Breathless - Jennifer Niven Page 0,62

staffers on the beach. I look for Miah but he isn’t there.

We huddle at the edge of the dunes and watch fireworks over the neighboring islands. There is something comforting about the crackle and pop and hiss as the air explodes with stars—blue, red, green, gold. I think of all my Fourth of Julys, and my parents are in every one. The three of us in Rhode Island, watching from the dock with a hundred other people. The three of us in Atlanta, eating a picnic in Piedmont Park under a sky of sparkling color. The three of us in Ohio, drinking fizzy lemonade with Saz and her family.

There is a sonic boom and gold rockets shoot into the sky.

Wednesday says, “Would you rather have penises for arms or tree trunks for legs?”

I say, “What kind of trees?”

“Live oaks. No—palm trees. The really tall ones.”

Jared goes, “Penises for arms.” And then he does his best impersonation of arm penises, which sends us laughing uncontrollably.

After we wind down, Emory sighs. “I need to get laid. There aren’t a lot of options on an island.”

“Thanks,” says Wednesday.

“You know what I mean.”

“What about our neighbors across the water?” I nod in the direction of the fireworks.

“He’ll never leave here.” Wednesday turns her face up to the sky.

Emory says, “I might have to. I’m not cut out to be a monk.”

“I’d like to be in love.” Jared says it in his upbeat Jared way, but a sigh escapes at the end of it. “Like, I wonder if sex is really different when you’re in love with someone.”

And even though I’m a virgin, I want to say sex is just sex. It doesn’t matter who you do it with, as long as you have their consent and they have yours, and as long as you like their hands on you and their mouth on yours. As long as they are all sorts of possibility and almostness and maybe.

But other than the consent part, I’m not sure I believe this anymore.

“I don’t know.” Wednesday stretches her arms out, like she’s trying to grab the fireworks. “I want to see what it’s like with different people. See what I’m like with different people. People of all genders. To have the chance to love who I love, and if I actually do fall in love, great. If not, at least I’ll have some fun. The thing I know is that I don’t want to get hung up on any one person right now.” For some reason she’s looking at me. “Because it always ends the same, right? You have a good time and they have a good time and everyone’s having fun, and then once the chase is over, suddenly they start chasing after someone else like you never existed. Besides, I like being me too much.”

I think, Maybe it does always end the same, but I want to believe it doesn’t. I want to believe it’s a lot more than just the chasing and the catching.

I say, “Don’t you think it’s possible to be you with someone else?”

She lets out this cynical-sounding laugh. “No, Mainlander. I don’t. My friends, my mom—they all become versions of themselves. Like, fun-house versions. No thanks.”

And in spite of my broken home and all I’m going through, I feel sorry for her. She doesn’t seem to believe in anything, and maybe—just maybe—I still do.

Wednesday tugs at one long braid and then fixes her eyes on me again. “What about you? You ever been laid before?”

Jared shakes his head. “Don’t feel like you have to answer her.”

I watch Grady as he chats up one of the inn guests, a lady in her thirties. I watch as the fireworks explode and then die over the water. I think about making up a story, something elaborate and erotic. Possibly even breaking out Shane Waller and my near sex in a barn.

But everyone else is being honest, including New Claude, which is why I say, “Almost. There’s a boy back in Ohio.” I don’t mention that I barely think about Wyatt Jones now.

Wednesday says, “My sister believes it doesn’t technically count as sex unless it’s a penis and a vagina. Like, if she does anal, she’s still a virgin.”

Emory stares at her. “So then, according to her, nothing counts except hetero sex?”

“I’m just telling you what she believes. Don’t get pissed at me.”

“Man, that is some bullshit. Bull. Shit.”

I say, “My best friend is a lesbian, and she’s in love. And I don’t

readonlinefreenovel.com Copyright 2016 - 2024