Put To The Test

Gianna Dior, Maya Kendrick, and Adriana Chechik pile onto the bed in Adriana’s room, a tablet perched between them. The test claims to read their futures—jobs, paths, lives. Adriana goes first, a bright flush in her cheeks. Astronaut. Maya snorts, says it fits since Adriana’s already drifting through class. Everyone laughs until Gianna takes the tablet. She reads the questions aloud. People person? Obviously, the others answer. The result comes back medical field. Maya cracks that Gianna could be a gynecologist—“the view alone.” Their groans make Maya grin. Maya’s turn lands on barista. She scowls. Her friends tell her it suits—love of coffee and all. Maya flips to the second result and brightens: biochemist. Gianna checks hers next: mortician. Shrugs ripple through the room. Maya snatches the tablet, reads her own second line, and freezes. She chucks the thing across the comforter. “Stupid,” she says. Her voice drops. “Anyway, there’s a whole side of us these questions can’t touch.” She slides closer to Gianna, fingernails dragging up one bare thigh. “Your people skills, for starters.” Her hand drifts higher, a slow, deliberate suggestion. Their future is theirs, Maya insists—why borrow a script when they can write their own lines? She leans in and kisses Gianna’s neck, tongue flicking skin. Gianna shivers. Adriana’s shoulders tense. Her mom’s downstairs. It feels wrong. Maya murmurs it’s only pleasure, nothing they can’t stop if they want. She grazes Gianna’s breast through fabric, rolling the nipple until it pebbles. Gianna’s breath hitches; hesitation melts into a soft, curious nod. Adriana protests again, weaker now. Maya tugs Gianna’s zipper, frees her breasts, latches on. Wet sounds fill the quiet room. Adriana stares, biting her lip without realizing. When Maya finally spreads Gianna open and licks deep between her folds, Adriana’s pulse trips. She knows she should look away—should end it—but curiosity’s claws are already sunk deep.