Chapter One
Wendy
October
There are a few embarrassing moments in my life that I can never forget, and most of them involve Atlas.
The first was during our sixth-grade dance at Mercy Ridge Middle School. I felt so pretty in my brand-new white denim skirt and wanted Atlas to think so too.
While our classmates danced, Atlas and I shared our first kiss on the bleachers.That had been the best night of my young life.
Until Atlas and I got up to slow dance, and I heard my classmates laughing behind me.
"Oh my god! Oh my god, Wendy, you're bleeding!" My best friend, Taylor, hisses in my ear, her eyes almost comically wide.
Her words confuse me for a moment before I twist to look at my back and gasp. The entire back of my skirt is red. Taylor and Atlas look equally horrified.
I just got my first period, in front of my crush, and in front of the entire sixth-grade class.
I'm frozen in place, not knowing what to do, not wanting to move, while simultaneously wishing to sprint out of the gym, out of the town, out of the country in embarrassment.
Thankfully, Atlas reacts fast and walks behind me, yanking his jacket off while he does.
He snarls at a group of boys laughing and pointing at me.
"Shut up! Don't look at her!"
Even at twelve, Atlas was so sweet and protective of me. I remember how he carefully wrapped his jacket around mywaist as he and Taylor guided me to the girls' bathroom. He sat outside the door and barked at anyone walking up,“Use another bathroom!”
Thankfully, Diane, Atlas’ mom, came to my rescue for the first time, but definitely not the last time.
Atlas called her and she brought me a pair of his gym shorts to change into and a box of pads. She sat with Taylor and me in the bathroom and showed me how to use them before driving us home, stopping for ice cream along the way.
"For this, ice cream always helps. Remember that, Atlas!"
Later that week, after Atlas and I had hung out at his house—as boyfriend-girlfriend—she gave me the talk that my own mother thought I was too young to hear.
Anything regarding womanhood or my changing body and hormones, my mother avoided talking about with me like she was ashamed.
There was also the time sophomore year when I tripped and twisted my ankle while running the mile in gym class. Atlas, with the rest of the sophomore boys, had already finished but then he saw Taylor helping me hobble to the finish line. I'll never forget how he sprinted toward me, barreling like a bull and parting the sea of sixteen-year-old boys with ease.
Atlas has always been big and tall, solid all over, physically strong from working on house projects or at the garage. He swept me up in his arms and carried me all the way from the football field to the nurse's office without breaking a sweat.
"Hold on, baby," Atlas murmurs against my temple, kissing me sweetly.
Our class hoots and hollers behind us, the guys mock swooning and the girls actually swooning.
Even with the throbbing in my ankle, I couldn't help but giggle at the intense look on my boyfriend’s face, his clenched jaw and brow furrowed in focus.
"You're okay. It's okay, you'll be okay," he repeats over and over, I think mostly to comfort himself.
When we finally get to the nurse's office, Atlas keeps the ice packon my bruised ankle, glaring at the mottled skin like he's personally offended that it’s causing me pain.
One of the most embarrassing moments of my life was the time my mother found the pregnancy test. I had stuffed it down to the bottom of my wastebasket in my bathroom, but after I started dating Atlas, she'd grown the habit of snooping.
She always thought I was hiding something.
This time, she was right.
