The boy looks at the girl. It’s his girlfriend; he loves her. He gulps. They’re in the school library, sitting at a table, working on homework like they always do once a week.

“Babe? I need to tell you something.” She lifts her head, finger pausing on the word in the textbook she’s reading. Her eyes stare back, big and naïve. She smiles at him.

“Yeah?” She says. The boy looks down, gathering his courage. This news is going to be so hard to deliver.

“I’m-“He stops. His hands are shaking, palms sweaty. “I slept with someone.” The girl’s face falls.

“Oh.” She looks down at her textbook, puts a sticky note on the sentence she was reading, bookmarks the page, and then carefully closes it. When she looks up, she asks, “Who?” Her face is pinched, because she’s trying to hold back her emotions and stay calm. The boy was afraid she was going to ask. He thinks of the girl he slept with, his girlfriend’s best friend.

“Just some girl I met at a party. I was wasted. I know, I should’ve told you, but you hate parties, and I didn’t want to worry you-“

“Stop.” The girl interrupts. “Stop talking, okay?” She stands up, carefully picking up textbooks, arranging them on the table, and then placing them in her bag. She’s shaking now, both furious and devastated. The boy feels terrible. The girl glares at her textbooks as she packs them up.
“Please, don’t go. I love you. I’m so sorry.” The boy squeezes his eyes shut. This is the first time he’s said that. I love you. His heart is pounding now. This is going to either help him or fail the relationship. The girl pauses, scrutinizing the top of her boyfriend’s head. She feels momentary relief; he loves her, and yet she’s still angry.

“Do you mean it?” She asks. The boy looks up, sees her suspicious gaze. He says, “Of course. I love you. I’d never lie about it.” He holds her gaze.

“But if you loved me, you wouldn’t have slept with that girl.”

“I only thought of you, I was so drunk. I barely remember what she looks like.” He wasn’t drunk. He remembers everything. The candles, the music, the lighting, how the best friend looked. The boy can’t admit that. It was a mistake; he has to keep saying that. The best friend was just there, and he was lonely. It shouldn’t have happened. He regrets it.

“You promise you’re telling thing truth?” The girl sits back down.

“I promise.” The boy feels awful now. He’s just lied to his girlfriend. He should stop; tell her the truth. But he can’t now. It’s too late.