The Other Girl

Chapter XI

By the time Calum and I were in senior year, neither of us were particularly new to the subject of sex. Everyone knew that I wasn't a virgin—Lester Breuer had a delightful way of advertising that even though he wasn't one to brag—and Calum couldn't be with all the girls trying to get into his pants.

The first time I slept with Calum was extraordinary in the way that I don't remember a single moment of it. It was a messy, drink-over-heels accident in which we agreed to play seven minutes in heaven during a party at Chad's—god knows why—but were locked in a room and forgotten about until someone finally unwedged the chair from under the door handle and rescued us the next day.

I don't actually remember much of the night—a few unglamorous flashes here and there of sweaty bodies punctuated by moans and slapping skin—or the morning, except that my head ached like a blue-green bruise and I threw up on the side of the bed upon waking as Calum held my hair.

Remembering it, I feel mortified that I put Calum through two hours of sitting in a room with the upturned contents of my alcohol-filled stomach, but Calum never brought it up. In fact I think he secretly took the credit for the mess as, during the next visit, Chad thanked Calum for buying him a new rug.

After that incident everything we did seemed reasonably within bounds. "Neither of us remember how it was," Calum had said wistfully, a grin on his face. "Seems like such a waste that I don't remember sex with the Stella Reyes."

"Easily resolved—we do it again," I joked, and we did. "Friends with benefits," people would say, and I'd agree. Except that our relationship would have been approved—supported even—by our families.

"I heard you're seeing the Remington boy," my mother had noted one day when I was walking through the kitchen.

"Mother, I can explain," I started, but my mother stopped me.

"It's fine. He's fine," she said, turning back to the chopping board to continue dicing the carrots—something she did to amuse herself once in a while when office work seemed lacking.

---

"We shouldn't single people out," Whitney said, frowning as we laid around Karen's room in various states of disarray. Whitney was getting her nails done by Quinn, Karen was on her computer, and Stacey and I were on our phones.

"We're not," Stacey defended with pursed lips. "She can come next time—just not this time."
"Pizza sounds good?" Karen asked, reaching for her phone. "Haven't had it in a while."

"How about pepperoni and cheese?" Quinn suggested, applying a layer of topcoat to top off Whitney's nails. "I miss the simple things."

"Sounds good to me," I said. Stacey shrugged, flipping through her phone as Whitney nodded.

"Pepperoni and cheese it is then," Karen declared, excusing herself to make the order.

"Down to business then," Stacey said, finally putting her phone down beside her and assuming her I-will-ask-and-you-will-answer pose. "Does everyone still think Kimberly's just a fling?"

"Isn't she?" Whitney asked, frowning.

"You're thinking she's not?" Quinn asked, turning around to look at Stacey.

"No, but this stupid charade with Calum has been dragging on long enough," Stacey said. "The earlier he fucks and drops her, the sooner we can ditch her virgin ass."

"Juicy stuff?" Karen asked as she reentered the room, checking her computer briefly before closing the screen. "What'd I miss?"

"Stacey thinks Calum should be getting over Kimberly soon," I told her. "She's not that bad, is she? And I doubt she'd still want to be friends after Calum drops her."