Sticky Fingers (4 page)

She’s dying for me to react, but I haven’t the foggiest notion what to say. “Wow, Courtney. I’m, well … wow.”

“I know. Seriously, there just aren’t words.” Her smile gets even dopier.

“So, I assume it was, urn, good?” I so want the details. And I also don’t.

“Beyond good. I can’t believe we waited so long, you know? I’ll tell you everything when we can get more time to talk, but the bottom line is this: I was stupid to be such a wuss about it.”

So long?
She and Mat have only been together since September. Maybe even early October. And she hasn’t had a boyfriend—not a serious one—before now. Careful to say something that won’t be offensive, I tell her, “I don’t think you were being a wuss. Maybe you were waiting for a reason.”

“Yeah, a dumb reason.” She pauses for a second as a couple of girls walk by on their way to their lockers. “Jen, it was in-freaking-credible. I mean, my whole body is still—well, it’s like I’ve taken uppers or something—and I can’t get last night out of my head. Neither can Mat. Remember how I told you he said the L word and meant it, like, back on Halloween, when we were at that huge party at Justin DeFoe’s house? You know Mat—he wouldn’t say something like that unless he means it. And he does, I know he does. And it’s just”—she takes this deep, happy breath—“it’s beyond anything.”

“Courtney, that’s—” What? What can I say when
I’m afraid my knee-jerk negative reaction to her “goodbye, virginity!” announcement might be because of my own whacked issues with Scott? “That’s really cool. And you look really happy.”

“I
am
really happy. And especially happy my parents got home so late, you know? They didn’t even suspect. I think they were arguing about something in the car on the way home from Dad’s holiday party, so they were totally focused on themselves.”

Since we both know her parents have fought like crazy ever since they met, this is no surprise. I mean, they’re one of those couples who thrive on conflict and drama.

She shrugs it off as we walk toward our next class—economics—the only one we actually have together this year. “Mat’s parents just assumed he was at work, so it was the perfect opportunity. And it felt
right.”

“I totally understand.” Completely unlike the front of Scott’s Jetta.

Then I wonder if Mat has said anything to Scott. Probably not, since Mat and Scott run in different crowds—Scott’s more an “in” crowd jock; Mat’s more the quiet type. Also, Mat’s never struck me as
a kiss-and-tell person. Unlike Courtney, who’s willing to give details—though, in her defense, I’m pretty sure I’m the only one she tells.

Um, unless
she’s
let on to Scott that she and Mat did the wild thing. But she wouldn’t. No way. Not before she told me.

Either way, I’ll be able to tell from Scott’s face the second I walk into economics with Courtney, since he’s in there too. And if Scott has heard, I wonder what he’s thinking about us.

Maybe it won’t be such a big deal. Maybe Courtney’s right, and it’s wussy to keep waiting for just the right moment—like I need a scripted, perfect candlelit romantic setting or something.

“You look serious,” Courtney says, jabbing me with her elbow as we walk. “What’s up?”

Since this is probably not the moment to tell her what happened last night with Scott, I reach up and finger my new necklace. “If Mat was over late, when did you manage to get this?”

“This morning. I ditched first and second period and went shopping. I wanted you to have it. And besides, I knew this was the day I was destined to
wear the skirt. I felt it in my bones.” She glances down at her outfit, then back to me, with an
I’m bad but you know you love me
grin. “I changed when I got back here. I wanted Mat to see it.”

Midterms are next week! “Wasn’t first period your review session in AP lit?”

She waves her hand in the air, totally dismissing me. “It was a special occasion. Besides, I’ll be fine. I actually read all the books this semester. Miracle, huh?”

“Definitely.”

But she can’t skip anymore. Not just because of grades, but because sooner or later she’s going to get caught. So I say, “I know you’ve never bombed a class, even when you’ve skipped, but geez. You’ve gotta be careful.”

Courtney’s grades aren’t as good as mine, but they’re still pretty decent. Enough to get her into Boston University, which is where she’s dying to go ’cause they have a killer communications program. But not if she screws up her midterms. Or gets caught skipping and gets suspended.

I have to wonder, doesn’t she care anymore? And is this because of Mat? Or something else?

“I know you worry about me.” She puts her hand on my arm to stop me just outside the classroom door. “But seriously, Jenna. I’m not going to blow anything. My life is fabulous right now, and I don’t want to ruin that.”

Deciding to let it go, I say, “Speaking of which … when do I get the details? After we meet the guys at Dunkin’ Donuts, maybe? We can head back to my house. I don’t think I’ll have much homework.”

“Sounds good. As long as you tell me what you and Scott did last night.” She glances in the door, catches Scott’s eye, and he gives us both a once-over—well, he mostly looks at Courtney’s skirt—and she whispers, “I swear, Jenna. Yum. You are so lucky.”

“You too,” I tell her.

Scott slides a large French vanilla across the table, then scoots into the booth beside me, cradling his own drink. “So, you didn’t tell me. How was the advanced bio midterm?”

“I think it went okay,” I tell him as I open a sugar packet and dump it in my coffee, trying to distract
myself from the fact that it’s the third time since last Wednesday that Courtney and I have met up with the guys at Dunkin’ Donuts, and once again, I doubt the two of us will get any time to chat alone afterward. I
still
don’t know the details about her and Mat. And I still haven’t told her what’s up with Scott. “I had one section I wasn’t sure about—”

“Page two?”

“Yep.” I love that he has the class the hour right after I do. Not just because it means we can study together, but because we both tend to get hopped up right after exams, so having some of the same classes with the same teachers gives us the chance to go through the blow-by-blow without looking like total loser geeks to our friends, who’d just as soon not discuss an exam ever again after they’ve finished it.

“I was going to try to send you a text message when I got out,” I explain. “You know, to warn you. But by the time Ms. Karpova let us out, it was too late.”

He laughs. “Would you believe there was a whole group of people from my class out in the hall looking
it up afterward? It really freaked them out. I think most of them missed it.”

“You got it, though?”

He nods, like it’s a given. Not in an egotistical way, more in the way he would if I asked him if he’d remembered to lock his car before we came inside. Other people would probably find the fact he seems to get everything right nauseating, if they actually paid attention to how well he does in class instead of to his athletic ability. But I actually
like
that he gets stuff right all the time. It makes me feel more secure with him.

He pops the top off his own coffee, then shoots a glance toward Courtney, who’s standing next to the counter talking to Mat. Whispering from behind his cup, Scott says, “I’m getting a weird vibe from those two for the last week or so. Something’s up.”

“Yeah,” I whisper back, knowing exactly when that “vibe” started: the night I got my Harvard letter. I hadn’t decided when to tell Scott—since apparently neither Courtney nor Mat have clued him in—but now seems as good a time as any. “Things are getting pretty hot and heavy with them.”

“That’s obvious.” He takes a sip of his coffee, then does a double take when he notices the expression on my face. “Wait. Hot and heavy meaning real hot and heavy?”

I nod. “I don’t know the details or anything, but yeah.”

Scott looks as shocked as I felt when Courtney told me. “I didn’t think Mateus had it in him.” His eyes open a little wider. Quietly, so only I can hear, he adds, “Go, Courtney!”

I bump my knee against his, which makes him smile. Other than the trickle of drivers coming in off the interstate to use the restroom or grab a coffee and doughnut combo before hitting the road again, the place is dead, so I know we can talk about Courtney and Mat without anyone from school overhearing. And even more bizarro, even though Courtney and Mat are right there, Scott and I can go right on talking about them, because they’re in their own little world up at the counter.

Again.

“You know I’m kidding about Mat,” Scott says. “I know he’s totally into Courtney.”

“You just weren’t expecting them to be sleeping together so fast,” I say. “I wasn’t either.” Or that they’d be so intense.

Scott shifts so he’s facing me straight-on in the booth. “Jen, I think they’re pretty normal. It’s really us who are slow.”

“No, we’re not. Everyone always
says
they’ve hooked up, but in reality …” But even as I say the words, I can tell from his face that he’s not exaggerating. And he’d know better than I do—he’s always been the guy on the football team all the other guys brag to about what’s going on with their girlfriends. He just has that aura about him. They want to impress him.

But even so, I can’t possibly be that clueless. I mean, is
everyone
having sex but me?

I think about some of the other kids in school—those who don’t have a significant other, those who are super-Christian, those who are quiet homebodies or loners—and it doesn’t seem at all realistic to think they’re out doing the nasty.

Or maybe Scott just means we’re slow compared with people who are in serious relationships.

“Look, Jen, about last week, when we were at the nursery—”

“I’m sorry about that. I just thought that outside, with the—”

“No, it’s okay.” He gives Mat and Courtney another quickie glance, but they haven’t even looked our way. “I’m not going to push you anymore. You know how I feel about you, and you know how much I want us to stay together after graduation.”

“Really?” He hasn’t mentioned the sex thing since the day I got my letter, but I wasn’t sure if it was because he was mad at me or because he’s been busy with midterms and everything.

“Yeah, really. I never want to be without you.” He lets go of his coffee cup and puts his arm around me, pulling me almost into his lap in the booth. I tuck my head under his chin and breathe in the smell of coffee mingling with his cologne—a gift I gave him for his birthday back in July.

I close my eyes and put one hand on his leg, loving the way I can feel where the muscles of his thigh meet the bony part of his knee.

“Jen, we have all the time in the world. So no big
rush. We
will
be at Harvard together.” He swallows hard on the H word, and now I realize that he’s been working really hard not to let it bother him. Or to let it get between the two of us.

“But I’ll be honest,” he continues. “I think we’re ready now. And before senior year is out, we’re going to take that final step. I know it.”

I can’t meet his eyes after he says this. He sounds absolutely positive that we’re going to, the same way he sounds positive he got the answer right in advanced bio. And whenever he sounds that way, things
are
that way.

My stomach does a slow, nervous flip. But I can’t tell if I’m just excited about it—after all, my hand’s still on his knee and it’s feeling pretty comfy there—or whether I’m scared to death. Either way, his complete confidence is freaking me out.

He cups my chin in one hand and leans back,
making sure I’m looking right at him. “Whatcha thinking, Jen?”

Since he hates when I ask him what he’s thinking, I find this unsettling. “I’m thinking it’s no wonder you aced your exam. You have the ability to see into the future now, huh?”

His mouth hooks up into a smile, but his eyes are 100 percent serious. “Yep. And it’s going to be the right thing. We belong together. You just have to mentally relax and trust me. Loosen up enough to see what you really want, what’s going to make you feel good, and then go get it. Just like you did with Harvard. I really think that’s all there is to it.”

He leans forward and kisses me on the temple, then releases my chin before grabbing his coffee again.

Guess that’s the end of that conversation.

I straighten in the seat and take a sip of my own coffee as he says, “Speaking of college, before I forget to ask you, I have one essay left on the Brown application. I want to get it out the door before Christmas. Mind reading it over for me?”

“Whenever you want. What’s it about?”

“Role models. Someone you admire and what you’ve learned from them. You’re then supposed to extrapolate that into what you expect to learn at Brown.”

“Yikes.” I look at the warm bagels filling the bins behind Mat and Courtney and debate going to get one, then decide against it. Not so much because I’m watching what I eat, but because I’m not sure I’m hungry enough to interrupt them. They look like they’re having a pretty intense conversation.

I stretch my legs under the table so I can prop them up on the opposite seat. “So what’d you say in your essay?”