Page 65 of These Secret Years

We leave the bedroom behind, me with my backpack, the lube tucked inside, and him with his shirt on.

After he takes the remaining quizzes, I thank him, pack up my laptop, give him a quick kiss goodnight and leave while things still feel good with us. He lets me go without any fuss, thanking me, too.

I call Chelsea from the car, in no hurry to get home. My mind is still loose from vodka and sex with Knight.

She answers on the first ring, so at least I know I didn’t wake her. She’s breathing a little heavy. “Hey.”

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Cleaning the bathtub. It’s gross.”

“It’s also midnight.”

“I mean—it wasn’t gonna clean itself, and I like a nice bath. You can thank me when you move in.”

Chelsea and her friend Harrison have already moved into the house we’ll share back at school. It’s an older house just west of campus that’s been rented out to many generations of students already. I don’t remember the bathtub specifically, but I do remember thinking it was obvious that a lot of people had called that house home over the years. “Anyway, what’s up? How are you?” she asks.

That’s always a good first question to ask me. I’m considered moody by anyone who knows me for any length of time, and on any day I could ease into a conversation or stare stonily at nothing until people stop bothering trying to talk to me. “Okay,” I tell her. “It’s been a decent week.”

“I’m still so happy it went well with your dad. Have you talked to him again?”

“No, no. I had to start my algebra class, so I’ve been dealing with that.”

She makes a noise of displeasure. She knows how much I’ve been dreading this fact of my fate. “And? How is it so far? Anything clicking?”

“I got a tutor.” That’s an easy enough way to introduce the conversation.

“Online? Or do you know someone back home?”

“Turns out I know a guy here. He’s good at math, and I ran into him the other day. He offered to help.”

“Yay! So far so good then?”

“Yeah. Hey, I have a question. It’s gonna sound sort of deep.”

“Okay, hang on. Let me find my vape. I don’t wanna do deep without my fidget toy.”

I wait as her feet fall on hardwood floors, a door creaks open, and then some mattress springs squeak. She inhales deeply, and it sounds like she’s breathing through a mask. Her exhalation is slower and softer. “What’s your question?”

Jesus, now I don’t know how to ask this without sounding like I’m not interested in her or she bores me, neither of which is true. So instead of asking her whether she sees us as a committed monogamous couple, I take a different route. “Do you ever think much about your sexuality?”

“Huh,” she says, not as a question, but like that wasn’t where she thought this conversation was headed.

“Told you it was a little deep.”

“I mean, like question it how? I’ve never been with a girl or anything. I know people say all kinds of shit about me, but I’ve only ever messed around with guys.”

I scowl, deciding to pull off to the side of the road to have the rest of this conversation. “What do people say about you?”

“You know—standard, basic, misogynistic bullshit. She’s a slut, she’ll fuck anything⁠—”

“What? Who talks about you like that?” Chelsea is a year ahead of me in school, but I didn’t realize she came with a reputation. Not that I’m one who would care, but this is all news to me. I put the car in park and stare at her name on the car console screen.

“Just—guys.”

“Which guys?”

She sighs heavily and takes another hit off her vape. “Frat guys. You say no to one of them, and all of a sudden you’re a disease-ridden whore they’re lucky they got away from. Same old bullshit. High school was the same way.”