SEXUAL TENSION WAS A FUNNY THING.

      If anyone had asked me if I'd ever experienced it before I met Monroe, I would've said of course I had. 

      Obviously, all the movies were an exaggeration: people didn't actually feel electricity when their skin brushed, and they didn't look up at each other over the dinner table with barely hidden longing. People didn't fantasize about the girl sitting across from them, tempting and intoxicating and irresistible, the touch of a smirk on that wicked, wicked mouth. 

      People didn't fantasize about precisely that same mouth, trailing over their thighs, and spreading their legs on that very dinner table. 

      People did not have detailed daydreams of getting fucked in the kitchen, shoving away all the dishes because why bother with food when there was a personal feast laid out right before you?

       No, before I met Monroe—Monroe fucking Kingston—I would've said that was just dramatic acting.

       But I didn't think so anymore.

       Now, I clutched a bouquet of violets with a white-knuckled grip. 

       "Thank you for the flowers," Mom said, pulling in Monroe for an awkward hug with roses in one hand. "Oh, these are so lovely."

       The problem was this: I had opened the door for Monroe.

       She had apparently been sent over earlier than Aaron and his dad, because she was carrying two bouquets and a ceramic tray of mashed potatoes.

       Opening the door became the least of my problems when I realized that one of the bouquets was for my parents . . . and one was for me. 

       She had gotten flowers for me.

       She had . . . actually brought a bouquet. For me.

       Even as I clutched it tightly, I really, really wanted to bring the flowers to my nose and inhale the violet scent.

       "How'd you know these were my favourite?" I hissed at her.

       It might have been a friendly question, if it weren't for my accusing tone. 

       As Mom started preparing the table, taking out the turkey from the oven with sunny-yellow mitts, Monroe leaned in close to me and whispered, "Your sister told me."

       Claudia. I couldn't wait to make her baby duck an orphan when I murdered her.

      "Don't blame her," Monroe added. "I forced it out of her."

       Mom was still facing the oven, so I quietly growled, "No, you didn't."

       Damn it. I should have known. It seemed Claudia had a grand plan for me to bing-bang-bong Monroe.

       Fuck. Had I really just thought the word bing-bang-bong? 

       "Celia, honey!" Dad called. "Aaron and Mr. Andersen have arrived!"

       I heard Mr. Andersen's warm, booming voice, and what I assumed was him and Dad clapping each other on the backs. A strange, manly kind of hug. And . . .

       Aaron. As soon as I thought his name, I felt his arms snake around my waist, wrapping around me. He pulled me against his chest and kissed the top of my chest.

       "Hi, babe," he said.

       "Stop calling me babe or I'll choke you."

       I realized my mistake as soon as Monroe smirked at me, and I felt my cheeks flush hot. 

       Everybody was soon pulling out chairs at the table, and somehow, I ended up across from Monroe. Aaron sat next to her, and Claudia sat next to me.

       Just as Mom carved into the turkey, Claudia clasped her hands together like an eighteenth-century noblewoman and sweetly said, "Monroe?"

       "Yes, Claudia?"

       "Would you like to switch chairs, Monroe?"

       No!  something screamed inside my head. No, no, no!  That would put Monroe right next to me. Less than a foot away. 

       She was left-handed. Our arms would brush as we reached for our forks. And I would be able to smell her sea salt scent. Her leather jacket would be warm and rough and—

       Bad, I thought. Bad, bad, bad. 

       Surprise flickered in Monroe's eyes. I didn't think she had planned this, but she raised an eyebrow as if it was a challenge.

      "Sounds good to me, Claudia."

      "Excellent, Monroe."

       Nobody seemed to notice the avalanche crashing down or the earthquake trembling beneath me or the tsunami that threatened to swallow me whole. No, I thought.

       Yes, my lizard brain thought. Yes. Girl. Yes.

       Monroe and Claudia exchanged seats.

      "IF YOU WANT MORE," SHE whispered, "you're going to have to beg for it."

      I swallowed my pride. Her tongue felt too good right there, and she gripped my hips with calm, arrogant ease. I was propped up on the edge of the counter.

     "Yes," I breathed. "Please."

     "That's not begging," she taunted, trailing one finger down my slickness. Making me squirm.

     "Please,"  I repeated. 

      "What did I say?" Monroe's voice was cold, and it was still such a fucking turn-on. "Beg, Talia."

      "Fuck me, Monroe," I whispered. And I swore that for a moment there, I was lost in her jade-green eyes.

       It felt like wandering around in a forest. So goddamn green. 

       Monroe's lips curved. I could tell it was what she had been waiting for. And without waiting, she brought her lips to the skin of my stomach. Kissing gently, softly, until her tongue found its way to the apex of my thighs.

       I dug my fingers into Monroe's shoulders, hard enough to leave bruises. As much as I didn't want to hurt her, leaving my mark on her felt so fucking sexy I couldn't help it.

       At the first stroke of her tongue, I opened my mouth and—

      "TALIA?"

      It took me a second to realize that Monroe wasn't fucking me. And I was at the dinner table.

      On one hand, none of the parents had noticed. On the other, Aaron, Claudia and Monroe were all looking at me with the same expression of confusion.

      There was a fork frozen near my mouth. I quickly put down the bite of food.

      "Oh," I said in a small, strangled voice. "Just distracted, that's all."

       Something on my expression must have given me away, because a slow, winning smile spread on Claudia's face.

       Monroe reached for her spoon, and her wrist skimmed my fingers.

       "Just a—a daydream," I offered, still sounding like I was choking. "About. Um. Math."

       "Oh, really?" Claudia pressed. "Well, don't just leave it at that."

        Aaron looked at me expectantly, but I didn't dare turn to see Monroe's expression.

        I gave Claudia a stare that hopefully conveyed all the ways I would murder her.

        "Just, um, a question. That I couldn't—uh, figure out."

        "Really?" Claudia leaned both elbows on the table and tipped her head to the side. "What was the question?"

         "Oh, I—I don't remember."

         "No, I insist. Maybe we can help you solve it."

         Now I hoped my stare said, They'll never find your body when I'm done with you.

         "Um." Think. "If Angelina Jolie has six kids, all beavers are monogamous and geese always fly in a V formation. Cutting down a cactus in Arizona results in a 25 year jail sentence, so how much was Forrest Fenn's hidden treasure chest worth in 2010?"

        Before anyone could absorb what I'd just said, Mom called, "Who wants some corn on the cob?"

       I jumped to my feet.

       "Where are you going?" Claudia asked sweetly, although she damn well knew.

       "Nowhere. The—bathroom."

       The smell hit me first. The wafting steam of sweet, flavourful corn. 

       Without waiting, I hurtled into the hallway. As far away from the kitchen as I could get. 

       "Talia."

       Monroe's voice startled me, and before I could stop it, I was tripping over myself, about to crash to the—

       Her hand latched onto mine. I gasped.

       She'd caught me.

       And she pulled me towards her so swiftly it felt like a dance move. In the middle of the hallway, I was suddenly pressed up against her. She held my hands to her chest like we were about to tango.

       I heard Mom's voice say, "Talia, honey, I promise the corn isn't so bad . . . wait, where's Talia?"

       Monroe and I were hidden from her view in the hallway. Tangled together. Mom couldn't find us like this.

       And Monroe seemed to be on the same wave-length, because in a heartbeat, she was opening the door beneath the stairs.

       Into the vacuum closet.

       Monroe shut the door behind us, and breathing heavily, I tried to adjust my eyes to the dark.

       "Corn?" she asked.

       "It's scary," I admitted. "But don't tell anyone. It's a secret."

       "I won't." Her voice was soft, teasing.

       I couldn't see her in the dark, and I felt like a child all over again, terrified of the shadows. Without meaning to, I stepped closer to her. As if somewhere in my mind, my lizard-brain thought she could fight away all the evil monsters.

       The silence was—unbearable.

       Her skin was brushing mine. Her breath was warm in the space between us. I wondered if I could find her in the dark. Maybe kissing her would make all the monsters disappear.

       Those thoughts were terrifying.

       I couldn't be thinking of kissing her. Hadn't I promised myself I didn't want anything to do with her? I hated her.

       It was stupid. Hating her was stupid. But if I didn't, if I could actually let myself like her—become friends with her? 

      That would be the day I gave up any pretense of being straight.

       If it ever got to that point, where I wanted to be friends with her, kissing her was inevitable.

       Being with her was inevitable.

       So I had to hold myself back. Not friends—yet. Maybe I could outlast this enemy thing until she left for university. But why did the thought of her leaving suddenly make it hard to breathe? Why didn't I want her to go? Goddamn fucking fucked fucker fuck.

        "Why are we in the closet?" I whispered.

        I couldn't see it, but I knew she was smirking. "Do you want to come out?"

       "No, I—" I deflated a little. "My parents already know."

       Her voice sounded concerned, and it surprised me. "What?"

       "My parents found out about the Halloween party. How I told people I was . . . bisexual." I swallowed. It had occurred to me that I was having another real conversation with Monroe.

       She whispered, "How did they take it?"

       "Um. Not well. My mom started crying." I let out a little sharp laugh. "Yeah, it was great. And they haven't brought it up since. Like maybe if they pretend it never happened, I'll forget about my own sexuality."

       "They're assholes," she said fiercely.

       "It's just—I thought they wouldn't mind, you know? Like what's the big deal that I like girls? But, you know, my dad brought up the whole biology thing and . . ."

       "There are actually over 1500 animal species in nature that are homosexual. It's perfectly normal."

       I knew she couldn't see me, and I was glad for that as the smile crept onto my face. "Um, thanks."

       Almost as if it was an instinct, I stepped towards her in the dark.

      "Sorry for being a bitch. About the flowers. That was nice of you."

      "The violets?" She sounded like she was laughing.

      "Yeah. Why are you—"

      "I think it's funny that they're your favourites."

      "What?" Hate, hate, hate. I needed to hate her right now, or maybe I'd actually start liking her. "Why?"

      "It's just a poem," she said.

      And I wanted—needed—to be closer to her.

      I stepped towards her again. My foot nudged against something, and I made a mental reminder that the vacuum tube was tangled up between us. Do not trip. 

      "Roses are red, violets are blue?"

      Her laughter faded, just a bit. But I could hear the teasing in her tone as she said, "Haven't you heard of Sappho?"

       That was the second time I'd heard that name in twenty-four hours. What did Claudia and Monroe know that I didn't?

       "No," I whispered, some stupid, instinctual part of me needing to be closer. "I ha—"

       I'd forgotten about the tangled-up vacuum. And, of course, I tripped.

       Right into Monroe.

       My body crashed into hers, and it must have been terrible luck or some sadistic twist of the universe, but the closet door was right behind her—and we both went tumbling out.

       I landed on top of her.

       Her arms were wrapped around me.

       As if, in the chaos of the fall, it had been the most natural thing in the world to her to protect me.

       My hair fell over my shoulders, the ends brushing her chest. The feel of her leather jacket, gripped in my fingers, was rough and worn. 

       "Déjà vu," Monroe breathed.

       I remembered our fall in the school hallway. Just like then, I had ended up on top of her.

       Which I didn't exactly mind.

       The memory of my fantasy rose back up. What if I ripped off this leather jacket of hers and fucked her right here, right now?

       My breathing quickened. And then I remembered . . . I had also blurted out, I'm straight!

       Heat flushed my body, my cheeks. I felt locked in an endless staring contest with Monroe. It felt like . . . like we were dating. And it was easy to pretend, for just a moment, that she was my girl. And I was hers.

      If I could stare at her like this, forever, I wouldn't mind. Why would I ever want to blink if Monroe was mine?

      At the end of the hallway, someone cleared their throat.

      I looked up. 

      Well, I thought. Finding your girlfriend on top of your cousin after falling out of the closet probably isn't the most romantic discovery on Thanksgiving. 

      Aaron's eyes narrowed.

***

I feel really sorry for Aaron right about now. You probably will too. Although he's about to get what's coming to him.

From the moon and back,
Sarai