Fuck you if you’re going to judge me for that. Lunchables were fancy when I was in 10th grade. And this girl’s family had not just a whole refrigerator shelf of them, this family had soda in several varieties, Paul Newman microwave popcorn (my family just had some generic shit with American flags on the bags), and Hostess brand cupcakes and Twinkies. These were some seriously good snacks. And all I had to do was make out with this girl for like a few minutes every day after we did our homework. Just, like, kissing. A little touching, with clothes on. Barely rounding first base. Not really a big deal.

This lasted for maybe a month. Rachel had invited me over early in the year, and once I discovered what a paradise her house was—did I mention the central air?—and how good she was at algebra, when she asked if she could kiss me, kind of jokingly but really obviously not, I was like, what the hell, I can do this. I kind of wondered whether I’d like it. I liked it much later, with other girls, but I just felt totally indifferent to Rachel. I didn’t care if word about it got out. In fact, I almost hoped it would, because I knew a lot of guys would think that was hot.

Rachel’s parents both worked, so the only time I really had to deal with them was this one time when Rachel begged me to go with her family on a day trip to Kimmswick. Other than that, we’d just hang out without any supervision. It was awesome.

Things got complicated pretty quick, though, because her brother Andy was a sexy little scuzzball. He was a year younger and like two inches shorter than me, but he was lean and muscular. He was on the tennis team, and he’d come back sweaty from practice, and when Rachel would yell at him to change out of his gross sweaty shirt, my eyes would follow him as far as they could until he disappeared up the stairs leaving a trail of cupcake crumbs behind him.

The end of it all was the day when we were out in their pool. (Of course they had a pool.) Rachel and I were lying in lounge chairs gossiping about school while she tried to subtly hold my hand and I tried to not-so-subtly watch Andy do cannonballs off the diving board. When he walked into the house through the lower-level sliding doors, I told Rachel that I was going to go ask Andy if he knew where their parents kept the key to the liquor cabinet. I knew she wouldn’t want to be anywhere near that kind of shenanigan, but that she wouldn’t stop me.

I am so good. Sure enough, I caught Andy red-handed cracking a beer. “Oh, fuck,” he said when I walked in. “You’re not going to say anything, are you?”

I was an early bloomer, so this was not my first rodeo. I walked up to Andy and just stood close to him, looking him in the eyes and saying nothing. I took the beer and drank from it, then put it back down. I had him pinned against the sink, and he wasn’t resisting. Both of us, me in my bikini and him in his trunks, had goose bumps in the cold basement. I took his hand and put it on my breast. He didn’t move it.

“I won’t say anything,” I said, “if you let me kiss you.” I leaned in.

And he ducked away, dropped his hand back to his side. “Um,” he said, “you’ve licked my sister’s vagina?”

“What?” I asked him. I had done no such thing. “Who told you that?”

“I heard Rachel,” he said, looking down. “She told Mom about it.”

“God damnit,” I hissed. I turned and walked back out, slamming the door behind me.

Back at the pool, Rachel held her hand to her eyes to shield them from the sun. “Did you get anything?” she asked.

“I’m leaving,” I said, grabbing my towel. “And we’re done. Just so you know, I’m only into guys.”

She didn’t even stand up. “I know,” she said quietly.

After that, Rachel and I avoided each other at school. She never said anything about us, so I had to spill the beans myself during a game of never-have-I-ever the following summer. I told a whole room full of seniors, and no one even cared.

– Sophie Lane