I’d seen a few Playboys and Hustlers and stuff like that-but I’d never seen anything like what Erica showed me in a box under her father’s bed. It was really hardcore stuff, and it showed everything, all the minute details of flesh, up close and personal. I found myself utterly enthralled, in spite of my embarrassment with Erica right there. I couldn’t seem to help my body’s response.

We sat on the floor in silence, sifting through the slick, glossy pile of pages, flipping through each of them on our own, our breathing becoming faster and more shallow in the silence. Once in a while, she would nudge me and show me something of interest, and I would do the same, when the picture we were staring at was so intense it absolutely required sharing.

And then he came home early, and we scrambled to shove everything back in and under before running back to her room. Breathless and flushed, we both jumped when he opened the door and asked if we wanted pizza.

“Can Leah stay?” Erica asked and he smiled-Mr. Nolan had the best smile-and looked over at me where I was lying on my belly on the floor, flipping through a Teen Beat and swinging my feet, still in the knee-high stockings that our Catholic school uniform required. I hated them-the whole outfit, really, the way it made me feel twelve instead of eighteen was just humiliating. I usually changed the minute I got home, but Erica had convinced me to come straight to her place.

Mr. Nolan met my eyes and winked. “Sure, as long as her mom says it’s okay.”

Not much problem there. My mom thought Mr. Nolan was the best-a widowed father, raising Erica all by himself, and Catholic, too! She always started conversations about him with, “If it weren’t for your father-” which I always cut off with a disgusted exclamation of, “Mom!” Little did she know about all the ungodly pornography residing under his bed.