“Hey,” I managed, “wait a minute. Slow down.” I was still trying to sound nice, but I was getting a little panicky.
“Oh baby.” He held my shoulder down with one hand while gripping his dick with the other. “It’s just so hot.”
He moved his fleshy torpedo toward my mouth, and I ducked, trying to squirm down through his legs and out from under him, but he was too heavy. “You wanna just fuck, let’s just fuck,” he groaned, fumbling for my crotch.
I was trapped. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want to fuck him.
“Wait!” I squirmed, trying to push him away. “I don’t.”
But he didn’t hear. “God you’re sexy,” he grunted, maneuvering his dick between my legs.
“No!” I cried, tears stinging my eyes. “Please.” I could feel his dick poking my inner thigh. I mustered all my strength and shoved him as hard as I could. “I’m a virgin! I’m only sixteen, please!”
Immediately he stopped, his dick flopping over the top of his shorts. “What did you just say?”
“I’m sorry,” I croaked, my heart in my throat. I rose up on my elbows. “I wasn’t trying to have sex. I’m a virgin.”
“No, the other thing,” he snapped, his eyes dark.
“I’m sixteen,” I said quietly.
He scowled. “You said you were eighteen.”
“I didn’t.”
But this only seemed to make him madder.
“Why the hell did you come here?” He grabbed one of the pillows from the couch and whacked it into my chest so hard my head hit the armrest. “What the fuck?”
He stormed into the kitchen, leaving me to quickly scramble to my feet as Summer and Ryan emerged from his room, disheveled, she in nothing but his T-shirt, he in boxer briefs. “What’s going on out here?” Ryan demanded.
Tyler stalked out of the kitchen, the bottle of bourbon dangling from his fist. “She’s sixteen.” He pointed at me. “Did you know that?”
“Calm down,” Ryan said.
“Underage!” Tyler pushed Ryan up against the wall, pinning him with his forearm. “What the fuck!”
Summer skirted around them as they yelled expletives at each other and put her arms around me. “Are you okay?” she whispered.
I wiped my wet cheeks with the back of my hand. “I just wanna go home.”
“Come with me while I get dressed.”
She grabbed my hand and dragged me to Ryan’s messy room, where she quickly changed back into her tennis outfit. The guys were in the kitchen talking heatedly when we emerged. We grabbed our purses from the entry table and slipped out the front door without saying goodbye.
Neither of us spoke until we were in the cocoon of the car, safely past the gates of Silver Creek. As we turned onto the road home, Summer asked quietly, “What happened?”
My words tumbled out in a jumbled mess, mixing with tears as I detailed what had happened. “I’m sorry I ruined your night,” I finished.
“No! Belle! Are you kidding? That guy’s an asshole! I’m just glad he didn’t take it further with you.”
“Thanks for understanding.”
“I’m always there for you,” she promised.
“Please don’t tell anyone.”
“Of course not,” she said. Then, “Are you really a virgin?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I tell you everything. I think I woulda told you if I’d done the deed.” She laughed. “Wait, are you?”
She gave me the side-eye. “Not anymore.” She grinned.
Thankfully, we didn’t have to see Ryan in class the rest of the week because of the July Fourth holiday. Summer tagged along with my family to my uncle’s lake house for a few days, ostensibly to get away from Rhonda and Three’s constant fighting, but in reality I could tell she was worried about me. I kept turning it over in my mind, wondering if I’d actually led him on.
“It’s not your fault,” she’d remind me when she caught me chewing my lip with intensity, furrowing my brow. “Guys are just like that.” I figured she would know.
When we got back home, a U-Haul was hooked up to the back of Rhonda’s red Mitsubishi. Summer sighed when she saw it. “Well, I guess we’re moving again. Thanks for letting me know, Rhonda.”
We said our tearful goodbyes a few days later, vowing to keep in touch. It was funny—Summer had been in my life less than two years, but I felt like I’d known her so much longer. She swore she’d miss me and made me promise to come visit them in Arizona, both of us knowing it would never happen. At least we’d have Skype and text. As she waved goodbye, I felt like a deflating helium balloon spinning into space.
I returned to French class on Monday to find that Summer wasn’t the only one missing. To my relief, Mrs. Price, the regular high school French teacher, was at the blackboard writing conjugations. No one was able to get anything out of her regarding what happened to Mr. Stokes, but she did confirm that he would not be returning.
When I called Summer to tell her, she insisted that there was no way anyone could know what had happened, and maybe she was right. Regardless, I felt lighter than I had in months. That evening I dyed my hair pink.
Day 2
Sunday morning—Genoa, Italy
I wake to a hand gently shaking my shoulder, and the voice of the stewardess. “Time to wake up. We’re landing in an hour.”
The smell of brewing coffee fills the cabin. I struggle to rouse myself, feeling as though I’m surfacing from the depths of the ocean. I extract my arm from the tangled blanket and check my watch. While I managed to make it to the bathroom the three times I threw up, I upchucked the sleeping pill somewhere along the way and counted at least five torturous hours staring at the ceiling while the others slept soundly. So I probably got about three hours of sleep. I should be in rare form today.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, making a vow to myself to let go of the whole rear-facing nausea-inducing shit storm that was the oh-so-perfect start to this “dream trip,” and spend the next seven days playing my part in Summer’s extravaganza.
I push up the sleeping mask to see Amythest’s glittery purple toenails three inches from my face. At least they’re pedicured. I instinctively pull my knees into my chest, realizing if her toes are on my pillow, mine are probably on hers. She must have the same thought, because she simultaneously jerks her feet away and our knees ram into each other.
“Ow!” We squirm to sit up. Our eyes meet and we laugh. “Sorry,” we say at the same time.
“How you feeling?” she asks.
“I think I got three hours. But I’m not nauseous anymore, so that’s good.”
The cabin is still configured for sleep, with all the seats converted to single beds barely big enough to hold two girls. On the berth behind us, Brittani and Rhonda are still dozing, and across the aisle from us, Wendy and Claire are waking up as well.
Wendy pushes up her sleep mask and stretches, looking refreshed. “Oh my God, I think that was the best sleep I’ve had in years! How’d you guys sleep?”
“Fine.” I force a smile.