"ARE YOU TWELVE . . . ARE YOU thirteen . . . are you fourteen . . ."

        "Stop!"  Claudia said, clapping her hands together. 

        The room broke into cheers. "Fourteen! Happy fourteenth birthday!"

        Next to me, Claudia inhaled a deep breath.

        "Make a wish," I whispered. Her face was lit by the flickering orange glow of the candles, and her long lashes casted shadows that danced over her cheekbones. Eyes closed, she pursed her lips.

        I wasn't sure what she wished for, but finally, she exhaled a breath that extinguished all fourteen candles in one try.

       "Congratulations," I whispered, once the lights were all turned on and our parents started slicing the cake, offering it to all our family members around the table. "You've just reached level fourteen."

       "What game?"

       "Life." I winked, and felt Aaron's hand cup my hip. Considering he was our next-door neighbour, and my best friend of six years, it wouldn't have been weird that he'd been invited—if it had been me who had invited him.

       But Mom had actually gone out of her way to bring him. I was beginning to think it was some kind of plan of hers, to get me and Aaron together. 

       At this point, I think my parents would be the happiest people on earth to know I was dating him for real.

       "That's . . . anti-climactic."

       Eventually, Claudia was swept away in birthday wishes, and I was left alone in a corner with Aaron.

       Holding a paper plate heavy with vanilla-chocolate cake, I said, "There's old Aunt Ruth, who has a creaky back she's always complaining about. Her kids are . . . right there." I pointed to a woman with a mane of curly red hair, the bright ringlets bouncing down her back. "That's Whitney. She lives in Houston with her roommate, Elena."

       Aaron followed my gesture to the woman with blonde hair cropped to her jaw. "That's Elena?"

      "Yeah," I said. "I think they've been living together for fifteen years. My mom says they just like each other's company better than anyone else's."

      "Hm. Interesting."

      "And over there, that's Grandma Beth. My mom's mom. She's really nice, and she spoils me and Claudia a lot. And . . . on the other side—do you see behind the armchair? Talking to the guy with the mustache? That's my dad's mom, Grandma Leila. She only speaks Arabic, but she's friendly, too."

      "Where's your uncle Harris? You always talk about him."

      "Oh," I said, setting down my cake onto a nearby table. "That's the one with the mustache. He's really friendly, but not in a creepy way—he just loves giving hugs because he says people need them more than you know."

      "That's really sweet, actually."       

      "I know. He's great." I grabbed Aaron by the hand and led him towards Aunt Whitney and Elena. "Come on. Let's talk to my favourite relatives."

       "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU HAVE A boyfriend," Aunt Whitney said for the third time.

       "Shh!" I warned. "Not so loud. My parents don't know yet." I glanced over my shoulder, but Mom and Dad were occupied talking to Aunt Milly and Uncle Tom. "I'm going to tell them on Thanksgiving."

       "I feel honored," Aunt Whitney said, exchanging a glance with Elena. "So how's your band?"

       I thought of the drama with Jordana. We hadn't had a band practice in two weeks, and our show at the Hamilton café was in six days. 

       "Good," I said cheerfully. "Great. How's Houston?"

      "We sold the apartment," Elena said.

      I couldn't help glancing down at their joined hands as Aunt Whitney added, "We're going to start traveling."

      "Traveling?" I squeaked. "As in . . . the world?"

      From anyone else, that probably would have merited a sarcastic comment. But Aunt Whitney just gave Elena a glowing smile and said, "The world," while looking into her eyes.

       From the deep reaches of my mind, a thought rose unbidden: That's gay. 

       But I'd known Elena almost my whole life. And Mom had never said anything about them being lesbians. 

       I was probably reading too much into it. Wishful thinking, maybe.

       Aunt Whitney's eyes flicked over the room, probably checking to see if anyone was watching or listening. I wasn't sure Grandma Beth would really approve of giving up stability for world-traveling, so that was understandable. 

      "You should come on a trip," Elena offered, focusing on me. "I'm sure we could convince your parents. Just a week or a few days somewhere nice."

      "And you can bring your boyfriend, too," Aunt Whitney added. "Wow. That sounded weird. I can't believe you have a boyfriend."

       That was the fourth time she'd said it. What was so unbelievable about me liking boys?

       "How does March work? Or May?" Elena smiled at me, and she was so pretty that I thought it was a shame her and Aunt Whitney weren't together together.

       "That would actually be great. Seriously."

       Aunt Whitney smiled, clapping her bejeweled hands together. The colourful crystal gems clinked together. "Good! It's settled. You and your—boyfriend—can come on a little vacation sometime."

      UNCLE HARRIS DIDN'T HESITATE to pull Aaron in for one of his long, warm hugs.

      He must have been in his late forties, close to fifty, but there was something about his jet-black hair and cropped silvery beard that made him handsome. He was always single whenever I saw him, but I had a feeling that if he wanted, he could have any woman he set his sight on.

       When Aaron and Uncle Harris finally let go, there was a pause of silence.

       "See," Uncle Harris said. "You just never know when someone needs a hug."

      "I actually think I needed that," Aaron said, almost sounding teary. "Thanks, man."

      Uncle Harris beamed at us. "And you, Talia?"

      Well, of course I wanted one of his hugs. When he swept me into his arms, I dissolved. There was almost nothing in the world quite like a good hug.

      Once we'd finished small talk with him, Aaron and I retreated into my bedroom. Through the floor, I could hear adult laughter and the chime of wine glasses.

      I'd always wondered what it would be like to have a cousin my age.

      And thinking of that . . . thinking of cousins . . . my eyes skated to Aaron. He was looking at me so intensely my heart stuttered.

       "You're really beautiful, you know that?" 

       "Aaron," I said threateningly.

       "What? I can't call my girlfriend beautiful?"

       "I mean, sure—" But before I could finish, he had pulled me into his arms. A giant bear-hug. "Hey, what's this for?"

       "Because I love you."

       So simple. So sweet. Why couldn't I just return his fucking feelings?

       What was wrong with me?

       "Tals, you . . . you look like you're on the verge of crying. Am I hurting you?"

       "No!" I laughed quickly, blinking away tears. "I'm fine. Really. I swear."

        But if I was fine, I could just say the words back. I love you. It wasn't so fucking complicated, was it? 

        I didn't feel it, but I could lie, couldn't I?

        I opened my mouth, but I didn't have to say anything at all. Aaron interrupted with, "It's so cool how your aunts are lesbians."

        I stared at him blankly. "What?"

        "Your aunts . . . wait, I can't remember their names."

        "Which ones?"

        "The one with the curly red hair and the big"—he coughed—"rack. And the one with short blonde hair, really tall."

         "You were looking at my aunt's tits?"

         "No! Yes. Not like that. I was appreciating them. She was wearing that pink dress, you know. It had a low cut. By the way, red hair and pink clothing is a badass combination. I like her."

         "Aunt Whitney?" I said, still confused. "And Elena? They're not lesbians."

         This time, Aaron blinked at me. Eyebrows drawn together. "What do you mean they're not?"

       "They're just roommates."

       "Roommates? They kissed."

        I gave him a strange look. "Each other's cheek."

        "No, they kissed kissed. Didn't you see?"

        "I . . . no. But that could be friendly. Skylar and I kiss each other's lips all the time."

        "Didn't you say they've been roommates for fifteen years?"

         I hesitated. "Yeah."

         "And aren't they traveling the world together?"

         "Me and you were going to do that. We're best friends."

         "Me and you are dating," Aaron said.

         Bad example. Fuck.

         "Yeah," I said vaguely. "But . . . if they were dating each other, wouldn't I know? I mean, my mom always says they're just friends. Why would they—"

         And it hit me. Mom saying, Girls liking other girls just isn't right. 

        Did Aunt Whitney have a girlfriend?

        Had her and Elena been dating this whole time?

        "Oh, my God," I said. "I never even realized."

        "I mean, roommates for fifteen years?" Aaron kissed my forehead. "Maybe you're just oblivious."

        SIX DAYS LATER, I MET OLIVIA AT the Hamilton café, both hungry and feeling like I was about to throw up.

        My drums were already onstage, but Olivia and I waited behind the curtains.

        "I've texted Jordana like a million times," Olivia said, pacing back and forth.

        "She can't just ditch us," I said. "She's the guitarist. She even named this band after herself.  We can't be Jordana and the Fairies without Jordana."

       "I would have rather been named Pinecones On Fire," Olivia huffed, throwing both hands in the air. "But . . . whatever. That's not important. What's important is that she makes it on time. This is ridiculous. I'm so . . ."

       "We'll be fine," I tried.

       "We haven't practiced together in almost three weeks! All because she's been ignoring both of us. I don't regret whatever Monroe did to her, but this . . . is so immature."

       "I know. I know." Outside, steady jazz music flowed through the speakers. The round café tables had all been positioned to face the stage, so when we started, we would have everyone's attention. "She'll come. She has to."

       "But what if she doesn't?"

       "She's not that much of a bitch," I said, starting to doubt that. "She wouldn't just ditch us here."

       "She got us this gig," Olivia said, pacing again. "She could get it again. But she knows that we—you and I—can't. We don't have connections like that. Maybe she's setting us up. Maybe—"

       "That's crazy." But was it?

       Jordana did have wealthy parents. If she wanted to perform here by herself, she could. She didn't need us.

       And if she wanted to make Olivia and I look bad in front of a crowd . . . in front of the goddamn Hamilton café . . . this would be the way to do it.

       I'd always considered Jordana a close friend. Which was why it was easy for me to believe she'd do this.

      I had always known she could be cold and even rude. But to other people. Not to me. Not to us. 

      "We have to go on anyway," I told Olivia firmly.

      "We don't have a guitarist!"

      Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. "No, but I think we're pretty good alone, you and me."

      "Have you ever heard of just a drummer and a singer? That'd be disastrous!"

      She was right. If we were the only sound in the room, it had to harmonize better. Without a guitarist, it'd just be the clash of my drums and her voice overtop it.

       "I don't know anyone who plays the guitar," I whispered. "Do you?"

       The show was going to start in fifteen minutes.

       "No, I—" Olivia's eyes lit up. "I do, actually. But I don't know if she can get here on time."

       I shook my head. "But how will it work? She can't just learn the whole song in minutes."

      "Improvisation. It has to work."

      Fuck. "Better than nothing," I said.

      Peeking through the curtains, I noticed Claudia, Skylar, Cody and Aaron sitting at one table. Waiting.

      Skylar caught my eye and winked. Cody gave me a thumbs-up. Even Claudia smiled encouragingly.

      I darted back behind the curtain before Aaron could notice. I knew him well enough to know he'd blow me a kiss or mouth something like, I love you. 

      Just as Olivia returned, saying, "She's on her way," someone pushed their way backstage through a side door.

      Jordana.

      Her smirk was dark and self-satisfied. "Looking for me?"

      "This isn't funny," I hissed, striding towards her—ready to wring her neck. "Maybe this doesn't matter to you, but this is a really great opportunity."

      Jordana shrugged. "I got the opportunity. I  hold the power."

      Olivia held me back by my sleeve before I could strangle her. The show was starting in only minutes.

      Relief dampened Olivia's tone as she asked, "So you're going to play with us?" 

      "Yeah." Jordana held up a guitar, glittering with rhinestones. "Let's do this."

       And as though she'd been here the whole time, as though she hadn't just arrived thirty seconds ago, she sauntered onto the stage of the Hamilton café like it was hers. 

      Olivia and I exchanged a glance, and we followed.

      Out in the crowd, my eyes landed on Claudia. She held up a peace sign.

      "Now, a live band will be performing!" said a man in a tuxedo, from somewhere in the crowd. "Welcome Jordana and the Fairies onstage!"

       The people, gathered at tables and around the bar, clapped lightly for us.

       I swallowed. The spotlight was bright—almost blinding.

       Just before Olivia started to hum, and Jordana began brushing her fingers along the strings of her guitar, and I started softly drumming, a door opened.

       In the silence of the café, it was as deafening as a crash.

       Without meaning to, I looked up. The door fell shut. And in front of it, my eyes found Monroe Kingston.

       Almost as if she'd been looking for me, too, our stares locked.

       Nobody had noticed.

       Olivia's soft voice glided through the room. The strum of Jordana's guitar echoed, a building melody.

       Don't get distracted, I warned myself. It's time to play.

       Right before I began to drum, Monroe winked. And—I got stupid, stupid butterflies.

       Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck.

***

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