ON WEDNESDAY, I SOMEHOW END up in the backseat of Mina’s ancient but immaculate Lexus.
“I can’t believe this is your car,” Cassie says. “I mean, it’s so cool that you even have a car.”
“It was my grandma’s,” says Mina.
“Our grandma’s not supposed to drive anymore,” Cassie says. “Because she hit someone.”
Mina gasps. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. I was with her. I mean, she was going really slowly, and the guy was totally okay. But she cursed him out and called him a bitch.”
Mina laughs. “I have to meet this woman.”
“She’s visiting next week,” I say. “You should come over.”
“Okay, no,” Cassie says. “Mina does not need to meet Grandma. That is a solid nope.” She grins, and I look at her, curled up in the passenger seat, her whole body turned toward Mina. She’s like a flower tilting toward the sun.
“So, Molly, can I ask you something?” Mina says, after a moment, eyes flicking up to meet mine in the rearview mirror.
“Sure.”
“Cass says you’ve had crushes on twenty-five guys.”
“Twenty-six,” Cassie corrects immediately.
“But you haven’t dated any of them?” Mina asks.
“No,” I say. I feel the usual prickle of self-consciousness.
But when Mina glances at me again, her expression is sweetly curious. “Is there a story behind that?”
“There’s no story. It just never . . .” I lean back against the seat, squeezing my eyes shut.
I have this sudden memory of middle school. There was this table of boys in the cafeteria who would yell boi-oi-oing when hot girls walked by. Except when I walked by, they made a womp womp womp sound, like a boner going limp.
I remember feeling frozen. Cassie was screaming at them, and I couldn’t catch my breath. I thought I was dying.
My first panic attack.
I mean, here’s the thing I don’t get. How do people come to expect that their crushes will be reciprocated? Like, how does that get to be your default assumption?
“Well, she doesn’t put herself out there,” Cassie says. “Like, at all. So, Molly’s never actually been rejected, either.”
“And I’m okay with that,” I say. Cassie snorts.
I stare out the window. Bethesda looks so different from Takoma Park. Everything’s a little quieter and fancier, and there are definitely fewer mixed-media art installations in people’s front yards. But it’s nice here. Some of the houses are really, really big.
“Well, what kind of guys do you like?” Mina says, slowing for a stop sign. “Other than Will.”
Jesus Christ. Hipster Will. I never actually said I liked him. I don’t even know if I do. I’ve met him once.
“Oh, she likes all kinds of guys. Molly’s a crush machine,” Cassie says. “Let’s see. Noah Bates. Jacob Schneider. Jorge Gutierrez. That guy Brent from Hebrew school. The eyelash kid from camp. Josh Barker. Julian Portillo. The short guy from pre-calc. The student teacher. Vihaan Gupta. And Olivia’s little cousin.”
“Okay, I did not know he was thirteen.”
Cassie grins. “Oh, and Lin-Manuel Miranda. That’s a major one.”
“Aww, really?” Mina says, beaming at me in the mirror. “Me too!”
“Yeah, well. Just so you know, he’s Molly’s currently reigning crush number twenty-six, so this may end in a fight.”
I stretch forward to smack Cassie, maybe harder than I need to.
“Or a duel,” she adds, under her breath, and Mina bursts out laughing.
I close my eyes again. Mina and Cassie are murmuring softly now. About something unrelated to my wasteland of a love life. So, that’s good. I let my mind wander—but it keeps snagging on a single point.
Molly’s never actually been rejected.
I just hadn’t really thought about it like that before. But it’s true. I’ve never been rejected. Not directly. I’ve never given anyone the opportunity.
I’ve never rejected anyone either.
And maybe that’s even weirder than the fact that I haven’t kissed anyone. At the very least, I’m pretty sure these things are all related. Somehow.
Cassie nudges me suddenly. “Hey, we’re here.”
I let my eyes slide open.
Mina’s house is brick and medium-sized, with a super-gorgeous front yard. You can tell they planned in advance where the bushes would go. Mina parks in the driveway, and Cassie and I follow her down this little path to the front door. Her parents are at work. She slides a key into the lock.
Immediate first impression: everything in Mina’s house looks like it’s there on purpose. The walls are white, with framed family pictures placed almost symmetrically. The windows are huge and clean, so everything feels really sunny. Also, everywhere I look, there’s art: paintings and sculptures and even the light fixtures. Lots of animals, especially tigers—some realistic, but mostly stylized, and it’s the perfect mix of cute and badass.
I kind of want to pin this whole house to my design board.
A painting in the hallway catches my eye—maybe my favorite one yet. “Your parents must really love tigers,” I say.
“Oh, that’s like a Korean thing,” Mina says.
“Oh geez, I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“Okay, this is really cute,” Cassie interjects. She taps the edge of a canvas-wrapped photo of Mina hugging the life force out of some goat in a petting zoo.
“Oh God,” says Mina.
“I love it.” Cassie steps closer. And then their fingertips almost touch. Not quite.
Makes me wonder.
Mina clears her throat. “Um. So, the boys are on their way, but we can head down to the basement. I’ll leave the door open for them.”
“The boys?”
She gives me this painfully knowing smile. “Will and Max.”
“Oh.” I blush.
We follow Mina downstairs. The basement is enormous. I don’t think Takoma Park has basements like this. She walks us through it, and it’s a whole other floor of the house. There’s a bedroom with its own bathroom, a little mini-kitchen, and an actual sauna. But the main room of the basement is a TV room with a giant flat screen and the mushiest denim couches I’ve ever encountered. As soon as I sit down, I can actually feel my butt leaving an imprint. I never want to stand up.
“Can I get you guys something to drink?” Mina tucks back a strand of hair and adjusts her glasses, and she honestly seems kind of jittery. Maybe it’s weird for her, having us here.
We both say no, so Mina ends up perching on the armrest of the love seat, next to Cassie. And there’s this extra-drawn-out pause.
I take one of those deep cleansing yoga breaths Patty is so obsessed with: slow inhale through the nose, controlled exhale through the mouth. I think it’s supposed to help with childbirth, but it actually helps me now.
Goal: don’t be weird and awkward.
“So, how do you know Will and Max?” Cassie asks. “Are they exes, or . . . ?”
“Oh, God, no. Not like that. I’ve known them both forever.”
“That’s like us and Olivia,” I say.
“Oh yeah! She’s the tall girl with the blue hair, right? Cute, kind of curvy?”
“Yup,” Cassie says, but I can’t help but wince. Like, yes, Olivia is kind of curvy, and Mina didn’t say it like an insult. I know it’s not an insult. But I just hate when people talk about bodies. Because if Mina thinks Olivia’s body is noticeably curvy, I’d like to know what she thinks about mine.
No. Actually, I would not like to know.
“Oh!” Cassie says. “Olivia wanted me to tell you she’s really sorry she can’t make it. She’s working.”
“Aww. Where does she work?”
“One of those pottery-painting places. Super Olivia-ish,” Cassie says, and Mina nods.
Distantly, I hear the front door open, and someone yells, “Hello?”
“We’re in the basement!” Mina calls.
The door thuds shut, and there are footsteps on the stairs. I’m definitely nervous to see the guys again. Not because I have a crush on Will. It’s just that they’re both so inaccessibly cool. And when they step into the room, it’s immediately confirmed. There’s just something about them that looks completely right. Like they’re in the right bodies. Max is vaguely muscular, in an understated way, and his anime-boy bangs are actually kind of nice today. Maybe. And Will basically looks like he was born inside an American Apparel. He’s wearing an old Ben’s Chili Bowl T-shirt and jeans, and he still manages to look stupidly perfect. I think that’s what I want. To look stupidly perfect in a T-shirt.
Also, Will is holding a beer.
There’s a throw pillow beside me. I pick it up and hug it tightly.
“You guys all remember each other, right? Will Haley, Max McCone—and this is Cassie and Molly Peskin-Suso.”
“What the what?” asks Will.
“It’s hyphenated,” Cassie says. She looks up at them. “You brought beer?”
“We stole it,” Will says. And I guess I must look scandalized, because he turns to me and winks. “Just from upstairs. Mina’s dad has a beer fridge in the garage.”
“I can’t believe your parents just let you take beer whenever you want it.”
“Uh, no. But my dad is really unobservant, so . . .”
“I want unobservant parents with a beer fridge.” Cassie sighs.
Mina grins. “It’s actually a kimchee fridge.”
“And all the normal food goes in the kitchen,” adds Max.
“Oh, really?” asks Mina. “Care to explain why kimchee isn’t normal food?”
“Max is like the verbal equivalent of a bull in a china shop,” Will explains, settling in beside me on the couch. I can’t resist sneaking a peek at him: his rumpled mess of red hair and sleepy blue eyes. He leans back and stretches, and his shirt rides all the way up, exposing his stomach—pale and flat, and dusted with light hair. I need to stop blushing. Especially because Max and Will are now exchanging what appears to be a very meaningful glance.
If it is a glance about me, I will die. We are amused by the sad chubby girl who is clearly enchanted by our hipster beauty.
Seriously, I will die.
I’m probably paranoid, but now I can’t stop thinking about this. I get locked into this cycle sometimes. I develop counterarguments in my head. Actually, gentlemen, I’m intrigued, not enchanted. And I’m anxious, not sad. And if you call yourself a hipster, guess what? You’re not a hipster.
Of course, it’s possible the meaningful glance was about beer.
Cassie sits up straight. “Will, I hear you’re an artist.”
“Uh, I do photography.”
“That counts.” Cassie smiles. “Molly’s really artistic, too.”
Oh God.
“Hey, that’s awesome. What do you do?” Will slides off the couch and settles onto the carpet, cross-legged, smiling up at me. I feel like a kindergarten teacher. If kindergartners drank beer.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“What kind of art?”
I shake my head quickly. “I’m not artistic. I just like crafts.”
“She makes jewelry,” Mina says.
Okay, they need to fucking stop. This is so mortifyingly transparent. HEY, WILL, LOOK AT ALL THE STUFF MOLLY HAS IN COMMON WITH YOU. EXCEPT SHE ACTUALLY DOESN’T HAVE ANYTHING IN COMMON WITH YOU. SHE JUST THINKS YOU’RE HOT.
“That’s not art,” I mutter, burying my face in the throw pillow.
“She did all this Pinterest shit for our brother’s first birthday party last month,” Cassie says. “It was so cute. And she does all the decorations for our birthday parties. She did the centerpieces for our b’not mitzvah.”
“Is that like a bat mitzvah?” Mina asks.
“Yeah, like a double bat mitzvah. Or, in our case, a barf mitzvah.”
Mina laughs. “What?”
“Ooh. I’d like to hear this,” Will says.
Cassie’s eyes flick to me, and she looks suddenly sheepish. Like it just occurred to her that sharing the details of my vomitous past might not help the cause. Something tells me Will won’t consider it a turn-on.
But it’s too late. He’s staring up at her, rapt.
“Molly, do you want to tell it?”
“I’m not telling it.” I hug my knees.
Cassie shrugs. “Okay, so we’re up at the bima, and the rabbi’s holding the Torah. And Molly and I are supposed to undress it.”
“Whoa,” Will says, and he and Max smile at each other.
“What?”
“That’s what they call it? Undressing the Torah?”
“Oh my God, guys, please stop.” Mina shakes her head. “You’re being offensive.”
“I’m just asking!”
“Anyway,” Cassie says, “the rabbi starts taking off the breastplate and the top thingies, and Molly’s just standing there, looking, like, dead white. Like what’s his name. The vampire.”
“Edward Cullen,” I say.
“Yes. Edward Cullen. And I’m whispering, like, ‘Molly, we’re supposed to be undressing the Torah.’ And she’s like, ‘I don’t feel good.’”
“Oh no,” Mina says, hand over her heart.
“But I’m like okay, well, this is literally our bat mitzvah, so you’re gonna have to suck it up. And then I hand her the pointer . . .”
I remember this perfectly. The way the tip of the yad looked like a hand, with a tiny little metallic pointer finger. I used to think the yad was adorable. But when Cassie extended it toward me in that moment, it felt like an accusation. YOU, MOLLY, YOU. I remember the sudden sensation of bile burning the back of my throat, the tidal wave in my stomach.
“And she’s like—” Cassie clutches her stomach, making gagging noises. “And she jets out of there. She runs down the stairs and out the side door, and everyone’s like oh holy shit. It’s totally silent. And then you could just hear these insane puking sounds going on for like twenty minutes.”
“Okay, it was not twenty minutes.”
Seriously. This. This is how Cassie’s going to convince Will to make out with me.
“It was twenty minutes. And at first, we’re all like, oh shit, she barfed in the lobby of the synagogue. Because, you know, we can hear it.”
“Oh God,” Mina says.
“But then . . .” Cassie raises a finger. “I remember.” She taps her collarbone. “We’re wearing microphones.”
“No. Oh, Molly.” Mina looks at me. “Oh my God. That is just. I’m sorry, but, can I hug you?”
I nod, and she actually slides down from her perch on the love seat. She actually hugs me. “That sucks,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”
“And then I chanted my entire Torah portion without missing a single syllable,” Cassie announces smugly.
“Yeah, well.” I wrinkle my nose at her.
“You know what I love about Jewish people?” Max says. He looks so different when he smiles. His face lights up entirely.
Mina side-eyes him. “What?”
“I love that you have your bar mitzvah in front of your parents and grandparents and everyone, and like, that’s the Jewish version of ‘becoming a woman.’” He leans forward, grinning. “But in my religion—”
“You are not religious,” Mina says.
“In my religion,” he repeats emphatically, “you become a woman by . . .” He forms an O with his left hand and pokes through it with his right pointer finger, again and again and again.
“Jesus Christ, Max. Stop it. I’m serious.” Mina stands up.
“Yeah, that’s pretty fucking problematic,” Cassie says calmly.
“What?” Max looks wounded. “How is that problematic? The Jewish thing?”
“Um, let’s start with the implication that becoming a woman has anything to do with whether or not you’ve had sex.”
I have to admit, my sister is a badass. She just doesn’t get intimidated by people. I don’t know how to be like that.
“Ohhh, geez. Okay. I was kidding.” Max sighs.
“And you know what? I’m pretty much done with this construct of ‘virginity.’” Cassie does air quotes. “Which I’m sure you think applies to hetero, vaginal sex.”
“You think a person can lose their virginity from oral sex?”
“Yes,” Cassie says.
“Max, seriously.” Mina glares down at him.
“Okay, but don’t you think it depends on the couple?” Will chimes in. “It’s like a case-by-case thing. Like, if oral is the endgame for a particular couple, then yeah. But if it’s like a hetero guy and girl, I think there would have to be penetration.”
“But why?” Cassie leans forward. “Why would that be considered more intimate than oral? Like, why do you get to decide what makes something intimate?”
I lean back against the cushions and tuck my feet up under my thighs. It’s even worse than the bikini wax conversation. I feel so out of my league. I don’t know. This is not the kind of sex talk I’m used to having. I’m not saying the concepts are new to me. I mean, Patty’s a midwife, and she can get very specific about these things. But that’s strictly informational mom stuff. And when Abby talks about sex, it’s about the feelings, not the orifices. But I feel like we’re jumping straight into orifices.
Will nudges me. “What do you think?”
And the whole room goes silent. At least that’s how it feels.
I mean, he has to know I’m the last person he should be consulting about this. I’m pretty much the latest-blooming icon of teen purity to ever exist outside a Judd Apatow movie. Literally, the only penetration in my life involves monofilament cord and paper beads.
To be honest, I am Queen Elizabeth. I’m the Virgin Queen. And I think I know how she’d handle this conversation.
She would observe. And remain silent.
Of course, Elizabeth probably didn’t have a roomful of hipster sex gods staring her down.
“I mean, I think people have this mentality that sex is only real if it involves a penis,” Cassie says finally.
“Oh my God.” Mina sighs. “Thank you. This is like my soapbox.” She and Cassie beam at each other.
“And on that note,” Will announces loudly, “I’m getting another beer.”
He springs up from the carpet, and Mina murmurs something to Cassie under her breath. Then, Cassie laughs and whispers something back to Mina. And for a minute, I’m just sitting there, across from Max—who glances up at me for a moment, before deciding his phone is more interesting than I am. So maybe Max is one of those guys who only wants to befriend girls he thinks are hot (see also: guys who wear fedoras) (see also: guys who say “NO FATTIEZ”).
Though maybe I’m being too sensitive. Cassie tells me this a lot.
Anyway, I feel a little better when Will slides back onto the couch beside me, lips pressed against the rim of his beer bottle like he’s kissing it. He takes a quick sip, tilts his head toward me. “So, have you ever thought about doing photography?”
“Oh. Um. Not really.”
“Molly, you totally should!” Cassie says. “You know, you guys should hang out and work on a project together or something.”
Oh my God.
I feel sick. I actually feel sick. My sister is the least subtle person on the planet. This is so much worse than the barf mitzvah story. I don’t care about the barf mitzvah story. But this.
He’s going to think I want to hook up with him. That I’m in love with him. That I’m obsessed with him.
And I’m sorry, but there’s a reason I’m so careful. Boys like Will don’t like girls like me. And if they find out we like them, they are always cruel. Always.
I need to breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
“So, you have to hear the new Florence and the Machine album,” Mina says. “I have it upstairs on my laptop. It’s so great.”
Max looks up, suddenly, turning to Will. “Dude, we gotta go. Come on.”
“Wait, what? I want to hear Florence.”
“I’m sure it’s on YouTube,” Max says. “And I’m your ride, so . . .”
“You’re a dickhole, McCone.”
Max shakes his keys—and then, to my utter surprise, he turns to me with one of those face-lighting smiles. “Need a ride to the Metro, Molly?”
So maybe I was wrong about the fedora and the no-fattiez.
“Um. Yeah. Thank you. That would be really great.” I look at Cassie. “Cass, you ready?”
There’s this pause.
“Um. I’m gonna stay and hear that album. Is that okay?”
I feel a tiny twinge, low in my chest. “Yeah! Yeah, totally.” I pause. “So. Do you want me to stay, or . . . ?”
“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Cassie says quickly. “You should go.”
Mina nods. “I can drop Cassie off after.”
Oh.
I think this is how it happens.
“Okay, yeah!” I say again, trying to sound casual.
Suddenly, there’s this pressure building behind my eyes. But it’s probably just excitement or adrenaline, because I’m not a shitty person. If my sister wants to make out with this girl, I would like this makeout to proceed as planned. And if it means I have to ride to the Metro with two cute boys, so be it.
I should be excited about this, right? Not one. TWO. Two cute hipster boys.
Max leads the way upstairs, and already I know what this ride will be like. The boys will be jokey and knowing and familiar. And I will lose myself to shyness. I will be the ice cube.
Will isn’t drunk, exactly, but he’s sort of loose and happy. He curses Max out for making him leave, but you can tell he’s not actually mad at all. Whereas Max just looks amused all the way to his car.
“So, where do you have to be so fucking urgently?” Will asks, sliding into the passenger seat. I tuck into the backseat, shutting the door quietly behind me. A part of me wonders if they remember I’m here.
“Seat belt,” Max says. Will clicks his seat belt on. “If you’re not buckled, we’re not moving,” Max explains, twisting around to check my status.
I’m buckled. I show him. Kind of funny and endearing, actually. Max is the last person I’d expect to care about seat belts. I’m not sure I understand him. I definitely don’t understand these two as a unit. At first, I thought Will was essentially the alpha guy, since he talks more, but now I don’t know. Because Max has this intensity. It makes me kind of nervous.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Will says, poking Max’s arm.
“I don’t have to be anywhere. I’m just following orders.” He passes Will his phone.
“Oh shit,” Will says.
Max laughs. And I feel like I’m missing something.
“Are they . . . hooking up?” I ask slowly.
“Well. Mina asked us to clear out, so . . . ,” Max says. He starts the car and glances at me in the mirror. “Red Line okay?”
“That’s great. Thanks.” My head is kind of spinning.
So Mina planned this. I guess she texted Max when we were all in the room together. And now the boys and I have been exiled.
She and Cassie are probably making out right now. Literally right now.
And because I’m not a shitty person, I’m 100 percent thrilled.