and Sean fighting?”
“No. Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know. Because he was pouting at lunch and you look miserable too. And . . . because you asked me about Cotton Talley.” Maggie burst out laughing. “As if.”
Ria frowned. She knew why Maggie was laughing. Cotton was nice and smart. But he was also different. Maybe even weird. He’d outgrown needing special classes but he still had that small-room way of being clueless about things that mattered to people who fit in the one-size-fits-all classroom.
She was glad she hadn’t told Maggie about the cave. That was Cotton’s place, somewhere he fit perfectly. He’d shared it with Ria, but it wasn’t hers to pass on to anyone else. Maybe he’d take her there again. As long as he hadn’t disappeared.
“Sean’s planning to stay out all night tonight. With Grover.”
“Does that mean with you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” That was the problem with only speaking in looks and kisses and eager roaming hands. She never knew for sure if they were speaking the same language.
“Well, are you ready? What if he wants to do it?”
“That’s not what he meant. We’ve never even talked about it.”
“You don’t have to talk about it, you just have to do it.”
“Doesn’t it seem like if you’re going to be exchanging body fluids you should be able to talk about the when and where and how?”
“Ewww. Body fluids? That’s a gross way to put it.”
But that didn’t make it untrue.
“I think he just wants to drink.” She picked up a big purple bottle with silver swirls. “Have you tried this one?”
Maggie took it from her, studying the list of ingredients.
“But, sex is better for your body than drinking,” said Ria.
“I guess you’re right. If you use protection. Do you have a love glove?”
“A what?”
“A hot juice balloon. Rocket pocket. Wacker wrapper. Wood hood. Knock-me-not.” Maggie sighed. “Rubbers?”
“You mean condoms?”
“Yes, Ria, condoms. Prophylactics.”
“No! We haven’t even . . . besides, isn’t that Sean’s job?”
“You have to make sure. Just in case.”
A second later, Maggie dragged Ria across the store to the family planning aisle.
“How can there be so many choices?” Ria asked, utterly stunned by the expansive display. “Forget it. I’m not buying these.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Maggie linked her arm in Ria’s. “Do you know what a turn-on it would be for Sean if you did?”
“That’s not the issue. He’s turned on plenty.”
“Okay.”
“It’s a big deal to some people, Maggie. You know, most people.”
“Speaking of big deal, what size do you need?”
“There are different sizes?”
“Well, duh. So, do you think he’s a medium or large? Please don’t say small.”
“How am I supposed to know?” She picked up one of the boxes and looked at the happy couple on the back. “I can’t win with this, Maggie. No matter what size I pick—whether I’m right or wrong—it’s going to make him feel bad. I hate hurting his feelings. He’s so sensitive.”
“Wait!” Maggie grabbed a box. “Here! The sensitive touch. Get this one!”
It was all so ridiculous. But she couldn’t imagine Sean finding it quite so funny.
“I think you should do large.” Maggie raised her eyebrows suggestively. “I bet there’s not really a difference from medium, anyway. It’s all about ego. But extra-large might look like you have certain expectations. Now, how many boxes?”
Another loaded decision. If she only got one, it might look like she was reluctant. But too many and . . .
“No way, Maggie. There are no right answers.”
“Uh-uh. You mean there are no wrong answers. The fact that you are thinking about it and planning ahead is the right answer. So, what color?”
“There should not be different colors.” Ria laughed and groaned all at once.
“Ooh. How about texture?”
It seemed unnecessarily confusing to have different sizes. Not to mention colors and textures. Did anyone actually try them on? Was there really a Goldilocks concern of too big, too small, just right? If they didn’t fit, could you return them?
“Come on, Mags, pick your magic serum and get out of here.”
“Are you chickening out?”
There was an edge to Maggie’s voice. Ria suddenly wondered what Maggie and Sean talked about when she wasn’t around.
“Why do you care so much?”
“A friend who lets you fail is a failure of a friend.”
That’s what Benny always said, whenever the practice turned grueling. When someone started to whine. He expected them to coax each other on, to push and cheer. Suffering was something done together. No one left behind.
“Do you think that’s what all Benny’s advice is actually about? Like, ‘Halfway