I WOKE UP IN THE MIDDLE OF the night in a bed that wasn't familiar.

    Slowly, carefully, I shuffled the blankets off myself. I had been tucked in, as snugly as my dad used to, back when I was a kid and I'd been afraid of monsters eating my exposed limbs.

    Once I slipped out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cold wooden floor, I shivered.

    I had to go pee―badly. But I had no idea where I was. This wasn't Aaron's bed, and it definitely wasn't his room.

     On a bean bag in the corner, I saw someone sleeping.

     The figure's head was tilted back. I could see the smooth column of her throat. One hand resting behind her head, the other on her lap. My eyes drifted to the bruises on her knuckles.

     This was Monroe's room. And . . . she was sleeping.

      I didn't know what I was thinking, only that she was . . . really pretty. The bathroom nearby still had its light on, and a sliver of golden light slanted over her face.

     While she was sleeping, she didn't look like a bitch or a god or a legendary shot-drinking, motorcycle-riding senior.

      She looked like a girl. Just a girl, with long black lashes feathering over her cheekbones. Raven-dark hair twisted up atop her head, stray strands wisping out, framing her face. 

     Just a girl with the softest, pinkest lips I'd ever seen. 

      I wanted to kiss her, and I didn't know why.

      In the darkness of the room, knowing she was asleep, knowing she couldn't see me, I got to stare at her. Finally. 

      She looked so damn peaceful. I wondered what she was dreaming about.

       If she was ever dreaming about me.

       That was stupid, though. Just because my subconscious had manifested itself in the form of sex dreams about her, it didn't mean hers did, too.

        I couldn't forget it―that she hated me. That I hated her, too.

        But I looked at her now, the way one corner of her lush mouth tugged up in her sleep―as if even in her dreams, she was a confident son of a bitch. A cocky, smirking―

        "Hi, Talia," she whispered.

        Her eyes opened, and the green startled me back a few steps.

        I wondered what time it was. Probably two or three in the morning.

        "You're awake," I said.

        "I'm a light sleeper."

        Had she been aware this whole time that I'd just been looking at her? 

        That wasn't a normal thing people did, was it?

        Oh, God. Definitely not.

        She probably had no idea I'd been staring at her. That wicked smile―she was probably just bluffing. 

        "I have to go pee," I said, by way of explanation. And I darted into the bathroom, trying not to breathe hard as I closed the door behind me.

         I hated her. I hated her. 

         That was what this was, wasn't it? The slow burn that crawled from my blood to my bones to my ragged heart? Hate. 

         My palms on the counter, I leaned towards myself in the mirror.

         My dark eyebrows pulled together. Who are you?  I mouthed at myself. My face was swollen with sleep, and beneath my eyes, violet bruises lingered.

         I thought of the man that had grabbed me. His hand against my mouth.

         I wanted―needed―to brush my teeth again. But this was Monroe's bathroom, and asking for something meant actually talking to her.

         No. No, I couldn't. I―

         It was so damn cold. I bit my lip and pulled back from the mirror. My arms prickled with little bumps.

         After peeing and washing my hands with pine-scented soap, I slowly opened the bathroom door. Maybe I could use a few ninja moves and escape her notice. Maybe she wasn't even awake. Maybe―

        "Why do you hate me?"

        That was the last question I'd been expecting. 

        "I don't know," I stammered. "I don't―hate you."

        Fuck. It was so fucking cold. But I didn't feel right slipping under her blankets, not when she had to had to sleep on a bean bag. 

        Monroe's eyes followed me as I pulled the covers up to my neck, curling into myself. What was she thinking?

        I turned on my side. I couldn't see her anymore, but I felt her presence like she was the sun, like she was the only warmth in the goddamn room.

       Was she cold? Maybe she was cold.

       "It's stupid," I mumbled, "us not sleeping in the bed. You're probably freezing."

        I hadn't realized how tired I was. The scent of evergreen and sea salt wrapped around me like a soft embrace. I breathed it in―breathed her in.

        "You should come sleep here," I continued, my words fading away. "I don't mind. It's your bed."

        I didn't hear her get up, but I felt it when the blankets tugged. And I saw her―less than an arm's length away from me.

        If I wanted to touch her, all I had to do was . . . reach out.

        But I didn't want to touch her. Of course I didn't.

       Then why is my hand on her face?  

       She had such soft skin . . . I traced the edge of her jaw with my fingertip.

        "What kind of lotion do you use?" I asked, barely hearing myself. I think my eyes must have closed, because I didn't see her―I only felt her skin on mine. Holding my hand to her face.

         I was probably petting her. Oh, God, I was probably petting her. Somewhere inside of me, alarm bells went off. But I was too tired now, and I didn't have it in me to care.

        She was just . . . so goddamn pretty. I wanted to touch her forever. I wanted to never let go.

        And she was warm. She was so warm that I didn't know how I'd ever been cold. 

        "I'm going to prove it to you," she murmured.

        Through the haze of my dreams, I think I might have mumbled, "What?"

        "That you're not as straight as you think are you are."

        Something inside of my sleep-fogged brain had the sense to say, "You think you know everything, don't you."

        As a matter of fact, that memory was embarrassing enough that my eyes snapped open. I couldn't believe I'd blurted that out to her―I'm straight―in the middle of the school hallway.

        "Let me prove it to you," she breathed, that familiar cool smile sharpening her mouth.

        "I told you, I'm straight."

        "And I told you I'd show you how wrong you are."

        "It's not like one girl can change my sexuality."

        Monroe's smile was purely wicked as she replied, "Can't I, though?"

        I wasn't sure what came after that. I only knew that I felt the sear of my own indignation rise up inside of me. 

        But it must not have been enough, because sleep beckoned. And the dreams that came after were filled with flickers of the day that had passed. Skylar's cotton-candy dress. Aaron's smile as he spun me around the bleachers. The old man, ringing the bell. Waking up in a hurry and fastening on my ladybug earrings.

        The memories were random. Meaningless. I woke up two or three times that night, but each time I did, Monroe was always there. And something about her was safe enough that I fell right back asleep.

        I WOKE UP ON SATURDAY MORNING, unsure of where I was.

        Something struck me―the realization that I was warm. But not just that. Out of my entire body, it seemed as if . . . my hand was generating enough heat to keep me comfortable.

         I forced my eyes open, blinking fast to clear them.

         Evergreen. Sea salt. This was Monroe's room, Monroe's bed―and Monroe's body.

         I couldn't tell where my left hand was. I only knew it was somewhere beneath the covers.

         Beneath my palm, I felt the reverberation of a slow heartbeat.

         Holy fuck. Was I touching . . . was I touching her . . .

         My fingers curled gently, and I realized―I was. 

         That was warm, hard skin. 

         Her chest. My hand was on her chest, right between her―

         I yanked myself away so hard the entire blankets rustled. My hand had been resting on her chest, my elbow curled onto her stomach, and my fingers had splayed right between her breasts.

         The problem wasn't that it had happened, or that she'd let me cuddle her. The problem was that I had―I had―

        I had fucking liked it. For those first few moments, I'd felt warm. Safe. Nestled into her chest.

       That was the problem.

       I needed to get out of here. 

       I didn't know if Monroe was still sleeping, but I wasn't going to stick around to find out. After stumbling out of bed, I closed the door to her room behind me and bumped into―

        "Mr. Andersen," I said.

        "Talia," he said warmly, although I noticed his eyes examined my sleep-ruffled hair and shaking hands.

        At least he'd seen me come out of Monroe's room.

        "Will you tell Aaron I'm going to head home?" I asked. If I stayed within a hundred feet of Monroe for five more minutes, I'd do something stupid. Like kiss her.

        "Of course. But don't you want to stay for breakfast? I've made pancakes and―"

        Nothing sounded worse right now than sitting across a table from Monroe. Again. 

        "Nope," I said quickly. "Thanks, though. I just―gotta help Claudia with homework."

        For the first time, faint suspicion creased his forehead. He probably thought this was strange, but I didn't have it in me to care. 

        I'd known Aaron's dad for about five years now. I knew he liked me―knew he was probably one of the coolest dads in the whole town.

        The only thing he was strict about, for Aaron, was girls.

        Considering Aaron had a ten-grand dollar scholarship, I didn't really blame him. If my kid had thousands of dollars riding on him, I wouldn't want him to knock a girl up either.

         And that was Mr. Andersen's worry, I knew. That Aaron would get someone pregnant.

         Someone―as in me. 

         So it was high-time to get out of here. After saying goodbye to Mr. Andersen, I practically ran out of the house in the clothes I'd slept in.

         "Claudia," I said, gasping, once I'd crossed the street home.

         She was in her room, already awake, reading something on her laptop I couldn't see―

         "What's up?" she asked, slamming her laptop shut with the kind of urgency that had me wondering if she was ordering a bulletproof tank off the black market.

         "I wanted―" Curiosity won out. "What were you doing just now?"

         "Nothing. Homework. Why?"

         "Last night, I slept with Monroe."

         Claudia threw her hands up to the sky like she was praising God. "Finally,"  she shouted.

         "What?" Oh, I had definitely phrased that wrong. "Not like that. I mean―just in her bed. While she was also in her bed. At the same time."

        "That's it?"  Claudia groaned. "You were supposed to bing-bang-bong her. Da-ding-dong her. Ba-bing-ba-boom-binga-bong her. You know. Let her run you over with a Barbie tricycle. That's what I'd do."

        "Of course you'd want her to run you over with a Barbie tricycle," I grumbled.

         "Preferably in a suit."

         "Claudia, this isn't helpful."

         "Sure, it is. Why wouldn't it be? My advice is great. Oh, by the way, some school forms came in the mail. They're organizing a trip in December for Christmas break. Skiing, I think."

         "Mom and Dad are okay with you going?"

         Claudia beamed. "I convinced them to let me go―as long as you come."

         "No way," I said, shaking my head. "No way I'm going on a stupid school trip with my baby sister."

         "I thought you'd say that. Which is why I called Skylar this morning. And Cody."

         "They didn't―"

         "Oh, they agreed. It helped that they're really mad at you. Not sure why, but it helped my case. They're going."

         Damn it. If Skylar was going, I had no way out. She'd make my life hell for the next three months.

         "Fine!" I said. "Fine. But this is peer pressure. And you're evil."

         "You have to sign this in. Also, Mom and Dad said we have to pay for it ourselves. So I'm getting a job at that pink-and-green frozen yogurt place."

         "Pink Grasshopper?"

         "Yeah. Here." She thrust a couple of crumpled papers towards me. "Sign these. Make some money. And we'll be good."

         I could probably keep tutoring Monroe if I needed to. But maybe I still had a chance at convincing Claudia not to go.

         "These trips are usually only for seniors," I said. "You're not gonna be intimidated?"

         "Nope," Claudia said. "I like skiing. And apparently these Winter Break lodges are legendary. It'll be great." 

         I started backing away from the room, forms in hand. Defeated.

        "Oh, and Talia?" she added. "One more thing. I think you might be interested to know that Monroe is the one organizing this whole trip. So she'll definitely be there."

        "I don't―why would I care?"

        "Oh, I don't know. Hot tub sex. Ski-lift sex. Mountain sex. Sex by the fire. Sex with hot chocolate. The possibilities are endless."

         "You're a delinquent," I informed her.

         Claudia raised her hands in surrender, but the teasing glint didn't leave her eye. "Oh, I know. But thanks."

***

Who's your favourite character so far?

From the moon and back,
Sarai