Page 49 of Two-Step
“About what?”
She looks up at me. “Maybe this is easier if we’re facing each other.”
I sit back down, a little heartsore. “Talk to me. I’m listening.”
She huffs. “Yeah, you and everyone else on the block.”
I crack a smile, but it feels maimed.
“Look,” Sally says, “I get that you think you’re looking out for me, but you aren’t respecting me.”
My eyes widen. “Of course, I respect you—”
But Sally’s shaking her head before I finish. “No, Iris. You’re treating me like a kid. Like I’m still back in ninth grade, needing my loud, zany, larger-than-life friend to speak up for me and look out for me.” She half-grins at the memory of us as kids. Young girls. I grin too. Things seemed a lot easier then. “I’m not that kid anymore.”
I give her a long look. “I know that.” I mean it. But I also know that of the two of us, Sally has been the more sheltered. The more idealistic. This is still how I see her.
Only, maybe that’s the problem.
She mirrors my long look. “Do you?”
I narrow my gaze on her. “So, you’re saying you know Ramon is a manwhore—” I wave my hand in an air circle. “And you want some of that action.”
She nods, a glint in her eye I’ve never seen before. “Uh huh.”
My mouth drops open. “You can’t be serious.”
Sally grips the edge of the swing with both hands. She pitches her voice so low, I have to lean forward to hear. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been?”
I blink three times. “Um…” We don’t often talk about sex. I figured it’s because neither one of us has had much of it.
“Do you know how many guys are in the early learning master’s program at the University of Oklahoma?”
“Um…”
“None. None, Iris. Not one.” She shakes her head. “And there’s just one male professor, and he’s like eighty!”
She gives me a scandalized look like this is the most egregious injustice she’s ever encountered. “It’s been two years, Iris! Two years!”
I bite my lip and say nothing. Because it’s been longer than that for me, and I’m only now starting to feel concerned about that. But the last two times—which were also the first two times—were so very bad, I have never wanted a repeat performance.
Clearly, Sally—my dear, sweet, innocent little Sally—has not had the same experience.
She sticks out her finger and points it toward the house. “I don’tcareif that tall, toned, tribute to manscaping just wants me for my body,” she says, looking crazed. “I’m twenty-two!Someoneshould, don’t ya think?”
I’m too shocked—and a little afraid—to answer.
A sudden frown overtakes her expression. “I mean, I like him, too. As a person, I mean,” she says quickly. “It’s not like I just want his body or I’d be using him. I love spending time with him. And he’s sweet and funny and smart, butohmygod, I just want to climb him like a jungle gym!”
I squeeze my eyes shut and cover my ears. “Make it stop. Make it stop.”
Through the shield of my hands I hear her giggling. “Okay. I’ll stop—”
I drop my hands and open my eyes.
“On one condition,” she adds with a calculating grin.
I give her a sour look. “What?”
