Chaste Read Free

Preston says. “You’re the best cellist this school has seen in years and she’s the best flute player. You’re the only one who understands her. And believe me, I know because I’ve tried talking to her.”
    I punch him in the shoulder.
    “Seriously bro, no matter what they pretend, girls want sex as much as we do.”
    Great, now he brings up sex. The one thing I can’t help thinking about even though it’s completely off limits. As a Mormon, I’m supposed to wait until marriage, and while I have the option of going on my two-year mission at eighteen, I’ve decided to attend a year of college first, which means it’ll be years before I get any. Besides, Amy’s situation already freaks me out. She’s a walking advertisement for abstinence.
    Preston turns on the radio. “Did you sleep last night?”
    I shake my head no.
    The radio crackles and the voice of Pastor Larry Jackson comes in loud and clear. Mr. Jackson is talking about finding happiness this morning, explaining how material goods will never fill the empty spaces inside us. “Not a sermon, only a suggestion,” he says to wrap up his address.
    I flip the radio off and pull into a spot right next to Katarina Jackson’s Jeep. “That guy is so annoying,” I say. “Like I could ever, for one moment, forget he spreads nasty stuff about our church, going on about all the reasons we’re not ‘Christians.’” I put the word in air quotes. “There’s also the matter of Kat’s gas-guzzling yellow jeep, which I’m sure costs a fortune. You know, the one he bought so she could fill up the emptiness.”
    “Yeah, but he can afford it,” Preston says. “Unlike your parents. If they bought you a Jeep, you’d have to eat hotdogs for every meal until you graduate.”
    I shoot him a dirty look.
    “Hey.” He puts up his hands in defense. “Not a sermon, only a suggestion. You have to admit, she’s hot.” He puffs out his chest and struts toward the door where Katarina Jackson sways her hips in front of four tall guys on the basketball team. They can’t keep their eyes off her belly-button ring.
    I hurry after him.
    “Hello, Kat,” he says in a fake low voice, pushing his way into her group. I know he’s trying to sound masculine, but he comes across like a skinny nerd on some kind of high. Kat laughs. Mike Duvall drapes his arm around her, and the two guys on either side of Preston start shoving into him with their shoulders.
    “Leave him alone,” I say, charging into the center of their circle. Kat’s friends turn their backs like they don’t hear me. They open the door and step inside as my foot lands on some slimy piece of trash. It slides across the concrete, taking me with it. My feet slip out from under me as my right hand reaches for something, anything to hold onto. It lands smack on Kat’s rear end before I hit the ground.
    She freezes in the door with Mike beside her. Preston helps me to my feet, but I see Kat’s hands clench and unclench. The guys in front of her look back and stop walking. Preston swallows. “Maybe we should go around front,” he croaks.
    That might be a bit hard since Mike has just come around behind us. I can hear him cracking his knuckles. I walk forward and Kat turns, stepping in front of me with her arms folded over her waist. “Keep your hands to yourself,” she snaps.
    The girl could be a Victoria’s Secret model with her perfectly flat tummy, big chest and fierce green eyes, but that attitude of hers would get her fired in a heartbeat. Besides, jocks and nerds don’t mix at this school. Neither do Goths and computer geeks. While the rest of the world talks about equality and tolerance, our school has divided itself into segregated groups. Asia’s in the hall to the left of the freshman lockers, Africa’s next to the gym, India’s located one hall down from the office and our small group meets under the stairs in the science wing, also known as The Land Down Under.
    Kat hangs with the jocks who