“Be careful,” dad says, not with warning but from habit. From behind the counter, Brooke laughs.
“Don’t worry. Nothing too exciting ever happens in Bipal,” she says, looking to Maribel for confirmation. Maribel’s lips twitch. “We’re a quiet town.”
After a hug and kiss, my dad and Maribel leave, and I linger awkwardly around the sales desk in the furniture store, unsure of what to do next.
Brooke leans over the counter on her elbows, holding her chin up with her curled fists. “So what’s your name?”
“Vivienne,” I tell her. “Thanks for inviting me out, by the way.”
She wrinkles her nose, like my appreciation isn’t needed. “We’re gonna have fun.” She studies me for a moment, looking at my rose pink cardigan and the gold cross around my neck. “So… that’s your step mom and that’s your dad?”
I nod. “Yeah, we just moved here from California. Got here last night.”
“Dad moves you your senior year, huh?” she clicks her tongue. “Maribel must give one hell of a blow job.”
I choke on my spit. “Oh my god!”
Brooke bursts out in laughter. “Sorry–but your dad is hot. I’d blow him.”
“Brooke!” I laugh, shocked by how inappropriate and forward she is. Back in California, at Dover, none of myfriends joked like this. But I like the ribbing. “Don’t say that. He’s my dad!”
“He’s a DILF,” she says, laughing so hard her cheeks flame.
“Gross. But… Thank you for making me laugh. And thank you for inviting me out.”
She arches her brow. “I didn’t think he was going to let you come with me. But your step mom gave him the squeeze,” she says, and I nod my head, because I saw that, too. “He’s whipped.”
Ignoring that, I look out the glass doors to the bustling downtown sidewalk. Every second someone passes by, fists full of colorful shopping bags, their hair tossed around in the breeze. The sun shines and the skies are cerulean. And in that moment, as Brooke tells me she’s clocking out and she’ll meet me at the register, I feel hopeful.
Maybe moving won’t ruin my senior year. Maybe it will be a good year after all.
Chapter Three
Vivienne
After browsing a stationary store, a small charm bracelet boutique, and the most adorable shoe store, Brooke stops me outside, putting her hands on my shoulders. People push past us on the sidewalk, but Brooke is unfazed, her big blue eyes idling on mine.
“We need to talk,” she says, feeling like my best friend, not a girl I met just hours ago.
I hold her wrists, giggling. “What?”
Her eyes drop down to my cardigan, moving over my gold cross, down my white tank top to my jean capris. Lastly, she glares at my white sneakers.
“What?” I ask. She looks up at me.
“No offense, Viv,” she says, already using my nickname. “But you’re dressed like an uptight Christian girl going to a spelling bee. Okay? We gotta get you some new clothes.”
I pinch the cashmere sweater, lifting it from my chest. “This is cashmere. It’s gorgeous.”
Brooke nods. “Yes. It’s gorgeous. And you know what it pairs well with?Virginity.”
My face falls slack, and I look down at my sweater, then peer at my white Keds, finally looking back up at Brooke a moment later. “I– well, I– it’s–” I can’t find a response. I don’t know what to say. I’ve always dressed like this.
“Oh my god,” she breathes, her jaw splitting in two as she gapes at me. “Youarea virgin, aren’t you?”
I don’t need to see a mirror to know that my face is cherry red right now. “Yes,” I say, forcing my chin off my chest. Being a virgin is nothing to be embarrassed about, so I hold my head high. Or,highish.
Brooke, with her long chestnut hair and wide eyes, smiles at me, smoothing her hands down my arms. She’s wearing eyeliner and lipstick, with silver hoops hanging from her ears. I glance in the window of the store we’re standing next to, seeing our reflections. We’re the same age. Both eighteen, entering our last year of high school. But she looks twenty, and I look twelve.
