Jae Ham
"What are you doing on your phone?"
"I'm reading.."
"What?"
Bianca backs away, clutching her phone protectively. "I won't say a word without the presence of my lawyer."
"Lawyer--you're fifteen years old!" Even as I say this, she's already hurrying into her bedroom. And with the thin walls of the house, I can clearly hear Cody singing another song by Backstreet Boys in his room. When it comes to his favorite band, he has absolutely no shame.
It is Sunday evening. Three days after the Murder Mystery party. It turns out, the murderer was actually Knox. Is she tall? Yes. Is she talented? Yes, she's very skilled at gymnastics. She also used to do aerobics in middle school. But she stopped when she became addicted to gambling.
Sage has been really quiet and distant since that night. I've wanted to ask her what was wrong, but her body language made it crystal clear how she wasn't in the mood to answer any of my questions.
I shake my head to set aside my cluttered thoughts. I try to focus on the task at hand. I'm in charge of wash duty tonight. I'm wearing yellow sanitary gloves, the sink is half-full of foamy water, and immersed in the tiny pool are eleven dirty plates, four stained bowls, six messy forks and spoons, six glasses, and a couple of saucers.
I am halfway done with the tedious chore, muttering beneath my breath on how laborious this feels, when I sense a vibration in the pocket of my pants. It's my phone, blaring the lyrics to "Demons" by Imagine Dragons.
Removing my soaked gloves, I place them on the damp counter and reach into my pocket for my phone and answer it without bothering to check caller ID. "Who is this?" I ask.
"It's Sage."
I feel as though the ground has fallen away from my feet.
"Hello? Ham? Are you there?"
"Y-yeah. I'm still here." To underscore my equanimity, I muster a calm voice. "I'm surprised you called." My free hand is clasping the wet faucet above the sink full of plates and silverware.
"That makes both of us," she says, her tone awkward.
I'm tapping my right foot on the tiled floor, wondering why Sage dialed my number in the first place. Is she in trouble? Does she need my help? Or is this about tomorrow's event at school?
Of the million possible things to say, Sage chooses: "Can we talk about sex?"
"What?" My voice is high, and my hand slips off the faucet and into the sink, ramming into the stack of plates with a loud clatter.
"What happened??" Grandmother exclaims from the living room.
"My hand just slipped. It's nothing," I assure her, keeping my expression steady for emphasis. I shake my hand to wiggle out the water that drenched my skin before I speak into my phone again. "I want to check if I heard you right. What did you say?"
"Can we talk about sex?" she reiterates, utterly patient.
I drum my fingers on the wet counter, feeling poleaxed, feeling more nonplussed than I've ever been in a long time. I don't know Sage. I have no clue if she's a stranger to this kind of subject, whether or not she has any.. experience. Me? I'm a virgin. My friends respect that about me, even though half of them have already lost their V-card one or two years ago.
Yes, she's attractive. Even a blind man can see that with or without that mask, she has a face that can make any person sin. Just her brown eyes are enough to make anyone weak, and with her long golden hair, milky white skin, and sinewy form, she's practically irresistible.
