"OH, HI," I SAID, SCRAMBLING to stand up again. "Um. What's up, Aaron?"

       I was going for the casual approach. 

       I didn't think it was working.

       Aaron's eyes focused on Monroe. And then on me.

       There was suddenly a great deal of lint on my clothes. I astutely avoided Aaron's gaze as I began to pick at the fabric.

       Except Aaron growled, "I thought I told you she was bad news, Talia."

       I tried very hard not to look at Monroe's face. "She's not—um. This was an—accident."

       "Yes," Monroe said coolly. "An accident."

       Back in the kitchen, I could hear the clatter of plates stacking and trays being emptied into the sink. Dessert was going to be served soon.

      "Let's, um, go," I tried.

       But Aaron's gaze was fixed on Monroe. He said, "Really? Hitting on my girlfriend? What the fuck?"

       "Oh," I said. "She wasn't—"

       Monroe took a dangerous step towards towards him. There was something about the way she held herself now, as if she was itching for a fight. "You want to talk about Talia?"

       "I know you were flirting with her!" Aaron seemed to be gearing up for a fight, too. Fuck. Fuck. "Leave my girlfriend alone. You don't deserve her."

       Monroe grinned then, and I knew Aaron was this close to getting beaten unconscious. It didn't matter that he was over six feet, built as the football captain, and over two hundred pounds. If they broke out into a fight, I would put my money on Monroe.

        Did that make me a bad girlfriend?

        Or . . . just an honest one?

        "Why's that?" Monroe asked softly.

        "The drugs," he spat. "Or the jailtime. You were out on the streets for two years, Monroe. You think I don't know what you did to survive? Sure, you're here now, but it wasn't pretty." He was suddenly standing close enough to her to reach out. "My dad might believe the best of you, but I know you were doing bad shit. You're not a good person."

         "Don't you dare," Monroe breathed. "Don't you dare tell me anything I did after my parents' death made me a bad person. You have no idea how I survived."

         Don't do it, Aaron, I thought. Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't do it. 

         With one finger, he jabbed her chest.

         It wasn't as a bad as a shove, or a punch, but it was so much more mocking. And infinitely more condescending.

         That finger said, You're nothing.

         I saw Monroe stiffen. "You have ten seconds to stop touching me," she whispered. 

         "You might have the rest of the world fooled, but not me," Aaron hissed. "You were wild as a sophomore, and I don't believe you changed. Not really. Not where it—" 

         In a move so swift it was barely more than a blur, Monroe punched him.

       ONCE, WHEN WE WERE IN SIXTH grade, Aaron and I played a game of hide-and-seek tag. In hindsight, it was a pretty stupid idea for a two-person game. But we made it work.

        I had been hiding up in a tree, on one of the thinnest branches. I knew Aaron would never be able to get to me there—he weighed a lot more than I did, and it would crack under his weight.

        So, with snickering glee, I held my breath as I heard him approach beneath the tree.

        "Talia! This isn't fair. You always pick the best hiding spots. You know I can't reach you." I could see the top of head, the chestnut curls that ruffled in the spring breeze.

        "You're faster than me," I said without thinking. "And stronger. So it's even."

        He looked up. I had just fallen into his trap.

        With an arrogant grin, he said, "I'm coming for you!"

        I had been certain it was a bluff. The branch was too thin for his weight, so all he could do was try and taunt me out of my spot. But that day, buoyed by his own confidence, he started climbing the tree.

        "Aaron, no!" I shrieked, when he approached my branch.

        He thought he was so smart. He must have figured I'd just back down when he crawled onto my branch.

        But through the foliage above, hidden by the dense leaves, I knew there was another branch. If he got too close, I had a back-up option.

        "You're going to snap the branch!" I yelped.

        "Scaredy-cat," he taunted, still crawling towards me.

        Too close. I could feel the bark beneath me splintering, twigs shaking loose and hitting the grass.

        At the last moment, I grabbed onto the branch overhead and swung myself on top.

        Aaron didn't have that luxury.

        I heard the sickening crack of the branch as it broke, and with clarity that would give me nightmares for months to come, I saw Aaron fall. He was all flailing arms and leaf-strewn hair, and when he hit the ground, I screamed louder than he did.

        "Aaron!"

        Faster than I could make sense of it, I was scrambling down the tree. My hands on the grassy lawn of Skylar's enormous backyard, I knelt at Aaron's side and leaned over him.

        "Are—are you okay?"

        He wasn't, though. Along with the snap of the tree branch, I had heard the crack of his bones.

        He only moaned in response. Another shriek escaped me.

        Skylar had always called me a screamer.

        I must have been much more afraid than him. As if he was my own body, my own flesh and blood and bone, I felt every bit of his pain. I'd never broken anything before, but I could see the way his face had whitened. The way his leg was slanted in the wrong angle.

        For almost a year afterward, Aaron would walk with crutches. I never want to do that again, he told me. So please don't climb any more trees. 

        I'd never forget the sound of his scream.

        THE WAY HE LET OUT THE same startled cry of agony now brought me back to that summer game of hide-and-seek.

       Monroe had punched his face.

       Aaron's strangled noise brought the adults running into the hallway. 

      "Aaron, honey, what happened?" Mom asked. 

      Mr. Andersen's grim eyes flickered from his son to Monroe. Who was perfectly calm, as if she hadn't just socked her cousin in the face.

      "She—she—" Aaron cradled his cheekbone. "I—"

      Every single person in the hallway turned to look at Monroe.

      "I gave him a warning," Monroe said evenly. "I told him not to touch me."

      And . . . even though Aaron was making the same sounds I'd expect a dying animal to make, even though his pain pricked at me like it was my own, she was right. She had given him a warning, but—

      "Psycho bitch," Aaron spat. And then he fainted.

       MR. ANDERSEN APOLOGIZED ABOUT a hundred times to Mom and Dad, but they weren't having any of it.

      "She's just been having such a hard time since she moved back," Mr. Andersen explained. "I'm not sure what to do with her . . ."

       "We completely understand," Dad said. "Seems like she's lashing out."

       "We heard about her . . . sexual orientation," Mom said in a low voice. "It's a shame. She's such a pretty girl. But people who think like that . . . well, this shouldn't have come as a surprise."

       Were they really implying that Monroe liking girls had anything to do with her being violent? No, that was a purely Monroe trait. Just like beating up random men in alleyways.

       Still, I was . . . well, I was in shock.

       She had punched Aaron's face. And maybe broken his nose.

       Sitting on the top of the stairs, out of view from the kitchen, I couldn't help thinking of the whole situation. 

       She'd given him ten seconds. And he hadn't moved.

       Did that really make it her fault?

       I didn't think idle talk was anywhere in Monroe Kingston's vocabulary.

      And in a flash, the memory of our first encounter came back to me.

      You look like the most dangerous thing around, I'd said.

      If only I had known just how right I would be.

       "What a nightmare of a Thanksgiving," Claudia whispered, crouching down next to me. Mom and Dad were still talking to Mr. Andersen, but I didn't really feel like listening anymore. "Although, Monroe did just get like ten times hotter." 

      "She punched Aaron's face, and that makes her hotter?"

      Claudia shrugged. "He was touching her. She told him not to. He's literally a six foot four jock that weighs over two hundred pounds, and he was getting all aggressive, accusing her of shit that may or may not be true. I'd be pretty scared of him, so props to her for doing something about it."

       "Well," I said. "I don't know. I guess." 

       "SHE DID . . . WHAT NOW?" 

       "Yeah," I said, leaning out of the window to inhale a deep breath of warm afternoon air. It was Sunday, the day after Thanksgiving, and Skylar and I were on our way to the mall. "She gave him a right-hook. Didn't hold back or anything."

       Skylar blew a strand of hair out of her mouth, both hands on the steering wheel. "Tal," she said. "Not to be an asshole. But . . . he was kind of asking for it."

       That was like what Claudia had said. "But . . ."

       "I know he's your boyfriend and all." Skylar's eyes skated hesitantly towards me. "But from the way you told me it went down, I think he provoked her."

       "What?"

       "There was no way he couldn't have known she would go through with it. So maybe he wanted her to . . ."

       "Seriously. Sky. That's crazy. You didn't hear him scream—there was no way in hell he wanted that."

       "Listen. I know you love him. And I know you've known him longest. But he's always been an only child, and he's used to his dad's attention being only on him. I'm not saying he planned this, but I think maybe he's just not used to sharing the spotlight. So maybe if he got hurt, people would focus on him, not Monroe."

       "Are you crazy? Sky, I love you, but I know him better than anyone else. I promise that's not it."

       I didn't know it then, but I was right. That hadn't been Aaron's reasoning. The problem was, when I found out, it would be so, so much worse.

       Skylar parallel-parked close by the mall, tossing me the keys to her car for safe-keeping because she had the tendency to lose just about everything.

       "Divide and conquer?"

       "Yeah," I agreed. "No way in hell I'm letting you have a sneak-peak of your gift."

       Even though it was still November—although, to be fair, it was the last week—we were going shopping for our December goal.

       "My gift is going to beat your gift," I said.

       Skylar grinned. The sharp points of her incisors always made her seem a little wolf-like. "My gift is going to break your gift's nose."

       Once we were inside the mall, we made a pact to go in opposite directions. I had absolutely no idea what I was going to get for anyone, but I shot Skylar a confident grin— as if I had the secrets of the universe mapped out.

       "My gift is going to slap your gift so hard it'll see stars," I said.

       "My gift is going to break your gift's ribs and laugh about it."

       "My gift is going to step on your gift's face and steal its dental insurance."

       "My gift is going to dismember your gift and hide its body in twenty-seven different locations around the globe where it'll never be found by the police."

        Unfortunately, I didn't have an answer for that one.

        "If the FBI come knocking on my door one day asking about you, I'm just going to tell them that yes, you're the serial killer they've been looking for."

        Skylar threw me the middle finger, walking backwards into the opposite direction. "Oh, please. If I murder someone, you'll be right there with me. How else am I supposed to enact my Orange Is The New Black fantasy?"

        "Isn't that a show about lesbians in prison?" I asked.

        Her smile was unmistakably wolfish. "Exactly."

        "What makes you think I'll fit in there?"

        Just before she disappeared into Swarovski, she called out, "Just trust me, Talia. You'll fit in, alright."

***

One time I told someone in the US that Canadians rode their moose to school and used igloos as summer homes. I also said there was a famous 7 million dollar heist at the Pearson airport, where someone tried to smuggle like 550 pounds of maple syrup out out of the country. I never got the chance to correct that guy, so just keep him in your thoughts and prayers, y'all.

From the moon and back,
Sarai