“Have you ever…had sex with a guy before?” I asked him.
He nodded.
“And did you…how do you…”
He kissed my cheek and started stroking my hair. “I can show you. I’d be gentle, I’d go slow. But only if it’s what you want.”
I thought for a moment. “It is what I want.”
I was nervous and scared and felt a little awkward, but Connor made everything easy. He seemed so experienced, and damn, he was so sensual. We peeled off the rest of our clothes and laid down on his bed, and he spent time kissing every inch of my body, my shoulders, my neck, my stomach, down between my thighs, until finally he started blowing me.
I’d tried letting a girl do this to me before, but this was a whole other universe. With the girl, it had been uncomfortable and unsexy, but with Connor…damn, it was incredible. Then he kissed me deeply, introduced me to the wonders of lubricant and the importance of condoms, and when he went inside me it hurt at first, but soon began to feel like someone was hitting the most amazing sweet spot that I’d never known I had. And the whole time he was asking me things like, “Are you okay?” and “Does this feel good?” and it did; it felt so, so right.
I lost my virginity to a Johnny Cash song, and afterwards, Connor lay on top of me, our breathing heavy, his warm skin against my bare chest, feeling euphoric and calm and maybe even a little emotional.
I also felt something growing inside me, an affectionate warmth for Connor that I’d never felt for anyone before. We untangled ourselves and just lay there, shoulder to shoulder, basking in the glow. Just for that moment, all of the fear I’d been holding onto evaporated.
26.
Max was shaken that morning, more so than he usually was. He and Toby were lingering in the courtyard, speaking in low voices, looking over their shoulders every few minutes. All around them people were talking about something, their lips and eyes moving so fast I could barely make anything out. Something had happened, something big. A security guard had one sweaty hand on his belt and the other clamped around a walkie-talkie, muttering into it every few minutes.
Connor and I had ridden to school together, something I’d feared would cause unwanted attention, but no one seemed to notice when we parked and locked our bikes side by side. No one said a word or seemed to see when Connor’s hand brushed mine, or when he turned to give me a smile that set off a thousand fireworks in my stomach.
I was being paranoid. I was sure I was. Connor and I were speaking in Morse code, an undetected language. To the casual onlooker, we were nothing more than good friends.
But then we approached the guys, and Max dropped a bomb.
Riley Adams had been found by a janitor early in the morning next to the auditorium, lying unconscious in a pool of his own blood. His glasses were broken, shattered around his face. Someone had snapped a photo before security found him, before the ambulance was called. And the photo was circulating fast.
Max showed it to me. I could have puked right there. Riley had been stripped naked, his body covered in Sharpie drawings of penises. I shook my head and pushed it out of my sight.
“Who’s Riley?” Connor asked. “Why would anyone do that to him?”
Toby grunted. Max looked down at his feet.
“He’s a theater kid,” I said softly. “Really…uh, really outgoing.”
We had an assembly about it before first period, an assembly that lasted nearly an hour. Principal Oliver stood on stage, looking grave and ashen, promising us that whoever did this would not only be caught, but held responsible. Connor and I sat next to each other. We’d managed to lose Toby and Max in the shuffle of nervous bodies, and in the darkness of the auditorium, under the seat, he squeezed my fingers.
The guys behind us kept laughing, muffled snickers and comments made under their breath. Ten minutes in, Connor turned around and said, “Could you please shut the fuck up?”
They stared at him like he was off his rocker, as did I. These were the Rudoy brothers, Jerry and Mike. They were friends of Toby, so by extension—even though I hated those football meatheads—they were friends with me.
“You got a problem, man?” Jerry asked. He leaned in closer to Connor, a lion ready to pounce. A lion with a very low IQ and the best tackle on the football team.
“It’s cool,” I said, pinching Connor’s arm to get him to turn back around. But he was staring them down with this look of disgust I didn’t know he was capable of. It was starting to freak me out. “Don’t worry about it.”
But Connor—this idiot—he didn’t budge. “Some kid got the shit kicked out of him, and you assholes think this is funny? Have some fucking respect.”
“Respect?” Mike said. He was just as big as his brother, and almost as ugly. “Let me tell you about respect. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe he didn’t show respect, and he needed a lesson in keeping his little hands to himself.”
Connor’s nostrils flared. Onstage, a guidance counselor was talking about tolerance and safe spaces in our school, blah blah blah. Was she as dumb as the Rudoy brothers? I pinched Connor harder, but he pushed my hand away.
“Are you saying you did that to Riley?” Connor asked. “Are you actually dumb enough to be incriminating yourselves right now?”
I could tell neither of them knew what incriminating meant, but Jerry spoke up for his brother.
“No, no, we’re just saying,” he said, slapping his brother on the back. A teacher walked past us and
