Pieces of Us by Margie Gelbwasser Page A

Exposed again. But I remind myself that this isn’t Katie’s life. It’s Katya’s. And it’s safe here under the blanket, in Sasha’s arms. I manage to give a small wave. “Hey, how’s it going?”
    Kostya stutters, stumbles, backs out of the room mumbling a bunch of I’m sorrys before slamming the screen door of the cottage.
    Sasha flops down on the bed, fuming.
    I put my hand on his arm. Despite Kostya being the same age as me, he oozes innocence. He’s not like Chris. Not like Ethan. He didn’t mean it. “I’m fine, okay? You can relax. Not like he planned this or anything.”
    Sasha doesn’t say anything, and I squeeze his arm. “You saw how embarrassed he was. I bet he’s never even gotten past first base, right?”
    For some reason, he laughs. “He sure looks that way, doesn’t he?” And for some reason I get goose bumps again.

Kyle
     
    W hen it all started years ago, you were ten and Alex twelve. He thought he was so big because he was in seventh grade but already wrestling and playing football with the eighth graders. He liked to say that he could get more ass than most of them—which you’re pretty sure meant heavy hooking up. Back then, that kind of talk impressed you, even though you didn’t get all of it. The day it started, you and Alex were on the floor of his room playing Mario Kart on the Wii. Alex’s flavor of the week, a curvy fourteen-year old—you think her name was Deedee or Deirdre or Daisy, but Alex always called her D—was on his bed making dumb comments. She kept asking him to play with her buttons instead of the controllers’. “I’m worth the wait, babe,” he told her, not looking at her, not taking his fingers off the controller. Then he elbowed you and smirked, and you laughed like you totally got the joke.
    You beat him three times. Fair and square—Alex would never throw a game. He punched you in your arm a little too hard—you had a small bruise the next day—but you knew he respected you. He would have punched you harder had you lost. “I’m done,” he said, getting on the bed with D. She was wearing one of those shirts that looked like a kerchief, and Alex put his hand on her exposed stomach, right above her bellybutton ring.
    “You can stay and keep playing if you want,” he told you, sliding his hand further up under her shirt. You felt funny staying, but D didn’t seem to care. She just giggled when Alex tickled the skin on the underside of her arm, and she grabbed one of his arms, around the biceps.
    “So strong,” she said, flirty, in awe. D was a freshman in high school, since Alex thought dating anyone in middle school was beneath him. He’d started lifting after your dad died and had the beginnings of a six-pack happening. Back then, you still wanted to know his secrets, you still wanted to know how he hooked himself all these chicks.
    D giggled again, and when you turned around to look at her and Alex, you saw that her top was up by her collarbone. You’d never seen a bra on a girl before, just on mannequins. No one in your grade even had anything to put in a bra. You couldn’t help but stare. It was pink and lacy, with little hearts all over it. You were afraid Alex was going to get mad at you for staring, so you got up to leave, but he grabbed your arm. “If you leave, you’ll miss your turn.”
    You stared at him, face hot.
    “C’mon,” he said, smiling. “She doesn’t bite.”
    “I sometimes do,” D said, giggling. The giggle made you more uncomfortable.
    “You gotta learn sometime,” Alex said, and then pinned D’s hands down. She laughed and protested and you couldn’t tell if she was really into the game or not.
    “Aww. He’s shy,” she said. And that was when you saw she was into it. So you sat on the bed, but it was weird. Really weird.
    “Go ahead. Touch her,” Alex said. He still held down D’s arms, as if she wasn’t a willing participant.
    Your hand shook as you slowly moved it to the bra. You laughed