Free Return to Us by Julie Cross Page A

knows I’m still awake. I want to slide my fingers further south—touch him there—but I don’t know if I can do that just for curiosity’s sake or if it has to be done with a specific purpose. My two years in middle school are pushing their way back to my frontal lobe and I’m suddenly recalling all the immature middle-schooler conversations and teasing about the size of male anatomy, but now I’m wondering how you really know if it’s big or small? How many do you have to see before making an accurate assessment and what does that say about the person making those claims?
    And then there’s this whole other slew of conversations regarding “gross” girls who probably touched themselves all the time (I think, looking back, I sat with some horrible people during lunch and had absolutely nothing to contribute to their conversations). The logic is completely lacking. It’s wrong for girls to touch themselves and I guess guys are supposed to know exactly what to do because the girls obviously don’t since their hands have to stay far from that area? And how do guys know what to do with us? Do they all have plastic models of vaginas that come with a diagram and directions on what to do? It’s hardly fair to expect them to be good at this. At least gay guys, like Tony, know what they’re dealing with. They’ve been living with the same parts all their lives. I wonder if they compare sizes? I wonder if they bother learning about vaginas?
    And assuming Jordan ends up exploring that region of my body, is it going to hurt? I can’t even use super tampons without feeling pain, so how much will it hurt to have fingers inside me? I glance at Jordan’s hand lying on the air mattress beside me, trying to guess whether the diameter of his finger is larger than a super tampon. If it does hurt, should I pretend it doesn’t so that he won’t feel bad? I mean, babies come out of there, right? It’s not like it will hurt forever. Eventually, I’ll adjust… I guess? Weird. It’s like conditioning.
    A warm hand touches my hair, making me aware of the fact that Jordan’s eyes are now uncovered. How long has he been watching me stare at his supposedly functional parts? Or is it just one part? No, he’s the one that said parts . Plural.
    “What are you thinking about?” Jordan asks, breaking the long silence between us and quieting all the thoughts flying through my head.
    My face heats up, but it’s completely dark outside now and the only light in our tent is from the glow of one flashlight lying on its side. I don’t think he can even see my blushing. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
    “Trust me, I do.” His face is full of so many emotions—concern, fear, love—I can’t play it cool anymore. A few more tears leak from my eyes and Jordan sits up quickly, holding my face in his hands. “What’s wrong?”
    I close my eyes and shake my head. “Nothing… Well, everything. But… I don’t know. I have way too many thoughts and questions and—”
    “Shh,” he whispers, pulling me down next to him, my cheek resting over his heart. “You have questions… ?” he prompts.
    I shake my head again. “I can’t ask you this stuff. It’s like the ultimate mood killer.”
    “I seriously doubt that.” His hand makes circles over my back and then I feel the other hand rest right on my butt. My completely bare butt.
    Maybe I should be touching his butt? Maybe I’m so bad at this, he’s going to think I must not love him? I know girls aren’t supposed to equate sex and not-sex with love and guys who do are assholes and only want one thing. But I’m starting to realize that it isn’t that simple. If you really love someone, then you trust them—enough to see you without your clothes on. Maybe you don’t want to have sex because of pregnancy and diseases or for religious or cultural reasons but regardless, emotional and physical love do overlap. I don’t care what we’re supposed to think, they