Page 25 of The Bet
“Surprise me.”
I look at her, and for a second, I almost tell her the real thing. That I let a man I barely know do things to me in public, that Ican’t stop thinking about it, that the idea of seeing him again is the only thing that makes my skin feel tight and electric. But I can’t. Not yet. Instead, I give her the story that’s one layer above the truth.
“There’s this thing with Kayleigh, Mary Kate, and Stella. A bet.” I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it feels easier than anything else. “First one to lose her v-card wins the pool. Thousand bucks, plus eternal glory.”
Simone snorts, not even pretending to be shocked. “You guys are literal children.”
“I know,” I say, face flushing. “It’s stupid. But… also not? We just wanted to make it less of a big deal. Like we’re surprised to be virgins as upperclassmen, and it kind of hangs over you, you know?”
She tilts her head, studying me. “Kind of. Sort of. You shouldn’t feel pressure to lose your virginity, Andie. It’ll happen when it happens. But, have you?”
“Lost my virginity?” I shake my head, then realize what she means. “No. Not technically.”
She raises one eyebrow. “Not technically?”
I look away. “I mean, other stuff has happened. But the official record is intact.”
She grins, pouncing on the opening. “And what ‘other stuff’ is that, Andie? What base are you at? Second? Third?”
I want to lie, but I’m tired, and the weight of the secret is pressing into my chest. “Not any base, actually. We’re doing anal,” I whisper, and immediately wish I could un-say it.
Simone bursts into laughter, half genuine, half horrified. “Oh my god. Who is he? Please tell me it’s not the pizza delivery guy.”
“It’s not the pizza guy,” I say, smiling in spite of myself. “It’s someone older.Mucholder.”
Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t laugh this time. “Like, professor-old?”
I shake my head, but not fast enough. She reads me anyway. “You’re joking,” she says, but it’s not a question.
“It’s not like that,” I say, desperate to explain. “I don’t even know his last name. Well, I sort of know it. It’s just that he’s there, and then he isn’t. We’re not a thing.”
Simone’s mood flips. She swings her legs off the desk, scoots the chair close to my bed, and gives me a look that’s half-conspirator, half-concerned big sister. “Okay, but why not? I mean, not to be judgey, but you’ve always been, like, the Sweetest Girl in the Midwest, and suddenly, you’re hooking up anally with an older guy? What’s with the sudden craving for depravity?”
The question needles me. I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling, searching for the right words. “Because it makes me feel real,” I say. “Like, I can’t get out of my own head most days. With him, there’s no living. Just existing.”
Simone goes quiet. She leans her chin on her hand, finger absently tracing the bruised patch at her throat. “You know, that’s how it started for me and Liam.”
The admission hangs there, raw and vulnerable. She laughs, once, without humor. “You probably figured it out. I’m in lovewith Liam. That’s my super secret. Without him, I’m only existing. I’m the cliché now.”
I sit up, surprised. “You’re not a cliché,” I say, and mean it. “He’s lucky to have you.”
She shakes her head, hair catching in the lamplight. “He’s not mine to have. That’s the problem because he’s a professor and like any older dude, he has baggage.”
For a minute, neither of us says anything. There’s a cold breeze from the window, and the heat kicks on with a stuttering clank. Simone draws her knees up to her chest, hugging them.
She finally says, “You know older men have, like, decades of practice, right? They know all the moves. They know how to get in your head. They can be gone in a second, and you’re the one left with the mess.”
“I know,” I whisper.
She sighs. “And yet, here we are.”
“Here we are,” I echo. My hands are shaking, so I bury them in the comforter. I want to ask her if it ever gets easier, if she ever feels like she’s in control. But the look on her face is answer enough.
She reaches over and takes my hand, squeezes it. “For what it’s worth, you can tell me anything. And if you ever need to commit murder, I’ll help you hide the body.”
I smile, for real this time. “Thank you.”
She stands, stretches, and shuffles into her side of the closet. Her pajamas are pink with tiny strawberries, and for a second, she looks five years old again, not the girl with a thousand secrets.
