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With a scowl, I retort. “You’re a virgin, too. Just last week you were moaning about how you were going to die a virgin.”
“I was exaggerating. Once I’m out of Boone and in college, I’m going to find myself a bevy of nice young men to experiment with and that’s what I want for you. At least go out with a guy your age before committing to an old man.”
“Leka is not an old man,” I’m starting to feel testy.
Audie ignores me. “You have never even had a taste of guys our age, and that’s a problem. It’s like sushi. Remember how you swore you were never going to eat it because it’s raw and gross and then you went on that trip and ate a bunch of it and said it’s the best thing ever? Boys are like sushi!”
“Raw and gross?”
“And the best thing ever after you try it.”
“How would you know? Life isn’t like”—I tap the back of my phone—”the fiction we read.”
“Exactly my point. We don’t know if it’s raw and gross or the greatest thing ever. We won’t know until we try it.”
I scrunch up my nose. “Eating sushi is not the same thing as sticking someone’s penis in your body. I’m not going to have random sex with a stranger.”
The only one I want to touch me is Leka.
“I’m not saying you should have sex with anyone. Just go and see what happens. Maybe you make out. Maybe he sticks his hand up your shirt. Maybe you get excited and decide to do other stuff. The possibilities are endless.” Audie rubs her hands together.
“None of this sounds appealing.”
“Look at this.” Audie shoves her phone in my face. On the screen is a picture of Calvin Kellogg, shirtless and sweaty, getting interviewed by the Boone Daily. “Tell me this doesn’t make you want to do dirty things in the shower.”
“Negative.” I move the phone out of my face.
Exasperated, she tosses the phone onto her bed. She stomps over to my closet and grabs my two coats. Under her breath, she mutters, “Bet that Leka of yours doesn’t have a body like Calvin.”
I smile to myself. Wouldn’t she be surprised. Leka took care to always cover up around me, but when you live with someone you can’t help but catch glimpses of their bare skin. Leka has an eight-pack that would render my classmates speechless.
Hell, everything about him would silence them immediately. He’s tall, golden, with a jawline so sharp I could cut myself against it. His nose is straight and long but fits in with his high cheekbones and firm chin. Really, the only soft thing about his face is his lips. When he talks, which is rare, I can’t stop staring at them. During the long nights at school, I imagined what they’d feel like—against my fingers, against my lips, against my skin.
I rub my palm over my stomach. Abs don’t move me. Nothing about Calvin whatshisface moves me. When I close my eyes at night, when I dream, when I fantasize, only one person appears
There’s only one man for me.
“I give up,” she scowls.
It’s a good thing because I made up my mind years ago. Leka brought me here because I was weak and lacked the ability to protect myself. I spent my years here at Boone strengthening my mind and my body. It’s a farm, so I’ve learned how to use a shotgun. I’ve killed chickens, filleted fish, and even cut up a deer that Ms. Darnell, our science teacher, shot last winter. Every Boone girl takes self-defense classes each year. That’s a mandatory class along with English, math and science.
Almost nineteen-year-old Elizabeth Moore is an entirely different person today than she was at fifteen. I might not be a queen of a country, but I’m ready to rule my own domain. It’s time I proved that to Leka.
23
Leka
“You look tense, kid,” Beefer declares as we enter the safe room in the basement of Marjory’s. “The boys giving you a rough time? I can knock a few bills off their paychecks.”
“I’m good,” I reply automatically, but truth is, I’ve been feeling anxious lately. I think it’s because Bitsy hasn’t told me what her plans are after she graduates next spring. It’s six months away, but lately she’s been making some noise in her texts about coming home.
Home. I haven’t had a home since she left. The apartment’s a vacant, noiseless tomb. Kind of like me. I’m empty without her. Those texts she sends—the ones that say she misses me and she can’t wait to see me—they’re like darts piercing the most vulnerable parts of my defenses. Every time I get one of those, I have to beat down the instinct to type back, YES, in all caps and bold letters. Because, fuck, yeah, I miss her, but there’s no place for her here.
