MY AUNT COLLEEN ONCE TOLD ME a story about her first job out of high school. She was waitressing at this all-night diner in Albany Park, run by a short, hairy guy named Wally whose two favorite pastimes were doing the crossword and ogling women’s breasts. Aunt Col was blessed with both a big brain and a big rack, so she quickly became one of Wally’s favorites. According to Col, he was icky but harmless, until one night in the middle of winter when the place was so dead even the cook had gone to take a nap in the store room, Wally, seeing his chance, came up behind her as she was pouring herself a cup of coffee. He pinned her up against the machine, nuzzled his face into her neck, then reached around and put a red, meaty hand on each of her breasts, whispering something in Greek. “In my country,” he murmured, his oniony breath hot on her neck, “that’s what I would call you when I took you into my bed.” Aunt Col whirled around, spilling hot coffee all over her hand. “And in my country,” she said, ripping off her apron and throwing it in his face, “I’d call that sexual harassment!”
After ducking past him and out into the snow, she told me how exhilarated she’d felt: It was the first time she’d really stood up for herself, and she knew she was going to be just fine making her way in the real world. But two weeks later, when she realized that February was the slowest season of the year for restaurants and couldn’t find another gig, she had to go back to Wally and ask for her job back. “I never went so quick from being that proud of myself to hating my own guts,” she told me.
Walking into chapel that Monday morning, I kind of knew what she meant.
After the incident in TBQ, I’d spent the rest of the weekend mentally high-fiving myself for finally growing a spine, but by the time Sunday night came around, it began to dawn on me that if I didn’t have Sapphire, Emily, and Kenzie, I didn’t have anyone. There were forty-two girls in the junior class at ASH; I’d spent the last three years ignoring thirty-nine of them. Where did that leave me? I thought about Alexis, sitting with her head bowed and her ears burning, alone at that lunch table for the first two months of freshman year. Was I really prepared for that to be me? Did I really have the guts?
So when I arrived at chapel, I was both relieved and disgusted with myself when Kenzie waved me over to our usual spot in the back row and Sapphire shoved over to make room for me.
“So there’s our supposed best friend who just ditches us in the middle of TBQ on a Saturday night.”
“I just—” I looked at my lap. “I don’t think you guys should have taken the silverware.”
“Don’t worry!” Kenzie put an arm around me, bathing me in the sickly sweet smell of her peach body splash. “It was just a harmless prank. I’ll give it back to Evan tonight, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good. Glad we’ve got that cleared up.” She planted a glossy kiss on my cheek.
“More importantly,” said Sapphire, unwrapping a low-fat granola bar, “I filled my end of the deal, Kenz. Now it’s your turn.”
“It’s impossible,” Emily sniffed. “You might as well just give up. Sister Dorothy has special nun senses that can detect testosterone from a mile away. You could never sneak a boy past her.”
“It’s not impossible,” Kenzie declared. “Because I’ve already figured out how to do it. I just needed to find the right boy to agree. And now, I have.”
“Evan?” Sapphire shot forward in her seat. “He actually agreed? I thought he was too scared of getting caught!”
Kenzie smiled triumphantly. “It’s amazing what withholding sex will do to a guy who’s basically one big walking erection.” She licked a swath of pink frosting from her donut. “I told him that I wouldn’t sleep with him unless he agreed to let me sneak him into school. That changed his mind pretty quick.”
“But how?”
“Gym class. Soon. That’s all you need to know.”