Lada and I are sitting in those bean bag chairs on the floor while she does my nails. We couldn't agree on a movie—I told her I don't like the Austin Powers movies and she looked at me like I grew an extra head, she said Keeping Up With The Kardashians was a guilty pleasure of hers and I fell off the bean bag chair laughing at her frantically. I joked we should watch Twilight, and she looked ready to dry heave, so we're listening to electro swing music.

   "Lada," I say. "No offense, but you're terrible at painting nails."

   She nods. "Always have been—it's why I don't do my own, ever."

   I lean back in my bean bag chair while she screws the lid on, resting my palms on my thighs. "I feel like I don't know enough about you," Lada says.

   "I don't think there's much to know about me," she says.

   "No," she says. "I doubt that—everyone says that, and then you get into a conversation and you learn like, ninety things about them and they're all surprising, but they shouldn't be, because it's basic knowledge, a lot of it. I don't want to be friends with someone and know nothing about them."

   I shrug. "My father always told me, if you're friends with someone, you need to trade secrets to seal the deal—because you're supposed to be able to trust your friends, so if you don't feel comfortable admitting something personal that not everyone knows, you shouldn't be friends with them."

   "Huh," Lada says. "Never heard of that one before."

   She props her elbow up on the beanbag, rests her chin on the palm and looks at me. "Do you want to go first?"

   I know what to say, I think, but I wonder if it's too personal. She notes my hesitation and pauses. "...I'll go first," she says. "I'm a little scared to bring this up, but I want to be friends with you, so." She clears her throat. "Okay. Don't tell anyone, but—" That's how every secret starts, it always seems. At least, the good ones. The ones that mean something. "...I've been dying to tell someone, so you'll be the first—I lost my virginity over the summer."

   "Oh, wow," I say. I feel my face heat up. "You did?"

   She laughs awkwardly. "Yeah. I've been kind of wanting to tell someone, but like—who do you tell about that? It...It was honestly kind of magical, if I'm being honest."

   I'm curious. "How so?"

   "Alright, so I got a part time job this summer delivering sandwiches for a  local business around here. It was like, a week after I started going on a break with my ex and I was...not doing well, you know? Have you ever had a broken heart?"

   I think about a lot of things. My father, coming out, meeting my step-father, I think about Minni for the first time in a long time. "I think so," I say.

   She nods. "I just... wasn't in a good place, and I was eager for anything to distract me—and I also wanted to wallow in my misery and cry my heart out because I thought for sure we were through. Anyway, I was making a delivery to this nice house, and my directions were to go into the backyard to deliver them.. The gate was open—large backyard, large pool and there was six girls. Half of which were sunbathing, two were swimming and this one girl was sitting on the pavement, her feet in the water. One of the sunbathing girls looked up at me and shouted out, 'Amor!'

   "The girl with her feet in the water looked over at me, and oh my god, Rozhan, she was stunning. Drop dead gorgeous. Olive skin, thick black hair, and um..." She blushes. "She was in a pink bikini, like, think cotton candy pink. We locked eyes, she got to her feet and walked over to me. Clenched in her fist was a fifty—and she had paid with a debit card on line, so I assumed I had lucked out and was getting a large tip. I handed her her sandwich and she just...tilted her head at me and asked if I wanted that fifty as a tip.

   "And I was like, 'yeah? Sure? Definitely?' And she just...grinned at me and put it right between her breasts."

   "You're joking," I say.

   "I know, right? I barely believe it, but I swear it happened. And I thought that meant I wasn't getting a tip, but no, she told me she wanted me to grab it—with my teeth."

"No way."

"Yes way! And like, I was kind of psyched because she was hot, but also—I didn't want to be stupid and bother her, so I was really hesitant, but no, she was serious. Got a face full of tits, pulled it out with my teeth and she laughed, winked at me, and said I had pretty teeth before going back to her friends, who were laughing their asses off. One of them called me 'the cute delivery girl' and I wasn't sure if I wanted to be called anything else ever.

"And then, no more than a week later, I ran into her at a public pool, in the same pink bikini and she laughed and took me out for a smoothie and—well, long story short, she fingered me in her car."

"Wow," I say.

"Yep," she says. "Makes a really good story, right? That's like the only reason I want to tell people—because it was so bizarre and such a good story, I feel like it's something that needs to be shared and it was super cool, but..." She sighs. "Not one of those things you just go around telling people. And she was only here visiting family, she was from Miami, so it was just a one time thing. I don't want to tell people, because like..." She moves some hair out of her face. "Then like, you go immediately from a virgin to a slut, you know? Or people don't believe you, or they just think you’re weird? I didn't want to be one of those Freshman who lost their virginity the moment they entered high school, because everyone made fun of those girls, and I still feel like I was a Freshman then."

"That doesn't make you a slut," I say.

"Nice that you say that," she says. "I know some people wouldn't be that nice."

"I mean—if you wanted to do it, it's not that bad, I guess?" I drum my fingers on my pant leg.

"Alright—your turn, Rozhan."

I suck in a breath. "Are you sure? It's a bit of a downer."

"I'm sure," she says. "This is just a matter of whether or not you're sure."

I suppose I am. "So, you know how people have their happy places?" I ask. She nods. "I know most people just like, have the beach, or a library, or somewhere quiet, or something, but mine's like, this really specific moment. There's few things that can calm me down when I'm really not calm, and it's popcorn, Deming, and this specific moment."

Lada looks a me, her blonde hair falling off the bean bag chair and falling on the rug. "What's the moment?" She asks.

"It's...really fucking stupid, but um..." I lean back and just stare at the ceiling. "I'm in the kitchen of our old house, when I was real young, before I came out, before I even knew I was a girl, though I knew I wasn't like, you know, like all the guys around me. ...With my mom and dad, making pancakes. It was my dad's birthday and my mom preferred waffles, but she made pancakes for him because she loved him and I just remember it being one moment of peace—I remember being placid, and calm, and...happy. It makes me miss him, but...every time I think about it, I'm back in that kitchen, with that checkered floor, syrup on my fingers."

   Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Lada staring at me, her lips forming a sad, silent "oh."

"Yeah," I said. "Bad." I cross my arms. "I don't even think I've told Deming about this—I mean, he probably knows, he has a tendency to just kind of know things about me, the way I just know things about him, but um..." Saying it out loud is almost freeing. Finally admitting that, despite my complicated feelings on just about everything, that moment gives me a simple sense of calm. "So, yeah."

   "What happened to your father?" Lada asks.

   "Um..." I rub at the back of my neck. "...When I came out to him and mom, he... didn't take it so well. He like, didn't understand. Thought it was a phase. All that. He went for a drive. And I felt hopeful—because, like, he went on drives when he needed a moment, to clear his head."

   I sigh. "He was gone for three days. We spent three days freaking out. He apparently drove straight into a ditch and wasn't found...until three days." I rub at my eyes. "I think my mom went through all five stages of grief simultaneously when she heard the news."

   "I'm so sorry," she says. "I shouldn't have asked—that was...I shouldn't have asked."

   I shake my head. "No—It's fine." I smile. "We're friends now. This is something friends talk about, right?"

Lada brightens—I think this is good, though.

   "We should do this again some time," she says. We've decided to leave everything here, and that on Halloween, before the party, I'll come over early so she can help me get ready—she said I could even bring Deming over. "I can't remember the last time I just hung out with someone like this."

"We should," I say. "I had fun." My phone vibrates—Deming is here.

   "Alright!" She says. She wraps me in a large hug, pressing my face into her neck. "You get home safely, okay? Next Friday, three o'clock, don't be late."

   "I won't."

   Deming's parked in the street. It is much easier to walk down the driveway than up and I barely stumble. I climb into the backseat—Deming is in the passenger, and Kohl is in front. "Yo," I greet them.

   "Why the hell is her driveway so tall?" Deming asks, as if that was a conversation topic we discussed at great length. I shrug.

"A lot of rich people have tall driveways," Kohl says. He takes off down the street.

"How was your guy's date?" I ask.

Deming's blush is noticeable—and there's just a small mark on Kohl's face, a mark that matches the nude shade of lipstick Deming's wearing. "Good," Deming says.

Kohl's smiling softly. Deming looks over at me. "How was all that with Lada?"

I pause for a moment. "Definitely different. But I guess we're friends now. We found a costume. I need to come over next Friday, at two. She said you can come over too."

"Cool!" Deming exclaims. "I'd love to bother you."

The next morning, Kohl and I go early to the gym because we both woke up at a weird amount of time. "So, what happened between you and Lada?" He asks, side by side with me on the treadmills like always. We just kind of prefer running—and it's waking me more up. I've been up since four am and I spent an hour trying to get back to bed—that didn't work.

   I shrug. "We traded secrets," I said. "And she took me shopping for a costume. Some middle aged Karen got pissed that I was in the women's dressing rooms."

   Kohl looks at me. "Really?"

   "Yep," I admit. "It was humiliating." I regret bringing this up—I press a few buttons on the treadmill and start running.

   "What was the secrets?" Kohl asks grinning.

   "If I told you, they wouldn't be secrets," I respond.

   He chuckles. "You sound like Deming."

   I frown—it doesn't sound specifically like something Deming would say. "What makes you say that?" I ask.

   "I don't know." He checks his phone real quick—his eyes brighten but then it flickers and he puts it back. "Everything just kind of sounds like Deming to me, if I'm being honest. I hear his voice everywhere."

   "That's weird," I say.

   "I guess—but I like it."

   "Is that what being in love is? Hearing their voice everywhere?"

   Kohl shrugs. "I mean—maybe? I think that's what my love for him is, at least."

   "Huh." The entire gym is quiet—there's no employees nearby, which is good, because our conversations can get kind of weird. "Neat."

   We go quiet for a moment, but we're never quiet for long. "Speaking of Deming," I say, after like, exactly a moment. "Do you know what's been with him lately?"

   Kohl sighs. "No. He doesn't want to talk about it." Something flickers in his eyes. "I know something's wrong, but he just...doesn't want to talk about it. And I don't know why—we don't hide things like this from each other! And I know, even if he'd hide something like this from me, he'd never hide it from you. It has to be something."

   "I can't think of anything that would really get him down like this," I say.

   "I'm scared to bring it up now," he confesses. "I...I don't want to seem pushy. Because like, he can keep secrets from me, you know? He doesn't have to tell me everything, and I get it—but I'm so worried. I just want to help."

   "I'll try and talk about it with him later."

   Kohl sighs, presses a button and steps off. "I'm going to go to the bathroom, Rozhan."

   "Okay," I respond. I make the treadmill slow down a bit, but I'm still going relatively fast, I think.. I'm also sweating profusely and it's kind of gross, but I can take a shower when I get home.

I jog by myself for awhile—and then a girl walks up. "Is this treadmill empty?" A familiar voice asks.

I look over my shoulder and see Gina—the pretty girl with abs, in case you forgot, much like I have until this very moment. I almost stumble. "Oh, um..." She's pointing at the one on the other side of me, not Kohl's. "Yeah, sure, totally."

   "Ha, cool—I need to run off all the sweets I've been eating." She still has her abs. She starts running next to me.

Kohl comes back, looking exhausted. "I'm not feeling too good, Rozhan—any chance we can leave early?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure." I turn off the treadmill and look at him. "Is everything okay?"

"Not feeling well."

"Alright, let's go."

"Bye, Rozhan," she says.

"Bye, Gina."

Once we're out of earshot, Kohl asks, "Do you know her?"

"I don't think I do?"

The drive is quiet. Kohl goes five miles above the speed limit and when we reach my house, he kicks me out and drives off quickly. I have no idea what that's about.

It's concerning—I just hope he doesn't text and drive while he speeds.