Personalities - Part One (takes place significantly after Five Quarters of the Orange)

There, perhaps, was the heart of the quandary: was Ada taking after Cynthia? The thought hammered in his chest so loudly he ignored the little insult from Amy. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? To be fair, his mother-in-law was well-read, she had a very successful if somewhat esoteric career, she was a very intelligent woman, she had a circle of friends that played bridge every week, her house-keeping skills were impeccable, her manners were flawless, and there was no denying there had been at least one grande passion in her life. And yet . . . she was subtly passive-aggressive, she was stoic, there was something vaguely condescending in her flawless speech . . .

Freshman

For the life of her, she could not remember why she agreed to this scheme clearly cooked up behind her back between her fathers and Ada's parents. If Yasmine knew one other single person at Harvard, she probably would have refused. It's not like she really knew Ada, either. Yes, there were the photos and Instabook updates on her, but Yasmine didn't follow her or her parents, she just heard about when Abbi brought it up. They had visited a few times, and Ada was okay, she guessed. But if she was going to live with a stranger anyway, Yasmine reasoned, she might as will live with one whom she had met before. But she clearly didn't think this through.

From the moment Ada's parents helped her moved into their new dorm room, Yasmine regretted her decision. It was all so embarrassing: the way Abbi and Ada's mom spent every second reminiscing about their own days at Harvard, the way Dad kept asking her if she would be okay, the way Ada's dad clearly was not okay. Yasmine did feel sorry for him, but when she found him in the stair well, sitting and rocking slightly with his head in his hands (was he crying?), she held back and walked away, embarrassed by his emotions. At the last minute, she put a "Caution: Wet Floor" sign up at the doorway to give him his privacy. Blimey, what weird family.

Here she was, finally with complete freedom from her dads, but saddled with a child prodigy who was such a baby. She wasn't majoring in baby-sitting, she was meant to major in pre-law. So she could be a fabulous human rights barrister. Or one of those ball-breaking divorce attorneys; she was undecided. Either way, she didn't need some skinny weirdo junior tagging along, ruining her fun. College was a time for enjoyment and experimentation and Yasmine meant to embrace it, with her fathers safely on the other side of an ocean where their ignorance could be bliss.

Finally, all their parents were gone, and Yasmine turned in their tiny room and looked at her taller but younger roommate. "Well, it's just you and me now, Junior."

"Don't call me that," Ada said simply.

But Junior stuck, long after it amused Yasmine to call her that.

Ada. First of all, one couldn't discuss Ada without mentioning her breathtaking beauty. That hair! Yasmine forgot how beautiful she was. Or maybe photographs didn't do her justice. There was something in the way she carried her beauty, too. Was she honestly that oblivious to it? Or was it merely an act, that she was so certain in the power of her allure that she just acted like it wasn't worth mentioning? There was this way she carried herself: regal, stately, statuesque, refined. Proud? Most girls that tall would have hunched and hidden themselves, but Ada glided with confidence through any room. It drove Yasmine crazy, the way all the boys in the cafeteria turned to watch her when she picked up her tray. Not jealous, Yasmine insisted to herself, definitely not jealous.

That first semester was awful. While she wasn't the bossy, talkative know-it-all Yasmine had feared of a child prodigy, she was decidedly odd. And not just in her particular, neat-freak ways. Like the time Yasmine came back the room and found Ada had put masking tape down the middle to "contain your mess." Ada also moped and mooned about her cat as though she'd left a limb back in California. She had a schedule, and almost nothing could veer off of it. She woke up at 6:30 a.m. every single day, sometimes barely after Yasmine had gone to bed, and was always amazed that Yasmine wasn't up yet. On the first and the fifteenth of each month, she performed every single activity in their room balancing a book on her head to improve her posture, which at least explained the way she walked ("Grandmother taught me how," she explained). She was taking Swimming and Diving for an elective, and Yasmine hated the smell of her chlorine soaked swimsuits. Yasmine discovered completely by accident that Ada wrote fanfiction comic books, and they had a terrific row about it ("Only one person knew my secret before you ruined it!" Ada cried. But who? She wouldn't say.). For all her brilliance, she was naïve and sheltered, always shocked when Yasmine brought home beer or a man. More than once Yasmine purposely left the agreed-upon headband off the dorm room doorknob just to see and hear Ada's shock when she walked in on her and her latest conquest in flagrante delicto.

But Ada was bossy over strange things: She preferred silence, and there were arguments about the volume and type of Yasmine's music. Her clothing was absolutely not to be touched as she "had a system." Yasmine's toying with her accent made her irritable as did her use of out-dated British curse words. Yasmine tried to explain to her that she had discovered some boys wanted a Cockney girl to give them a blowjob with their dirty mouths, while others wanted an innocent, posh Princess Charlotte they could pretend to corrupt.

"But it's not even real," Ada had argued, and if she hadn't been so sincere Yasmine would have laughed at her. "You didn't even live in Britain until you were five!"

"Thank you for reminding me of that," Yasimine said tersely. "Being an outsider, a orphan, a refugee!, with gay parents wasn't enough to make me realize I'm not really British, that I never fit in, so I'm glad you came along to remind me. I know all you Americans think Prince Harry just swooped in and saved the Middle East with his peace plan and his sexy red hair, but you know it didn't happen over night, right? And not soon enough to save my mother. Even in jolly ol' England, there were still whispers and looks for years later."

"Yasmine, I'm sorry. It's not what I meant. I -" Ada put her head down, and Yasmine actually felt a little guilty. It was true that there had never been any whispers or looks from Ada, not even any embarrassing or prying questions disguised as concern. Yasmine had grown up always knowing she was out of a place, a minority, and all she wanted to do was belong. But here was Ada, who didn't fit in either, who maybe fit in even less, and . . . whom Yasmine was tasked with watching over, even if those words had never been said to her.

"Don't worry, Junior, I can turn into Bathsheba when I need to," she said softly. Then she added, just for spite, just for the fun of it, to prevent the need to apologize, so Ada wouldn't think her weak, "What you need is to to get laid."

That always shut Ada up. She grunted and returned to her book. That was literally the end of that particular conversion between them, and Yasmine was free to return to rolling her eyes at her younger roommate's eccentricities.

Like those clothes! Didn't Ada know all one needed was a solid black wardrobe accented by leather? At first, based on snippets of overheard conversations, Yasmine thought she dressed that way to annoy her mother. But then she kept doing it. No outfit was too outrageous for Ada, no event too serious. This, too, she managed to carry off with aplomb. People turned to look, and then they all seemed to smile. At first it was annoying and then, somehow, it became entertaining.

Strangest of all was that there was something decidedly different about her. Yasmine tried to chalk it up to her intelligence, her straight A's even when other valedictorians faltered. But no . . . she seemed to live in her mind. How else to describe it? Sometimes, sitting at her desk or on her bed or working on the white board she set up in a corner of the room, she seemed like she was barely tethered to this world. It wasn't shyness, that was clear. At first, during those early weeks, Yasmine thought she was an arrogant, stuck-up bitch. But then she came to realize there was no malice behind her detachment. She was just naturally calm and sure of herself. Ada was honest to a fault, which, while jarring at first, started to become refreshing. If you wanted to know the truth, if you really wanted a candid opinion, you asked Ada. You always knew where you stood with her.

Yasmine spent a few weeks trying to trip her up, suggesting ever more outlandish cuisines and activities, but Ada jumped at the chance to do almost anything that wasn't illegal or loud. She was fearless, which, given her reserve, surprised Yasmine. But once Ada decided she disliked something, there was no convincing her otherwise. And it wasn't that she would sneer while mentioning it again. Instead, she would become completely silent on the topic; it was as though it wasn't worth the time to even think about anymore, that it was very far beneath her high standards. Her detachment was total and slightly cruel.

She could have been French really, with all that cool detachment and je ne sais quoi. All she needed was a cigarette in an ivory holder and a scarf trailing behind her. Which, given her wardrobe, she'd probably have before too long.

At first, Yasmine didn't feel so bad about their conflicts. They were collage roommates, and weren't you supposed to hate your roommate on some level? And Ada had other friends. Well, people with whom she was friendly. There were Sophie and Harper that she went to high school with. But they were too old for her now; Yasmine could see it in their eyes because she knew the feeling. Yasmine would see Ada sometimes, in study groups, walking across the yard, sitting by others in a cafeteria, and she would be chatting or maybe even smiling slightly. But yet . . .

One crisp autumn day, Yasmine came back to the dorm room and heard laughter coming from inside. Ada must be watching television. Or talking on the phone to her cat. But there was a boy in their room. An actual, living boy! Sitting on Ada's bed, while Ada sat in her desk chair. Granted a very unattractive boy. Dark hair. Thick glasses. Fidgeting. As the door swung open, Yasmine stood in the shock. Then Ada turned her head, grinned - a smile from ear to ear! - and said, "Yasmine, look who finally came to visit! Did you ever meet Jacob Wolowitz? He's studying biological engineering at MIT."

Flustered, Yasmine stumbled through the introductions. Then Ada stood and said, "Come on, Jacob, let's go." She turned. "We're going to play mini golf, would you like to join us?"

"Mini golf?" Yasmine sputtered. At least it explained the argyle sweater vest.

"Miniature golf? Putt-putt? I'm sorry, does it have a different name in England?" Ada asked.

"No, I know what it is," Yasmine shook her head. "Uh, no, thanks."

"Okay. See you later," Ada smiled and breezed past her. Jacob waved.

Yasmine turned and watched Jacob and the strange, glowing - there really was no other word for it - creature formerly known as Junior leave their room. But then she shook her head and debated between studying or deciding if she should make a booty call.

Later, Yasmine rolled her desk chair to Ada's side of the room. Which, granted, was only four feet away. "So, tell me about Jacob."

"He's eighteen. I told you he's majoring in biological engineering at MIT. He was salutatorian of our graduating class. His parents are Howard and -" Ada recited without looking up from writing on her tablet.

Yasmine rolled her eyes. "No, not the facts listed in his FBI file, like about him."

"I don't understand the question." Ada looked up, her eyes blank and serious behind her glasses.

"Do you like him?" Yasmine leaned forward.

"Of course I like him, he's my friend."

"Blimey, Ada. Why do you have to take every thing at face value all the time? I mean do you -" Yasmine rolled her hand "- like like him?"

First, Ada's eyebrows went up and then she got that little line she sometimes got between her brows. "I didn't know this was elementary school. Regardless, no. We grew up together. We have the relationship I would imagine I would have with a sibling. To like like -" Ada put her fingers up in air quotes "- him would be incestuous."

"Whatever." Yasmine pushed off with her black hightop and went back to her desk. "But, you know -" she turned around but kept Ada's face visible in the corner of her eye "- you could totally lay him if you wanted."

The look on Ada's face was worth it.

December finals were hell. For everyone except Ada. She studied, but no more than usual. She walked around in with her head in its usual cloud, wearing an old varsity sweater and some saddle shoes she found at a thrift shop ("I feel collegiate this week," she shrugged when Yasmine asked), and she was completely unruffled.

Finally, Yasmine could leave. She missed her dads after all. She missed London. Mostly, she was looking forward to not having to endure Ada's strangeness for a whole month. Having signed up for the winter session, Ada would only be gone two weeks. Of course she would, the overachiever.

But, bloody hell, when Ada called her from their dorm room to ask her a question about something that came in the mail there, if Yasmine wasn't glad to see that beautiful, aloof face.

Sophomore

His name was Dylan. Of course it was. He wore his blond hair long and in a low ponytail. Of course he did. He had a thumb ring. Of course he did. He played the guitar, writing his own slow, mournful songs. Of course he did. He had dropped out of college to pursue his art and worked as a barista to make ends meet. Of course he did.

He was the fourth of four things that happened Ada's sophomore year at Harvard that would change her life, although she didn't realize it yet.

The first, the most surprising, actually happened the spring before. Yasmine suggested they live together another year, and Ada, having somehow become rather fond of her, agreed. As sophomores, they even won their bid for a larger room with its own en suite. Ada knew that beneath that tough talking, promiscuous, always wearing solid black exterior, Yasmine was sharp as a tack. She knew that her natural voice was beautiful, with one of those accents that comes from more than one place, and she hoped Yasmine would realize that herself someday, and stop pretending to be the most British person on Earth. Most of all, Yasmine was always there when you needed her. Not that she would have ever admitted it.

The second was she decided to pick up a third major. Even if it meant it would take her a full four years to graduate because of various Harvard stipulations. Mathematics and Japanese were useful and sanctioned by her parents, but Fine Arts with a two-dimensional concentration was for her. They didn't necessarily approve, especially Dad, but they relented with only mild grumbling because they understood she wanted to be challenged and because she easily maintained a 4.0 her freshman year.

The third was she openly defied her parents for the first time ever. She got a job at Starbucks. They argued she should be devoting her time to her studies. They disagreed about how much allowance she needed to buy clothes. They blamed her newly found love of addictive stimulants on Yasmine. Well, that part was true. They never gave their blessing to this new enterprise. But Ada liked the monotony, the relative mindless activity she could do while allowing herself to think about her studies or a geometric idea she felt percolating in the back of her brain or working out the kinks in the next chapter of her fanfiction comic book before she posted it.

And there, behind the counter with her, was Dylan. It was his reserve that attracted Ada. She got along with her coworkers, but she did not like the idle gossip and petty grievances of the workplace. She got enough of that with Yasmine, and at least Yasmine was funny. She allowed them to think she was shy or a snob just because she didn't join in. But Dylan didn't, either, she noticed. He was also a couple of inches taller than her, and she appreciated his height. And, so, slowly, they became friends. He mentioned he was going to play in the basement of some bar one Friday night. "You should come," he shrugged.

"I can't," she said, looking away. "I'm only seventeen." She had not expected the way that statement felt like a confession, as though her youth were a crime. She had not expected her heart to sink at the idea that whatever it was she now realized was blossoming between them would die because she was underage.

"Seventeen?" Dylan asked, his eyebrows raised. "And a sophomore? What are you, a genius or something?"

"Yes. Exactly."

He didn't look surprised or say any of the things Ada was always hearing about her intelligence, and somehow that pleased Ada even more. "It doesn't matter, I'll tell them you're with me. Just don't order any beer. I'm only twenty myself, and they let me in to play."

She shouldn't have told Yasmine, who acted as though this was the most important thing in her life, never mind the perfect SAT score and the three majors, and insisted on coming along. Yasmine who peppered him with questions as they drank coffee after his hushed, forlorn set. Yasmine who didn't spare a second before she gave Ada her full, unfiltered opinion on him. Not that Ada expected any less.

"He's so boring. It was like talking to someone in a bloody coma," Yasmine protested as they walked back to the dorm in the dark autumn night, leaves crunching under their feet.

"He's calm," Ada said. "Not everyone can be as animated as you."

"That barmy music! You would think that someone died every single day in his life to make him that sad. It was like audible narcolepsy."

"He feels things deeply. He knows how to express himself eloquently. Without a curse word in every sentence." Ada sped up, so Yasmine would have to scramble to keep up with her long legs.

"He's too much like you. It will like snogging a mirror."

"We're nothing alike. He's a musician."

"Your parents will hate him," Yasmine called from behind her.

Ada stopped so suddenly Yasmine bumped into her back. "Bloody hell, Ada, it's dark."

"Do you really think so?" she whispered, not turning around.

"Definitely." Yasmine stepped around to look at her, rubbing her nose. "Which is the only good thing about this. Your first shag should always be against your parent's wishes."

"Is that all you think about?" Ada took off again.

It wasn't like kissing mirror. It was . . . nice, once Ada got up the nerve to initiate it. It definitely wasn't an English snog, which relieved Ada. She was too embarrassed to tell him she'd only ever been kissed once and that was an awful experience, but he was soft and gentle and unhurried in this, too. He liked to sit beside her while she silently read or drew and he wrote music, and he was even unruffled by Yasmine's obvious dislike of him. ("I've seen kindergarteners more fruity that you two," she mumbled on on the way out of their room.) He let her decide when and how much she wanted to be physical, and she never felt rushed or forced. He let her decide when and how much she wanted to see him in general. He was a gentleman, she defended him to Yasmine.

A believer in diving right in, Ada asked her parents to come to Thanksgiving in Boston instead of Texas, promising a trip to Plymouth Rock to make it more historically authentic. They were wild about corny things like that. Dylan agreed to come to Thanksgiving at a restaurant to meet them, and Ada's heart hammered the entire T ride there with him. Even her perfect dress, complete with its embroidered bodice that looked like stomacher (perfect for Thanksgiving in Massachusetts), didn't make her feel any better. She stopped in the vestibule at the restaurant, watching them in the waiting area through the glass, because they hadn't noticed her yet. They looked so old suddenly, she realized. Yes, her mother's braid had long since been gray, but for the first time she noticed a few silver hairs at her dad's temples. Once, she had thought she hated them, but now they made her sad somehow. She noticed they were holding hands, and her father seemed to be toying with her mother's wedding ring. He must be nervous to do that in public. They were just as frightened of the future as she was, and this realization coupled with their aging made them seem fragile and new to her. They had always been pillars of strength, they had been so confident in front of her before, and this stolen glimpse of their fears make her heart ache.

Ada had counted on them hating Dylan, just as Yasmine foretold. An artist, a college drop-out? But even Dad was strangely quiet. Mom must have preemptively admonished him into silence; she was the only one who had the power to do that. Mom was overly polite, asking Dylan too many questions, which was her way of dealing with any situation with Ada that made her uncomfortable. Usually Mom was blunt and sarcastic, which is how Ada preferred her, but Ada knew this act well. She wanted to be perfect to Ada's first boyfriend because she wanted Ada's first boyfriend to be perfect for Ada. She wanted everything to be perfect for Ada. So, in the end, it wasn't the disaster Ada had dreaded - no, planned on. It was awkward and strained but polite. They both genuinely wanted her to be happy, Ada realized, and it felt like a punch to the stomach.

That night, with nothing holding her back now, she opened her bottom dresser drawer and took out the small box. She opened and looked down at the pristine rows of pills. They always made her feel guilty, because she knew what they caused. It was the worst fight of her parent's marriage. Not that they told her that, of course, but it was the only time Dad had ever slept on the sofa. And for two nights in a row, even though he tried and failed to hide it. They had fought so loudly, she heard Mom yell even though the closed bedroom door, "No one else in this family is getting pregnant in collage!" To which Dad yelled back, even louder, "Your fears are unfounded because no daughter of mine is having coitus in college!"

But Mom didn't back down, and she took Ada to the gynecologist anyway. And, somehow, Dad found the peace to . . . to pretend it never happened. This summer, Mom took Ada back for a refill and it was never mentioned at home. Now, on Thanksgiving evening, Ada murmured something like a little prayer for her mother and a whisper of forgiveness from her father and swallowed the first pill.

Not that see needed it, because Dylan never once asked or implied that he was expecting sex from her. Even when Ada would not have minded him taking the lead, perhaps allowing himself to brush her bosom, he never attempted. Surely her parents would approve of that, if they knew?

Autumn gave way to winter, and it was at Yasmine's instance that she agreed to go to her first college house party. "But I'm only seventeen!" she protested.

"You'll be eighteen next week. And going to an underage party is the whole point!" Yasmine said.

As usual, once Yasmine got an idea in her head it would not leave until Ada complied. "Okay, fine, but I'll only try one beer."

The only thing left to do was decide what to wear. Digging through her closet, Ada reached in for her old prom dress. Yasmine just looked at her and shrugged. "It's not that kind of party, you know."

"Maybe I'm being ironic," Ada said.

"Oh, is that what you call it? Come on, Junior."

It was far too loud and noisy and stuffed with people. Everyone turned to stare at her when they went in, which Ada normally did not mind, but she suddenly understood how out of place she was here, especially in her dress. She retreated further and further back into the house, away from the stereo, away from keg and coolers of beer cans, away from Yasmine. The only relative peace was on an old sofa on some sort of enclosed but drafty back porch. Ada gathered her arms around her to keep from shivering. She was thirsty, but the kitchen was terrifyingly filthy. She was still clutching the beer can someone had handed her, and, shaking her head slightly, she opened and took a drink.

Her nose wrinkled and she swallowed it down as quickly as she could. Yuck, it tasted like dishwater! Seeing no way out other than through it, though, Ada took another drink. To the pounding of the music, she took another.

The can was almost gone when she heard it. "Ada Cooper?"

Ada turned toward the voice and grinned. "Jacob! What are you doing here?"

"I should ask you the same thing," he said, his dark eyebrows bushed. He walked toward her, reached out and snatched the almost empty can of beer from her. "You're only seventeen!"

"Hey, that's mine! And I'll be eighteen next week." Ada sat up a little straighter, to make herself even taller. Which wasn't hard with Jacob. "And you're only nineteen."

"Twenty next month. And I can hold my liquor," he said, sitting down on the sofa next to her, sending a puff of dust up into the air.

"Who says I can't? Why are you always asking like my older brother?" She would not admit it, but her vision was a little swimmy on the edges.

"Don't you mean acting, not asking? Because it's clear someone needs to. Does Yasmine know you're here?"

"She's not my mother, either! Don't think I don't know that Yasmine reports to Faisal who reports to Mom! Besides, she brought me."

Jacob growled. "Are you drunk? Because there was no logic to that statement, only paranoia. Come on, Ada, I'll take you home," Jacob said, putting his hand on her shoulder.

"No! I'm a college student, I should be at a college party!" Ada shook her head and then immediately regretted it as the room started to spin.

"Ada Fowler Cooper, you're acting like a baby," Jacob said, his face getting closer to hers.

"I'm not a baby. You're always calling me that!" Ada protested, leaning in herself to make her point. "My IQ is higher than yours!"

"And you're always rubbing that in my face!" Jacob said, his voice getting loud now. "Do you have any idea what a snot-nosed brat you sound like sometimes?"

"Then why do you keep finding a way to - to meet me?" Ada asked. She reached out to steady herself and only managed to grab the edge of his shirt.

At first, all she tasted was beer. And then something sweeter, like sunshine and flowers and honey. Oh, God!, her eyes closed and she squeezed him tighter, letting his tongue run over her own, her teeth, meeting it with the same ardor as one arm came around her back. Something gentle brushed and then rested against the bosom of her old prom dress and she moaned in delight. She leaned down into him, pressing, and Jacob turned his head to accommodate her passion and both sets of glasses. Never, ever, had she felt such a sensation, radiately down from her lips, up from her genitals, oh! how soft and warm and yielding and hungry his mouth was. She drank from him deeply, her breath coming in hot rushes through her nose, another moan escaping, her hand finding its way under his shirt, burying her nails into the thick patch of chest hair she found there, fireworks exploding behind her eyes when Jacob pressed harder, nibbling on her bottom lip.

"Ada!"

Pushing him away, Ada sat back with a gasp, opening her eyes to finally stare at him, his lips red and moist, his brown eyes wide behind his glasses. What had she just done?

She turned, the room spinning around her. "Yasmine . . ."

"Blimey, you do snog, after all -"

"Shut up!" Ada yelled, her hand reaching for her head. "I'm going to be sick," she moaned and struggled to get up. She only allowed Yasmine to help her up so that she could run away faster. The last thing she heard before she ran from the room was Yasmine saying to Jacob, "She has a boyfriend, you know. Just because it's obvious you're in lo -"

Ada ran through the house, through the front door, and vomited all over the front porch.

Yasmine, smelling like that spicy perfume she always wore was there, holding her hair back, covering her with her coat, shouting at everyone to get away, taking her home. Yasmine, who Ada was certain never once reported back to Faisal about their escapades, removed the vomit stained prom dress as Ada sobbed on the bathroom floor and helped her into the hot bathtub.

"I love you, Yasmine," Ada said as she grabbed her hand over the edge.

"Bullocks. How much did you drink?" But -" Yasmine reached for the shampoo, a smile playing on her lips "- that was quite an exit, Junior. I couldn't have done better myself."

The next day, Ada remained curled up in her bed, awash with shame. She had let down her parents. And Dylan. She was a horrible person. What was she going to do? There was a knock on the door, and when Yasmine opened it, Ada groaned and turned her face toward the wall. Jacob. "Tell him to go away," she yelled.

Ada heard a few murmured words and then the door shut again. She glanced over and saw Yasmine was gone now, too. Well, good, she was sick of her telling her to get up and to stop acting maudlin and saying "it was just a kiss." But it was a kiss with the wrong man!

Then Yasmine came back in and stood next to her bed. "Okay, Junior, I'm going to give you a speech. Think of it as a practical for my future career as the best damn barrister in all of Britain. If you insist that you love that stick in the mud, Dylan, fine, whatever it's your life. If you refuse to see what's right in of you, whatever, I am not your seeing eye dog. If you want to flog yourself forty times because you think you committed the worst possible sin on Earth, that's your decision. But I will not stand by and watch you throw away the longest friendship of your life. That boy -" Yasmine pointed to the door and Ada groaned again, knowing that meant Jacob was still on other side of it "- hauls his ass over from MIT to see you. Have you ever once gone over to see him? He's worried about you. So, yeah, you make out with him for a couple of minutes under the influence of some alcohol. Don't you think it was embarrassing for him, too? Or maybe even that you hurt him? He knows you have a boyfriend. He's come to ask your forgiveness, Ada."

Yasmine didn't even wait for reply, she just turned and Ada heard her combat boots pounding as she left the door open behind her. Jacob came in and stood by Ada's bed. "She's going to be an amazing lawyer. I'm terrified and she was my counsel."

Ada couldn't help it, she smiled. Then she sat up in bed. "I'm sorry, Jacob. I don't know what I was thinking, I drank that beer -"

"No, it was my fault, too. More my fault, really. You know, as your older, wiser, big brother." Jacob was looking down at his feet, shuffling them, fidgeting with his fingers like he often did. On reflex, Ada reached a finger out to push against his hand in the way she had learned years ago would make him stop. It did, and he looked up at her. "Will you forgive me?"

"If you'll forgive me," Ada said.

"I already have." He stopped and reached for her iKindle, sitting on the edge of her nightstand. "What are you reading?"

"Radiance. It's considered the first entry in decopunk, before it was popular. I was thinking it might be good fodder for a new fanfiction. Have you read it?" She folded her legs up under her.

Jacob flopped down on the bed next to her and shook his head. "No. But you know I love your fanfictions. I just started the Dresden File books. Dad likes them. Have you read those?"

The party wasn't mentioned again between them. But Ada knew what she still needed to do. She dressed carefully and was just fastening the pearls when Yasmine came in several days later.

"Crikey. What are you dressed as, a nun?"

"It's just a black dress and Grandmother's pearls," Ada said, wrapping her hair into a low bun.

"Who calls their granny Grandmother, anyway?"

"I'm going to tell Dylan," Ada said.

"You're breaking up with him?" Yasmine asked, and Ada winced at the slight squeal in her voice.

"No. I'm confessing to him what happened the party. And I hope he'll still have me," Ada said, sticking pins in her hair.

"Oh. I thought he wasn't having you at all," Yasmin said, turning away.

"Just because I choose not to share every detail of my love live with the whole dorm at ear-splitting volume, doesn't mean -" Ada took a deep breath. "Fine, if you must know, I've also decided that if he agrees to stay with me, then I would like to have intercourse with him."

"Hallufreakingljah!" Yasmine turned back around excitedly. "Wait, in that outfit? Not in that outfit! Or are you waiting for a sexy birthday night? Do you have protection? Do you have any questions? Do you -"

"Yasmine." Ada put a hand on her shoulder. "I am fully prepared for this. I have been taking birth control since November. My mother is a biologist and she never met a topic or event that she couldn't turn into a lecture."

"Oh my God!" Yasmine surprised her by reaching out to pull her into a hug. "My little girl is growing up."

However, Dylan was not alarmed by Ada's confession. "It was just a kiss?" was all he asked.

"Yes," Ada said, and there was a faint tick of dishonestly buried deep in her brain that she shoved away.

"Okay," Dylan said, looking down to strum another chord on his guitar.

"Dylan?" Ada asked, her mouth dry.

"Yeah?"

"I'd like us to make love."

He looked up and then shrugged. "Sure. If you want."

To be continued . . .

Part one?! Two things conspired this week to cause this unusual turn of events: 1) this chapter turned out far longer than I anticipated, and 2) I was having difficulties with this website which affected my uploading/editing capabilities. However, I won't make you wait a whole week to find out what happens. I plan on posting Part Two on Sunday, if the website is willing.

Thank you in advance for your reviews!