“So,” I said to the tall, dark-haired girl sitting beside me on the bed. “What’s the big deal?”

Alana just grinned and shushed me, a mischievous look flashing in her green eyes. Some people have said she has an ‘angelic glow’, but I’ve known her long enough to understand that it’s actually more of a ‘devilish aura’. Alana might be my friend, but she’s gotten me into more scrapes than all of my enemies put together. Not that I have many enemies at the ripe old age of fourteen.

“Alana? Emma?” Mrs. Harding’s voice called to us from downstairs. “I’m heading out now, so behave yourselves! I’ll be back before you know it.” Alana rolled her eyes at me. Neither of them bothered saying goodbye to one another. No surprise there. She doesn’t get along with her mom. I don’t know why — Mrs. Harding is pretty great, for an adult.

I stretched my shoulders, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror mounted on Alana’s wall. Short and stocky, with messy blonde pigtails and a sparse spattering of freckles, plus a mouth that gets too wide when I smile.

Alana’s tall and slender, but has worse posture, so we were almost the same height sitting beside each other on the edge of her bed.

I folded my hands in the lap of my soccer shorts as we listened to the sound of Mrs. Harding’s footsteps on the front porch. They were sharp and clackety, so I knew she was probably wearing the black high-heeled boots that my mom had given her last Christmas. She says they’re her favorites.

The car came to life and pulled out of the driveway. As the engine faded away down the street, I almost wished that it would reverse its course and come back. Being alone with Alana without adult supervision could be a recipe for disaster. But I was curious about what she had to show me that couldn’t wait until the weekend. Whatever it is, I thought, it had better be worth it.

After what felt like another five minutes, Alana finally bounced to her feet. “It’s time,” she squealed in a high-pitched voice that reminded me of someone about to spring out at a surprise birthday party.

She hurried into the hallway. I followed at a slower pace, checking around suspiciously for any signs of streamers, balloons, or —god forbid— clowns. My birthday was still months away, but better safe than sorry. You never knew with Alana.

She paused outside her mother’s door, shooting me that trademark grin of hers.

“Wow,” I said, rolling my eyes this time. “A door. So glad I left soccer practice early for this.”

Before I knew it, she had me by my sweatshirt, giggling as she dragged me into Mrs. Harding’s bedroom. I might be more sporty, but since she’s taller and her nails are sharper, I figured resistance wouldn’t be worth the trouble.

“What exactly is so funny?” I asked, happily settling into my comfortable role as the serious one. Alana’s four months older than me, a fact I hate to be reminded of since I’m obviously the more mature of us — at least emotionally. I folded my arms across the team logo on my chest and scowled around the room, being careful not to meet her gaze lest I start laughing too.

There was a writing desk beneath a small round window with a bookshelf standing beside it. A big bed sat against the far wall, neatly made, with a small wooden dresser to its left. No water balloons, puddles of super glue, or any other obvious signs of trickery. I relaxed a little.

Alana must’ve been tired of waiting for me to get it on my own. “Look!” she screeched, pointing to the dresser beside the bed.

“Looks pretty ordinary to me.”

“Then look closer, Em,” Alana urged, motioning me forward. She settled herself down on the bed and watched, her smirk never fading.

Sighing, I moved closer and let my eyes examine the furniture piece. Dark, grainy wood. Three rectangular drawers with little white ivory handles. On top, an empty glass and a picture frame with a photo of Alana’s mom hugging Alana’s dad, who hopped a train out of town years ago. I was about to tell her I gave up when I spotted it — something suspicious!

Most of it was hidden behind the picture frame, which is why I hadn’t noticed at first. A white object that looked kind of like a microphone, with a smooth handle and a rounded ball for a head. I reached for it and held it up, waving it in front of Alana’s face.

“This thing?” I barked. “I don’t even know what it is.”

“Neither did I,” she responded. “Until I caught my mom using it last night.” Something about her tone made me stop waving the thing around.

I frowned. “What are you talking about?”

She tapped a finger against her chin thoughtfully. “Do you really wanna know?”

“Duh,” I practically yelled.

“Okay, okay,” Alana laughed. “Sit down and I’ll tell you. It all began last night, a little after midnight.”

“Nothing good happens after midnight,” I broke in with a waggle of my finger. She hates it when I act grown-up like that. “And technically, it began this morning if it happened after midnight.”

She waved my helpful interruption away and went on. “I was getting up to use the bathroom when I heard her. Moaning.”

My eyebrows almost shot off my face. “Moaning? Like— a zombie?”

Alana chuckled, shook her head. “More like— when a lovesick heroine faints in one of those ancient black and white movies. Like this!” She demonstrated, producing a low moan that still sounded more like the undead to me.

“So what’d you do?” I asked, hating every second of being held in suspense by her.

“I snuck over to her door, obviously,” Alana answered. “It wasn’t latched, so I gave it a teeny tiny push—” here she mimed pushing the door ajar, “and opened it a crack. Just enough for a peek.”

I realized I was holding my breath. I let it out in a slow whoosh. This was silly; I knew Mrs. Harding was fine. Heck, she’d just let me into the house like thirty minutes ago.

“So I peeked in,” she continued, looking up at me from her seat on the bed. “And you’ll never believe what I saw.”

“You’ll never believe the pain I will inflict if you don’t get on with it.”

“That—” she said quickly, sticking her index finger at the white thing, which I had let drop onto the bed. “She was using it. That’s what was making her moan like crazy.”

I stared down at it, dubious. “What do you mean? How was she using it?”

Alana regarded me with an appraising look. “You’ll think it’s weird.”

“Yeah, probably,” I said. “Tell me anyway.”

“Here,” she said, reaching for the mysterious object. “It’s easier to show you.”

Even I wasn’t prepared for what happened next. As I watched, wide-eyed, Alana held the thing in her left hand and moved it down so it was hanging in the air just above her lap. Then she proceeded to move it around like she was stirring cookie dough, tracing the air above her crotch with the rounded rubber head.

“There?” I said in disbelief, sinking down on the bed beside her. I looked into her face, searching for a hint of humor, expecting to hear the punchline of a joke.

Alana just nodded, and I could tell she was serious. All the usual mischievousness was suddenly missing from her eyes.

“But,” I said, trying to inject some sense into this strange story. “Why?” Was it a medical device meant to treat some rare underlying health condition? I’d heard my mother say that age does certain things to your body, like when your period dries up or your teeth start falling out.

I tried to picture Mrs. Harding lying in bed, moving that thing around like Alana had done. I couldn’t see it.

Alana flicked her eyes over at me, then down to her bare toes digging into the carpet. “Maybe it just feels good.” She said it kinda fast. “Like when you touch yourself. Down there.”

My eyes boggled. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” she insisted, leaning forward.

“Of course I don’t,” I said sharply.

She reached out and poked me in the shoulder. “Then why did I wake up at our sleepover last week and see you with your hands down your pants?”

“You didn’t,” I yelped, reeling back. “I wasn’t—”

“Emma,” she said, sounding like a preschool teacher trying to soothe a tantrum-throwing toddler. “It’s okay. Everyone does it.”

I swung wildly at her.

She ducked, laughing. Her voice lowered conspiratorially, “I do it.”

“You were probably just — dreaming or something,” I huffed, picking at a loose thread in the creamy-colored comforter. I really hadn’t been doing what she thought. But the Harding’s house is always cold in the mornings, so I slid my hands inside my pajama bottoms to warm them up. That was all.

Although I wasn’t completely clueless about what she was implying. I knew that doing certain things made me feel certain things. Down there. Like laying directly underneath the bath faucet on full blast or straddling my big purple pillow and pretending it was a wild bronco trying to buck me off. And there was that one time in the locker room after soccer practice...

My cheeks burned. Eager for a distraction, I snatched up the thing that had started all this nonsense. I sneered, “Don’t see how this could make anyone moan like that.” It was less than a foot long and made of smooth white rubbery plastic. The head was sort of flexible, so when I shook the handle around it wobbled a little on its own.

Then I saw something I hadn’t noticed before: a few small words printed near the bottom of the base. And above them, a button, inset into the handle.

“All I know is it did,” Alana was saying. “She kept at it for a while. I stayed there, spying. When she finally finished, she held the button to turn it off, and—”

“Oh?” I broke in. “You mean this button? The one you definitely wouldn’t have been able to see from the door?” She recoiled. I had her now. “Do the words ‘Mini Magic Wand’ mean anything to you?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Opened it again. “Okay, so I came back this morning after she’d left for work to snoop around.”

I gulped. There was a question bouncing around in my head, and before I knew it, it bounced right out of my mouth.

“Did you try it?”

The words seemed to hang in the air between us.

She wagged her head hard, dark hair twisting to and fro, as if to shake the suspicion off her.

“Why not?” Alana wasn’t the type to wait around. By the time she’d told me about the faulty vending machine in the cafeteria, she had already emptied out all the good stuff. By the time I’d asked her to be my friend back in middle school, she had already come over to my house. Twice.

She exhaled and gave a sort of half-shrug. “I dunno.”

“Scared,” I snickered. “That’s why you had to invite me, because you were too scared to find out what it does by yourself. Mini Magic Wand,” I scoffed. “Sounds like a toy.”

“No.” She stood up. Pursed her lips and thought for a second. Sat back down and reached towards me, palm up. “Give it to me.”

Suddenly I was the one scared. “You sure?”

Alana flexed her fingers. What else could I do? I dropped the toy into her outstretched hand and waited to see what would happen next.

What happened next was that she dropped it. It slipped from her grasp, hit the edge of the bed, and richoteted towards the ground. We both dived and caught it together, our hands overlapping across the handle.

We laughed.

The air felt lighter.

Together, we clicked down the button with our thumbs, mine on top of hers. Waves of vibration rolled from the rounded head down through the handle. I recoiled, letting go. Luckily, Alana held on this time. The gentle buzz of the white rubber seemed to mesmerize her. She held it up and stared at it, wide-eyed, like she was under some kind of spell.

“Hello?” I waved a hand in her face. “Earth to Alana?”

“It’s vibrating,” she said softly, a note of awe audible in her voice.

“Wow,” I said. “Vibrating, huh? Some magic wand that is. What’s next, is it gonna light up and sing a song?”

She ignored me, choosing instead to move the toy so the tip touched the bare skin of her forearm. Alana did a little gasp, though whether it was for dramatic effect or from actual surprise I couldn’t tell. The buzzing noise changed as the head met with resistance. She moved it up to her wrist and then back down to her elbow. As the vibrations spread across her skin, a smile was spreading across her face.

“Your turn,” she said all of a sudden, pushing the toy at me. Its high-pitched hum reminded me of an angry insect about to attack.

“No thanks,” I said quickly.

She snorted. “Fine. Just hold out your arm.”

Reluctantly, I did. She pushed my sleeve up to the elbow and lowered the wand. I squeezed my eyes shut, but realizing that was silly, I opened them back up before Alana could notice. The head pressed against my skin. I took in a breath. The vibration sent shivers running down my spine.

“Yeah, so?” I yanked my arm back. “I didn’t hear any moaning.”

But my snark sent an idea into Alana’s head. She leaned back on her elbows and I could see the familiar gleam shining in her eyes. She gave me a steady look, almost like a challenge, and then pushed the trembling toy between her legs.

Rubber met nylon as the head pressed against her leggings. She gasped — and this time, I knew she wasn’t faking it. Once her mouth opened, it didn’t close again. Her breaths came in short bursts as I continued to watch, hardly believing what I was witnessing with my own two eyes.

She wasn’t really moving it around, I noticed. Not like how she’d demonstrated her mom had done. Instead, she was just sort of alternating the force at which she held it to her crotch, pressing the head firmly into her leggings for a few seconds and then letting up and allowing it to buzz barely on the surface.

Her right hand, the unoccupied one, clutched at the comforter. She had it in a death grip, like she needed something steady to hold her in place or else her entire body would start to quiver in time with the vibrations emanating from that magical wand.

After a minute or two, I couldn’t stay silent any longer. “Alana?” I asked hesitantly. But my voice came out in a gruff whisper and I didn’t think she heard me. The drone of it must have drowned me out, I figured.

After a few more moments had passed, however, the wand ascended into the air. Alana looked over at me. Her cheeks were flushed and she was panting a little, like she’d just run wind sprints at soccer practice. Except she’d quit soccer after the first game of the season.

“Want a turn?” Her voice sounded scratchy. She held the toy out toward me. I swear I could almost feel it vibrating through the air.

My balled fists moved unconsciously into my lap, as if ready to defend it at all costs. I gulped and gazed at the floor. How was I supposed to make direct eye contact after watching her sticking that thing between her legs?

Alana didn’t wait long. Once it was clear I had no intention of accepting her offering, she eagerly moved to a new position, bringing her legs onto the bed and sitting up on her knees. Facing me, of course, so that I happened to have a great view when she stuck the wand back between her thighs.

Her eyes fluttered as the head made contact, but she didn’t make any startled sounds this time. Not at first, anyway.

She scooted her legs further apart. Now that there was more room to maneuver, she started moving the magic wand a little, rotating it so the rounded head circled around her privates.

I could feel my fists in my own lap as I watched. My fingers fiddled the loose folds of my dark blue athletic shorts, pulling and prodding at the fabric as I gritted my teeth. Unexpected things always popped up when I was hanging out with Alana, but this was on another level.

I felt movement from underneath me. The geology class presentation from the start of the school year popped into my head. What are the early warning signs of an earthquake?

But it was only Alana. She had begun moving her lower torso, gently rolling her hips in a sort of rhythmic dance with the wand. Her head was tilted down as if to watch the action unfolding in her lap, but her eyes were closed. A small exclamation escaped from her mouth. I wondered how long it would be until she started moaning like her mother.

Her swaying was making the surface of the bed shift in time with her movements, causing my own body to rock slightly despite my efforts to remain an island in this unsteady ocean. Frustrated, I decided to go on the offensive. I checked to see if she was paying me any attention — of course she wasn’t, she was on an island of her own — and then channeled all the tension in my body down to my muscular glutes (thanks soccer) and propelled myself upwards in a burst of energy.

My surprise bounce didn’t have quite the effect I intended. Alana didn’t ricochet off the bed and into the ceiling, for one thing. Instead, it propelled her backwards, which caused her to lean forward — pressing herself tightly against the toy. For a second, the head disappeared from view, squished between her thighs with only the handle sticking out. The constant hum cut off, contained between her legs. Her hands spread out on both sides in an attempt to remain upright.

Alana let loose a choking kind of groan and collapsed face first on the bed in a fit of giggles. I couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying. Maybe it was both.

I let myself fall back on the bed, too, a little smile on my face.

She managed to get a sentence out through her tears, “What the hell, Em?”

“Sorry,” I giggled back. “I had to.”

We lay like that for a few minutes, collecting ourselves. I stared up at the ceiling, secretly glad that I hadn’t sent Alana soaring to meet it. I kept picturing her face right before she’d crumpled: her bulging eyes, her widening mouth.

“That was—incredible,” Alana said after a while. She held down on the button and switched the toy off, then turned her face sideways on the bedspread to look at me. “This thing—the vibrations—I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

“Really?” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

She nodded. The gesture looked funny with her head pressed sideways against the bed and her dark hair snaking out all around her. A dreaminess filled her eyes. “It’s so different than doing it with your fingers.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I just gave a little snort, happy that the spectacle had ended. She must have interpreted it differently. Not as a vague response, but as a jealous request. A snort that said I wanted to feel what she had felt.

“Whew,” she wheezed, lifting herself up on her hands. “Guess this means it’s your—”

“No way.”

She stared at me. I stared back at her.

“Whatever,” Alana relented. She sat with her legs folded underneath her on either side. “I only thought you might be getting bored with nothing to do.”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Maybe.” I just wanted us to do something else now.

“C’mere,” she beckoned me forward with a finger.

I didn’t want to humor her. But I didn’t want to be forced to sit back and watch her again, either. I scooted towards the foot of the bed on my knees.

She reached for the Mini Magic Wand. Picked it up. I flinched, preparing to hightail it for the door if she came at me with that thing. But instead, she placed it on the blanket between us. As she leaned back on her elbows, her thighs spread apart.

My eyes boggled. Was she— Did she want me to—?

“Go ahead,” Alana said. “You can do me.” She made it sound so normal, like she was inviting me to paint her nails or something.

My mind reeled. This was crazy, right? Intruding upon her mother’s privacy and finding a magical vibrating wand was one thing, but actually using it? Together?

But some kind of inexplicable competitive spirit possessed me. Maybe I could get her back, in a manner of speaking, for dragging me away from soccer practice to play with a toy. Plus I was curious to know how it would feel holding that thing in my own hand. And at least it would probably be better than just watching her do it to herself.

I reached down and closed my fingers around it. The rubbery handle felt reassuring in my grip. I held it up and pressed down on the circular button raised ever so slightly above the surrounding material. The little rounded ball at the top hummed to life as ardently as ever.

I stared down into Alana’s lap. Her leggings looked a shade darker there, I thought, like a shadow had fallen. Or maybe it was just that the fabric was double layered around the crotch.

A noise prompted me to look up. It was Alana clearing her throat. “Take your time,” she said. Something about her tone made me a little mad. Of course I was going to take my time. I didn’t rush headlong into things. I wasn’t her.

I grasped the wand in both hands, hunched over, and jammed the buzzing ball against her body.

Alana flinched as it bumped her leggings. “Em!” she yelped. “Not so hard.” I eased up, letting my left hand fall to my side, not wanting to hurt her. “There,” she said. “That’s better.”

I began running the wand back and forth between her legs, copying how I’d seen her doing it. “Good,” she breathed, watching my technique. “Keep doing that.”

I did, cycling the white wand across her as its head pressed into her black leggings. It whirred like a motorized hair clipper, and I started to feel a little like a stylist at a salon. I knew Alana shaved in between her legs; she’d told me so at a sleepover last month when the hour was late and our heads were loopy.

I had already decided that I would never shave there. Looking down at the tuft of growing hair always gave me a little thrill, a visible sign that I was becoming mature enough to enter into womanhood. Plus, I’d always secretly wished to have been born a redhead, and sometimes, if I looked at it in just the right light, the hair between my legs took on a decidedly scarlet glow.

Alana’s breathing was becoming more labored as I continued my work with the wand. When the head reached the top of its arc, she gave a little moan. I peeked at her face and was surprised to find her staring back at me, green eyes glistening.

How long had she been looking at me? We stayed like that for a few moments, eyes locked together. And the whole time, I kept pressing the toy against her most private place.

“Oh, Emma,” she whimpered.

I got a funny feeling when she said that. I tore my gaze away and refocused on the magic show I was performing below. I ran the ball down to about the middle of where I figured her privates were and pushed firmly, holding it in place while it pulsed.

I risked a glance up to see how Alana was reacting. Her eyes had closed; she wasn’t looking at me anymore. Now that she was distracted, I found myself free to study her all I wanted. I’d always known she was pretty, but now there was a different quality about her that I had never noticed.

This was the girl who had taken on three bullies at once in middle school and popped right up off the ground ready to do it again. Now she looked like she might disintegrate if I pushed too hard or moved too fast. When she reached up and brushed a few strands of hair away from her face, they just fell right back. Her mouth was hanging open, permanently ajar now as her breaths came in short staccato bursts. It was kind of—dare I say it— cute? My cheeks grew hot as I observed her. And was that a smile spreading across my face like an idiot?

When I looked back to her lap, Alana’s left hand was inside her leggings. I blanched, almost dropped the wand, which was still sitting stationary below her hand. Though I couldn’t really see through the material, it was easy to tell what she was doing by the shapes of her fingers undulating underneath the fabric.

Was I not doing a good enough job with the wand? Or was it just that two things rubbing against her body felt better than one? I held the vibrating head against her leggings at the center of her crotch as Alana’s fingers flew around the top. And I discovered that it felt kind of good, working together. Like we were teammates trying to reach the same goal. Alana says I try to bring everything back to soccer eventually, and I guess she’s not wrong.

Once I was over the initial whammy of seeing something new gyrating between Alana’s legs, I tried to think back to health class. Female anatomy. What was it Mrs. Belacqua had said? That the most sensitive nerves in a woman’s body are located in a little nub above the vagina? The clito— something? Whatever it was called, I figured that was what Alana’s fingers were targeting.

I suspected it wouldn’t be good to keep the wand still for too long, so I started spinning it around in place. Alana’s fingers formed a ‘V’ shape beneath her leggings. She ran them down her body until they came to the head of the wand, then moved them back up and started making tight circles around her nub.

Another moan.

I realized I had been holding my breath — for how long? It felt like there was a tension building up inside me. I reached down, pulled at my shorts. Then I adjusted my legs criss-cross applesauce and leaned closer to Alana.

Since her fingers had trespassed into my territory, I decided it was fair game to go on the offensive again. I ran the wand up, making sure to go nice and slow so she could feel it coming. Her breathing became heavier as I neared the top. The ball reached her sensitive spot and bumped her fingers out of the way.

“Yes,” Alana gasped. “There!”

Happy to oblige, I held my position, tenderly twisting the head as it vibrated on top of her nub. Her head tilted back and she blinked up at the ceiling. A high-pitched, unintelligible sound came through her open mouth.

Sometimes her fingers would dart in underneath the ball and poke at her clito-whatever, then retreat to rubbing alongside it. One look at her face and it was obvious how it made her feel. And it was thanks to me. Well, at least partly.

All of a sudden I felt a throbbing between my own legs. With everything going on between Alana’s, maybe mine were feeling a little left out? No, I told myself, but my body wasn’t listening.

I frowned. The buzz of the ball was making Alana’s eyes flutter, and the rest of her concentration was focused on her fingers. At this point, I doubted she would even look my way. I couldn’t imagine a feeling that could make someone moan like that. But I’ve always been more of a hands-on learner.

I acted before I could think myself out of it, stuffing a hand down my shorts. The Emma from this morning would’ve never believed it. Heck, the present Emma almost couldn’t believe it.

Here I was trying to withstand Alana’s childish impulses and be the more mature woman in the room, and then I go and do something like this. I felt a little ashamed to be doing it after making a big deal about it earlier. But not ashamed enough to take my hand out.

Quickly, I returned my focus to Alana. She was spreading her fingers, stretching herself out as the vibrations stimulated her nerve endings. The activities taking place made the mattress rock a little.

I wondered what Mrs. Harding would say if she walked into her room right now. Would we be in trouble? She was the one who had bought the Mini Magic Wand and left it lying on her dresser. Technically, everything that happened after that was her fault.

I took a deep breath as I watched the shapes of Alana’s fingers move around the wand like dancers circling a maypole. My own fingers were moving, too, but I wasn’t feeling what she was feeling. Maybe it was because they didn’t have much experience getting things done on their own — the left hand was the one inside my shorts, since my dominant right hand was busy doing more important work.

Or maybe Alana was just stealing all the sensations in the room, absorbing them into her body and expelling them out through her mouth in little gasping exhalations. Regardless, my fingers kept going underneath my shorts and I felt some of the tightness that had been welling up in me evaporating.

After another minute or two, something bumped the wand off course — Alana was becoming a little too enthusiastic with her fingers. They backed off a bit as I returned the ball to its post. Alana moaned softly as I pressed the wand to her nub.

A moment later, she shifted her weight. I thought maybe she was getting tired. Then I realized her other hand had vanished. No — not vanished. It was inside her leggings now, too, but coming in underneath the wand. She had stretched it beneath her butt, curving around to her crotch from below.

My fingers froze as I watched, open-mouthed in anticipation. While Alana’s left hand poked around the buzzing ball, her right hand pressed against her lower privates, rubbing gently with her fingers squeezed together. I felt my own fingers picking up speed again inside my shorts and sucked in a shaky breath. It was getting harder to hold the toy steady, but I couldn’t give up now.

What happened next seemed to go in slow motion, like all the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room and we were in zero gravity. I saw the knuckle of Alana’s middle finger rise, creating a distinct shape against her leggings. It paused for a moment, hovering in mid-air. Taking aim, I realized with apprehension.