I told him I was sick of being a virgin.
We flow through a swarm of people dancing, laughing, swaying to the beat. We’re looking for the answer when we don’t know the question.
GOLDFIELDS BY CHRISTINA BAKEWELL 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 140
Two months into my sophomore year of high school and every day gets harder to endure. I’m surrounded by children. My 15- and 16-year-old schoolmates have no fucking idea what real life is. Their adolescence radiates innocence and inexperience. I can’t handle it. I’m on a whole other level. The only thing we have in common is I’m still a virgin.
The fourth-period bell rings, jumping me in my seat like an alarm. That’s it, I’m out. I grab my bag and walk out to the parking lot. Kayla rolls up. “Let’s go!” she says.