Free Asking for It by Louise O'Neill

anything else.
    There’s no sign of Jamie and Ali in the garden, just some lads sitting around a rickety wooden table between two tall monkey-puzzle trees, playing poker. There’s a couple pressed up against the wall, the boy looking like he’s trying to mould her body into the pebble-dashed wall. Two blonde girls are smoking, wearing denim hotpants so short I can see their ass cheeks.
    It takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the gloom in the TV room, but the girls aren’t in here either. I have to breathe through my mouth because of the mixture of Lynx, smoke and sweat.
    ‘Are you cold, Emma?’ Matt Reynolds pipes up from the two-seater chair opposite me.
    ‘What?’
    ‘I was just asking if you were cold?’
    ‘Not especially, Matt. It’s, like, thirty degrees outside.’
    He leans forward, his legs splayed apart, and rests his elbows on his knees, crouching down. ‘Are you sure? Because it looks like you’re pretty cold to me.’
    The others burst into raucous laughter, the guy next to Matt giving him a high five, and I feel like getting up and slapping him across his stupid face.
    ‘Very funny,’ I say. ‘So mature.’
    ‘What’s funny?’ Jack opens the door. (I knew he would come looking for me.)
    ‘Oh, nothing,’ I say. ‘Poor Matt here is just overawed at the sight of my nipples. It must be tough being a virgin at such an advanced age.’ I take a sip of my beer and pull a sympathetic face. ‘Like a bull tied to a gate, I’d imagine.’
    He splutters, ‘Fuck you, Emma. You’re not that fucking hot, you know,’ and starts listing the girls he’s shagged. ‘. . . and then there was Lauren, and Saoirse, and . . .’ the others laughing even harder this time, hitting the armrests, stamping their feet, and jeering, ‘Virgin, virgin, virgin . . .’ at him.
    ‘Can I sit there?’
    I take another sip of my beer before I look up. ‘But I’m sitting here.’
    ‘There’s room for one more, I think.’
    ‘I don’t know.’ I lean back in the chair. ‘I’m pretty comfortable.’
    Jack rolls his eyes at me and sits on the armrest, pretending to watch the two lads playing the Xbox.
    ‘I need some health. This mission is killing me,’ one of them says, clicking furiously at the controls.
    ‘Just fuck a hooker, that’ll help,’ Matt Reynolds says, and they laugh.
    ‘So,’ Jack says to me, ‘were you at the match yesterday?’
    ‘Yeah,’ I say, giving an exaggerated yawn. ‘But I left, like, ten minutes before the end.’
    ‘Ah,’ he says, ‘then you missed the best part. I scored the winning goal.’
    ‘You scored a goal? Oh, well done you .’
    I tap his knee when I say this and he grabs my hand. I try and pull away but he won’t let me. He swirls his thumb gently on my palm, a dimple forming in his left cheek, and I feel myself go liquid.
    ‘Maybe you’ll come to the next match.’
    ‘Maybe I will.’
    ‘And maybe you should stay until the end this time.’
    ‘Maybe I should.’
    Our voices are getting lower, our heads moving closer to each other, inch by inch, wondering which one of us is going to crack and be the first to lean in so afterwards we can say that the other person instigated things. I’m getting so turned on I almost feel queasy, but this is the bit I enjoy the most, I think. The build-up, that moment just before you finally kiss, that’s always better than the actual sex. During sex I’m thinking about what I look like, trying to make sure the other person is having a better time with me than they did with the last girl. And, of course, even before they come I’m wondering how I’m going to make them keep their mouth shut about what we did or didn’t do.
    ‘Emma.’ It’s Ali, tapping my shoulder.
    ‘What is it?’
    ‘I’m sorry, OK,’ she says, ‘but I really need your help.’
    I press my lips together tightly, but I don’t want to seem like a shitty friend in front of Jack, so I follow her out the room.
    ‘Jesus, Ali, what could be so