TRIGGER WARNING:

SUICIDAL IDEATION

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Foreword and Acknowledgements

This is the last of my major works, published in mid-2009. Like Arie & Brandon , it was, to a certain extent, my life's story: everything I had learned, condensed into one piece of fiction. While the stories surrounding my Mount Hill characters are what I'm most famous for (insofar as I am famous), I believe this is my finest work.

The story's structure was inspired by a conversation with my friends about the Harry Potter  series. For those living under a rock, they chronicle the adventures of a boy named Harry Potter as he attends a wizarding secondary school from 1990 to 1997 and learns that a very bad wizard named Voldemort has it out for him. While the novels are limited in their ability to discuss Harry's parents, who died when Harry was 15 months old, it's made clear that, when James Potter and Lily Evans were in school together in 1975, James was a bully and his mother detested him. That said, Mr. Potter changed, resulting in the two falling in love and getting married. That character development and reconciliation never made it onto the page, and its lack must have been lingering in the back of my mind as I started to write this story. I was not  watching How I Met Your Mother , though I might have also been inspired by its X-rated version, Nick Scipio's superlative Summer Camp Swingers  series.

The story's structure—a long-term character study covering a number of years—dovetailed with the idea of a single character having lots of nicknames. I debated a number of options, but ultimately the protagonist chose her name out of the options I was trying on her for size. (I thought to myself, "That's a name I associate with a woman who isn't afraid to be loudly angry," and the character replied, "And you think that doesn't fit me because...?" And, well, if she  was okay with it, who was I to argue.) The assorted diminutives and variations on that name help give structure to her continued growth, and I applied that idea (albeit to lesser extents) to the other characters.

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Chapter 1

"Just go slow," she told him, and he did.

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After, they lay together, his arm under her shoulders, his member limp now and dangling between them. She felt warm and safe and content in his arms. She ran her hand idly over his chest, over the nascent muscles there, the faint tracing of hair. Under them was the blanket he had brought, and under that the roots of the old oak tree that cradled them, and grass, and the good green earth. Above them was endless sky dappled by clouds and untouched by man. Later in life she felt that the field, the tree, the sky was all an untouched talisman: potential, sheer possibility, untapped and fecund, merely awaiting the touch of the right hand. Her hand. Hers, and David's.

"How do you feel," he asked.

How did she feel? Warm. Loved. Good. The delicious ache of muscles well-used, and the new awareness of things that had never before been used. The sun caressed her skin with molten gold, the summer breeze with delicate fingers. She had never been naked outside before, though she had been naked with him more times than she could count. She had felt his spend on her skin before, and even in her mouth, but now it was inside her, warm and wet; and quivering, it seemed to her, as if with the joy of its delivery. She wished it had been longer, because every moment had been heavenly, and she wanted it all.

It would take forever to explain it all. "Why do you ask," she said instead.

"Well," he said. "For some women, you know, it, it hurts. The. You know. The first time."

"It didn't hurt," she said. "My cherry's been gone for ages, you know that. And I loved it. It felt really good."

"Oh," he said, with the hesitation she'd always found endearing. "Okay. I'm glad."

David had found this place three months ago, biking out with friends. It seemed like a place out of a storybook: a long plain of sweet-smelling grass, as soft as down to the touch; a speckling of trees, rich browns and greens under a pale blue sky. She had loved it from the moment he brought her here; she had known, from the moment he brought her here, that this would be the place she gave herself to him, irrevocably and forever. The grass was waist-high, a curtain of solid light; the trees towered overhead like smiling grandfathers. The one they had chosen, gnarled and steadfast, had doubtless cradled other bodies than theirs, had doubtless witnessed more love than theirs; she could tell, just by lying beneath its boughs. She had been out here many times since the first day, sometimes with David, sometimes alone; sometimes with her camera, sometimes without. It was as if nothing could touch her here. Except him, of course.

"Did it feel like you thought it would?" he asked.

She took the hand that draped over her shoulder and gave its palm a little kiss. "What is with you and all the questions today?"

"Well..." he said. "I'm curious. I want to know how it felt for you. ...I want to know if it was okay."

"It didn't hurt," she said again, smiling, giving his palm another kiss. "And what it felt like... Well, I didn't know what it would feel like." His fingers had been inside her a couple times, but that wasn't the same; nor was it anything like the time when she, exploring, had pushed the handle of a hairbrush up inside herself. (If her cherry hadn't been gone by then, it certainly was afterwards.) Those things were nothing like the real thing—nothing like being here, cradled by earth and root, cradled by his arms, his chest pushing against hers, his hips straining against hers, feeling the sweet pain of his thing inside her, bigger than anything else she had experienced; nothing like the look on his face, made helpless by love and lust, or the things he whispered; nothing like the feeling of his heart thundering against hers when he gave his final shudder and lay still.

Danielle Mayer had loved David Glass from the time they were six years old, bumbling around the Redwood Heights Elementary School playground together. Someone had stolen his truck, and she had stood up for him, and even though she had cooties he dared to talk to her; soon they were inseparable. They had made fun of Mrs. Galveston's slip together; traded answers on spelling tests without thought of consequence; been buddies on every field trip she could think of. When she wanted to find out what the big deal about kissing was—after all, she was a grown up, eight whole years old, why couldn't she  do it?—he was the only one she needed to ask; she showed him hers, he showed her his; when she heard her mommy and daddy using angry words she didn't know, it was David of whom she asked the meaning of the word "divorce." (And "stupid fucking cunt," too, though their fifth-grade teacher wasn't as keen to explain that  one.) She said "I love you" to him even before she said it to her grandma, and meant it before she meant it with her grandma either. When people asked him what he wanted to be when they grew up, he always mentioned her, and vice versa. When fifth grade rolled around and they finally learned how babies were made, they laughed about it—what a silly idea, after all, for a boy to stick his thingie in a girl's also-thingie! But time passed, and they began to understand the urges that made a boy and a girl want to do that; and now that summer was here and they finally had time, their occasional explorations had increased in frequency and intensity. And she had known that, if there was ever anyone she would have sex with and have babies with, it was David Glass.

And yet, actual lovemaking was the one thing she didn't know she could share. Their backpacks, their schoolbooks, their iPods, their DVDs, even sometimes their clothing passed between them without thought of ownership; her things were his, and vice versa. They had shared their bodies long ago as well; it had been her hands that taught him his thing was good for more than peeing, and his that taught her the same, while he slept over at the age of seven; from then on they had traded their pleasures freely, despite not yet knowing what orgasms were. But this was different. This was baby-making. Danielle's older cousin Charlotte had gotten pregnant too early, and as soon as Danielle was old enough to notice anything about babies besides how cute they were, she had noticed that little Austin was a bundle of trouble. But there was more than that too. For almost ten years David had been at her side, as omnipresent as oxygen... But would he always be? Sex was something you didn't share with just anyone. She needed to know, for certain, that he wasn't just playing, that when he said they would marry, he meant it.

To change the subject, she asked, "Did it feel the way you thought it would?"

She felt him shrug. "It wasn't... I didn't know what to expect either." And then, "...Did I last long enough for you?"

She felt a blush of pleasure over his insecurities. He was so cute that way. "Davey, you're sixteen. It's okay." In past years it had taken her a while to get him to come; but now, as hormones increased, sometimes he spurted the moment she touched him. The first time that had happened, his face had turned bright red and he had spent the next half-hour apologizing. "Besides, we got you off earlier so you'd last longer, remember?"

"I know, I know, I just... I didn't want to disappoint you."

The truth was, he had, a little bit; she had loved what they had, and would have loved even more for it to last longer. But the moment she saw his face, the face she'd been reading since she was a child, she'd known she couldn't expect much from him. Even that fact brought a feeling of pleasure: that her body could excite him so. She turned her head to kiss the side of his chest. "You didn't."

After a bit of silence she said, "How do you  feel?"

There was a pause. She imagined him looking up at the sky, barely visible through a sheltering blanket of oak leaves.

"Well, I'm... I'm happy," he said. "Well, I mean. I just did it, and I'm only sixteen, it'd be a little weird if I wasn't ecstatic." A lopsided grin crossed his face for a moment. "Mostly, I'm just... I dunno. Humbled."

"Humbled?" she said.

"Well... Yeah," he said, shrugging. "I mean, how many times in a guy's life does the most beautiful girl in the world give her virginity to him?"

She passed a hand over her face, embarrassed. "You keep saying that." Her arm covered her small breasts; her place down below, its light down of hair still damp from their loving, could not be covered, but there was nothing to be done about that.

"And I keep meaning it," he said. He lifted her hand from her face, and his green eyes met hers. "Every time."

"I'm not that  attractive," she said.

"Nope," he agreed glibly. "There's people hotter than you. Shelly Baumgarter has bigger boobs, and so does Amy Plisken."

She swatted him with one hand.

"But that doesn't matter," he said. "Because they're not here with me. They're not the one I'm in love with." His hand curved around to gently cup her breast. "They're not the one who gave it up for me."

She swatted it away. "So, if Shelly Baumgarter and her waterballoon boobs were here and she'd  just given it up, you'd be totally in love with her instead?"

The arm under her shoulders grew tense. "... Nellie, I think you're reading too much into this."

She pushed out of his embrace. He was thin and gangly, with little definition to his muscles; only over the last few months had he finally grown taller than her. He had sandy hair and green eyes she had almost memorized. Right now, she loathed the sight of him. "Don't call me that. You know I hate that name." Now that she was sitting up, she could feel motion down below in that secret place: it was his cum, she realized, starting to drip out of her. Was it supposed to do that? ...It had better! "And another thing, what's with the coming inside me?"

"What?"

"You agreed we'd use a condom," she said. "Dammit, David, you know I'm not on anything! I could get pregnant."

"You're not going to get pregnant," he said, sitting up, his tone clearly meant to be soothing.

"What if I do?" she blazed. "What if I do  get pregnant?"

"Then I'd be there for you. Nellie—"

"Don't call  me that!"

"I've called you that since we first met," he said. "That's what I knew you as when we were young."

And that was just it: it made her feel like a kid. Which, to be sure, she wasn't. "I just gave you my virginity . That's not something kids do. I just gave you my virginity, and you can't even call me by the right name."

"Well, I'm not gonna call you Dee, that's just stupid," he said. It was the name her girl friends called her, and a subtle dig at them—he didn't think they were good for her.

"Maybe that's how I want to be called," she retorted.

"Then you're just gonna have to suffer," he said, "because I won't."

"You know, this isn't the kind of thanks I want to receive from the man I just gave myself to," she snapped. "You just had my virginity , David."

"You just had mine," he protested. "And besides, what's the big deal? It's not like this is the only time we'll get to do it—"

His presumption took her breath away. "It is too  the only time we'll get to do it, if you keep on like that!"

She saw the muley stubborn look start to form on his face. "Nellie, I don't like that name because it's disrespectful of you. It's just the first letter of your name, how much more diminutive can you get? I don't like them because they don't treat you right—"

"It takes one to know one," she retorted.

Now there was anger in his eyes as well. "Angel, I have been nothing but polite to you—"

"And compared me with Shelly Baumgarter ! One of my friends ! The very person you're saying I shouldn't hang out with is the same person you'd rather be with—"

"Rather—" he spluttered. "Rather— Rather be  with?"

"Why, what were you going  to say?" she spat.

"Well, maybe I would  rather be with her," he exclaimed, "she probably isn't such a bitch about sex!"

His face was the angriest she'd ever seen it. But she didn't much notice, because she was the angriest she'd ever been.

"Do you know what Scott O'Connor said about Ruth Fischer? Do you know when he said they did it? He said they waited three months." Scott was one of his school friends. "Kenny Cheng said he was doing it with Vicky Lassiter after half a year. Shelly Baumgarter gave it up to Alex Pearson on the third date !" His eyes were alight with fire now. "And where have we been? They've been asking me since freshman year whether we've done it then, and they all give me weird looks when I say we're waiting. Some of them were asking during eighth grade. You made me wait for four years , Danielle! I think you owe me by now!"

"Owe you?" she shrieked. " Owe  you?!" What was he thinking, that he owned her or something? "All right, you know what? Forget it. Forget it.  We're done. We're done , David Glass, I hate  you, and I never want to see you again!" She snatched up her pile of clothes in one swift motion and set off through the grass. When she got to her bike, she hopped on, stopping only to don her flip-flops, and began to leave—only to realize that she had better dress first, lest anyone see her cycling naked down the street. Her shorts and tank top were on in an instant; she stuffed her bra and panties in a pocket and did not stop until she got home.

Only then did she allow herself to contemplate crying.

Barely had the thought occurred to her that tears were rolling down her cheeks. All throughout the ride she had tried to fuel the fire of her rage, her indignation, but it was as if the countryside were conspiring to thwart her; she had passed what felt like a hundred locations freighted with memory. There was the place where she and David had found the dying squirrel. Here was the spot she'd twisted her ankle, and David had helped her limp home. Behind those trees was the first time he'd ever touched her breasts. There was the spot David had had that catastrophic bike spill and skinned his shin almost to the bone; the blood was long washed away, but the long tire skids were still there. And without underwear, her nether regions were more susceptible to the touch of her shorts, to the touch of the bicycle seat, to its rumbling vibrations as she skidded home—all a reminder of what she had just done, and whom it had been done with. Soon it was a struggle to see clearly. And once she was safely locked in her room, it was over; she wept furiously, if silently, with a cold feeling of loss in her gut that she simply couldn't dispel.

She reminded herself that he wasn't perfect, that there were things she was glad to be shut of. He was so indecisive; he was always happy to do whatever she wanted, and she teased him about it mercilessly, knowing that he would one day let someone bend him over backwards. He had promised to get a job this summer, but she'd known he wouldn't, even as she encouraged him to get out of the house and stop being lazy. And so polite, so non-combatant: if Shelly Baumgarter came up to him tomorrow and slandered Danielle to her face, David would just nod and smile. What kind of man is that to build a life around. What kind of man is that  to marry. I'm sure I'll be better off without him.

She'd always suspected that his hostility to her friends was partially hormones. There was simply no denying that Shelly Baumgarter had the best figure in the school, better than some of the seniors; Missy Renquist's was almost as good; and Liana French was widely recognized the prettiest girl in the school. Danielle's social standing had gone up remarkably once they'd let her be seen in public with them. It didn't surprise her to know that he would rather be with them. It didn't surprise her that he didn't actually think she was pretty.

Though it did hurt.

But I'll live,  she thought. I'll live. I'm better off without him, if he's going to be like that. I gave him everything, and he threw it in my face. I won't let him win. I'll live.

So she firmed her lip and set her teeth, and wiped her eyes. And if she cried at night, it was into her pillow, and nobody heard, so that it might as well have never happened.

Just like David.

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Chapter 2

It was another three weeks before Danielle would talk about David.

They were the three slowest weeks of her life. Each morning she would wake up and wonder what to do with herself. Each night she would fall into bed with the same question. In between she sat and stared. She tried to use the computer, to do her summer reading, to catch up on books she'd meant to finish; she tried to keep herself busy. It never worked. Always she found herself sitting aimlessly, blankly, unable to focus. Once she read the same page for an hour. Her period came, and went; there was blood on her panties, but she didn't think to do anything about it. Nothing happened.

Obviously, her parents had questions about why her best friend had suddenly stopped coming round—not to mention her younger sister Sonya, little brat that she was—but enough times yelling " I don't wanna talk about it! " at them finally put them off the scent. She was just glad that David himself had not shown up at the front door; he certainly could have, it wasn't like he hadn't spent half his life here. But for whatever reasons of his own, he didn't. For a while she dreaded it; then she merely worried that he might try to phone the house; then she wondered whether he might send a letter or an e-mail. But as weeks turned to months and no contact was forthcoming, she began to think that maybe he had taken it seriously—as he should have!—when she said she was done with him.

Her friends were no help; Shelly Baumgarter and the others had made it plain that she should not attempt to contact them over the summer. (They had also made it plain that they would be out of state, possibly out of the country, over the summer, and any attempts she did  make at contacting them would necessarily fail, so why not save herself the trouble? Danielle wished her family had that kind of money.) Not that there was much she could say to them anyway. They had all ridiculed her "outdated" attachment to David; they thought she should sow her wild oats while she could. She would get no sympathy from them.

And her other friends...

" Danielle? " The voice sounded amazed. " Danielle Mayer? "

"Do you know  any other Danielles, Liz?" Danielle asked.

" Well ," said Liz, " no, not particularly. As a matter of fact, I'm not sure I know this 'Danielle Mayer' person you speak of either. I mean, she hasn't talked to me in a couple of months. Which is pretty crappy for someone who claims I'm her best girl friend. "

"I am not  in the mood, Elizabeth ," Danielle snapped, two inches away from hanging up.

" Ooh, a first name ultimatum, " said Liz. " Powerful, but not nearly as effective as the full-spectrum triple-name treatment. 'Elizabeth Viola Lewiston!' See? There's a difference. "

"You want  me to use it?" Danielle growled.

" No, not particularly. What can I do for you, Nellie? We haven't spoken since school ended, it must be something important. "

"I... I..." said Danielle. "Can you just come over?"

" Well, I was going to meet Heidi and Vanessa for a movie. Can it wait? "

"Umm," said Danielle. She wasn't sure she wanted to say anything out loud—as though, somehow, keeping it quiet would make it all go away. But despite it the words came tumbling out: "I'm not with David anymore."

There was a crackling silence from the other end of the phone. Then Liz said, " I'll be right over. "

And she was. Within the next fifteen minutes after that, Heidi and Vanessa arrived too; Carmen was at summer school and would only be available after five, but Liz assured her that she had been texted and was fully aware of the situation. Danielle, now the center of the maelstrom, was almost too stunned to function. While she had known Liz longer than she had David, their friendship had long become part of the background noise of her life; for years now she had not nearly been as conscious of Liz as she was of David. Would she have dropped everything if some disaster had happened in Liz's life? She wasn't sure. Suddenly she was absurdly grateful she'd never had to find out.

"So," said Liz. "When did this happen? What's going on?"

"Umm... Three weeks ago," said Danielle.

"And you didn't say  anything?!" Liz exclaimed.

"Well..." said Danielle. She hadn't wanted to say anything; it was as if she could keep it from being true by not admitting it out loud. These were decisions she had made in the half-light of the night, far into the blue hours of the morning when her eyes swam with fatigue. Now, with the sun out, they seemed stupid. But she had kept to them all the same.

"Well, if I  had a boyfriend break up with me, I wouldn't want to tell anyone ," Heidi announced. "God, I'd be so embarrassed!"

Liz passed an eyeroll to Danielle before saying, "We know now, at least. And we can do something about it." What surprised Danielle was not the ostentatious little smirk; what surprised her was that she remembered to look at Liz's face to catch it. She and Liz had been close as sisters, once; maybe some things didn't end.

But that thought brought David to mind, and then things were cold in her heart again.

Though Heidi and Vanessa pestered her about it, she couldn't bring herself to admit what had happened. Not to them. She could just imagine Vanessa pecking at her for details, or Heidi making faces and being grossed out. Liz seemed to see; after the other two had bugged her for a while, Liz swept in and managed to start a spirited argument about what movie they were going to see. They?  "Well, you don't think we're leaving you alone here, are you?" Liz said. But Danielle didn't think she'd mind that. She wasn't sure she wanted to be out in public right now. What she really  wanted was for all these well-meaning but stupid people to go away, so that she could tell Liz what had happened—so that she could actually talk about it; now that the subject had been broached, she realized she wanted nothing else but to talk about it, and to wonder how, if she had loved him and he her, this could have happened. But it wasn't to be. So she went to the movie with them, and it wasn't until after dinner that night that Liz could extricate herself and come talk.

And even then, it wasn't alone. For reasons surpassing her understanding, Liz's boyfriend Martin came too. She had seen him around school, of course, but never paid much attention to him; he was one of the quiet ones. She'd never understood, for that matter, what it was that Liz saw in him. But she'd rarely had time to ponder, nor any reason to either; there had always been David to wonder about.

Her skepticism must have shown on her face, because Liz said, "Look, he's not coming in with us. I'm gonna leave him here in the den and then you and I can go talk in your room."

"Why'd you bring him at all?" Danielle demanded.

"Because I thought he might have something useful to say," Liz said. "Look, Nellie. He—"

"Don't call me that," she said. "It makes me feel like a kid."

"Umm. Well. What would you rather be called?" said Liz.

"Anything else. Danielle. Dani. Dee. Anything  else."

Martin spoke up for the first time. "Antonio?"

Danielle gave him a glare.

"Well," said Liz, "you did  say 'anything else.' "

So that was what they saw in each other: the same juvenile sense of humor. "Yes," she said, letting sarcasm drip from every word, "Antonio would be fine."

"Oh, good," said Martin. He stuck out his hand. "Hi, Antonio, I'm Martin. Pleased to meet you."

"And, now that you two have introduced yourselves," said Liz, "it's time for the girl-talk to happen. Martin, you stay here. No. Noooo. Stay. Stay . Yes. Good boy. Good boy." She blew air kisses while Martin sat on the couch at attention, grinning with his tongue out in a caricature of canine obedience.

With effort, Danielle controlled an urge to vomit. Public displays of affection were one thing, but that... And yet mixed in with the irritation was a small kernel of sorrow. Why hadn't she and David ever felt the need to be demonstrative? Why hadn't they ever generated their own in-jokes?

Liz shut the door behind them and turned to face her. "Okay, so. Where would you like to begin?"

Danielle didn't know  where to begin. What had happened? Her best friend, her lover, her husband to be, her good right arm—all of it was gone. She couldn't begin to explain. She didn't actually know what to say.

"Danielle Sabrina Mayer, you dragged me up here to tell me the whole story," said Liz, folding her arms across her chest. "Now I'm here, and I want to hear it, damn it. So talk. What's going on."

"I... I don't know where to start," Danielle said.

"Start at the beginning," Liz said. "Good place to start, generally."

"From the beginning ?" Danielle protested. "That's, like, when we were six!"

Liz blinked for a moment. Then she said, "Ho-ooo boy, I'm in for a long night, aren't I."

"Well, I... I guess you don't have to go back that  far..." said Danielle. "But... I mean, it's all tangled, you know? I don't know where one thing starts and the other ends."

"Well, fine," said Liz, crossing over to the bed and sitting down. "What's the last thing that happened between you two?"

"Well, we had a fight—"

" Before  you had the fight," said Liz, giving her a dirty look. When had she gotten so impatient, anyhow? Perhaps after five or ten years of very loose friendship, someone might change.

" Before  we had the fight? We, uhh..." Danielle steeled herself with a deep breath. "We had sex."

Liz blinked at her. "Okay. And?"

Whatever response Danielle had expected from her, this was not it. "Wha, well, aren't you— I mean... That's it? You're not surprised?"

Liz gave her an exasperated smile. "Nellie, I've seen you two together. You two've been in love from the instant you met. You two were in love before you even knew what love meant . Of course  you were gonna give it up to each other. When did you start?"

"Uhh, well... The time before we had the fight," Danielle said.

"...Oh," said Liz. "That's... Well, that's an inopportune time to have a fight. Umm. I was going to ask what the fight was about , but maybe it doesn't matter. I mean, anything going wrong then could make a difference."

"What?" said Danielle. "Why?"

"Well, you're... Danielle, think about it for just a minute. You've just had sex for the first time. So has he. Furthermore, you've both just had sex with each other , which is a special occasion even when you aren't  both virgins. Both of you have just shared a very special, very intimate part of your bodies and your souls with another person, for the first time ever. Not to mention sharing it with each other  for the first time ever. There were a lot  of firsts going on, Danielle, of course  you're both bound to be... Stirred up."

"How do you know all this stuff anyhow," Danielle asked, "how've you..."

Liz just met her gaze.

"Oh, no. No ," said Danielle. "No way. With... With who ??"

"With Martin, who else?" Liz said.

"With... With Martin ?" Danielle exclaimed, hearing her voice scale an octave. "I mean... You... I didn't..."

"I guess this was the sort of reaction you  were expecting from me ," Liz said in a dry voice.

"But... But you're... I mean, how old are you?" Danielle said.

"Umm... Sixteen?" said Liz. "Same as you are? Our birthdays are within a week of each other, remember?"

"Yeah, but..." said Danielle, helpless. "I didn't... Remember when I told you I'd kissed David, and you said I was really gross and you wouldn't talk to me all day? Liz, the girl I remember would never ..."

Elizabeth stood up. "Nellie," she said gently, "the girl you remember is nine."

Danielle shut her mouth. God, was everyone  growing up these days?

"So," said Liz, and this time she drew Danielle down to sit on the bed with her. "Tell me, Danielle. What exactly happened out there that would make you break up with him? Not ten minutes after giving him your innocence, and—if I know you, and I might—swearing eternal love to him, and having it sworn in return."

Danielle felt a moment of fright: that was exactly what had happened. How could Liz know her so much better than she knew Liz? Did she  know anyone that well? ...Besides David?

With much coaxing and prodding on Liz's part, Danielle managed to trot out the whole sordid story. When it was done she felt drained. "I just... I just don't understand. How could I have misunderstood him so badly? I thought..." Now in almost a whisper. "I thought he loved me."

"Didn't he?" said Liz.

"No," Danielle retorted. "If he loved me, why would he be so boring?"

"What do you mean, 'boring'?"

"He just... He never does anything that surprises me anymore," Danielle said. "He hadn't for a long time. Whenever we went out to eat, or to see a movie, or were doing homework, or, or even when we were fooling around, I could... Like, I could predict everything. And I would always be right."

"Well, you did  date for, what, eight years?" Liz said. "You get to know a person during that time. Maybe you just knew him really well."

"I thought  I did. I..." A sigh. "I thought  he loved me. But he just wanted to get his rocks off. I mean, god, listen to what what he said!"

"What he said was insensitive," said Liz. "That doesn't mean he doesn't love you, or that he was manipulating you. People have been saying thoughtless things ever since they had mouths."

"Still," Danielle maintained. "I don't wanna be with someone who thinks those things. I don't wanna be with someone who even says  those things. Being the same old boring guy for years, and then saying I owe him?? Complaining about waiting for four years?" The thought still made her indignant.

"Yes, about that," said Liz, standing up. "If you'll excuse me."

"What?" said Danielle.

"I'm going to get Martin."

"You're going to— What? "

"Hon, do you understand why he said that?" Liz asked her. "Do you understand what happened?"

"Why who  said it? David? ...No. Not really."

"Would you like a guy's  opinion on the matter?" said Liz.

"Well, yeah, I guess that would be nice, but we don't have  a— Oh," said Danielle.

"The light is shed," said Liz with a crooked smile. "We'll be right back."

While they were gone, Danielle's mind wandered. She didn't know what to think or where to look anymore. All the world seemed different to her now, as though she was seeing it through new eyes. Or maybe it was just her. Everything seemed washed out to her, bleak, devoid of color—like looking at a black-and-white photo. Nothing she looked at seemed interesting anymore. Was this normal? Did she need to see an eye doctor?

Liz preceded her boyfriend through the door. "Hey, Antonio," said Martin, holding out his hand again, "I understand you're in need of a male opinion."

This time she shook it; it seemed rude not to. "I take it you're our guy."

"Well, I sure hope so," said Liz. "If he were our girl , it wouldn't help us much. Sit down, Martin, and tell us what you think."

"About what?" said Martin, taking a seat against the wall. Evidently he didn't mind being below eye level. Danielle wondered what that meant.

"How long do you think a couple should go out before they have sex?"

"What, if it were up to me ?" said Martin.

"No, silly. Compromise," said Liz, with another ostentatious eye-roll. "We're not all—"

"No, hold on," said Danielle. " I  want to know. What would  you say?"

Martin blinked at her. "Jeez, I thought you and David were, like, totally in love or something."

She didn't like to think about that. "So what if we were?"

"So, wouldn't you have heard about it? When did he  start wanting to have sex?"

"Well, I, uh... God, I dunno."

Martin blinked. "How can you not know?"

"I mean, it was gradual," said Danielle. "At first we were like, 'Wow, that's really weird.' Sex, I mean. But slowly we started to think that maybe it was something to try even though it was  weird."

"Why don't you just answer the question, then, Mar," said Liz. "When you're going out with a girl, do you want to have sex with them immediately?"

"Well, duh," said Martin. "And I see what you mean about not knowing. I guess you two didn't really 'start' dating."

"Yeah, it... It just was , kinda." Danielle grimaced. "I feel like we've always been dating." And weren't anymore. She wondered if she should feel worse about that than she did.

"But anyway," said Liz. "So, Mar, if you were dating some new girl, would you want to do it on the first date?"

"Well, maybe not the first  date," said Martin. "But pretty soon. I mean, what's the statistic they told us in Health class? The average relationship for people our age lasts six weeks. If you're with a girl who expects to wait two months, then you ain't never gonna get any."

"And, of course, you want  to get any."

"Well, duh," said Martin again, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"But... I mean, you're extra-horny," said Danielle. "Right?" Liz and Martin looked at her with identical expressions of confusion. "I mean... You're not..." she said. "...Does everyone  feel that way? All guys?"

"Pretty much," said Martin. "I mean, every now and then you have someone who wants to wait until marriage, but that doesn't mean they don't want  to have sex, it just means they intend to resist the temptation. Maybe they'll even succeed. But maybe they won't. Every guy wants to."

"Immediately?" said Danielle, appalled. "Like, right off the bat? With a girl they barely even know ?"

"Well, not quite that bad," said Martin. "Some guys are smart enough to give it a little time. ...But some aren't. Some just wanna get their rocks off. And every  guy definitely wants to have sex eventually , and with the girl he's with. Maybe not right this second, maybe not the very first date, but eventually. And sooner rather than later."

"What if... What if you made him wait..." said Danielle. "Four years?"

Martin was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Damn, girl. He must have really loved you."

She didn't like hearing that. "Or, maybe he was desperate. Maybe he was hanging on 'cuz he didn't think he could get any from anyone else."

Martin shrugged. "It could be that too. I think most guys our age would have broken up with you if you'd told him you were gonna wait that long."

"It wasn't like that," Danielle said, "it wasn't like I had a, I dunno, a timeline or anything. He knew. I told him we'd do it when I felt ready, and I told him I'd feel ready pretty soon."

"Four years is 'pretty soon'?" Martin asked.

"It's not a small  decision," Danielle said.

"It would be to a guy," said Martin.

"W... How?" said Danielle, her thoughts on her nephew Austin. "I mean, if he's not careful, he could get..."

"A girl pregnant," Martin finished. "But he wouldn't get pregnant himself."

"But if he did, the right thing to do would be to stick around and help that poor girl out," Danielle protested. "I mean, I don't think we're still in the days where a man has to marry a woman he slept with, but..."

"Yeah, that'd be the right thing," Martin said. "And how many of our classmates can you think of who would do the right thing?"

David would . To steer away from that uncomfortable thought, she said, "And all  guys want it?"

"What," said Martin, "don't you?"

Danielle shrugged. "I..." She didn't mind it, that was for certain; David had learned, from long experience, how to make her feel good, and when they finally did it, well, that was good too. But... "I dunno. I mean, it's nice, but it wouldn't bother me to not have it for a while."

"See, that's another difference," said Martin. "Guys really  want it."

"Seriously," said Liz. "He'd do me every day if he could."

"And that's even though you guys do  do it?" Danielle said. She would assume that getting some regularly would blunt his appetite.

"That's with us doing it," Liz agreed. And then, as though reading into Danielle's thoughts: "And it was worse when we weren't."

"That still doesn't explain why he said I owed  him sex," Danielle said.

"No, it does," said Martin. "Look, Danielle. I assume you guys didn't just go straight to, you know, whatever. Doing it. I assume you worked up to it. Over the course of the, you know, four years. Well, throughout all those four years, he's been wanting it. Not just the things you did in the meantime—blowjobs or whatever—but the whole shebang. Actual, you know, intercourse. Four years , Danielle. That's a pretty long time to 16-year-olds.

"And so here he is, wanting it for four years," Martin said. "While his friends and classmates egg him on—it doesn't help that he's one of the oldest people in the year, so they expect him to be further along the curve, especially  when he's got, in their opinion, a steady source of pussy close to hand. And remember, Danielle, he probably doesn't have the hang-ups about sex you do."

"I don't have hang-ups!" Danielle protested.

"Okay, sorry," said Martin, "wrong word. What I was trying to say is that he's a lot less hesitant to go in and do it. Virginity's not as special to a guy, you know. A woman who's not a virgin is kind of stigmatized, right? Well, the same thing happens to a guy who is  a virgin."

"Which of course raises the bizarre conflict of interest wherein the boyfriend and girlfriend must choose which one of them is going to be the one seen as a loser," Liz remarked, "but that's another matter."

Danielle hadn't even thought about that. "I'm going to be seen as a loser?"

"Only if you let it get around," said Liz. "Can David keep a secret?"

Danielle didn't answer. She knew he could; would he?

"So, my point is, he's been wanting it for four years," Martin said, "and he probably feels like you've been holding him back. So when you finally do it, he's not thinking, 'Oh, thank goodness, I'm finally getting some'. He's thinking, 'Jesus, what took her so long?' "

"Which is why he said I owe him," Danielle said, making the connection. "Because to him, there was no valid reason to have not done it. It was just me being unreasonable."

"Basically," said Martin.

That just made her feel worse. They'd had long, in-depth discussions about why they were doing what they were (or weren't doing, in this particular case) and she'd thought she'd made her stance clear. If Martin was right—and she didn't see any reason why he wouldn't be—then David had not understood at all.

"That still doesn't mean she does owe  him, though," said Liz. "I mean, when you get down to it, sex is something you decide to do. It's not like she has  to decide to."

"No, she doesn't," Martin said. "Danielle, you're right to be annoyed at him for saying that, because you don't owe him. But keep in mind that he's talking out of years of sexual frustration here. He probably didn't mean to say anything at all. But the simple fact is that you withheld something he's wanted for a long time. No matter how good your reasons for doing so, or how patient he tries to be, he's bound to have gotten at least a little annoyed."

"And what about that other stuff about... about wanting Shelly Baumgarter?" Danielle said. She wished she hadn't sounded quite as desperate as she had.

Martin shrugged. "That, I can't tell you. Does he have a crush on her?"

Before Danielle could answer, Liz interjected: "Yeah right. I mean, I don't know if you know this, Danielle, but Shelly has... a reputation. Around campus." Danielle knew, or at least had heard about it; but she'd never bothered to verify. What Shelly Baumgarter did with her boyfriends had always seemed much less important than what she got to do with David. "Even if David was in a relationship with you, she probably would've done it with him if he'd asked. And I'm pretty sure David knew that."

" And , could have ripped a piece off of that any time he wanted, with you none the wiser," Martin added.

"Well, maybe not that ," Liz said. "I'm also pretty sure that, if he had, it would've gotten around—and of course I would've told you, Dani. So we'd know. But he would've gotten away  with it, at least, if all he wanted was to get his rocks off."

"And David isn't like that," said Danielle, before realizing how stupid that statement was. What did she  know about what David was like anymore? "But... But he still said... He said she had bigger breasts than me!"

"So?" said Liz. "She does. That's a fact, Danielle. What difference does it make?"

"Well... Why would he stay with me if he wanted to be with her?"

"Who says he wants to be with her?" said Martin. "Just because he's noticed that she has bigger tits than you, that doesn't mean he wants anything to do with her. Or them. I mean, you'd have to be blind not to notice Shelly Baum garter's hooters."

"But, then..." said Danielle, helpless. "Why would he even mention it?"

"Maybe to point out that he doesn't care, that he likes you all the same?" said Liz.

"Yeah, but, he didn't ," said Danielle. "He started going on about how he would  rather be with her because she wouldn't make him wait four years."

"I gotta tell ya, Danielle," Martin said, "that's pretty normal for just about any guy. ...For just about any one . I mean, seriously: if you could choose between waiting a year or waiting a day for something you wanted, which would  you choose?"

"And despite the fact that you made him choose the year—four years—he did stick with you," Liz said.

"Yes," said Martin, "he did. He could have run to Shelly Baumgarter at any time. But instead he stayed with you. Do you think that counts for anything?"

"He's not with me any more ," said Danielle, a little more bitterly than she'd intended.

"I guess not," said Liz. "Thanks, honey." She rose from the bed and moved to her boyfriend. "If you could go back outside now, we'll be done in here in a few."

Danielle turned away, but she couldn't close her ears to the short wet sound of their kiss. It made a little knot of bitterness in her stomach.

"So," said Liz, after the door had pounded shut. "Do you think you understand a little more now?"

"Yeah, I think so," said Danielle. "And say thanks to him for me, will you? I didn't think he'd be that helpful."

"I will," said Liz. And then, "So...", with such a pregnant pause that Danielle turned to look at her. Liz had a wicked grin on and her eyes were twinkling behind her red-rimmed glasses. "So, how was it?"

Danielle didn't want to think about that. "It... It was pretty good."

"Pretty good, huh?" said Liz, still with that evil grin. "Did you like it?"

"Yeah," said Danielle, "I really..."

"It wasn't uncomfortable or anything?"

"No, actually, he... Well." She felt her face heating. "The thing is, we've actually... We've been playing with each other for a while. So, there wasn't any of the, you know, discomfort or anything. His fingers have been... in there... many times. No cherry to worry about, no questions of whether he'd fit, none of that."

"And you knew what you were doing," said Liz.

"Well... yeah," said Danielle. "It wasn't too hard to figure out. And, I mean, he's been doing Internet research for ages, even I've  picked up some of it. We had the... what, the theory ... down pretty good."

"You weren't scared?"

"Well, I... I mean, yeah, there were some... I mean, you know how it's like when you're on a new roller coaster you've never been on? You're, like, 99% sure that it's going to be fine and you aren't going to fly off and die... But that last one doubt remains? It was like that."

"But ninety-nine percent you weren't scared."

"No, not at all. I mean, we'd done  things before. I knew his body. He knows mine. What was there to be scared of?"

"Where was it?"

Danielle described the field David had found, and Liz made a sound of longing. "God, my first time was in the attic of Martin's house—we couldn't think of anywhere else where people wouldn't find us. At least it wasn't in a car, though; Vicky Siegel had to do that. And it felt good?"

She suppressed a shiver at the memory. "Yeah, it felt... Really  good." She had thought she'd known him already, known everything there was to know about his person. But nothing could prepare her for the thrill of his body arched over her, his buttocks contracting, the power in his body as he took her. Nothing could prepare her for the feeling of his thing, impossibly large, opening her, pushing against her inner walls, filling her up—so big, so long, she felt like she was completely hollow, nothing but space for him to fill. She had never realized just how empty she felt; in fact, she had never felt  empty—even in the moment that she realized she had  felt it, that emptiness had been finally, irrevocably filled. "I wish I could do it again."

Liz sighed. "Wish my  first time had been anywhere near as nice."

Danielle tilted her head. "Oh?"

"Yeah, it... I mean, Martin was very kind. But he was excited, I could tell. There was a lot of... Fumbling." Liz combed a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "I wish in retrospect that I hadn't told him beforehand. He was so excited, he couldn't concentrate, and he, umm." Her cheeks colored. "He didn't do a good job with me. I wasn't quite ready when he went to put it in. And so he just went, and... You know. Squirted. And that was that." She looked up and gave Danielle a wry smile. "The good news was, he was very eager to improve."

"So, you got a bad first time but a lot of much better second times," said Danielle, "and I got a really great first time but nothing else."

"Sounds like it," said Liz.

"God," said Danielle. "I'd totally trade you."

"Really?" Liz turned to face her. "I'd rather have what you have."

"Yeah, but, just one  time?"

"Well, I dunno about that. It's a good point. Would I look forward to sex more if the first time had been magical?"

"Has it ever  been magical?"

"Umm... No, not really." Liz grimaced. "I mean, it's good, and I even come sometimes. But, it's just not... Romantic."

"Well, take him to the field," Danielle said. "Or, like, ask him if he can, you know, glamorize it up a little. I mean, just because it's not romantic now doesn't mean it can't  be."

Liz gave her a sideways glance. "What just happened? Suddenly you're  giving me  advice. I thought we were doing it the other way around."

Danielle laughed—maybe the first time she had in weeks—and gave her a hug. "Well, what else are friends for?"

---

Chapter 3

" I keep telling you ," Liz said. " You should call him. You should say you're sorry and ask him if you guys can talk. "

"Can we, like, not talk about this anymore?" Danielle said.

" Danielle, school starts tomorrow. We're going to be juniors. You'll have to see him, whether you want to or not. " Danielle had been trying not to think about that either.

The remaining weeks of summer had been different than she'd predicted when her sophomore year ended. She'd thought she'd get a job, maybe, or take some classes; she thought she'd hang out with friends. That last part had certainly been true, and she could be nothing but grateful for the support Liz had shown her; she had even managed to get through to Liana French, one of Shelly's clique, and been informed by the Frenches' housekeeper that Miss Liana had received her message and would call upon her once the school year began. But she'd also expected to be spending time with David—laughing, talking, joking; watching TV, going to the movies, going to the mall, playing video games; leaving silly notes for each other on Facebook, sharing pictures of cute kittens or the latest YouTube folly. Kissing him. Making out with him. Sleeping in his arms. Making love with him, even. Instead all she'd had of him was their traditional fumbling and then a perfunctory first time which had been ruined by an immediate break-up. At least she wasn't pregnant.

"Maybe I'll see him," said Danielle, "but that doesn't mean I want to talk to him."

" Yes you do, " said Liz. " You do, and you know it. "

Danielle didn't answer that. Nor did she mention the times when she would jerk out of a sound sleep, cold sweat on her brow, tears in her eyes, the remains of some bloodstained dream in her head. The most recent time, she'd seen him flayed apart by shards of glass; the time before that, he had dissolved into a pool of blood and skin. Always his eyes remained, stricken, with a look of infinite sadness.

"But he  hasn't talked to me ," Danielle said. "I haven't heard a darn thing from him since the last time we spoke."

" You did  say you never wanted anything more to do with him, " Liz said, " maybe he took you seriously ." Even through the phone's tinny buzz, Danielle could hear the reproach.

"Yeah, well..." Danielle insisted. "He should still be trying. He should still care."

She heard the sigh. " Whatever. Do you wanna drive, or shall I? "

That was the other big thing: both she and Liz had their licenses now, and parking permits newly furnished by the school. Suddenly she remembered all the plans they'd made about what they'd do together when they could finally be alone in a car. Davey had wanted to try doing it in the back seat, and Danielle—assuming she liked sex, of course—hadn't seen anything wrong with experimenting. Evidently, this was not to be.

" Hello? Dani? You still there? "

"I don't care," she said. "Umm... Do you wanna?"

There was a silence. Then Liz said, " You were thinking about him, weren't you. "

"Look, just stop  it, okay?" said Danielle, getting angry now. "So we broke up. I'm allowed a little reaction, aren't I?"

" You're allowed a lot more than a little reaction, Danielle, but you aren't showing much of one. I've never seen you cry, or heard you be angry, or, or anything. Instead I just see this look of steel on your face, like you aren't going to let him defeat you. ...Come to think of it, maybe I should drive. I'm not sure I want to be driven with someone wearing an expression like yours. "

"Fine, whatever," said Danielle. "Can you come like fifteen minutes early? I wanna see if I can change my class schedules so I'm not in all the same classes as him."

After a silence, Liz heaved another sigh. " Okay. I can do that. "

"See you tomorrow, then."

" See you tomorrow, Danielle. "

The next morning, she took a long shower, and then spent almost fifteen minutes trying to figure out what to wear. Eventually she settled on the tank top David had always liked, the one with the gather on the front to draw attention to her chest, and the jeans which he said made her bottom look good. Her hair she brushed out to perfection until it flowed like a river of gold. The whole thing was marred by the realization that her period should be coming in soon and that she had better stick a pad in just to be safe. But that was life; at least she wasn't pregnant from that little debacle in the field.

On her way out, she gave herself one last glance in the mirror... And wondered who she was kidding. The only person she was guaranteed to attract the attention of was David himself—and that was completely not the point; the whole point was to make herself look attractive to the other  boys. ...Wasn't it? What did  other boys like, anyway? She suddenly wished she'd thought to ask Martin.

Changing classes was harder than she'd expected: there was a line queueing up outside the registrar's office, some of them looking as though they'd been there for quite a while already. Liz gave the whole thing one look before clapping her on the shoulder—"See you in class, then"—a response Danielle found somewhat irritating, if completely understandable. Would she  want to wait for this if she didn't have to? Liz had been a wonderful friend over the last few weeks, but Danielle guessed they'd found the limits of that friendship.

The faces of the other people in line were an interesting study: the older they were, the wearier they seemed, as though the seniors couldn't wait to get out of here. None of them had the open faces she associated with freshmen; presumably, none of those were smart enough to know you could petition to change classes, since it was their first day and (after all) they were  freshmen. And amongst the many strangers she glimpsed several people she recognized: Mohinder Ramakandra, who was dating Jenny Slater; Ramona Brown, long-time girlfriend to track superstar Alex Field. And there was Seamus O'Reilly, who had been with Wendy Stern for as long as she could remember. Their grim expressions set a jolt through her: if any of them had broken up, how would she know?—she'd been out of touch for most of the summer. Were they here for the same reason she was? Was this the line where the debris of the summer's broken relationships relationships was finally swept out of sight?

It took nearly an hour to advance through the line and get her classes sorted out (Danielle wondered why it was taking so long until she actually got inside the office, where she saw Mrs. Jenkins and  two secretaries working full steam to process everyone), and she was late to her first class, English, by a good half-hour. Even more than that, she couldn't rearrange her schedule entirely; AP Environmental Science was only being offered during one period this quarter, so she must either abandon it or face David in it every day. She sat there chewing her lip for a full minute, while the secretary tapped a pen against the table in irritation, before finally deciding that she would have to deal with it. Five minutes later she had to walk up to Mr. Emory and give him her pink excuse slip before the eyes of everyone in the room, before finding the only empty seat in the room (it was right in the middle) and sitting down.

There were people she hadn't seen since the end of last year—Aisha Wilson, Maggie Chung, Roger Brown, Manuel Gonzaga, Lettie Halder, and more, and more—who would accost her in the halls, ask her how her summer had been. That was bad enough to start with, but inevitably their next question would be about David. Maybe she should've expected it; after all, weren't they peas in a pod, two of a kind? But right then and there, it hurt. It hurt a lot. By the end of second period she had taken to just blurting out that he was okay, and then excusing herself. What hurt most was that nobody seemed to notice.

By break time she understood why the seniors had that look on their face. Liz, who (thank God !) was in the class with her, took one look at her face and then led her away. They ended up under a tree on the edge of the main quad; because Carmen, Heidi and Vanessa showed up shortly thereafter, Danielle assumed it must be their regular meeting place. "Gawd, Danielle, you look, like, rilly beat up," said Vanessa.

"You're telling me," said Danielle.

"Are you, like, seeing him in all your classes, or something?" said Vanessa.

"We got here early so she could get her classes switched around," Liz told her. "How'd it go?"

"It worked," said Danielle, "mostly." She explained about AP Enviro Sci, which she had wanted to take ever since she'd heard the class existed. "We were both  excited—and even more excited when we both got in. Now..."

"I'm sure you'll cope," said Carmen. "It's right before lunch, isn't it? At least you can escape after that."

"I know," said Danielle. "I just... I don't know what it'll be like to see him now."

"What was it like when you broke up with your other boyfriends?" Heidi asked.

Danielle gave her a cold look.

"...What?" said Heidi. Danielle thought she had never met anyone quite as oblivious.

"She's never dated anyone else, stupid," said Carmen. And besides,  Danielle thought,  this was... a little more than dating .

But when the time came, there was nothing to worry about. She was a wreck all throughout French 3, dreading the upcoming fifth-period class... But when she got there, David was nowhere to be seen, and his name was not called. Or rather, it kind  of was: the teacher, a rather disreputable-looking woman who went by the unlikely name of Moonsnow (not even Mrs . Moonsnow, just Moonsnow) started to say, "David Gla— Oh, that's right, he dropped the class, didn't he." When? Danielle hadn't seen him this morning. She felt a wash of relief. And a little pang of guilt that he had had to bow out of this class. She knew he'd wanted to be here.

She had planned to meet Liz and the others back at the quad for lunch, but as she was approaching her locker a shout rang out—" There  you are!"—and she found herself accosted. It was Amy Plisken, who was the lowest on Shelly Baumgarter's totem pole after Danielle herself. "Where the heck have you been? We've been looking all over for you."

"Wh... What?" said Danielle.

"Yeah, totally!" Amy said. "We couldn't find you. Where the heck  have you been?"

"I... Just..." It suddenly occurred to her that Shelly might not like hearing that Danielle had made some other friends. Especially if they'd been looking for her. I didn't tell anybody, but they must've heard somehow. And when I didn't show up... Wow, they went and tried to find me?  She hadn't known they cared that much.

"Well, we've found you," said Amy. "Come on." And without another word she dragged Danielle back over to the corner of the Student Center, where Shelly always held court.

"Oh, Dee," said Shelly. Her hair was a dazzling red and by far her strongest feature—after, at least, her perfect boobs. They were full and well-shaped, with a lot of cleavage, and Shelly always wore push-up bras and low-cut tops to show them off. She was putting on weight, Danielle could see, but nobody would dare challenge her on it. Besides, she was carrying it well; it filled out her bottom and her breasts (which hardly needed the help, Danielle thought resentfully) and, combined with the artfully-applied makeup and perfect bangle earrings, made her seem older than she was, and glamorous. She gave Danielle a cursory once-over as she arrived. "Good, you're here. We need an opinion."

"An... Opinion?" said Danielle.

"Yes, we need you to break a tie. Chloe wants to date Angelo Navarre—you know, the one who cheated on Jessie Stimson last year? Liana and I think it would be a bad idea, but Amy and Missy say there might be hope. We need you to weigh in." Behind her, Chloe Reubens was practically jumping with anxiety.

"I... You need..." said Danielle, who was not being received the way she'd anticipated. "...But what about Davey?"

"What about  Davey," said Shelly, with a cross look. She could be remarkably generous when she wanted, but today her dominance was at stake, and it was all cold business eyes and impatience. "We've wasted enough time waiting for you; Chloe promised she'd answer him by now. We've more important issues at hand than your little boyfriend problems."

She felt her eyes burning.

" Danielle ," said Shelly, her voice like a whip-crack. "Pull yourself together. You're a good-looking girl when you take care of yourself, but we don't need friends who'll just go straight to pieces because someone hurts their feelings."

"Actually, speaking of David," said Missy Renquist, before Danielle could respond (before Danielle could even begin to think  about responding). She had a clear, transcendent beauty, like living ice; her smiles never touched her eyes. "I have to submit a motion too. He asked me out after third period."

Danielle stared at her, hearing blood rush in her ears. For a moment the world swayed perilously.

Shelly gave Missy a cold, direct look. "Poaching another girl's boyfriend is against the rules, Missy. As is letting yourself be  poached. You should know that."

"He said it wouldn't be a problem," said Missy. "He said he and Danielle were over." Her eyes cut to Danielle.

"Well, if it's over..." said Shelly. She turned to face Danielle. "As you know, you have the right to lodge a formal protest. If you think it's too soon— When did this happen, anyway?"

"Just... Just after July 4th," said Danielle.

"Oh," said Shelly. "Well, that's too bad. You were together for a while, weren't you?"

"That's outside the time frame of the formal protest," said Liana, who had always been a stickler for rules. "You told us that you can only lodge a protest if the rebound happens within a month. It's been more six weeks."

"Very good point," said Shelly, "I guess you're out of luck, Dee. Does anyone else have any more objections?"

Nobody did, though Amy Schulz did give her an apologetic look.

"All right then," said Shelly. "Missy, you're free to do whatever seems best to you. Maybe you can help shed some light on why he's still a virgin despite his long association with Dee."

"Oh, he's not anymore," said Amy suddenly. "Didn't you hear?"

Shelly turned to face her. She was the only one seated. "Hear what?"

"I heard it from Oscar Wentz, who said he had it from Scott O'Connor." Scott was one of David's oldest friends. "He says David's not a virgin anymore."

"Really?" said Shelly, sounding anything other than formal for the first time all day. "But who would he have gotten together with? If he was cheating, we would've heard."

"There was a series of shrugs or other gestures from her followers. Then, almost as if they were a single person, five pairs of eyes turned to Danielle.

Danielle tried to pretend her eyes weren't still watering. Did they have to dissect it now ?

"What I  want to know is," said Shelly, "how this relates to the break-up. Boys dump girls normally because of a lack  of sex, not for getting it."

"What I  want to know is what sort of shoes I'll have to fill," Missy said. "I mean, he hung on to that girl for years, he must've had some reason. And it might have colored his perceptions of the deed as well. Tell me, Danielle did he seem to enjoy doing it with you? Was there anything he particularly liked?"

"Maybe he dumped her because she was a really bad lay," said Chloe with a sharp little titter.

It was too much. Danielle turned and ran. Shouts pursued her, and she ran into someone, blinded by tears, but she didn't care. She took her refuge in the girls' bathroom, and if anyone heard her sob, they would just have to deal with it. She huddled in the cold, stale room, burying her face in her hands, trying not to make a noise, listening to the chatter of other girls and the flush of toilets, wishing she was like them, that her biggest problems could be so easy to dispose of.

"Danielle." Liana's cold voice rang through the room. "Shelly wants you to come out." But Danielle didn't answer, and after a minute Liana left again. Danielle knew she would probably never hear from any of those girls again.

She didn't want to face Liz right now, nor any of the others; Liz was a good friend but not a kind one, and the others were just too stupid to be borne right now. She stayed in the bathroom until the bell rang again. Three times someone rattled on the stall and complained about people taking forever on the toilet. Danielle didn't care. She hoped their bladders would burst and they would die.

By the time the final bell rang, she was ready for summer again; she felt as though she had aged a million years since she'd first set foot on campus. She wanted to go home and just fling herself in bed; her bed, she had always believed, was a magic bed, a place of safety where nobody could ever hear her or see her or bother her... Or hear her cry. Only, she was not a child anymore. She was sixteen, nearly an adult, and there were books to put covers on, syllabii to review, even some short homework assignments to complete.

All in all, it was not shaping up to be a great year.

She spread her things out in front of her, prepared to get to work, but—it seemed it was always this way nowadays—in a moment she was gone again, dwelling endlessly on what she'd heard over the lunch break. That David would tell his friends he'd finally done it—especially Scott O'Connor, his best guy friend—did not particularly surprise her; it worried her that everyone must know by now. She wondered if his popularity was going to soar. She wondered if hers would dwindle. Then again, she'd basically guaranteed that herself, by defying Shelly Baumgarter. She didn't know how Shelly's revenge would come, but she had no doubt it would; there would be a reckoning, and the price she would pay would be far out of proportion, it always was. She wondered if she would ever be asked out again before college started.