He doesn’t bother denying it. He just gives a small, unapologetic shrug.
“How about you?” I bump my shoulder into his, sending him swaying. “How’s everything going with Esther?” I think about the petite Asian girl who’s his date tonight. She’s smart. She’s nice. So why am I suddenly searching for a reason to dislike her?
He stiffens and clears his throat. “She wants me to kiss her later. Maybe more…”
My stomach turns sour, rolling uncomfortably.
“Oh?” I work hard to keep my tone even, like I’m only mildly interested. “What’s the problem with that?”
“I haven’t exactly…” He rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, done that before. Kissed.”
“What?” I laugh, then immediately rein it in when I see him flinch. “Wait…like, for real? We’re eighteen, Beck. About to graduate. How have you never kissed a girl?”
“I don’t know. It just never came up.” Beck shrugs, then hunches in on himself. “What if I’m terrible at it? Kissing, I mean. What if I suck? We can’t all be prom queens, you know?”
The resentment in his voice stings. I jerk back. “Hey.”
I reach up and untangle the small gold tiara from my hair, turning it over in my hands. The plastic is cracked in a couple of places. One red rhinestone is missing, probably lost sometime during the night.
“That’s not fair,” I say quietly. “You know this is the first time I’ve gotten this thing.” I hold the crown out to him, and he recoils like it’s dynamite. “Every other year I was runner-up. Don’t be mad that I finally got it. Besides, what does that have to do with you kissing Esther, anyway?”
I shove the crown into his hands just to make my point.
Beck takes it, turning it this way and that. Out in the field, a cow moos, and we both glance up at the sound.
“The point is,” he says slowly, “that you,prom queen, have already been kissing boys.”
He swallows. Pauses.
“How would you know?” I ask, suddenly alarmed.
Beck and I talk abouteverything…just not that.
Not kissing.
Not making out.
Not sex.
I have a feeling that if it were daytime, I’d see him blushing when he says, “People talk, Gracie. Guys talk.”
I go still, suddenly fragile. Breakable. Because Ihavebeen kissing guys. Making out. Having sex. Not a lot. Not enough to be labeled a slut—at least, I didn’t think so before this conversation.
“What do they say about me?”
Shame and dread coil tight in my chest. Panic climbs fast.
“Tell me, Beck,” I say again, louder now. “Tell me what they say.”
He looks over, really looks at me, and his expression changes. Immediately his hand is on my arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Calm down. It’s nothing that bad. Just that you kissed Justin last year. Stuff like that.”
I don’t say anything. My pulse pounds. I don’t believe him.
He reads me easily. His hand tightens on my arm, more pressure this time. Grounding. Steady.
“Seriously,” he says. “I promise. I’d tell you if there was more.”
