My heart clogs my throat and I stop breathing for a moment. With the way he's looking at me, I feel like I'm going to melt into a puddle right here on his gray sheets.

"I just had to tell you," he says, and kisses me softly while holding the side of my face.

I don't say anything at first. I want to piece together my words accordingly and say something to him that means just as much as what he's said to me. I want to make sure what I say fits perfectly.

"When I told you I loved you before," I begin. "I meant it. But I was lying." His face shifts a little bit, but I continue. "I didn't know what love really was. But now I do." I lower my arms from where they rest on the pillow above me and run my hands over his shoulders. "And I love you."

A smile breaks its way onto his face slowly until its brightness encompasses everything about him. He kisses me again, all over my face - starting at my lips, then moving to my cheekbones, my ears, my chin, my jaw, my neck… everywhere he can reach.

A few minutes later, while his lips are pressed to mine, I can't stifle a yawn. He pulls back and giggles as I stretch and squeeze my eyes shut tight, and then wraps his arms around my middle to playfully pull me to him as my mouth closes again. "Someone's sleepy…" he says, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

"I don't wanna be," I say, grazing my fingertips down his warm back. "It means this'll have to end. And I don't want it to."

"Me, neither," he says, voice muffled by my skin. "But we have tomorrow morning… what time do you have to leave?"

I shrug and shake my head. "Before lunch, that's all."

"Then we have plenty of time," he says. "It's late now, anyway. We should sleep." He cranes his neck to look at the clock. "It's way past your bedtime."

I chuckle a little bit and sit up in his bed, pulling the sheet with me. Now that the sex is over, being naked almost feels more intimate than before. Being with him now feels like how we're always together - like best friends. Except now we're best friends who see each other without clothes on.

Instead of sitting up with me, though, he lays down. I glance at him and he looks at me expectantly before I say, "I'm cold. I don't sleep naked like a caveman."

He rolls his eyes and nods, getting up off the bed naked as the day is long with absolutely no shame whatsoever. I can't help it - I watch him from the back without even trying to resist. All of his muscles are sturdy and tight; rippling beneath his skin in the most beautifully subtle ways as he moves. He really is a work of art.

"Are you staring at my ass?" he asks, still facing away from me as he opens the top drawer of his dresser.

"What?" I say, too quickly.

"You were totally staring at my ass," he says, pulling on a clean pair of underwear as he turns back around. "I feel violated." He tosses me a long-sleeved t-shirt of his and then hands me the blue underwear that had been discarded to the foot of the bed. I let the sheet drop a little, not missing his eyes darting to my chest, and pull the shirt on before replacing my underwear on my body under the covers.

The shirt is big on me and goes past my hands, so I push the fabric back and find my way out of the sleeves before lying back down next to Jackson, who's already on his back again. "I'm wiped out, too," he says. "Being a high schooler for a night got me exhausted."

"And I have to do that every single day," I say, looking at him from where I rest on my side.

He had closed his eyes, but opens them after I speak. "What do you think you're doing?" he asks, extending one arm out straight. "I know you're cuddly as hell, you better get over here."

I giggle and gravitate close to his side, pulling the covers up tight around us. I wrap my arm around his middle, where my hand shifts to rest on the small of his back as he turns on his side to face me. He smells like faint cologne, boy sweat, and something that's just him. I touch the tip of my nose to his sternum and breathe in, and he asks, "Are you sniffing me?"

"Maybe."

He laughs and winds one arm around me to keep me near him. Feeling brave, I slide my hand down from the small of his back over the round of his butt and take a firm handful. "Jesus," he says under his breath, squeezing me closer. "You are really damn handsy."

"It's kinda hard not to be," I say, blushing as the words come out.

"I know the feeling."

As the smile dies away from my face, I start to drift into sleep. After my legs twitch for the first time, I feel Jackson move and take my glasses off and set them in the headboard above us. He kisses my cheek as my eyes are closed, and wraps both arms around me for the night.

In the morning, I wake up in the same position we fell asleep in and notice that we're both sweating. The sun is shining in from the window on the other side of his room, making it much hotter in here than it was last night. He's still asleep pressed right up against me, breathing deeply and rhythmically, and I relish the sound of it. I glance up to see his sleeping face and run my thumb over his cheekbone - just gently enough so it won't wake him up.

I'm lying here mostly naked with the boy who I gave my virginity to. I take notice of my body, which feels different than it did even just yesterday. I'm admittedly a little sore, but it's not just that. It's more than that - I feel changed, and I feel like it's visible, too.

I forgot to pray last night, so I close my eyes and do a tiny sign of the cross. I wonder how blasphemous it is that I'm praying while lying wrapped up with Jackson in the bed that we had sex in merely hours ago, but I don't dwell on the thought for long because I concentrate on the words in my head. Once I'm done talking to God, I wonder if I should be asking for forgiveness.

I know I disobeyed His law and my parents. Right now, they think I'm at Lexie's. I only just earned my mom's trust back, and then I go and do this without even really thinking twice about it. What kind of awful person am I? Was it a rash decision to give my virginity away - had I really been ready?

I look up at Jackson and study him; with his eyes shut, his eyelashes are gracefully touching his skin in the most perfect, divine way. He has tiny freckles across the apples of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose - they're so tiny and deliberate that I could stare at them forever and not get tired of it. His lips are parted just slightly, their perfect pink so tempting to me because I know how soft and plush they are. I love everything about him - I realize I don't regret what I did. I know he loves me. There's no questioning that.

I can't help but think back to what my mom said during our confrontation a while ago, though. There's no way someone like him could ever be your husband.

I don't believe her. Looking up at this perfect boy, I don't believe her.

It's a strange concept to me, but I'm slowly learning that not everything my parents say is right. There are a hundred sides to everything, and just because there's a certain side that I'm comfortable with doesn't necessarily mean that that side is the right one.

I kiss Jackson's bare chest and smile against his heartbeat. When something feels this good, it can't be bad. I know that for sure.

I wriggle out of my shirt because the heat is nearly unbearable, and my shifting and moving wakes him up after the shirt's on the floor. "This is a sight I could get used to," he says sleepily, kissing my forehead. "Morning, Apricot."

He runs one finger down my bare spine and I give him a long kiss on the lips. "Morning, Jackie."

"No," he says, fighting a grin.

"You get to call me Apricot, I get to call you Jackie."

"Who says? Whose convoluted rules are these?" he asks, eyelids still heavy.

"Mine," I say, and my hand seems to act on its own as it slips between our bodies to run over his stiffness pressed up against my thigh. He blinks his eyes open and takes in a surprised breath, directing his gaze down at me.

"What're you up to, blind bat?" he asks, reaching up to the headboard so he can gently put my glasses back on me.

My fingers are trembling, but I keep going. I'm not exactly sure what I'm doing, but I can feel him hardening even more beneath my touch, and that fact is empowering. My eyes flit up to him and I see that he's taken his lower lip between his teeth and his eyelids are fluttering. "April…" he says.

"Yeah?"

I push back the covers and sit up in just my underwear, feeling the sweat as it cools and dries on my upper body. "Are you gonna…"

I look down between his legs and see that he's created a tent out of his boxers as I've continued to touch him. Seeing that reaction, I feel myself get a little aroused, too. Now that I know what that feeling is. "What?"

"Are you about to… give me a handjob?"

Handjob. I put the words together - hand, job. The cogs work in my brain at top speed, but I'm still not sure what the term means. I wish Lexie were here. No, I don't.

"Uh…"

He opens his eyes fully and meets mine. "Jerk me off with your hand?" he clarifies.

I look again between his legs and can see the exact outline of him just underneath the fabric, then decide that yes, I want to. "Yeah," I say, sitting up on my knees instead of criss-crossed.

"Oh, god, okay," he says. "Hold on." He leans over, which knocks my hand off of his lap, and reaches underneath the bed to come up with a pump bottle of lotion. "This… helps," he says, with some difficulty.

I open my hands and he squirts a few pumps of lotion into my palms, then takes his boxers off as I rub it into my skin. I can't help but let my eyes widen when he's fully bare in front of me, and I find myself scared to touch it without the barrier of clothes.

"You don't have to, you know," he says, smiling. "Like I said, I'm never gonna make-"

I don't let him finish his sentence. Before he can say anything else, I jut my arm out and grab the base of his penis in my fist, which makes him flinch.

"That's - that's a little tight," he says. "Go a little softer." I loosen my fingers and look at him for validation, nervous tension spreading through my chest and stomach. "Well, you can go tighter than that," he says, and I try to adjust. "Your…" He shifts his hips and props himself up on his elbows. "Your nails are… um, they're a little long, babe. You're kinda scratching me."

My hands retreat back to my lap and I stare down at my knees, embarrassed and frustrated. I feel stupid for even trying; I should've known I wouldn't be able to do something like that.

"Hey…" he says, sitting up all the way. It's hard to miss his erection between us. "Don't feel bad. Baby… you had sex for the first time last night. You don't need to rush. It's a learning process. And the best part is… the learning is gonna be really fucking fun." He moves my messy hair out of my face. "And you don't have to worry about a dumb handjob. It's something I can do myself, anyway. Not a big deal. I promise."

I sigh a bit defeatedly and slouch my shoulders in. "I just wanted to make you feel good," I say.

"There are better ways," he says, making me giggle as he playfully shoves me to lie beneath him. He opens his lips on my stomach, running his tongue up between my ribcage and then taking one of my breasts in his mouth. My eyelids flutter shut and one of my knees bends up towards the ceiling as he sucks on me harder, and I grip his head between my hands and press hard with my fingers.

"Can we try again from last night?" I ask. He makes a low sound and drags his teeth over my hardened nipple, then smiles.

"Is that even a question?" he asks, mouth moving against me. "Of course."

He does the same thing as last night with the condom and lube and then goes for my underwear. As I watch him drink me in, his eyes flash as they pass between my legs. "What?" I ask, and snap my knees together because I'm feeling self-conscious.

"Stop," he says, prying my knees apart again.

"What was the face for?"

"It was a good face," he says, slipping my underwear off and then holding them up. "You're wet."

My eyes widen as I see a damp patch in the middle of my underwear, and I rocket up from my lying down position to snatch them from him. I ball them up in my fist and then cover my vagina with my hand, wondering what could've possibly happened down there. My face is flaming. What did I do? And why does he think that whatever it is is a good thing?

It doesn't take more than a beat for him to realize he needs to calm me down. "It's girls' natural lubricant," he says, pulling my underwear out of my hand and tossing them. "It's healthy. Breathe, you're okay, Apricot."

"I thought I peed or something," I breathe, relief washing over me.

"Wet is just like, a term people say I guess," he says, adjusting my knees to rest on either side of his torso. "You ready?"

I nod and when he thrusts inside me, my hips rise to meet his. It's not as scary as the first time, I don't feel like he's going to split me open - but the pressure is still there. Along with the pressure, though, comes a good feeling that's similar to the one that I feel when his head is between my thighs.

He pumps his hips slowly for a while - he has his orgasm first, but he doesn't give up until I get mine, too. Once it starts, he smiles proudly and starts pushing a little harder, which makes me lose my breath and throw my head back in a silent scream as everything comes unwound within me. He captures my mouth in a heady kiss that involves hot breath and exploring tongues, and when everything is over, I wipe my mouth from where our saliva has mixed together on my chin.

We're panting next to each other when he says, "Sorry about that," in regards to the drool.

I laugh and shake my head, wiping the wet spot that's now on my wrist onto his arm. "Don't say sorry."

"Why, because I just gave you the most earth-shattering orgasm of your life?" I cover my face with my hands and shake my head, but I'm unable to keep the grin off my lips. He gets close to my ear and whispers, "That's what I thought."

We eventually get out of bed, and I bring my overnight bag with me into the bathroom when I go to shower. "I have one rule," he says, lingering by the doorway. "You can't waste water around here. This place is used to only one person showering, and I have to, too…"

I lean with one hand on the countertop. "Do you think you're coming in with me, or something?"

He chuckles and walks my way, taking my waist in his arms. "I was hoping so, yeah," he murmurs, the tips of our noses touching.

"Okay," I whisper. "Turn the water on. I don't know how to work your futuristic shower."

"Futuristic," he scoffs, and leans in to turn on the water. Once it's hot enough, I unload my toiletries from my bag and gather them in my arms to set them on the shelf in the shower. He looks at me through the glass pane with a dubious look on his face. "Did you really feel the need to bring your own shampoo and conditioner?" he asks.

I hold up the bottle of his Dial brand and raise my eyebrows. "I figured you'd have something as horrible as this. And I can't watch my hair with glorified dish soap."

"Ooh, my girlfriend's so fancy," he says, closing the glass door as he gets in with me. I start to wash my hair and he stands there, watching me and not doing anything else.

"Showers are for getting clean," I say, lathering up my hair.

"I really can't reach," he says.

"You can't reach your own head to shampoo it," I say, monotone.

"No," he says. "It's very sad and unfortunate."

"You are very sad and unfortunate, you're right."

"If only there was someone who could help me…" he trails off, looking at me with puppy-dog eyes that he knows will win me over.

I squirt my shampoo into my hand and then turn him around so I can work it through his hair. Once it's all in, I direct him under the showerhead. "Okay, time to rinse, you child," I say.

"Can't forget conditioner," he says, hands on my hips as I rinse the shampoo out of my own hair.

"Oh, never," I say.

After we're all clean, we get out and head to the kitchen to make breakfast. We both smell like coconut and vanilla thanks to my hair products, and his hair is softer than ever. I find a clean pair of underwear and he gives me a fresh t-shirt of his to wear, and as I sit on the counter with wet hair dressed in my boyfriend's clothes, I realize this is the freest I've ever felt in my life.

We take a short break from cooking breakfast when the song 'Let's Stay Together' by Al Green comes on the J Loves A playlist that's playing in the background. He turns it up and picks me up off the counter to dance me around the kitchen, arms around my waist and his forehead pressed to mine before taking my hand and twirling me out dramatically. When he twirls me back, I take his opposite hand and we giggle close to each other's faces before getting back to breakfast.

Back at the stove, once the song changes to something calmer - his hip is cocked to one side and the muscles in his bare back are positioned just right. I could watch him forever.

"I have something for you," he says, spatula moving around in the frying pan of eggs that he's scrambling.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mm-hmm," he says. "One more thing for your birthday. I just wanted to be with you when you opened it, so I saved it." He turns to look at me over his shoulder. "It's on the bookshelf in the living room, wrapped in pink paper."

"Ooh, pink," I say, and hop off the counter in search of it. I come back to the kitchen once it's in my hands and hop back up on the counter. "Can I open it?"

He finishes up with the eggs and dishes us each a plate. He walks over to where I stand and leans on the counter, nodding me along.

I unwrap it slowly and see that it's a photo album. I look at him confusedly, and he keeps on nodding. I narrow my eyes and flip open the front cover, where I see he's written a note.

For the only one I've ever 'seen,' on her 18th birthday

Happy birthday my girl

I love you

My eyes well up and I haven't even gotten to the photo portion of the book yet. I stare down at the note and then glance back up at him to see that he's got a small, proud grin on his lips. "Keep going," he says.

I open the book to see myself plastered over all of the pages. I see myself sitting in the quad, the eraser end of my pencil in my mouth as I'm leaned over a book. I see myself asleep on his couch with my tights-covered feet propped up on a pillow, hands folded on my stomach. I see myself sitting on my knees in a brown armchair in Arts & Letters, reading over his work on his MacBook. I see myself from a distance, walking towards the camera with my hands on the straps of my backpack, looking up at the sky. There are some pictures with him in them, too, and yet I'm still unaware. He's posing studiously, stroking his long, fake beard as I have his poetry book on my lap, mouth open as I read aloud. In another one, he's pretending to be asleep with his eyes closed but wearing a big smile, as I really am asleep sitting up on his living room floor with my back leaned against the couch.

The book is full of moments I never knew he captured.

"I don't know what to say," I murmur, running my finger over the details of the photos. "Why would you do this for me?"

He snorts incredulously. "It was the least I could do," he says. "April, I love you. And you're always saying… you always say that I see you. And I do. Fuck, do I see you. Sometimes so much that you're kind of blinding me. And I wanted to show you that. I'm in love with every little thing you do. Every little silly, mundane, cute thing in this book… and these are just scraping the surface. I could make a million of these books and it wouldn't be enough."

I close the cover and hold the photo album close to my chest. "I don't know what I did to deserve you," I say.

"Nothing," he says. "With the risk of sounding insanely fucking cheesy, I'm the one who doesn't deserve you."

I walk into school on Monday morning feeling like a different person. I smile at people who I pass in the hallway, clutching my books to my chest, unbothered even if they don't smile back. I'm a bit early today, so when Lexie stops at my locker we have a few free minutes to chat.

She rests against the locker next to mine, facing me but looking over my shoulder, over my head, anywhere but my eyes. It's almost like she doesn't realize I'm there, like I'm invisible or something. I'm confused, so I say, "Lexie?"

She gasps, being dramatic by pressing her hand to her heart. "Oh, April? Is that you?" I scrunch up my eyebrows at her. "Oh, sorry! I didn't recognize you without your virginal glow."

I clap my hands over my mouth and then shove her. "Shut up," I say, then push her again for good measure.

Mark saunters up to us a few seconds later, leaning on the locker on the side of mine that Lexie's not on. He peers close to me, and I cringe away from him when he pops my personal bubble. "How was the sex?" he asks creepily.

My eyes widen and I take a step back from my locker so I can look at both of them. "You told him?!" I hiss.

Lexie shrugs. "I tell him everything. And who's he gonna tell, his mom? Dude has no friends. Here, at least. The people at the old folks' home probably know all about it by now."

Mark glares at Lexie, and all she does is smile angelically in response.

"So?" Mark asks again.

"What?" I snap, glancing at the clock.

"How was it? Your Avery boy was good-looking, I'll give him that. But can he walk the walk?"

"I'm literally not talking to you," I say, walking in the direction of AP Bio.

Mark laughs. "I have a feeling it was good. But that's just my opinion. When you wanna gush about it, Kepner, you know where to find me."

I fake-glower at him over my shoulder as Lexie and I walk away. "Yeah, in remedial math," I say. "Goodbye, Mark."

We continue to walk down the hallway and Lexie keeps her voice at a reasonable level. "So, for real," she says. "How was it?"

I look at her and then check around to make sure there's no one around who shouldn't be hearing this. But everyone is passing us by, uncaring. "Amazing," I whisper.

"Yes," she says. "Did you bleed?"

I shake my head.

"Did it hurt?"

"A little," I say. "Not really a stabbing pain or anything. Just kind of like… uncomfortable at first? But the second time was-"

"The second time?!"

I can't keep the smile off my face. "Yeah," I say. "In the morning."

"Holy shit, April Mary is having morning sex," Lexie says. "Wait. Did you follow my advice?" I nod. She says, "Tell."

"Um…" I begin, suddenly feeling awkward saying it out loud. "Before we, like, did it the normal way… he said he wanted to - um, make me feel good, I guess, so he… with his mouth…"

"Oh," she says casually. "He ate you out?"

I freeze and give her an astonished look. "There was no eating," I insist.

Lexie starts to laugh, throwing her head back and grabbing my arm for support. "April," she gasps. "Not what I mean. It's a saying. That's not what he called it? What did he call it?"

I shake my head, lips pressed together. I don't want to say it out loud.

"He seems like the type who might call it giving head," Lexie says, pondering.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" I say, taking her wrist. "He told me he was gonna go down on me, and I had no idea what that even was, I didn't even know it was a thing. You could've told me! It would've made me look a lot less stupid."

"I'm sure you didn't look stupid to him," she tells me. "I'm sure he thought you were hot. I'm sure he thought you were sexy as-"

"No."

She snorts. "I saw the way he was looking at you when we walked up at prom. You might not've noticed, but I did. And that boy's got it so bad for you, Apes."

I look at her with a glint in my eye as we walk into Bio. "Yeah?"

She nods, affirming me. "Oh, yeah."

After gym is over later in the day, I'm dripping with sweat from the soccer unit. The weather has begun to get warmer, so we spent all class outside on the turf kicking around a ball and running for our lives for no apparent reason. Mrs. Altman made us run suicides after she got mad because neither team was scoring any goals, and now I think I might've lost a third of my body weight in perspiration.

Lexie and I don't even have the energy to make conversation. She changes fast because she wants to meet Mark, and I take my time because I'm so exhausted. I sit on the bench in between the rows of lockers in my knee socks and skirt while I dig around in my gym bag for my deodorant. Once I smell decent, I stand up to get my blouse from my locker only to be intercepted by Izzie Stevens coming out of nowhere and slamming my locker door shut - almost on my fingers.

"Hey!" I say instinctively, jumping back with fright. "You almost got my fingers."

"Oops, sorry," she says, then gets way too close to me. She's still in her gym clothes and I can smell her sweat from how close she is; it's not pleasant and I really don't like it. "Where's your cross necklace, Virgin Mary?" I touch my neck in response, knowing that I'll find nothing there. I don't wear any jewelry anymore since Jackson's necklace was taken from me. "And what are all these…?" Her eyes drift down my body to land on my torso, where I have a straight line of five hickies from the band of my bra to my bellybutton. I cover them with my hand, but she's already seen them. "Hickies…?" she says maliciously.

I narrow my eyes. "Don't say any-"

"You got laid?" she asks, laughing. "Fucking Kepner got laid."

"Leave her alone, Izzie," Callie says, her voice coming from around the corner. She's reapplying her lipstick, looking as nonchalant as ever. "Aren't you bored of it by now?"

Izzie narrows her eyes at Callie and I'm equally as confused. I thought, at one point, they'd been friends. I don't know how right I was in thinking that, though.

"Fuck off, Callie," Izzie spits, still in my space. "Since when are you and Kepner besties? Ever since you had your little lesbionic gay ass crush on her?"

My cheeks flame not for myself, but for Callie. I'm not sure if Izzie is saying that because she knows it for a fact, or if it's just something that everyone assumed but me. As usual, I was in the dark.

"Shut up," Callie grumbles. "You really, really need to shut up."

"Or what?" Izzie taunts. My head is volleying between the both of them - it seems like they've almost forgotten that I'm here and why this all started. "Are you ashamed of your crush on little Kepner? Doesn't really seem like your type, Callie. Guess you wanted to go for someone who wouldn't fuck you over. Stay safe, right?"

"Izzie, I don't think you-" I begin, but I get cut off.

"Who fucking cares?!" Callie counters, raising her voice. It doesn't bypass me how she doesn't negate the crush on me, and I take a second to figure out how I feel about that. I don't really care, but it makes a lot of sense. So Jackson was right. Maybe.

"Who fucking cares who has a crush on who? Do you ever think that there are more important things than this shit?" Callie continues.

Izzie walks past me, shoulder checking me along the way. I stumble and fall back on the bench, then hurry to button up my blouse while I keep watching them. For some reason I can't look away.

"You probably think about her at night, don't you," Izzie says, her voice breathy and conniving. I was wrong all along in thinking that Callie was the evil one - Izzie seems to be the worst of all. There's a gleeful glint in her eyes that she's gotten from being mean, and it's scaring me. "Do you think about girls and touch yourself, Callie? You're just so fucking sexually frustrated that you can't have that little piece of ass that you don't know what to do with yourself. I don't forget this shit, you have to know that… how fucking stupid can you be?" She chuckles and shakes her head. "You know you're going to hell for it, right?"

I notice that my hands are gathered into fists that are shaking by my sides. "Enough, Izzie," I say. "If anyone's going to Hell, it's you. You're so mean. For no reason."

Izzie flips around and sends her blonde ponytail swinging. "Oh, it speaks," she says, taking a few steps towards me. "What, do you want her to be your big bad lady friend? Does that turn you on? Maybe you want Callie to give you some more hickies, how does that sound? Does that turn you on, Fuckie?"

I don't answer her. Instead, I clench my jaw and stare at a spot past her shoulder on the opposite wall, refusing to react. As usual, I feel like crying, but I keep my tears at bay. She hasn't won this and I don't want her to think that she has.

"What? Don't have anything to say?" Izzie prods. "So it does turn you on. So your man at prom was just a beard, right? What will your Catholic as fuck parents say when you tell them you're a lesbian?"

"I'm not a lesbian," I say, but it's not strong enough. I meant for it to come out firmer.

"Well, don't tell that to Callie," Izzie says. I look behind her over to Callie, whose eyes are glassy as she concentrates on putting on mascara. "You'll crush her dreams."

"I think you should stop talking about her like that," I say, even as my voice shakes. "It's not very nice."

"Not very nice…" Izzie whines. "I know more about Callie than anyone else does."

"Then why are you being so mean to her?" I pipe up.

Izzie raises her eyebrows at me. "Found your voice, did you?" She laughs. "We're not friends. None of us are. You should know about friendlessness better than anyone, Fuckie, don't you? I was never Callie's friend and she was never mine, but she made the mistake of telling me all about her dirty little thoughts about you."

"Izzie, I'm warning you. Shut the fuck up," Callie says.

I just want to get out of here, but now Izzie is on my opposite side and blocking the door. The rest of the girls have filtered out and the late bell will ring any second now. "Fuckie is looking at me with the nastiest look on her face right now," Izzie smiles. "What are you gonna do, punch me like your pussy ass, fake ass boyfriend punched mine at prom?"

My face must turn beet red, because I get so angry that I start to sweat. "Don't talk about him like that," I growl. I can deal with my own ridicule any day - I'm used to it. But I won't stand here and listen to her talk badly of Jackson, who doesn't deserve it and isn't even here to defend himself.

"Aw, or what are you gonna do?" Izzie asks.

"Izzie, just let it the fuck go," Callie says. "We're gonna be late for fourth."

"Who the fuck cares?" Izzie asks, circling me. "Kepner wants to fight me right now. I can tell." She juts her neck out so our noses are centimeters apart. "So do it. Hit me. Fucking hit me, little girl. I dare you."

I don't hit her. I don't even meet her eyes. Her breath is assaulting me with the bitter scent of cinnamon and it's making my eyes water. I straighten my spine, set my shoulders, and grit my teeth together. I won't give in to her. It's what she wants, and I won't give her that satisfaction.

"Pussy," she spits, and shoves me by the shoulders. "Your boyfriend must really hate himself if he's with you. I feel bad for you, Fuckie, being with a bitch ass like that."

Then, I snap. I put all my weight behind my arms and shove her chest as hard as I can, and since it takes her by surprise, she stutter-steps backwards and knocks the back of her head on the locker behind her. I hear Callie gasp, and time moves in slow motion. Izzie's face turns from anger to shock and back to anger in a split second as she rubs the spot, and I honestly fear for my life.

"You're gonna fucking regret that," she says. "You really don't know what you just did." She picks up her stuff and glares at me with flaming brown eyes. "You really, really don't know what you just did."

Izzie storms away and I stand in place, trembling. I turn my head to look at Callie, but her back is turned to me. "With the stuff she said-"

"Forget about it," she mutters, and slings her bag over her shoulder. "Leave it alone. I don't wanna talk about it."

"Oh - okay," I say, wringing my hands. As she walks away, I call after her one last time. "Do you think she meant… you know, what she said?"

Callie turns back around and looks at me soberly. "Yes," she says. "She definitely did."

Jackson sneaks in my window tonight, past midnight. We planned it out earlier, and I took a nap right after school so I wouldn't be sleepy. My family has been asleep for hours, and the two of us are in our underwear under the covers of my twin bed - him on top of me.

When I invited him over, I hadn't planned for us to have sex. I don't think he planned for it either, but when we caught sight of each other everything just happened so quickly. Benign touches turned into stripping each other which turned into, in Arizona's words, heavy petting.

And now we're here.

"How was school today," he breathes, mouth open on my neck as he slides one hand down my torso.

I shake my head and feel my hips writhe with desire. "Don't wanna talk about it," I whisper.

"Understandable."

"Just wanna think about you," I say, keeping my voice low and quiet. If my parents catch us, I'll be beyond dead. I'd never see the light of day again, but I need him. The risk is worth the payoff.

The sex jams playlist is playing as quietly as possible for us to still hear it, right on the nightstand by our heads. He moves his hand lower on my torso until it dips inside my underwear, and my hips twitch upwards to meet his fingers. "Did you ever listen to this playlist with your old girlfriends?" I ask.

"No," he says, and then slips two fingers inside of me. I gasp, and he continues to talk. "I made it for us. When I was cleaning my room before prom night."

"Oh," I say, but it comes out as more of a moan. He disappears beneath the covers and pulls my underwear the rest of the way down, then attaches his lip to my core while still pumping his fingers in and out of me.

It takes all I have to contain myself as I come. I press my lips together as my hips quake, and he drags his fingernails up my ribcage before reappearing beside me.

"I love you," I whisper. "Did you bring a condom?"

"I hope to God," he says, then leans over me to dig around in his jeans pocket for his wallet. He pulls out a golden-wrapped foil packet proudly, and puts it on in a hurry. He braces his arms on either side of my head and opens his mouth against mine as he pushes inside me, and I bite down on his lower lip to get a moan out of him. It works, which makes electricity buzz through my entire body.

He grinds slower, scooping his hips so he hits me at a new angle, and my eyes roll back in my head. "Oh, my gosh, Jackson," I moan, and he widens his eyes and claps his hand over my mouth.

"You have to be quiet," he hisses. "You don't want Mom and Daddy finding their sweet little angel like this, do you?"

I smile deviously and bite down on his fingers, which makes him replace his hand with his mouth and keep me quiet that way.

When he comes, he sucks the skin in the middle of my chest into his mouth and works it with his teeth, probably planning on leaving another hickey. As long as it's not visible with a shirt on, I'm fine with it - in fact, it turns me on that he likes leaving his mark on me. I can tell he's holding back so my bed won't squeak because his hips are bucking erratically without any rhythm during his orgasm, and once it's finished he helps me to my second one with his fingers while he's still inside me.

When it's over, he kisses my neck as I pant and try to come back to earth. I scrape my nails down his back in a repetitive pattern and relish the feeling of his lips on my breasts as our bodies are still intertwined.

"I shoved Izzie Stevens today," I say, my voice a very low whisper as we lay nose-to-nose. He runs his fingers through my hair and looks at me with surprise.

"You what?"

"Well, she shoved me first," I clarify. "But I shoved her back and she hit her head on a locker, and I think she's gonna do something bad to me."

"Are you ever gonna tell someone about these stupid fucking bullies?" he asks.

I frown and trace one finger down his chest. "I tell you."

"I mean someone at school," he says. "A teacher, a counselor, someone."

I shake my head. "It doesn't work like that. Nothing gets done at that school. Their solution for everything is Jesus and praying."

He presses his lips together. "Well then," he says.

"Well then, what?"

"Well then I'm gonna have to make sure something gets done," he says.

"The reason I got so mad is because she was saying stuff about you," I say. "Alex is her boyfriend. She's mad about prom night."

He chuckles. "I'd be mad too, if I were dating him."

"She said you must hate yourself if you're dating someone like me," I say quietly, feeling gross for saying the same words that hurt me so badly earlier.

Anger flashes across his blue eyes. "I do not hate myself," he growls. "And she can shut the fuck up and keep you out of her mouth." He shakes his head and rests his hand on my neck with a thumb on my cheekbone. "Don't listen to that shit." He meets my eyes and makes me a silent promise before saying, "I'll take care of them. Don't worry."