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“No problem, Bee,” he said. “Why don’t we just chill for a few minutes? You want a smoothie or something?”

I was starving like Marvin. “I’d love a smoothie,” I said.

“I remember your drink. Strawberry-orange-banana with a femme boost,” he said with a wink.

I could feel myself turning red. Maybe it was because I had sex on the brain. Or maybe it was the way Kevin winked at me. But the way he said “femme boost” made it sound much more sensual than what it actually is, which is a vitamin combo of calcium, iron, and folic acid.

Kevin went and got the smoothies: the usual for me, mango for him, and he came and sat back down.

“Hey, thanks for the drink. I’m sorry again about being late,” I said. “Can we do a makeup session on Monday? I’ll give you the hour for free.”

He said, “What about tonight? I could take you to dinner.”

Kevin’s asked me out before, but I’m pretty sure that he asks a lot of girls out. Maybe that’s why he always smells so good: it must be Eau de Player.

I smiled. “Sorry, I’ve got plans tonight.”

Kevin looked down at the Victoria’s Secret bag. “I see.”

I blushed again and shoved the bag to the side with my foot. “I needed a robe,” I said.

He wasn’t going to let me off the hook. “Tiny bag for a robe.”

“Whatever,” I said with a grin. “So what are you up to this weekend?”

“You know, I’m just going to be in the studio, trying to get my rap thing going.”

“Oh yeah,” I said, laughing. “I thought you did your ‘wrap thing’ in the gift department at Macy’s.”

“So you got jokes,” he said, smiling. He had a smile like a toothpaste commercial.

It was so easy to talk to Kevin. I’ll tell you something I’ve never told another soul. Sometimes, just to keep up with Brian’s conversation, I have to prep before I see him. I turn on CNN, listen to NPR podcasts, do a quick skim of the
New York Times
. Because if I’m talking to Brian and I don’t know that Darfur is in Africa or what tribe was displaced in Sudan, he gives me this really pitiful look and says, “That’s the problem with America. We think we’re the center of the world.” With Kevin, I may not discuss global issues, but I could be myself.

“So when do I get to hear this album that’s going to the top of the charts?”

“At the album release party next month. You’re going to be there, right?”

“Oh yeah,” I said, distracted. No way was I getting Brian to go to a hip-hop release party unless it was some kind of benefit.

“You should come hang out with me in the studio sometime,” Kevin said.

“And be one of your groupies?” I said. “I don’t think so. How many times do I have to tell you? Me, premed. You, flunking Math 101. We, plenty of work to do.”

Kevin shook his head. “I know, I know. But you don’t get how much pressure I’m under. The label doesn’t even want me to be in school. I’ve got all kinds of things to do: interviews with
Vibe
,
King
, the
Root
, photo shoots, a track for DJ Clue’s mix tape.”

“I don’t even know what half that stuff means,” I said. “But if you have your degree, you’ll have it forever. Don’t you want to have something to fall back on?”

For the first time, Kevin looked really hurt. “Fall back on?”

“In case this music stuff doesn’t work out,” I said, slurping the last bit of my smoothie.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Kevin said. He has this square jaw, which sometimes, when he’s serious, makes him look like the sheriff in an old-fashioned western movie. “Music is my passion. I want a college degree because I want to be an educated person, but I’m not here to get a job. Music is my job. It’s my life. There is no plan B.”

I didn’t know what to say. I really hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings, and I was having such a good time hanging out with him that I’d forgotten all my stress about the big sex weekend again.

“I’m sorry, Kevin,” I said. “I know your album’s gonna be hot.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” he said, the tiniest smirk hinting at the side of his mouth. “I got ears. I know how good I sound when I’m on the mike.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” I said, pretending to wipe imaginary perspiration from my forehead. “I was worried that for one second you might have doubted yourself.”

“Never,” he said, flashing his pearly whites. His BlackBerry started buzzing.

“You need to get that?”

He looked over the number and then turned the BlackBerry facedown. “I’ll holler at them in a second. I’m wondering about you.”

“What about me?”

“What’s your passion, Bee? What do you think you can do better than anybody else? What do you love to do so much that you’d do it for free?”

Ooh, I thought. Now he’s getting deep on me. But I didn’t mind.

“Well,” I said. “You know I want to be a doctor.”

“Have you ever worked at a hospital before? Or is all this ambition based on marathon reruns of
Scrubs
?”

“No,” I said sheepishly, because it was true, I kinda loved
Scrubs
.

“Then how do you know you’re going to love medicine? How do you know that’s your passion?”

All of a sudden, the fact that I was good in math and science didn’t seem enough.

“Sorry, I guess it’s none of my business. Anyway, I gotta bounce, Bee,” he said, standing up and giving me a little hug.

As I walked back to my apartment, Kevin’s words stuck in my mind. Maybe before I dedicate the next seven years of my life to becoming a doctor, I should get some sort of internship to find out if this is really the job for me. Or maybe next semester I should sign up for that class on terrorism. Because I have to tell you, I could get pretty excited about being a spy.

3

Bee Stung

After
hanging out with Kevin, I went back to my apartment to get ready. I was really glad I had that smoothie because even though I’ve got a single apartment, I really, really can’t cook. There’s a coffeemaker, a food processor, a pressure cooker, some pans, and an oven, and I don’t know how to use bumpkis. If I didn’t eat over at Brian’s or go to the cafeteria on his meal ticket, I would starve.

I was about to take a shower, and then I thought, You know what? This is my last night as a virgin. I should take a bath. So I poured a nice foaming bubble bath and settled in with an issue of
Cosmo
that I’d picked up especially for this occasion.

I took the red thingy out of the Victoria’s Secret bag and wondered what exactly I was supposed to do with it. Should I put it on underneath my clothes and wear it over to Brian’s? Should I carry it in a bag and change when I got there? I held up the red lacy panty and the baby doll camisole and decided that the best thing to do was to put it on underneath my clothes. I put the panties on. Itchy. But maybe it was like wearing heels for the first time. It feels a little uncomfortable, but you get used to it.

I put the baby doll nightie on, but none of the tops I had were long enough to cover it. I tried an oversized button-down shirt that used to belong to my dad. That worked, but it kind of creeped me out to be wearing my dad’s shirt to go have sex for the first time. I tried my favorite V-neck sweater. A Columbia U. sweatshirt. Finally, I decided to wear this old seventies wrap dress I’d found at a thrift store over my favorite pair of wide-legged jeans. I put on some high-heeled wedges, some mascara, eyeliner, and lip gloss. And I was good to go.

I was locking the front door when I remembered how good Kevin always smelled, and I turned back to spritz myself with some Sarah Jessica Parker perfume my aunt Zo had gotten me for Christmas.

The whole way over to Brian’s, I was spazzing out. I had a toothbrush in my bag. A large box of condoms. Some spermicidal jelly. I was so scared about getting pregnant that I’d asked the campus doctor for the pill and the patch. She’d said no, that using both methods of birth control was going to make me sick. Not as sick as I’m going to be if I get knocked up, I thought. I took the prescription for the pill from the campus doc, then I made an appointment at a free clinic downtown and got the patch too. When I stopped to think about it, I did feel a little woozy. But I was pretty sure that it was just a bad case of the nerves.

Nothing bad was going to happen. I was only seventeen, but I was a freshman in college. Not to mention, I was in love. In love with a guy who was so smart and so committed to changing the world that he would probably end up running for office someday. He was worthy of my virginity. I was totally going to give it up.

When I got to Brian’s apartment, he was as cute as ever. He wasn’t dressed as fancy as Kevin was, but nobody dresses as fancy as Kevin. Brian was just wearing an old Coldplay T-shirt over a navy long-sleeve thermal tee and some jeans. He gave me a kiss, the kind of long kiss that I never understood before I went to college. When I was in high school and I saw kisses like that,

I thought, Oh my God, what could they possibly be doing with their tongues for five whole minutes? Tongue calisthenics? Tongue push-ups? Counting each other’s teeth with their tongues? But then I met Brian and I got it. With the right guy, a five-minute kiss is like a little slice of heaven.

I put my bag down, and Brian looked at me and said, “You know nothing has to happen tonight.”

I nodded and said, “But I want something to happen.”

I said it, but deep down inside I didn’t feel it. I loved him. I wanted to MARRY him. But on that particular night, I didn’t want to sleep with him. But I didn’t think I could say anything because it’s all part of the love-marriage package. Somewhere in there, you start having sex.

He looked surprised. “Well, let’s have dinner.”

Brian’s dad is a chef, so he’s a really good cook. While almost everyone I knew at school subsided on cafeteria food, ramen, and Chinese food from Ollie’s, Brian actually made real meals.

“So what’s for dinner tonight?” I asked, trying not to tug at the baby doll underneath my wrap dress.

“Risotto with mushrooms,” he said. “It’ll be ready in ten minutes. I’ve just got to keep stirring.”

I sat down at the table and took a sip of the hard lemonade Brian had put out for me.

“Did you hear about the civil unrest in Basra?” Brian said. “It’s just ridiculous that the secretary of state hasn’t issued a statement. Doesn’t it make you furious?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I said, sipping the lemonade. I had no idea where Basra was, and I felt really bad about it. I have to say, it was a major catch-22 with Brian. On the one hand, he totally exposed me to the fact that the world is much bigger than I could’ve ever imagined and that there were so many causes that needed our help. On the other hand, with my face always glued to a microscope or textbook, it really was impossible to keep up. I know that he was planning on being an international relations major, but still. How did he stay on the dean’s list and plan a dozen events a semester for Blue Key? I used to think I was smart, but Brian is way, way smarter.

He served the risotto in these beautiful handmade bowls that his parents had brought him from Italy. It tasted as good as it smelled. I, apparently, did not.

“Are you wearing perfume?” Brian asked, wrinkling his nose.

I was flustered. “Do you not like it?”

“Well, it’s kinda strong,” he said. “It’s totally affecting my taste buds.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, blinking back tears. This was supposed to be my big night and I was feeling the opposite of the cool, sexy girl I wanted to be. “Next time, I won’t wear it.”

Brian laughed. “You could wash it off if you want. No offense, babe.”

I was so shocked that the tears flooded my eyes before I could even stop them. I had put perfume on my wrists, but I’d also put it behind my neck, in between my breasts, and certain other unmentionable places. Was I really supposed to wash it all off? I was so confused. I stood up slowly, kind of hoping that he’d tell me that it was okay so we could just finish our dinner in peace.

“Just go,” Brian said, clearly not noticing my tears and waving me away with one arm as if I were a car blocking traffic.

Brian’s kitchen is so tiny and I was so focused on trying not to cry that I tripped over a box of pantry supplies his father had sent him. I tried to grab the table so I wouldn’t fall and both of our bowls came crashing to the floor.

Brian smiled halfheartedly and shook his head. “It’s no big deal. I’ll clean it up.”

I was mortified. “I’m sorry, Brian,” I said. “I’ll pay for them.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he muttered, bending down to pick up the spilled risotto.

I walked through his apartment to the bathroom. He and his roommate had covered one wall with pictures of hot models and actresses. I knew that Brian’s favorite picture was Bar Refaeli on the cover of the
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit issue. She was what he jokingly called “the TP”—the Total Package.

I took a washcloth from underneath the sink and washed off the perfume as best as I could. Then I looked at the picture of Bar. Okay, maybe I wasn’t some hot Israeli model, but I wasn’t a total washout. Even though I always complained about being flat chested, I had filled out the baby doll top pretty well.

I took my wrap dress and jeans off. Then after a quick deliberation decided that I had to ditch the socks too. I did my best sexy walk back into the kitchen, determined to start my seduction over better. When Brian turned around to see me, the look on his face was the one I wanted to see.

“You look amazing,” he said, coming over to me. He put one hand on my back to pull me closer, then kissed me.

“What about cleaning up the kitchen?” I asked.

“Forget about the kitchen,” he said, kissing me again.

“What about the plates?”

“Forget about the plates.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Let me make it up to you,” I said, hoping I sounded seductive.

He led me to his room and we sat, side by side, on the edge of his bed.

I pulled off my top, revealing my sexy Victoria’s Secret bra, and lay back on his bed. “Let’s do this,” I said.