“Wren,” she whispered into her phone, sinking against the travel shelf.
“Did you get my e-mail?” he asked in his sexy British accent when she answered.
“Um…yeah,” Spencer responded. “But…I don’t think you should be calling me.”
“So you want me to hang up?”
Spencer looked around cagily, eyeing two freshman dorks giggling by the self-help sex books and an old woman who was leafing through a Philadelphia Streetwise map. “No,” she whispered.
“Well, I’m dying to see you, Spence. Can we meet somewhere?”
Spencer paused. It ached how much she wanted to say yes. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea right now.”
“What do you mean, you’re not sure?” Wren laughed. “C’mon, Spence. It was hard enough to wait this long before calling.”
Spencer shook her head. “I…I can’t,” she decided. “I’m sorry. My family…they hardly even look at me. I mean, maybe we could try this in…in a couple months?”
Wren was quiet for a moment. “You’re serious.”
Spencer sniffed uncertainly in response.
“I just thought…I don’t know.” Wren’s voice sounded tight. “Are you sure?”
She pushed her hand through her hair and looked out Wordsmith’s big front windows. Mason Byers and Penelope Waites, two kids from her class, were kissing outside Ferra’s, the cheesesteak place across the street. She hated them. “I’m sure,” she said to Wren, the words choked in her throat. “I’m sorry.” She hung up.
She heaved a sigh. Suddenly, the bookstore felt too quiet. The classical CD had stopped. The hair on the back of her neck rose. A could have heard her conversation.
Shaking, she walked to the economics section, suspiciously eyeing a guy as he paused at the World War II shelf and a woman as she thumbed through a bulldog-of-the-month calendar. Could one of them be A? How did A know everything?
She quickly found the books on Squidward’s list, walked to the counter, and handed over her credit card, nervously fidgeting with the silver buttons on her navy blue school blazer. She so didn’t want to go to her activities and hockey after this. She just wanted to go home and hide.
“Hmm.” The checkout girl, who had three eyebrow rings, held up Spencer’s Visa. “Something’s wrong with this card.”
“That’s impossible,” Spencer snapped. Then she fished out her MasterCard.
The salesgirl ran it through, but the card machine made the same disapproving beep. “This one’s doing the same thing.”
The salesgirl made a quick phone call, nodded a few times, then hung up. “These cards have been canceled,” she said quietly, her heavily lined eyes wide. “I’m supposed to cut them up, but…” She shrugged meekly and handed them back to Spencer.
Spencer snatched the cards from her. “Your machine must be broken. Those cards, they’re…” She was about to say, They’re linked to my parents’ bank account.
Then it hit her. Her parents had canceled them.
“Do you want to pay with cash?” the salesgirl asked.
Her parents had canceled her credit cards. What was next, putting a lock on the refrigerator? Cutting off the A/C to her bedroom? Limiting her use of oxygen?
Spencer pushed her way out of the store. She’d used her Visa to buy a slice of soy-cheese pizza on her way home from Ali’s memorial. It had worked then. Yesterday morning, she had apologized to her family, and now her cards were no good. It was a slap in the face.
Rage filled her body. So that was how they felt about her.
Spencer stared sadly at her two credit cards. They’d gotten so much use, the signature strip was almost worn off. Setting her jaw, she slapped her wallet shut and whipped out her Sidekick, scrolling through her received calls list for Wren’s number. He answered on the first ring.
“What’s your address?” she asked. “I changed my mind.”
10
ABSTINENCE MAKES THE HEART GROW FONDER
That same Wednesday afternoon, Hanna stood at the entrance of the Rosewood YMCA, a restored, Colonial-style mansion. The façade was redbrick, it had two-story-high white pillars, and the moldings around the eaves and the windows looked like they belonged on a gingerbread house. The Briggses, a legendary eccentric, wealthy family, built the place in 1886, populating it with ten Briggs family members, three live-in guests, two parrots, and twelve standard poodles. Most of the building’s historical details had been torn down to make way for the Y’s six-lane swimming pool, fitness center, and “meeting” rooms. Hanna wondered what the Briggses would think about some of the groups that now met in their mansion. Like the Virginity Club.
Hanna threw her shoulders back and walked down the slanted wood hall to room 204, where V Club was meeting. Sean still wasn’t returning her calls. All she wanted to say was that she was sorry, God. How were they supposed to get back together if she couldn’t apologize to him? The one place she knew Sean went—and Sean thought she’d never be—was Virginity Club.
So maybe it was a violation of Sean’s personal space, but it was for a worthy cause. She missed Sean, especially with everything that was happening with A.
“Hanna?”
Hanna whirled around. Naomi Zeigler was on an elliptical trainer in the exercise room. She was dressed in dark red Adidas terry-cloth short-shorts, a tight-fitting pink sports bra, and matching pink socks. A coordinated red hair tie held her perfect blond ponytail in place.
Hanna fake-smiled, but inside she was wincing. Naomi and her best friend, Riley Wolfe, hated Hanna and Mona. Last spring, Naomi stole Mona’s crush, Jason Ryder, and then dumped him two weeks later. At last year’s prom, Riley learned that Hanna was wearing a sea-foam-green Calvin Klein dress…and bought the exact same dress, except in lipstick red.
“What are you doing here?” Naomi yelled, still cycling. Hanna noticed that the elliptical’s LED screen said Naomi had burned 876 calories. Bitch.
“I’m just meeting someone,” Hanna mumbled. She pressed her hand against room 204’s door, trying to seem casual, only she didn’t realize the door was ajar. It tipped open, and Hanna lost her balance and toppled halfway over. Everyone inside turned to look at her.
“Yoo-hoo?” A woman in a hideous plaid knockoff Burberry jacket called. She stuck her head out the door and noticed Hanna. “Are you here for the meeting?”
“Uh,” Hanna sputtered. When she glanced back at the elliptical, Naomi was gone.
“Don’t be afraid.” Hanna didn’t know what else to do, so she followed the woman inside and took a seat.
The room was wood-paneled, dark, and airless. Kids sat on high-backed wooden chairs. Most of them looked normal, if a bit on the goody-goody side. The boys were either too pudgy or too scrawny. She didn’t recognize anyone from Rosewood Day except for Sean. He was sitting across the room next to two wholesome-looking blond girls, staring at Hanna in alarm. She gave him a tiny wave, but he didn’t react.
“I’m Candace,” the woman who’d come to the door said. “And you are…”
“Hanna. Hanna Marin.”
“Well! Welcome, Hanna,” Candace said. She was in her mid-forties, had short blondish hair, and had drowned herself in Chloé Narcisse perfume—ironic, since Hanna had spritzed herself with Narcisse last Friday night, when she was supposed to do it with Sean. “What brings you here?”
Hanna paused. “I guess I’ve come to…to hear more about it.”
“Well, the first thing I want you to know is, this is a safe space.” Candace curled her hands around the back of a blond girl’s chair. “Whatever you tell us is in the strictest confidence, so feel free to say anything. But you have to promise not to repeat anything anyone else says, too.”
“Oh, I promise,” Hanna said quickly. There was no way she’d repeat what anyone said. That would mean telling someone she’d come here in the first place.
“Is there anything you’d like to know?” Candace asked.
“Well, um, I’m not sure,” Hanna stuttered.
“Is there anything you’d like to say?”
Hanna sneaked a peek at Sean. He gave her a look that seemed to say, Yes, what would you like to say?
She straightened up. “I’ve been thinking a lot about sex. Um, I mean, I was really curious about it. But now…I don’t know.” She took a deep breath and tried to imagine what Sean would want to hear. “I think it should be with the right person.”
“The right person you love,” Candace corrected. “And marry.”
“Yes,” Hanna added quickly.
“It’s hard, though.” Candace strolled around the room. “Does anyone have any thoughts for Hanna? Any experiences they want to share?”
A blond boy in camo cargo pants who was almost cute—if you squinted—raised his hand, then changed his mind and put it down. A brown-haired girl who wore a pink Dubble Bubble T-shirt raised two tentative fingers in the air and said, “I thought a lot about sex, too. My boyfriend threatened to break up with me if I wouldn’t do it. For a while, I was considering giving in, but I’m glad I didn’t.”
Hanna nodded, trying to look thoughtful. Who were these people kidding? She wondered if they were secretly dying to get some.
“Sean, how about you?” Candace asked. “You were saying last week that you and your girlfriend had differing opinions about sex. How’s that going?”
Hanna felt heat rise to her cheeks. She. Could. Not. Believe. It.
“Fine,” Sean mumbled.
“Are you sure? Did you have a talk with her, like we discussed?”
“Yes,” Sean said curtly.
A long silence followed. Hanna wondered if they knew that “her” was…her.
Candace went around the room asking the others to speak about their temptations: Had anyone gotten horizontal with a boyfriend or girlfriend? Had anyone made out? Had anyone watched Skinamax? Yes, yes, yes! Hanna ticked off in her head—even though she knew they were all V Club no-no’s.
A few other kids asked sex questions—most were trying to figure out what counted as “a sexual experience,” and what they should avoid. “All of it,” Candace deadpanned. Hanna was flabbergasted—she’d figured V Club banned intercourse, but not the whole sexual menu. Finally, the meeting adjourned, and the V Club kids got out of their chairs to stretch. Cans of soda, paper cups, a plate of Oreos, and a bag of Terra Yukon Golds were on a table off to the side. Hanna stood up, slid the straps of her purple wedges back around her ankles, and stretched her arms in the air. She couldn’t help but notice that Sean was staring at her exposed abs. She gave him a flirty smile, then walked over.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hanna…” He ran his hand through his close-cropped hair, looking uncomfortable. When he cut it last spring, Hanna said it made him look a little like Justin Timberlake, only less skanky. In response, Sean had done an awful but also cute rendition of “Cry Me a River.” That was back when he was fun. “What are you doing?” he asked.
