Free Like It Never Happened by Emily Adrian Page B

said Tess. “We’re sneaking out.”

    The boys were likely already drunk when we arrived. They had built a campfire right on the sand and the flames were waist-high. The sky was black and the ocean, somehow, even darker.
    Jason and Connor kept harping on a weird inside joke. It started when Jason touched Tess’s hair and asked, “What kind of bird are you?”
    â€œHuh?” Tess giggled. For someone who claimed to have once made out with David Bowie’s nephew, she didn’t seem that accustomed to having her hair touched.
    â€œProbably a blue jay,” said Connor.
    Jason looked aghast and said, “Nuh-uh, pure robin.”
    Connor jerked his thumb in my direction. “This one’s the robin.”
    â€œI can be a robin.” Tess pouted. “They have pretty red chests.”
    Her cheeks burned; she had not meant to reference her own chest. Still, Jason couldn’t hold out another second before attaching his lips to hers.
    Perched on the end of a log, Connor was clutching a Heineken, staring at me like I was a poster on the wall of his science classroom, or his toothbrush. I sat down next to him—because what else was there to do, really? He slid his hand beneath my tank top, pressing against the small of my back. I had not realized that a stranger’s hand against my skin could feel like such a good idea.
    It was my first kiss ever and it was not good. Connor’s mouth was all weak and wet and redundant. As we made out, my mind was occupied with the horrifying realization that kissing was terrible, it was humiliating.
    It was mostly spit.
    I wanted to revisit the simple pressure of his hand, which had felt so promising. But I couldn’t think of a polite way to request he eject his tongue from my mouth, so I just kept going.
    Jason unzipped his backpack to produce more Heineken. He held out a beer for me to take. I stared at the bottle glistening in the firelight, slick and green like kelp.
    Abruptly, and without a word of explanation, I ran. I didn’t slow down until I was over the grassy dunes and out of their sight. The road to Tess’s house was gravel and, of course, I had left my shoes on the beach.
    I managed to get inside and into bed without waking any of the Dunhams. About an hour later I heard Tess push through the window of the room next to mine. Judging by the noise, she wasn’t alone. It was fairly bold of her to bring Jason back to the house containing all of her sleeping relatives. But I was soon distracted by the door handle turning in my own room, the boy-shaped shadow appearing in the frame.
    The door clicked into place behind him and he loomed wordlessly over my bed.
    â€œFeeling better?” he asked, kneeling on the mattress. Connor wasn’t wearing a shirt. It made no sense. The ocean was freezing. They couldn’t have gone swimming.
    â€œNo.” I raised my knees, defensive.
    â€œI’ll make you feel better,” he said, simultaneously drunk and matter-of-fact.
    â€œNo.” My fear was not the slow-creeping anxiety induced by horror movies. It was immediate and paralyzing. I was a rabbit, cornered. My heart beat in my throat.
    I had this idea that I wouldn’t be able to stop him. He had the advantage of size, and drunkenness. And probably Tess had promised him I wanted it.
    His mouth tasted like metal and blood and something organic. I kept saying, “No,” like even if it happened, at least it would happen to a sound track of no. I would never be able to convince myself I had said anything but no, the first time.
    I said no to his hands on my thighs, and I said no when he pulled my tank top straps down over my shoulders. I said it so many times that the word turned soft in the middle, like a tender piece of steak.
    He grabbed the front of my pajama pants, and with a fistful of material he assessed the situation, which was nothing but cotton and elastic. I felt his smile grow against my neck,