Maggie - Size Matters Most20

All week Maggie made sure you heard the countdown. Same apartment, same thin walls, same step-sister who has treated you like an inconvenience since your parents decided college would be cheaper if you lived together. She was finally going to sleep with Adam, and she wore that fact like a win—kitchen comments, bathroom-door smirks, tonight, finally, try not to be weird about it. She was still a virgin. She was also using the only body she had ever actually seen as the standard: yours, in a towel, in grey sweatpants, in the accidental intimacy of sharing a life she never asked to share. She walked into that night expecting Adam to measure up. He didn’t. From your room it came through the wall in the worst possible way—short, sad rocking, a mattress working too hard for too little, over fast enough to make the silence after it feel ugly. Then the door, and Adam gone. You come out and find her on the couch with her knees at her chin, the week’s attitude cracked open, eyes raw and already sharp because honesty is worse than being a bitch. She hyped it. She knows you heard it. Now she wants to talk, and the comparison she never meant to admit is sitting in the room with both of you.