“So, we aren’t those boring friends who talk about schoolwork and parents.”
She falls back onto her butt, grabbing a bag of pretzels from underneath her bed. I swear this girl whips out snacks from the most random places.
“When was the last time you got off?” She breaks the silence.
“What do you mean got off?” I question. “Off of where?”
“No, likeoff.” She winks like I’m supposed to get the hint.
And then I do.
“You mean like.” I point down, and she laughs.
“You can say it. Masturbating,” she replies.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. But I do know.
The idea of anything down there scares me. I mean, I was hesitant enough to sleep with someone, but foreign objects? My hand? That would be a big no from me.
“Are you scared of it?” she questions. “Is that why you don’t do it.”
“Can we please talk about something else?” I beg.
“No, this is a safe space, and we should be able to talk about this stuff.”
“Then when was the last time you—”
“Before I met you at the diner.”
She answers the question like it’s easy. Like talking about sex and masturbating is the easiest topic of conversation.
“You just got off in the middle of the day?”
“Yeah,” she pauses, tossing another pretzel in her mouth, “there’s nothing wrong with it, Em. It’s self-care.”
“Speaking of self-care, I’m gonna excuse myself to the bathroom.” I hop off her bed and jump over her legs to reach her bathroom. Self-care is getting out of the conversation as quickly as possible.
“If you take care of yourself in my bathroom, please wipe down the surfaces,” she yells, and I shake my head. “And wash your hands!”
I’m washing my hands when I hear heavy thumps against the door, and it takes me a minute to realize that they aren’t against the bathroom door—but her dorm door. I go to leave the bathroom, concerned about who’s pounding, when I hear voices. Brinley’s… and Declan’s.
“The fucker showed up at practice again.” He’s upset, and I don’t have to see him to know he is pacing her room. I can practically feel the draft it’s creating under the door.
“Dec.” Brinley’s voice is the opposite; it’s calm. Steady.
“Brin, I can’t deal with his comments anymore.” The springs in her bed squeak.
“Tell Coach to not let him come watch.”
“Don’t you think I’ve thought about that?” he wonders. “I talked to him, well, Coach talked to me after practice. He asked me what was going on and—”
His voice disappears.
“And what?” she asks.
“AndDadjumped in,” he continues. “Said that I’d never be as good as him and Coach should go easy on me. That he should’ve picked a better captain.”
My heart sinks. I guess I’ve never thought about all the pressure Declan has to deal with from his dad. Mr. Sanderson isn’t usually a topic Brinley gets into.
