I smile, and Dylan immediately pokes a finger into my sternum. “Whatever you’re thinking, not that broad.”
“Chill out. I was just thinking that explains why it seemed like she’d never tasted alcohol before. She’s trying new things. That’s cool.”
“And that’s exactly why she needs to take baby steps. And you like to jump in the deep end.”
“Sometimes that’s the best way to learn how to swim.”
“Mateo Torres. I will kill you if you hurt her.”
I tuck an arm around her and pull her close in a half hug.
“Jeez, I thought you were a pacifist.” When she bristles, I continue: “Relax. There will be no harm or deaths of any kind.”
Silas shows up then with new drinks for both him and Dylan and says, “Dude. Hands off.”
I back away, my hands raised, still grinning.
“You snooze, you lose, man. I’m going to steal her from you one of these days.”
Dylan shoots me a warning glance, but I’m pretty positive that it’s not a reaction to that comment. I take a few steps back and she says, “I mean it, Torres.”
“Gosh, Captain Planet. Careful or Moore here might find out about the sweet nothings you’ve been whispering in my ear.”
I leave before Dylan can frown at me again or before Silas can glare.
Couples, man.
Then I forget about them and set off in search of Nell.
Chapter 7
Nell’s To-Do List
• Normal College Thing #6: Drink alcohol (and not at church).
• Survive Halloween (preferably without popping a button on this shirt).
It takes me a long while to find any semblance of calm at this raging party. For a moment I’d thought of leaving, but then I fished my phone out of my bag to discover it was only half an hour since I’d arrived. I decided it probably wouldn’t be honoring the spirit of my bucket list if I were to let myself leave after thirty-one minutes.
Finally, I settle myself down beside a mesquite tree on the side of the house and pull my bag into my lap. The only reason Dylan let me get away with bringing it was that I insisted it added to my schoolgirl persona. If she knew I’d also brought along a few spirals and the latest issue of Scientific American, she likely wouldn’t have been so accepting.
But it’s not the magazine I reach for when I open my bag but the familiar spiral, the contents of which have been plaguing my thoughts nonstop for days.
I’m a list kind of girl. I make a lot of them. I make them in the morning, in spare moments throughout the day, during classes when the professors move slower than my thoughts. I make them in notebooks, on my phone, on sticky notes, and just in my head. But now I flip forward to that list and start scanning through it. With a smile, I retrieve a pen and draw a line through
6. Drink Alcohol (and not at church).
The rush of satisfaction that tears through me at the simple action is astonishing. It’s not as if I’d accomplished any great feat or had a brilliant intellectual breakthrough. I’d had a rather yummy cup of Torres’s signature concoction, and most of the people here had probably been doing something similar for years now.
The thought of Mateo—no, Torres—pinches something in my belly, and I glance back at the very first item on my list. I run my finger over the words, and it is terrifyingly easy to imagine completing that task with the handsome athlete. Then my eyes dip down to item number five on the list.
5. Lose my virginity.
The pinch in my belly progresses to a twist, and I cannot decide if it’s a good feeling or a bad one. And for a moment . . . I seriously consider the idea.
What if I lost my virginity to Mateo Torres?
It would knock off two items on my list in one go, and I’m nothing if not efficient. But I’m not silly enough to think I should let some list cobbled together from my own imaginings and the offerings of the Internet decide my first sexual experience.
But I have to admit . . . the idea has appeal. He’s attractive, that’s for certain. Perhaps not as conventionally handsome as Dylan’s boyfriend, whose looks just scream a career in film or modeling if football doesn’t work out. No, Torres isn’t quite that pretty. His forehead is large, and his nose rather blunt. But when he smiles, which he does nearly all the time, it softens his edges and makes him plenty appealing. My own features aren’t exactly perfectly formed either. My nose has always been just a tad too large for my face. Well, in my younger years there was no tad about it. And while my hair is long, it’s never been all that soft or shiny. It’s a tangled mess most days, which is why it’s most often piled and knotted atop my head.
Beyond that, though, I’m fairly confident that he’s attracted to me, which should make the experience enjoyable for both of us. And if his blatant sexuality is any clue, he would be no novice.
I’m partly scared by that. Would he be disappointed that I don’t know what I’m doing? Would it make it less . . . well, just less for him? What if after all this buildup between us, I bore him?
It wouldn’t be the first (or last time) someone found me boring. It’s something I’ve come to terms with in the rest of my life, and I’m happy enough with how I am not to care. But doing something like this . . . for the first time, well, I’m not sure my self-assurance could withstand that kind of blow.
The part of me that isn’t scared is intrigued by his confidence and probable experience. Why start completely from scratch when I can use a trusted source of knowledge to further my education at a much faster rate? Maybe he’ll understand, and he’ll guide me through it with as little turmoil as possible.