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“Was it bad?” she asks quietly. “Does he have a tiny dick or make weird noises or expect you to do all the work or?—”
“It wasn’t bad.”
“Better than with?—”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t even let me finish! What about?—”
“Same answer, no matter who you say.”
“Oh. Oh,” she realizes. “Wow. So how many times did you two…”
I glance over my shoulder. “Can I ask you a favor?”
She looks confused, but answers instantly. “Of course.”
“Can we talk about this in six months? Maybe a year? I’ll tell you everything, I promise, I just…I need some time to pass first.”
Emma studies me for a few seconds. Then half-smiles. “Yeah, of course.”
I nod, then turn back around to continue changing. Emma’s silent, which rarely happens. I pull a sweatshirt and sweatpants on over my swimsuit, then zip up my bag.
She still hasn’t moved or said a single word.
I sigh. “Sorry. I didn’t mean?—”
“It’s fine, S.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just?—”
“It’s hard to talk about, right?” Emma glances down, picking a stray thread on her quilt. “There was a guy I didn’t want to talk about for a few months. A few years.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
“You asked me about Rowan the other day? Getting over him wasn’t that hard. Getting over…” She shakes her head. “I don’t think I have. That I will. So, I get it. When you want to talk about—if you want to talk about it, I’ll be here.”
“Do you want to talk about…anything?”
“There’s nothing to say. I fucked up. He hates me. The end.”
A loud knock sounds on the door. Probably Cressida and Anne, impatient about waiting for us. It’s been longer than a few minutes.
“Go ahead,” Emma says. “I still need to get changed.”
“We can wait.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll meet you down there.”
“Okay.” I nod. “As long as you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
Sure enough, Anne and Cressida are waiting in the hallway, along with a bunch of other girls. I tell them Emma’s coming a little later, then we enter the elevator and then make our way through the maze of beige carpeting to the section of the hotel that houses the pool.
The air is swirling with steam, excited shouts echoing off the walls. There are a couple hundred attendees at CFOC this year, and I’d estimate at least a quarter of them are in this space relaxing on loungers, sitting in the hot tub, or standing in the pool that maxes out at five feet.
A game of water basketball is already underway. I quickly shed my clothes to jump in and play. I’m using exercise as an escape right now, because the alternatives are getting drunk or sitting alone and thinking about what Emma said.
