THE PROBLEM WAS, I DISCOVERED, that even though I knew what to do, I didn't have it in me to do it. 

      And I had been avoiding Aaron because of it.

      I knew it wasn't fair, but—well, it was easier than telling him the truth.

      And a couple of weeks later, as Monroe and I studied, barely more than a foot away, I couldn't help thinking of it.

      I like girls.

      It was seven in the morning, and the library was entirely empty—except for us. I wasn't sure where Mrs. Bulger had gone, and I didn't care.

      Not when Monroe was being her usual, infuriating self.

      For some reason, she was incapable of sitting properly on a chair. Whether she was leaning halfway off, tipping it backwards, or widening her legs over either side, there was just something insanely sexy about it.

      Sexy? No. Irritating.

      Today, she'd abandoned the chair altogether. She was sitting on the table in front of me, tilting sideways to examine the book we were going to read.

      Macbeth. 

      Her long black hair curtained the side of her face, and she tucked it behind her ear as she said, "Do you know how fucking sick of Shakespeare I am?"

      I couldn't respond for a moment. I was busy staring at the way her fingers had curled through those dark, silky strands and imagining what it would be like to—

      "We just finished Hamlet,"  I insisted. "It's either this or The Catcher In The Rye." 

      "Then I'll take The Catcher In The Rye."

      I shrugged. It didn't make a difference to me either way. Monroe's class had a list of books to read, and we'd finished a quarter.

       I pulled out The Catcher In The Rye, but as I set it on the table, I couldn't help glancing outside. At the sunrise beyond the glass.

       It was the middle of October, and through the windows, I could see the faintest smear of pink on the horizon. 

       Monroe's eyes followed my line of vision. "You like mornings?" she asked.

       "It's hard to wake up," I said wistfully. "But they're worth it."

       "You like the sunrise better than the sunset," she observed.

        I tore my gaze away from the window. Autumn had arrived so quickly it had felt like I'd blinked—one second, the weather had been all blue skies and lush green fields. The next, blazing orange and red and gold danced in the fierce winds. Even now, in the early morning temperature, I saw leaves rattling free from their branches.

       Soon, it'd be winter. Monroe's English semester would be done, and I wouldn't have to talk to her ever again.

       "I do," I said, a little surprised that she'd noticed. "What do you . . ."

        I trailed off. It had hit me that I was talking to Monroe. Monroe fucking Kingston.

      Casual conversation had become something rare between us. 

        In these past weeks, studying in the morning hadn't been exactly friendly. We still got the work done, but it was always accompanied by passive-aggressive remarks. I'd snap at her, she'd snap back, and somehow, we always ended up fighting loud enough that the librarian had to tell us to be quiet.

        Yesterday, Mrs. Bulger had even threatened to kick us out of the library.

        I figured Monroe was just making an attempt to be civilized for once, so we wouldn't get thrown out. After all, there was no other reason she could possibly want to talk to me.

       "I like the sunset," Monroe said, probably guessing what I had been about to ask.

       "Great. Let's start on page—"

       "But I could be persuaded to watch the sunrise, I'm sure," she continued. "As long as it's with a cute girl."

       My face flushed—at what, I wasn't sure. Anger had tensed every nerve in my body. Maybe at the mention of a cute girl.

       Not that I cared what cute girls Monroe watched the sunrise with. 

       "That's nice," I said stiffly. "On page one—"

       "And," she added, "I'd probably make it a picnic. I like October, don't you? I think it'd be a beautiful time to fall in love."

       "You're talking about that song!" 

       "What do you mean?" Her face was the portrait innocence. "What song?"

       "That song by girl in red about falling in love in October. Where it's like—"

       "You will be my girl, my girl, my girl,"  Monroe sang softly. 

        They were only lyrics, but—

        I had been ready to snap at her, the heat already rising in my blood, but when she breathed those words . . . 

       You will be my girl . . .

        Fuck. The gentle look in her eyes, the way her eyes lingered on my mouth . . . 

       What was she doing to me?

       Her stare on mine felt like . . . like velvet and honey and running my fingers through satin. 

       But beneath that softness, I could see something else. The wildfire of her, the temper and the passion and the hunger.

       I thought of what she would look like underneath that leather jacket. She was less than an arm's reach away from me, sitting with her legs far apart on the table. I wondered what would happen if I moved between them, if I ripped those off those jeans. 

       I wondered if I could make her moan, right here in the library, hidden by the shelves. If I could shatter that cool, confident exterior, and make her come just for me.

       I wanted to taste her. To smooth my palms over her thighs, to spread her legs further and lower my mouth to her—

       Suddenly, there was something wrong with the air.

       It was gone.

       The air was gone. 

       There must have been an apocalypse or an anomaly or a fucking asteroid, because there was no goddamn air. 

       I couldn't breathe. I couldn't fucking breathe, and I was still looking at Monroe, and she was still looking at me, and—

       "Talia?"

       But I was thinking of the way she would come undone, her legs on either side of my head. The way I'd peel off that leather jacket of hers—

       I had to think of something else. Anything else. Like—like The Catcher In The Rye—

       Monroe leaned over the table. Towards me.

       Get it together, Talia.

       I sucked in a lungful of air. 

       Had anyone noticed? Was it global news? The oxygen had disappeared from the atmosphere, but somehow, the world hadn't ended.

      Monroe didn't seem affected. Maybe I was losing it.

      "Talia?" 

      "I'm fine!" I seethed, too loudly. My chair scraped back.

      I needed to get further away from her. As far as possible, in this little space of ours.

      The librarian must have returned at some point, because I heard her hiss, "Quiet!"

       "Let's just get this over with," I said, avoiding Monroe's eyes. "Come on. Maybe you'll like this book."

       And as if I'd imagined it all, as if winter really had already arrived, her icy demeanor returned. The cold swept over her features, hardening her sharp jaw.

      As she opened the book to the first page, her knuckles brushed against mine.

     Electricity zipped through me. My heartbeat stuttered.

     But it was as if she didn't notice—or care.

     We were only two feet apart, but it may as well have been a thousand miles.

     I felt like I'd just ruined something. 

     But, I mused, once our studying time was over, it would be hard to ruin something we never even had. 

      THE FIRST THING I NOTICED, UPON getting to the cafeteria, was that Claudia was sitting in my spot.

      "What are you doing here, you little asshole?" I said, tilting the chair so she'd fall out.

      "Hey!" she protested, once she'd jumped to her feet. "I'm going to slaughter your goldfish for that."

      "Wow. You've been spending too much time around Skylar."

       "And Talia doesn't have a goldfish," Aaron added, as if Claudia wouldn't know that.

       His palm snaked over my hip, tugging me closer to him before I could claim my righteous spot. 

       I was about to push him away from me, but the sudden hush in the cafeteria made me look up.

       I really, really shouldn't have.

       Like this morning, the air had disappeared. Because right there, in the doorway of the cafeteria, stood Monroe Kingston in all her glory.

       It wouldn't have been strange—if she'd ever shown up at the cafeteria before.

       This was where most of the gossip happened. Where people talked shit and made rumours. Where legends came to life and myths spread throughout the student body.

        And one person just showing up? 

        It wouldn't have mattered, if it was any other person but Monroe.

       I'd known most people loved discussing where she'd been these past two years, but I hadn't known how much—until I heard someone whisper, "That's her." 

      Pure awe.

      And then the room broke out into whispering.

      "Holy fuck," Skylar whispered. "What's she doing here? She's . . ."

      "A god, basically," Cody said. "Let's just admit it."

      "Seriously, guys?" I scoffed. "This is fan behaviour."

      Aaron snorted. "Fan behaviour, Tals? Really?"

      Monroe strode through the cafeteria as if she owned it, as if this was hell and she'd come to conquer her throne. She certainly looked that way, too—with black shades, a black leather jacket, and tight-fitting jeans.

      But it wasn't what she wore so much as how she walked. With unfettered, undaunted confidence.

      If she'd been a queen, I had a feeling she could have commanded an entire kingdom with that stride.

      She's just a girl, I reminded myself, breathing unevenly.

      A girl . . .

      And the thoughts came flooding back. Her thighs parted around me. Her mouth open in pleasure.

      Imagination, I told myself. Just a fantasy. That's it. 

      I had promised myself I wouldn't kiss her. Ever. And that I wouldn't have anything to do with her.

      I was going to uphold that fucking promise.

      So I turned to Skylar, as if I hadn't even noticed Monroe at all, and said, "What are we doing this Halloween?"

      "A party. My house. I already invited some college kids."

      "College kids?" Aaron repeated.

      Cody swept disheveled black hair from his eyes. "Sky, tell me there's going to be alcohol."

       There was something devilish about the way Skylar smirked. "Oh, there'll be alcohol."

       Now, I glanced at Claudia. Even if she was two years younger than me, she was still my little sister. And alcohol was definitely a weird topic around her.

       But when I met her eyes, she glared at me like she'd been expecting a reprimand. "Oh, please. As if hearing you guys talk about alcohol will get me drunk."

       "Why are you here anyway?" I demanded.

       Since I was trapped with Aaron's hands on my waist, she had stolen back my seat.

      "I was talking about the ski trip," she said. "I hope you haven't forgotten about that."

      "I haven't," I admitted. 

       Actually, I had already saved up enough money for the deposit—I even had the form ready in my bag. Mr. Andersen paid me for every morning I spent with Monroe, and it was . . . well, generous.

       Claudia was about to respond, but I noticed Aaron looking across the cafeteria.

       My first thought was Monroe. But when I glanced over, I realized he was looking at the table with his football friends.

       He had an odd expression on his face, so I asked, "What is it?"

       "Nothing." He smiled a little. "I'm just thinking about practice later. Coach said he'd go hard on us."

       At this, Cody perked up. Leaning into the table, he said, "Guess what I heard?"

       I didn't bother listening. I'd seen Monroe walk into the cafeteria, but . . . I didn't see her anywhere now. 

       Not that I was looking. That would mean I cared.

       Except—finally, across the room, I spotted her sitting at a table with another person.

       A girl. 

      "Tal? Your hand is digging into my arm," Aaron said.

      I looked down. My nails had bit into Aaron's wrist, turning his skin white.

      "Sorry," I said, narrowing my eyes back on Monroe. 

      As if she'd felt it, she moved her head. And we were suddenly looking at each other.

      The air didn't disappear this time. No, as our stares locked, I felt something in me seethe.

       And when the girl next to her turned, I almost lost it right then.

       It was Olivia.

       I wondered if this was the girl Monroe had talked about this morning. Who she could be persuaded into having sunrise picnics with.

       A fiery, suffocating pressure tightened in my chest. It wasn't as if I cared, but—

       But Monroe had never once set foot in this cafeteria, and she was doing it now. To sit next to Olivia.

       I was the first one to break the stare. And when I looked back, moments later, Monroe had already turned. Her and Olivia seemed to be deep in conversation.

       "Tal, you're doing it again."

       "What?"

       "My arm."

       I let go of him immediately. This time, I could see the half-moon pricks of blood. "Sorry," I said, flushing.

       "It's fine," he said easily. But he seemed . . . on edge.

       I tried to tune back into the conversation, but it didn't hit me until I heard Cody say, "And he made a sock joke."

       "A sock joke?" I echoed.

       "You know, how it isn't gay if both guys have their socks on." Cody's eyes glinted like shards of sapphire. "That was after the hot tub joke."

       I was beginning to think I'd missed something. "What about the hot tub?"

       "About two bros chilling in a hot tub, six feet apart, 'cause they're not gay."

       I knew this one, and I laughed. But it caught my attention that Aaron was tense, glancing down at his phone like he'd just received terrible news.

       Before I could ask him if something was wrong, Cody continued, "And guess why he did it."

       "Why?" I didn't know who they were talking about.

       "So he could go to Homecoming with his hot, older boyfriend."

       Skylar's jaw dropped. I had a feeling I really was missing something, so I asked, "Who?"

      "Brady Williams," Cody said, his voice lowered. 

      "I . . . still don't know who that is."

      "Come on. Don't look, but behind me. Brown skin, curly hair, cute dimples, sitting next to the redhead."

      "At the football table?" I gasped.

      "That's right," Cody said, leaning back smugly. "Brady is the quarterback." 

      I whipped around to look at Aaron. "Did you know that?"

      Aaron raised both his hands in surrender. "I thought he was straight."

      "I should have asked him out when I had the chance," Cody muttered.

     Claudia waved her arms. "Hello? Ski trip anyone?"

     "All I have to do is hand in the forms," I offered.

      "I already registered," Skylar said, and she nodded to Cody. "We both have."

       "Where'd you drop off your . . ." But I didn't finish. 

       What had Claudia said? Monroe is organizing the skiing trip? 

        Claudia winked at me, as if she knew the five stages of grief I'd just gone through. "You'll have to give it to her."

        "No," I said immediately.

        "You promised you'd come."

        "And I will! I just . . . won't give my forms to her."

        "Why?" Aaron asked curiously. "Don't you tutor her every morning? What's the big deal?"

         "I just can't!" I knew I was being irrational, but I didn't care. For some strange reason, the thought of approaching Monroe right now, in front of Olivia . . . "No. I won't. Aaron, she's your cousin. Won't you do it for me?"

         I fluttered my eyelashes at him. In a way that I hoped was seductive.

        It must not have worked, because he just grinned and said, "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you're intimidated by her."

       "I'm not!" 

       "She's right there. Across the room. Come on, don't tell me she still scares you."

       Indignation rose up inside of me. And it reminded me of when I'd impulsively told Monroe I would ride her motorcycle around the block.

       "Fine," I snapped, yanking myself out of Aaron's grip. "I'll go."

        And I rummaged in my bag for the papers and the cheque, clutching them in one hand like they were Hitler's Nazi manifesto.

        Scared? Of Monroe? Absolutely fucking not.

       Intimidated?  That was the stupidest thing I'd ever heard. Intimidated of what? Her long black eyelashes, skimming her smooth, tan cheekbones? Her jade stare, piercing and arrogant? The way she rode her motorcycle, all confidence and swagger?

       Fuck that. I wasn't intimidated of Monroe fucking Kingston.

       So without looking back at my table of friends—who I knew were watching me, either holding their breaths or their laughter—I crossed the cafeteria.

       And I walked right up to Monroe and Olivia's table.

***

I'm not religious, but I'm going to start praying for Talia. I feel pretty confident that I can call her a useless lesbian.

From the moon and back,
Sarai