“Why do you say it like that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t you want a boyfriend?”
More than anything in the world, I wanted a boyfriend, but none of the boys I was interested in seemed interested in me. “Boys are untrustworthy,” I told her, propping my feet on the dash. I’d just leave it at that.
“I trust my boyfriend.”
Crossing my arms, I turned toward her. “How do you know you can trust him?”
As often as she had answers for everything, I could tell I’d stumped her. After thinking about it a few moments, she said, “Well, we think alike. We have the same ideology.”
“Cool. But give me one good reason you trust him.”
With her eyes pinned on the road, she gave my question more thought but got distracted upon noticing two guys ahead with their thumbs out. She slowed down to fifty. “Wanna pick them up?” she asked, with a thrill in her raspy voice. I hesitated just long enough for her to pass them by. “Maybe the next ones,” she said.
Ron picked up hitchhikers, but I never did. Too risky.
Before Livy decided to discuss the joys of hitchhiking, I turned the conversation back to trust. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
Livy gnawed on her bottom lip, like she was pondering another chess move. “He’s a Leo,” she actually said, like there was no more room for discussion. “Fiercely loyal. Brave. Sometimes stubborn, butalwayspassionate.” She shimmied in her seat at the wordpassionate. “It’s my favorite sign.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Don’t tell me you don’t believe in astrology.” She gave me an incredulous stare.
“Okay, I won’t tell you.” I threw my palms up. “Come on, give me a real reason.”
A slight squint in her eyes told me she was wondering the same thing. “He’s never cheated on me.” She tapped the dashboard, as if that was her final answer.
“How do you know he’s never cheated on you?”
“I just know.”
I shrugged with a whatever-you-say look.
“Okay, I don’t know. But he sure knows how to please me, if you know what I mean.” She giggled and playfully honked the horn. “I’ve got all kinds of trust in him for that.” With a glance in my direction she added, “When he licks—”
I thrust my hand toward her. “I get the picture.”
Livy slid her fingers back and forth along the slick curve of the steering wheel. “So you may not want a boyfriend, but you’re on the pill, right?”
“Nope.”
She tilted her head. “Is that because you use another kind of birth control, or you’re not having sex?”
Should I lie? Or come clean? Surely she knew the truth. “Not having sex.”
The furrow between her brows deepened. “But you’ve had sex before ...”
Despite the anxiety I felt about fessing up, I still shook my head no.
The shock, both in Livy’s voice and in her eyes, was thinly disguised when she dived in for her next question. “Maybe you haven’t gone all the way, but you’ve done other stuff. Surely, you’ve had an orgasm.”
Okay, now I had to lie. It was Livy asking the question. She’d never understand my chaste existence. And she’d scream if she knew I’d never even been French-kissed. The only kisses I’d ever gotten were a few pecks at Emily Freeburg’s spin the bottle party in eighth grade. “Of course I have,” I said.
“But you’re a virgin.” She put a finger to her chin. “That’s interesting. Are you following your family rule about no sex before marriage? Or are you afraid of getting pregnant? The pill has changed that, you know.”
