Free Purity by Jackson Pearce

about their wedding, the “Thriller” dance.
    “Thriller” at your wedding. That’s living without restraint, I think, smiling. Most of my memories of Mom have to do with her being sick or the tiny, fluttering moments between being sick. Sometimes I feel like I don’t even know who she was before the cancer got a hold of her—but “Thriller,” that’s something, a hint to who she was beforehand. I wonderwhat else Mom did without restraint that I don’t know about. Dozens of things? Nothing else at all? Did she make me promise because she lived her entire precancer life without restraint and wanted the same for me, or because she wished she’d done it more often? Would
she
have made a vow of purity? I wish I could ask her—
    “Shelby?” Dad says.
    We’re here.
    I don’t know how we got here so quickly. I freeze.
    “Huh? Oh, sorry. I… spaced out,” I say. I grab the door handle and force myself out of the car. No turning back. Promise One and Promise Three.
    “I guess I’ll see you later tonight?” Dad asks. “Daniel can drive you home, right?”
    “Right,” I answer quickly. I shut the door and step from the curb onto Daniel’s lawn. The grass is wet from the heat of the day. I trudge through it as I hear Dad’s car pull away behind me. I have to do this. I reach forward and ring the doorbell.
    It doesn’t take Daniel long to answer. He swings the door open, wearing an old T-shirt and jeans.
    He looks at me, like he’s evaluating something. “Hey,” he finally says, leaning against the door frame.
    “Hey.”
    We stare at each other for a moment before Daniel steps aside and lets me in.
    Daniel can afford to do the whole costume-making thing because his mom is heir to some sort of pharmaceuticalsfortune. I don’t think she actually has a job, yet she still goes to charity galas and owns a yacht and all sorts of stuff. So naturally, Daniel’s bedroom is their house’s “second master bedroom.” It’s not only huge, but it also has a wall of video games with a built-in cabinet for a zillion different consoles. The “reading area” has been converted into some sort of costume-making office. The walls are lined with pictures of him and his friends wearing Daniel’s various creations. He’s pretty brilliant at it. No one else could make the school’s mythology club actually look like a horde of Spartan warriors.
    “What movie did you bring?”
    I hold up a DVD of this eighties movie full of puppets and costumes and weird songs. A strange wanna-have-sex movie, but I thought all the fancy outfits would thrill Daniel. My evil plan has obviously worked, because his face lights up.
    “I have the special edition of that! Awesome,” Daniel says, taking it from my hands. He walks over to the gross display of electronics and puts it in the player. I sit on the futon beneath his lofted bed, painfully aware that my rainbow camisole straps are slipping off my shoulders.
    Daniel fiddles around, pressing various buttons until the movie cues up with surround sound. I cringe at the THX theme that makes my teeth vibrate, it’s so loud. He finds the correct remote and joins me on the futon—on the opposite end. I give him a nervous smile, which he immediately returns.
    This movie is questionable at best. As is my ability to get this guy to sleep with me, especially if I don’t make a move soon. I draw my feet up on the couch and move so I’m leaningagainst the arm and my toes brush against him. He meets my eyes quickly and, in classic teenage-guy oblivion, goes back to watching the movie.
    Ten more minutes pass. I lean forward. Brush my hair back. Laugh at jokes that I really don’t think are funny.
    Daniel stares at the television, and I can tell he’s analyzing glues and costume-sewing techniques and appliqué patterns. I nudge him with my feet to distract him; he looks over at me, eyebrow raised.
    “Something wrong?”
    “Um…”
Think fast, Shelby, think fast.
“Could I have some