Free 34 Pieces of You by Carmen Rodrigues Page B

“Pot.”
    “But you didn’t, right?” Lola had been the president of our sixth-grade D.A.R.E. chapter, and the first person to make fun of anyone holding a cigarette, but I knew that didn’t mean a thing if a boy was factored into the equation.
    “God, Jess”—her voice rose defensively—“I said no, okay? Give me some credit. But he wanted to go, and you know I can’tstand being in that house alone, especially at night. It’s just so spooky without my dad there and all those empty rooms. So I asked him to come in and just hang out.”
    “So you didn’t smoke?” I asked. The guilt on her face was as good as any answer.
    She wrapped her arms around her knees. “I just wanted to know if it was as fun as he said, but it didn’t work. Okay? Tommy says I don’t know how to inhale.”
    I rolled my eyes, and she looked away, shrugging. “It’s not that big of a deal, really.”
    “Then why were you crying?” I asked.
    She was quiet for a long while. “He just kept calling and coming over. And I thought he really liked me.” She paused, and her eyes found mine. “He actually said it, you know? He said, ‘I like you, Lola.’” Again she stopped talking. I could tell she was trying to pull herself together, but when she started up again, it was clear she was still sliding. “I wouldn’t have done it, Jess. I swear, if I hadn’t thought . . .” She started crying again, her tears picking up speed. I pulled her close, trying to muffle the sounds of it with my body.
    “Hey, it’s going to be okay,” I said, but my sympathy only made her cry harder. After a while her sobbing subsided, but she continued to cling to me, her wet face pressed to my shirt.
    In the silence, her words—and what they meant—hovered above us: big, important, irreversible.
    Sex.
    This was the biggest secret she had ever kept from me. Finally, I asked, “Are you and Tommy together now? Is that why you’re so upset?”
    She shook her head, and in a small voice said, “He barely even looks at me in the hallway.”
    I felt a pang inside me, imagining what it felt like to give away so much for so little. Without thinking, I kissed the top of her head and smoothed her hair. It was the only thing I knew to do. It’s what I did to Mattie whenever she was upset, but Lola wasn’t Mattie, and instead of curling into me, she pulled away.
    She leaned her head back against the exterior wall and stared at the sky, tears silently seeping out of her eyes. I held out my hand, and, for once, she took it.
     
    * * *
     
    We didn’t notice Ellie until she sat down beside us, looking like a fairy with her translucent skin, blue crinoline skirt, and sheer peasant top.
    “Spying on Tommy and Sarah?” she said. Her pink lips turned up into a smirk.
    Normally, Lola led in these kinds of situations, but she stayedsilent, quickly hiding her wet face behind a curtain of hair. I was still trying to think of a response when Ellie glanced at me, her smirk flatlining, and said, “God, these mosquitoes are biting the shit out of me. Let’s get out of here.”
    She crawled out from behind the cottage and headed toward the house. We followed. Inside, Ellie said to Lola, “Go wash your face. Come to my room”—she pointed at a half-open door—“when you’re done.”
    I had never been inside Ellie’s room, and when we crossed the threshold, I was surprised by its brightness. The walls were buttercup yellow, and stars the color of tangerines hung from the ceiling. Fireflies with watermelon-colored tails were painted in a zigzag pattern around the window, like they had swarmed in from outside. Taped to the desk behind me were dozens of Polaroids of Ellie and Sarah. One looked as recent as yesterday.
    “So . . .” Ellie moved beside me, our shoulders touching as she leaned back against the desk. “Spying, huh?”
    I was silent. I always had a hard time talking around Ellie. She made up for her small stature with an intimidating personality.