you’re a virgin, then?”
ARGH! ME AND MY BIG MOUTH.
My overwhelming desire is to lie, but the truth comes out. “I’ve never met anyone I cared about that much. I mean, I’ve never dated anyone I cared about that much.” I blush and pet Victor. “I have a rule.”
“Elaborate.”
The statue is stil warm from the previous visitors. “I ask myself, if the worst happened—if I did get knocked up—would I be embarrassed to tell my child who his father was? If the answer is anywhere even remotely close to yes, then there’s no way.”
He nods slowly. “That’s a good rule.”
I realize I’m resting my hand on Victor’s victor and yank it away.
“Wait wait wait.” St. Clair pul s out his phone. “One more time, for posterity.”
I stick out my tongue and hold the ridiculous pose. He takes a picture. “Bril iant, that’l be what I see every time you cal —” His cel rings, and he starts.
“Spooky.”
“It’s Victor’s ghost, wanting to know why you won’t touch him.”
“Just me mum. Hold on.”
“Woooooo, stroke me, St. Clair.”
He answers, trying to keep a straight face, as Meredith and Rashmi and Josh trudge up behind us. They’re lugging the remains of our picnic.
“Thanks for ditching us,” Rashmi says.
“It’s not like we didn’t tell you where we were going,” I say.
Josh grabs the statue’s privates. “I think this is seven years’ bad luck.”
Mer sighs. “Joshua Wasserstein, what would your mother say?”
“She’d be proud that the Fine Institute of Learning she’s sent me to is teaching me such refined manners.” He leans over and licks Victor.
Mer and Rashmi and I squeal.
“You are so getting oral herpes.” I whip out my hand sanitizer and squeeze a glob into my hands. “Seriously, you should put some of this on your lips.”
Josh shakes his head. “You are so neurotic. Do you take that everywhere?”
“You know,” Rashmi says. “I’ve heard if you use too much of that stuff, you can actual y desensitize yourself to germs and get more sick.”
I freeze. “What? No.”
“HA!” Josh says.
“Ohmygod, are you okay?”
At the sound of Mer’s alarm, I quickly turn my head.
St. Clair has fal en against a tomb. It’s the only thing keeping him from col apsing to the ground. The four of us rush to his side. He’s stil holding the phone to his ear, but he’s not listening anymore. We talk over each other. “What happened? Are you okay? What is it?”
He won’t answer us. He won’t look up.
We exchange worried glances. No, terrified. Something is really wrong. Josh and I lower him to the ground before he fal s. St. Clair looks up, surprised to find us holding on to him. His face is white.