There is no underage sex. Nothing actually happens in this story. The setting is the party for the main characters' 18th birthdays. The narrator admits she is a virgin (and has not even kissed another person). Her friend is believed to be a virgin, and the reference to "exaggerated stories" told by that friend suggests the friend will not remain a virgin long, not that she necessarily has had any sort of relations in the past.
Hazel eyes, verging on green.
Abby stared into them, trying not to be obvious about it, but the lips below curved into a sly smile, and she blushed. Those eyes twinkled, showing more than a hint of suppressed deviltry, and one set of lashes slowly lowered as Corina winked at her.
It was too much, and Abby closed her eyes, blanking out the cakes and their friends and the world. She needed to collect her wits; how did Corina do it?
They were the best of friends, unlikely as it might seem. Had they met later, perhaps they wouldn't have bonded, but the preschoolers who discovered they shared the exact same birthday were too young to know how dissimilar their temperaments would become. The teenagers they were now were too close to care.
On the face of it, they were of a kind. Corina was dark-haired and olive-skinned, while Abby had blonde hair and pale blue eyes. But both were tall, for girls, and willowy in a way that drew second glances from boys who saw them. The physical similarities were accentuated by the unwritten code that dictated they and their friends all wear the same types of clothing. Indeed, their two families had noticed a tendency for the girls' wardrobes to oscillate slowly back and forth between the two households.
Internally, they could not have been more different. Not in intelligence, not in attraction to the boys that circled them, not in obedience to their elders, but in spontaneity. Where Abby often felt crushed by the attention focused on her, it seemed to lift up the extroverted Corina; the blonde couldn't understand how the brunette did it.
Abby opened her eyes on the party. She and Corina were eighteen years old, and they were surrounded by friends of both sexes, temporarily freed from the burden -- or support, depending on how one looked at it -- of parental supervision.
Because the two girls were always together, it wasn't possible, strictly speaking, to be a friend of one and not the other. However, if Abby were to make a hypothetical distinction, she was confident nearly all of the teens around them were Corina's friends -- hers only by association. The only person she knew she could depend on looked back at her from the other side of the twin birthday cakes.
What was Corina's secret? Abby wondered for perhaps the millionth time. It wasn't hotness; they'd looked in mirrors more than once and agreed (objectively) they were equally well-equipped to tease boys, although the analysis was strictly academic. Both girls were far more interested in studying the attractions of Justin Bieber (maybe just a little too young) and Justin Timberlake (probably a little too old).
Not that it made any difference in the real world. If they ever
did
meet one of the Justins, Abby knew Corina would be the one to score an autograph or maybe even a kiss, and Abby would be the one with the shy half-wave standing in the background.
She didn't come from a broken household, didn't have abusive parents or siblings, or any dark memories from her childhood. Maybe it was just DNA that made her an introvert and Corina so outgoing.
It hadn't really bothered Abby until recently. She always had Corina, who knew her as well as she knew herself. The vivacious brunette was always ready to round up a few acquaintances for any occasion that demanded them -- such as an eighteenth birthday party. But Abby had started thinking about the future, and it looked a little less sunny.
She'd be headed to college in the fall. Of
