anyone or anything being special enough to go through that for.

She puts her face so close to mine all I see is freckles. “What’s it like?”

I tilt back, growing increasingly uncomfortable by the second. “What? Sex?”

“Yeah.” She licks her lips. “That.”

Just the thought of sex makes my stomach swarm with a thousand bees. Enduring it is worse than licking an oozing cold sore covered in dead skin and pus. But I don’t know if it’s like that for everyone—people act like girls are supposed to like it—so I shrug.

She cocks her head. “Does it hurt? The first time?”

“Yeah.” My voice cracks, and I clear it. “It hurts.” It never stops hurting.

“How old were you?”

I don’t want to talk about this, but at the same time, my chest aches with an overwhelming need to share. No one has ever asked me about my sexual experiences. Definitely not my mom, and I’ve never had a close friend. Isn’t this what I’ve always wanted? Girl talk without judgment?

I search her face for signs of cruelty and find only bright-eyed curiosity. It produces a warm sensation deep in my core. She’s interested, maybe even envious. Because I have something she doesn’t. Experience.

Stretching my legs out, I rest my head against the wall. “I was thirteen.”

“Wow.” Her face glows with wonderment. “Who? How? Tell me everything.”

The words come easily, pouring from a memory that’s tattooed on every cell of my body. “My brother had just come home after serving time in the Marine Corps, and he brought one of the guys from his squad with him. His best friend.”

I was so taken with Lorenzo then, so giddy over his good looks, battle-honed muscles, and rugged charm. And he looked at me like I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

He still looks at me, and I dread it down to the marrow of my bones.

Sarah covers her mouth, her smile escaping around her fingers. “You gave your virginity to your brother’s best friend?”

Prickles race up my spine. “He was staying with us until he could get his own place. I woke one night, couldn’t fall back asleep, so I stepped outside to sit on the back deck.”

Daddy had only been gone a month, and the loss was still so very painful, a constant constriction in my chest. He used to say, Nothing is inconceivable, and everything is possible. The proof is in the magic of music. So there I was, humming his favorite Herbie Hancock song, wishing for the inconceivable, and willing him to come back.

Sarah crowds in, her expression radiating far more enthusiasm than the reality of that night deserves. “What happened?”

“My brother’s friend came outside and pinned me on the stairs. He was so big. Big everywhere. And strong. He knew what he wanted, and I couldn’t stop him from taking it.”

Couldn’t stop the concrete steps from scraping my chest and legs as he took me from behind. The hand on my mouth muffling my screams. The ripping sound of my nightie. The smell of his breath rotting the air. And the hurt between my legs…the tearing, the blood, the soreness for days after when he took me again and again.