Amy says, "so have you?"
Ephram almost swallows his gum. "Uh."
She couldn't possibly go any pinker. "I just. You know, when Colin." She swings her feet off the railing. "I thought, maybe I wouldn't ever. Like, if I--" she glances at Ephram. "didn't kiss anyone. Maybe if I just, did that, he'd wake up or whatever."
Ephram tries to concentrate on chewing, which just got a lot harder. "You, didn't."
"Um. No."
His brain flashes back to the mine, five glorious seconds of her lips pressed against his, sweet candy flavored lip gloss. Mumbles, "sorry."
"No, it."
And then he blinks, slowly, considering the consequences of their albeit mostly made up 'relationship', Colin's up now and in rehab, and Ephram was the indirect cause. Ephram says, "although, I guess, not sorry."
Amy echoes, "not."
There's an akward pause, and then she blurts, "so, you, uh."
"Me?"
"How much have you--" and Amy halts, kicking her feet again, making the swing rock gently. "done," she finishes, though Ephram gets the distinct impression she was going to put a much different verb at the end of that sentence.
"Me," he says, again. "Uh."
"Sorry," she rushes, immediately, "that's totally private, I--"
"No," and Ephram holds a hand up, a little wry. "It's, it's okay. Just. How much detail do you really want, anyway?"
Is it possible she sounds, disappointed? "There's detail?"
Ephram allows himself a real grin, this time. "Well. New York girls move fast," he tells her, and gets a strange flash back to the conversation - argument - he had with his dad.
"They do," Amy says.
Ephram scratches his neck, trying to figure out what to say. If he tells the truth, he could scare her, or make her totally hate him. If he lies, she could find out later and totally hate him. Whatever. It's harder to keep up with lies. "Yeah. I mean, there were a few girls, back in New York. We, yeah."
"I guess," she says, "that's not a surprise."
He thinks it's a surprise for her, anyway. In New York, Ephram used to go to parties, probably once a month, and they used to smoke up sometimes, drink sometimes, and get their parents to pick them up in the morning. The kids at his private school always had enough money to pay for whatever mixed drinks they wanted, and it wasn't excessive, but maybe for a fifteen year old.
He says, "it's just, different, here, I guess."
"Sounds boring," and he can tell that, even though she tries to make it light-hearted, Amy's not impressed.
Ephram tells her, "Just, different."