Between by Jessica Warman

trouble for it. His parents have a “live and let live” kind of attitude. They don’t believe in imposing too many rules on their son.
    “Oh.” Josie stares down at her bare arms. Her skin is a deep, lovely bronze that is the result of hours spent in a tanning salon. Unlike her mother, Josie isn’t a natural beauty; she has to really work at it. She exercises a lot, takes spinning classes and lifts weights just to maintain an okay figure. And her hair is naturally much darker than mine, almost brown; she gets it highlighted every six weeks to keep up the illusion that she’s a natural blonde. “I guess so.”
    “Want me to come with you?” Caroline offers. She holds up a single finger, gesturing for Topher to wait before leaving without her.
    Josie appears to be studying Richie. “No,” she says. “That’s okay. I think I’ll hang around for a few more minutes, actually.”
    Caroline shrugs. “Whatever. I’ll be at home if you need me.” She pauses. “Just make sure you call first. My parents aren’t letting me out without, like, advance notice.”
    Richie and Josie—and Alex and I, for that matter—watch without saying anything as Caroline walks down the steps and climbs into the backseat of Topher’s car. After the three of them pull away, Richie says, “Well, I guess you should go get your coat.”
    Josie nods. “I guess so.”
    “I’ll come with you,” he says.
    Walking into Richie’s house feels like going home in so many ways. I can’t count the number of afternoons I’ve spent here, the weekend sleepovers—in the basement, with all of our other friends—and of course, all the time Richie and I spent alone, in his room.
    Like I said, his parents are hippies. It’s funny; Nicole is such a free spirit, but Richie’s mom and dad never seemed to warm to her after my mother died. My real mom and Richie’s mom were close, and his parents always liked me—but it wasn’t like our families were particularly close. Even though everybody thought Richie and I would eventually get married. Even though we lived two doors down from each other practically our whole lives.
    “So this is where the magic happened,” Alex says, looking around Richie’s room. He glances at my body.
    I raise an eyebrow. “What?”
    “Nothing.”
    “No, it’s not nothing, Alex. What did you mean, ‘this is where the magic happened’?”
    He blushes. “You know. All the sex.” He bites his lip, still gazing at me. He might hate me, but I know it doesn’t change the way I look. “I bet you two did it, huh?”
    Alex is wrong, though. Despite all the time we spent alone in Richie’s room, when his parents weren’t even home, I remember now that we never went all the way. The night in his car after prom—and later on, in the boat—was as close as we ever came. Even then, it wasn’t that close.
    When I tell Alex this, he looks shocked. “You dated him for how long?”
    “Since we were twelve,” I say. “Almost six years.”
    He shakes his head, laughing. “Man, he must have been frustrated .”
    “No,” I say firmly. “Richie wasn’t like that. He never would have pressured me to do anything I wasn’t ready to do.”
    “Still,” Alex says, “you guys were going to be seniors, and Richie could have had any girl he wanted. I mean, he’s Famous Richie Wilson .”
    “I know that,” I snap. “We were going to do it. Just not yet.”
    Alex gives me a long stare. “Are you sure about that? You’re sure he felt the same way?”
    “Yes, I’m sure.” I look around the room and feel overwhelmingly sad. It’s the same room where he gave me my first real kiss, the same room where we sat on his bed and talked for hours, sometimes well into the night, so many times. The bedroom is big and warm and filled with light. It’s on the far right side of the house, and it takes up the whole length of the place, so there are three windows: one in front, looking out on the street; one on the side, facing the