Page 44 of Mad Girl

My statement tripped you up for a second. You peered at my bookcase across from the bed and cleared your throat. “Right. But there isn’t any rush, you know? You have loads of time to get all mixed up in that stuff.”

“Are you joking? I’m one of the only girls in my school who isn’t currently mixed up in that stuff. Tell me, how old were you when you started hooking up with girls?”

“That”—you cleared your throat again—“is not relevant to this conversation.”

“Why not? Because you’re a guy? And somehow the rules are different for you?”

“No, I’m not—I’m not saying that,” you said. “It’s just⁠—”

“So you have hooked up with girls?”

Maybe it was the comment you’d made to Michael on Eleanor’s birthday—or the one you’d made about the hot guy on Tinsley’s phone—but suddenly I wanted more clarification on this topic. Maybe I also wanted to strike back because you’d chased Willoughby off, too.

You leaned away from me. “Sorry?”

“You’re attracted to girls?” As your eyes narrowed, I added, “I don’t mean to imply you should be. It’s obviously okay if you aren’t. Just—it’s kind of hard to tell…with you. You know?”

“I don’t believe I do know,” you said, clearly flustered. “And I’m not sure why it matters—but, yes, I’m very much attracted to girls. Now that we’ve cleared that up.” You paused to collect yourself. “What I’m trying to say—and not very well, obviously—is that you don’t have to give yourself to someone just because it’s convenient, or you’re missing out, or you’ve reached a certain age. Ideally, you wouldn’t want it to be some random boy, you know? Not if it could be someone you fully trust. Someone you know really well. Someone you love, even.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, this is beginning to sound like the sex talk Libby gave to me and Bree once. And I doubt Michael got the same one, because he’s had, like, five girlfriends that I know of, and I doubt he loved any of them. He used to take girls up to his bedroom all the time, and his parents never batted an eye. He goes through condoms faster than you do.”

You tossed your head back, eyes squeezed shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Will you please stop talking about condoms? Also—for the love of God, Elliot—stop counting mine.”

“But it’s such a bullshit way of looking at things, Casey. This idea that girls should wait and limit their partners while guys should be allowed to start early and be with as many people as they want?”

“Listen,” you said, your tattooed hand slicing through the air, “I agree with you. But take it from me, more isn’t always better. Sometimes, more just makes you feel shit about yourself—makes you feel sort of empty when it’s over—and you deserve so much better than that.”

Your expression had gone so serious I got the feeling you were speaking from experience. I reached out, touched my fingers to your bracelet, and twisted it around your wrist. Your gaze dropped to the bracelet, too.

“Your dad’s planning to be home late,” you said eventually, rising from the floor. “Let’s order dinner. Whatever you want is fine with me.”

“Hey,” I said, following you out of my room. “Did you quit smoking?”

“Ages ago. Back when I moved in.”

“My dad made you, huh?”

You shrugged. Which really meant yes.

I thought of something else. “Why do you have an SAT study guide in your room? Shouldn’t you have taken that test a long time ago?”

You twisted on the stairs, pointing a finger at me. “Stop going through my things. I’m locking my door when I leave.”

I laughed. “You think that’ll stop me from getting in?”

“Fuck’s sake,” you muttered, stomping down the stairs.

The next day, you stood by your word, but first you made something very clear: “I catch you lying about where you are and it’s over, Elliot. I have to be able to trust you, because your dad’s trusting me. I’d hate to let him down.”

We told Hal you were picking me up from school, but I left with Tinsley instead.

The farther we walked down the road, however, the more I missed the shackles, feeling too exposed and vulnerable without them, the school entrance tugging me back. What if Hal appeared around a corner somewhere, caught me off my leash, and reported us to my dad?

The first time I went for coffee with Tinsley and Bree, Tinsley snapped a picture of us to post on social media, but I grabbed her phone in a panic and made her promise to keep the photo to herself. “If my dad sees, I’ll get in trouble. Casey will, too.”

Tinsley and Bree exchanged a look. “Oh, sweetie,” Tinsley said, squeezing my fingers. “I love your dad, but the way he’s locked you down all these years is pretty fucked up.”

You gifted me more freedom than Nic ever had, and for those first couple of weeks, I did what you asked. I checked in with you. I texted back immediately. I came home when you said. Sometimes, I even sent you pictures—proving I was where I said I was. I built your trust, Casey.