She murmurs the rest into her milk glass.
“Sorry? You’re…?”
“Seventeen.”
I blink. “Years old?”
“Yup.”
“But I thought you said you were a junior?”
“Oh I am. I started when I was fifteen.”
“So you’re, like, a genius?” I squeak.
“That’s a loaded word. We say ‘intellectually precocious’ instead.” Then she sighs. “I shouldn’t have told you, right? Nobody wants to be friends with the weirdo who isn’t even voting age and doesn’t have a driver’s license. I know all about particle physics. But I’ve never been kissed by a boy. Or a girl, for that matter.”
“Ellie!” I shake my head. “If there was a weirdo contest here at this table, you might not win. I’m a twenty-one-year-old freshman who ran away from a cult two years ago. And everything I know about boys I learned in Seventeen magazine.”
Her eyes widen. “You do have some weirdo cred.”
“I know, right? And I don’t have any friends, except for the ones at home, and the one who has no idea what to say to me after last night.”
She flinches on my behalf. “I can help you with the algebra. But not the heartache.”
“That’s something,” I say as cheerfully as I can. “But in a few days I’ll have to figure out what to do about the little business venture Dylan and I started together. We’re supposed to make two hundred pounds of caramel over the next two weeks. While I put on a brave face and pretend that I’m just fine.”
“Two hundred pounds?”
“Or more. I don’t know what orders have come in.”
“I can’t wait to try this candy.”
“You can. There’s an extra box in the…” It hits me then. The co-op store meeting! A bolt of terror shoots through me. “Oh, no! I was supposed to deliver some samples to a Burlington store this morning. Dylan was going to take me there.”
“Maybe he did it?” Ellie suggests.
“God, I hope so.” But Dylan probably forgot, too. “I’ll guess I have to go to the library after this and check my email. I’ve been avoiding him.”
Ellie pulls her backpack off the floor and unzips it. She pulls out a laptop and flips it open. Then she hands it to me. “Bite the bullet.”
“Right now?” I yelp.
“Get it over with,” she says.
With a sigh, I take her computer. “Thank you for letting me use this.”
“Anytime.”
I log in to campus email. Sure enough, my inbox contains four messages. The first three are from Dylan, and the fourth is from Leah.
Oh heck. Does Leah know that Dylan and I spent the night together? The subject line of her message is: this weekend. If he said anything to her, I’ll die of shame.
I open the oldest email and find a picture of a puppy covering its face with its paws, saying I’m so sorry. And Dylan’s request to call him.
Yeah, I don’t think so.
The next email is also from Dylan. We have to talk, okay? Kaitlyn blew everything out of proportion. Please answer your phone. Let’s not avoid each other just because Kaitlyn is a miserable human.
He makes a good point. But it doesn’t really matter. Kaitlyn is miserable, but she was also right. I’m so embarrassed about asking him to sleep with me. I can’t talk to him yet.
Then—thank goodness—his third email says only: I forgot to tell you that I drove the caramels to the food co-op and gave them to that woman who manages the place. She wants you to follow up.
“Well?” Ellie demands. “The price of using my laptop is telling me what happened. I’m dying over here.”
“Dylan dropped off the samples.”
“And?” she yelps. “I need more.”
“He wants to talk to me about the…” I clear my throat.
“Caramels?” she guesses.
“Sex,” I whisper.
Ellie drops her fork, letting out a high-pitched squeak. “There was sex?”
“Shhh!” I look around to see if anyone is listening. “I’m not talking about that.”
“Please?” she begs. “I want to live vicariously through you. I’m never having sex. I have braces, and I’m literally jail bait. Was it awesome?”
“Of course,” I whisper. “But that’s all I’m saying. And I have one more email to read. Sorry.”
She lets out a deep sigh. “Take your time. It’s not like I have a hot, naked farm boy waiting somewhere for me.”
Neither do I, though.
I click on Leah’s email and then quickly scan it. She wants to know if our big order means that Dylan and I plan to make caramels on both Friday and Saturday. But of course I have no idea.
And I dread Friday and Saturday.
At the bottom, there’s something else.