Chapter 72

"Elastigirl," Jonah says out of nowhere.

I narrow my eyes into the darkness. "Am I supposed to know who that is?"

A low light illuminates in his bedroom when he grabs his phone, taps it a few times, then rolls over to show me.

I'm on a pull-out bed on the floor of his bedroom, while he lies in his.

After telling Lana and Connie everything, Connie suggested I stay, spend the night in Jonah's room, like before. They all looked so hopeful, Jonah especially, and so I agreed. We ate dinner in his room while the rest of the family continued theirs at the table, and then we played video games until his dad told us it was time for bed. We're eighteen. And, besides Harlow telling me the light from my Switch was keeping her up, I can't remember the last time anyone told me to go to bed.

I take his phone from him and look at the screen—at an image of a cartoon girl in a red and black spandex suit, posing with her hands on her hips. "What about her?"

"First boner I ever got."

"What the fuck?" I chuckle, the sound so unfamiliar, even to my own ears. It feels strange to laugh, given the night I've had, but it also feels… right. I think being able to share my thoughts and worries with people—people more experienced in life—helped a lot. I feel lighter somehow. Like there's less burden on just my shoulders alone.

Jonah takes back his phone. "We missed out on so much over the years, I figured I'd catch you up on all the important details."

"Got it." Linking my fingers behind my head, I stare up at the ceiling, try to get comfortable.

"Jane Vicente. First kiss. Eighth grade. She tasted like pickles. I didn't like it."

I roll to my side, wait for him to continue.

"First time fooling around? Tenth grade. Amelia Blanco. She touched me over my jeans. I touched her over her shirt."

I have no idea who he's talking about.

"First actual sexual experience? Last year. Sammy Buxton."

My brow dips in confusion. "I thought you guys hated each other."

"False," he's quick to correct. "That hate is one-sided. I'm in love with the girl."

"Noted."

"We were at a party at Ryan's."

I don't know if I need to know the details, but Jonah seems adamant about telling me, so I stay quiet and listen.

"We're talking. I tell her I'm hungry and she says she is too, so we go to Ryan's kitchen. His walk-in pantry, to be exact, and she kisses me. And I'm like, hell yeah, I've wanted her for the longest time. So, we make out for, like, a half hour. She lets me touch her in places, and then we both agree to go upstairs. To Ryan's bed."

"Does he know this?"

"Shut up," he quips. "So, we're in Ryan's bed, and we start fooling around, and next thing you know, we're naked… One thing leads to another and we're having sex… Next minute, it's over, and I apologize and she assures me it's fine."

"Wait." I lift my head slightly. "Why did you apologize?"

"Did you miss the part where I said, next minute, bro? That's literally how long I lasted."

"Oh, no…"

"Yep," he says, popping the p. "So this girl—this beautiful, insanely cool girl—can't look at me when it's over, because she just realized she gave up her virginity to a dickhead like me. We get dressed, go our separate ways… Then I get to school on Monday, and she flat out hates me. Glares at me the whole time. Can't stand to be around me. And it's been that way since. And I get it, I do… I, too, would hate to be associated with a two-pump chump."

I laugh quietly into the darkness.

"What about you?" he asks, flicking on the lamp on the nightstand. He looks down at me from his position on the bed, waiting expectantly.

Eyebrows raised, I ask, "My first boner?"

He shrugs.

I can't believe we're having this conversation. "D.Va from Overwatch."

"Good answer," he replies, impressed, and offers his fist for a bump. I do as he asks.

"First kiss?"

"Reyna," I answer. "She's all the firsts, and I think you already know that."

"I figured," he says, nodding. "But she's not your first love, right?"

I sigh, positive he already knows the answer to that too. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Was it wrong of me… to ask for the payout?"

"I don't know." It's his turn to sigh. "There are a lot of factors to take in here."

"Like?"

"Like, did she know you were going to do it?"

"No."

"Did you wait until you actually had sex before cashing out?"

"Yes."

"Why wait, though? Why not just say you did it and get the payout earlier?"

"Because I don't cheat."

"Bro." Another sigh, this one heavier. "I'm really trying to see your side here…"

"I didn't know it was wrong," I tell him, my voice just above a whisper.

"Have you told her that?" he asks, hopeful. "Maybe you can work things out?"

I shake my head against the pillow, look up at the ceiling again. "No chance."

"Why not?"

"Because she told me a bunch of other things that were wrong with me when we broke up, and those are things I can't change. It's just who I am."

Something is wrong with me.

He rolls onto his back before switching off the lamp, coating the room in darkness again. "I'm sorry, man."

I shrug, even though he can't see it. "It is what it is."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean it doesn't suck."

For a long moment, we lie in silence, and I feel I should do more than just… exist here with him.

The guy answered my call at two in the morning and didn't hesitate to get in his truck to be there when I needed him. I think back to when we were at the spring, when he gave me memories of my parents I'd long forgotten. Now, it makes me wonder how long he'd been waiting to share those with me. Had he always wanted to? Had he just been on the sidelines waiting for the right time? If so, why did he choose then?

I realize now that it doesn't matter.

He gave me his memories. I should probably give him one of my own. "Jonah?"

"Yeah?"

"You remember when your dad used to go to Dallas, and he'd always come back with basketball cards for us? We could get them in Fremont, but there was something special about those cards specifically."

"Yeah, I always waited until we were together to tear into them."

"And we had to hide the good ones from Reyna."

He mocks in a high-pitched voice, "I like the sparkly ones."

A chuckle pours from my chest. "And remember, for Christmas one time, Lana had these custom cards made for us. She gave me one of you, and another of the both of us…"

Jonah shifts in the bed, and a second later, the light's on again. He reaches into the drawer of his nightstand, just above my head, and pulls out said card to show me. He'd put it in an acrylic frame, as if it were something to be protected and memorialized. I sit up and take it from him, stare at a picture of a younger me with the ball held to my side. Warmth fills my chest, and I ask, "You have the one of the both of us?"

He grabs his wallet from the nightstand and silently reveals the card he keeps within the worn leather. It's faded now, the card cracked in places, but the image is still there. So is the memory. Side by side we stand, our arms around each other's shoulders as we wear matching jerseys. Matching smiles. We were so innocent then, so untouched by the realities of life, because our parents made sure of it.

Emotion clogs my throat, coats my eyes with liquid warmth. I sniff back my response and hand it back to him. I don't look at him when I ask, "You still collect basketball cards?"

"Nah," he says, sliding the card back in his wallet. "I don't actually like basketball all that much."

"What?" I ask, my eyes snapping to his. "Why join the teams, then?"

He shrugs. "I just wanted to play with you."