TWO DAYS BEFORE THE CHRISTMAS break, I was sitting on the floor of Aaron's room, staring up at the American flag on the wall behind his bed.

       I said, "You know, if I didn't know you, I'd assume you were a raging homophobic conservative."

       Aaron shrugged. "My dad put that there when I was ten to support pride of our country and whatever. It's because my grandpa was in the war. And—" He had a strange look on his face. "Something my dad said, back when I was a kid. Never mind."

       "What?"

       "Nothing. Seriously." Aaron tilted his head in the mirror. "Is this black eye still bad or?"

       I glanced up. Seeing it every time always shocked me, just a little. 

       "Oh . . . no, it's . . . great."

       "Talia. I can tell that you're lying."

       "Okay, you look like shit."

       "It's been three weeks," he groaned. "Why is it still here?"

        I pulled up Google on my phone. "Apparently, it takes about two weeks to heal. But depending on the severity, maybe more. Monroe must've thrown a hard punch."

        From that video I saw—and the almost constant bruises on her knuckles—I wouldn't expect anything less.

        "Hey, Aaron?"

        "Yeah?"

        "How . . . why . . ." I could feel my face burning up. "You telling me you loved me, that was pretty sudden. What . . . brought that on?"

        "What do you mean?"

        "We never talked about it. Like, the falling in love thing." I cleared my throat. "Why?"

        If I had to explain any more, I'd probably have just left it at that right there. But mercifully, Aaron understood me.

        "Oh," he said. "Well . . . you . . . I . . . your hair has this really nice scent, did you know that?"

        "Lavender," I said. "It's my conditioner."

        "And you've got this great smile. Really. I just noticed it one day and thought, you know, what if we were a couple? And then I couldn't stop thinking about it. Because, wouldn't me and you just be good, perfect even? We know each other so well and . . . I thought to myself, if this isn't love, what is?"

        What is?  That was the big question, wasn't it?

        "Huh," I said softly.

        "What?"

        "I just never thought of it like that."

        ON CHRISTMAS EVE, AS PART of our tradition, the four of us gathered in a circle on the carpet of Cody's living room. Next to us, there was an enormous, frosted-white Christmas tree.

       "Who wants to open their gift first?" Skylar asked.

       Cody squinted at her. The dancing white lights painted his black hair in shades of silver. "Are you aware that you're wearing a polar bear onesie?"

       "Yes, and I still look hot. Can you say the same?"

       Aaron and I exchanged a glance, and burst into laughter. Skylar was probably the only sixteen year old girl in the whole fucking world who could pull off a polar bear onesie.

       "Shut the fuck up, you two," Skylar said. "And since nobody's stepping forward, I'm opening Aaron's gifts first. You always get shitty gifts, by the way."

       "Not fair," Aaron objected. "That's not true."

       I avoided his gaze. "So not true," I mumbled.

       "Skylar? Cody?" They both shrugged, and then he turned to me. "Talia? Come on. It's not true."

       "You did kind of get Skylar a Coke bottle stuffie last year," I said. "And you got Cody an origami book. Which he has literally never used in his life."

       "Maybe he'll want to try it one day?"

       "You also got me a rat catcher. Like, the whole contraption thing. I don't even have rats."

       "But . . . maybe you will. One day."

       I rolled my eyes. "Remember that time you bought Cody the Mean Girls set? And when you bought Skylar and I a matching Siamese twin costume? Just admit you suck at giving gifts, asshole."

       Aaron held up his hands in defeat. "Fine. Fine. You got me. But maybe I did better this year."

       "Doubt it," Skylar said under her breath, and I cracked up.

       Gifts from Aaron included: A sunshine-yellow bonnet for Skylar ("In case you ever go to a 1950's convention!"), a clown kit for Cody ("What if you join the circus one day and you need a set of purple wigs?"), and a gigantic, terrifying cardboard cut-out of Harry Styles for me ("What if there's someone holding you hostage at gunpoint and they say they're going to shoot you unless you have a lifesize cardboard picture of Harry Styles in your bedroom?"). 

       "That last one was weirdly specific," I informed Aaron.

       "It was a very vivid scenario in my mind."

       Next, it was Skylar's turn. Her gifts consisted of: Cologne for Aaron ("Yes, I know what kind of cologne you use. I'm not an animal"), a model of the latest fancy camera for Cody ("Are you stupid? It would take an idiot to not realize you want to go to photography school. No, it wasn't too expensive. Yes, you're going to fucking need it"), and . . . a five-foot rainbow flag for me.

        "A pride flag?" I asked, clutching the bright-coloured material in both hands.

        "Yeah. You officially came out as bi, and I'm proud of you. You can wear it when we go to parades this June."

        Why was I tearing up? "Thanks," I said, trying not to cry. "This is really thoughtful. Fuckhead."

        Gifts from me were the following: A new letterman jacket for Aaron ("Claudia kind of spilled juice on your last one?"), a diamond ring for Skylar ("Because diamonds are your favourite, and also why the fuck not?"), and a fancy sapphire-blue scarf for Cody that matched his eyes perfectly ("Try it on—fuck. I shouldn't have given that to you. I feel personally responsible for everyone you're going to give trust issues to while wearing that").

        And Cody's gifts included: A sexy black dress for me ("Yes, you need one. I'm not kidding. You're wearing that to the Winter Semi. Got it?"), a signed football for Aaron ("You better be grateful. I had to stand in a two-hour line with the straightest, whitest men I ever saw in my life"), and a bottle of lavender-silver hair dye for Skylar ("Because I know you're getting tired of the pink and purple"). 

        Once all the gifts had been exchanged, Mrs. Beckham came in to bring us gingerbread cookies.

        "Good news is," Aaron said, mouth full, "that was a successful Secret Santa."

        Skylar nodded, focused on squirting red icing overtop her gingerbread man. "So, we completed our December goal."

        "How about January?" Cody asked.

        "That's Find out a secret nobody knows yet,"  I said.

        "No worrying about that for now." Skylar held up her gingerbread man proudly. It was a mess of red and green icing. Since she was one of those psychopaths who bit the head off first, the poor thing now looked like it had taken a trip to the guillotine. "The skiing trip is in less than two fucking days."

        She was right: Tomorrow was Christmas, and the day after, the buses would leave at seven in the morning for Vail, Colorado.

       "I'm so glad Claudia convinced us to go on that," Skylar continued. "It's all anyone can talk about now."

       "I thought only seniors went on that."

       "Well, apparently it's popular this year. Pretty much everyone we know is going. So all the cool kids . . . and some hot seniors . . ." Skylar wiggled her eyebrows. "Plus a hot tub . . . maybe a roaring fire . . ."

        "Jesus! You sound like Claudia."

        "Having sex is perfectly healthy, Talia." Skylar narrowed her eyes at me. "I'm surprised you two haven't done it yet."

        I coughed. I didn't know where Cody's parents were, but for all I knew, they were in the kitchen. 

        "I'm just—not—ready," I stammered out.

        Aaron, next to me, had turned beet-red. "We're just—it's none of your business. That's personal."

       "Yeah, yeah." Skylar waved a hand. "Personal, sure. You underestimate how close girls are. That extends to our sex lives."

        That was true. "I do have to hear about Lila Bard, like every weekend."

        "Wow, I do have an active sex life, don't I?"

        Aaron frowned. "Maybe a little too active. I just couldn't picture . . . doing that every day."

        "Why not?"

        "I don't know. Just . . . maybe I don't have a high sex drive."

        Cody sipped at his hot chocolate. "Nah, man. You just haven't tried it yet. Once you get a taste of it, you'll never want to go back. It's pretty much a drug."

        I swallowed. And considered what it would be like to have sex with a boy—with Aaron.

        "No, I agree with Aaron," I said. "Maybe I just don't have a high sex drive, either. I couldn't really picture actively wanting to do it every day . . ."

        But it occurred to me that this was a lie.

        Because didn't I fantasize about Monroe—hadn't I even been having wet dreams about her? Every time I was around her, the thought of seeing her naked appealed to me like she was the ocean and I was the thirstiest goddamn man on the planet. 

        "You two are strange," Skylar said, but her eyes lingered on me. As if she knew what I was thinking. And somehow, it made me feel more vulnerable than I had in weeks.

        CHRISTMAS WAS SPENT WITH Claudia and my parents, watching Love, Actually and a million other cheesy holiday movies. Who would have thought Hallmark pretty much never ran out of fluffy, small-town, girls-meets-boy content for its viewers?

        At one point, I said, "I wish they'd switch it up a little."

        "What?" Mom asked, tilting her head. Her eyes were fixed on the screen as a girl—stubborn, sweet, innocent—batted her lashes at a boy—rugged, mean, prickish. It was the moment before their kiss.

        "Like we've seen this plot recycled at least ten times."

        Claudia glanced up at me from the other side of the couch. Our legs were tangled together under a warm mermaid blanket.

        "If it ain't broke, don't fix it," Dad said, standing behind the couch—like he had been for the whole movie. For some reason, it was impossible for him to sit.

        "But it's stupid," I continued. "It's just a small town girl who meets this new, outsider boy with a tragic backstory. They fall in love, she makes a stupid assumption and feels betrayed, realizes it was stupid, then they make up and—"

        Right on cue, the girl and boy onscreen kissed. 

        I almost shuddered. I couldn't imagine kissing a guy with a beard—with stubble, for that matter. It would be scratchy and rough and—something about the thought disgusted me.

       Mom sighed. "Just enjoy the movie, Talia."

       "Wouldn't it be interesting if it was like . . . a girl?" I pushed. "And another girl? Like an epic romance between them? Something different?"

        I might as well have suggested cannibalism was a family-friendly activity.

        "That's enough, Talia," Dad said in a hard voice. "It's Christmas. No need to ruin it with that kind of talk."

        "That kind of talk?"

        The words seemed almost as if they were wrenched out of Mom: "About . . . girls who . . . like girls."

        It was Christmas, but my temper rose anyway. "I'm a girl who likes girls. Am I ruining today for you?"

        "Honey, it's okay to be confused," Dad said.

        "What. The fuck." I jumped up. "I'm not confused!"

        "Language!" he barked.

         "I'm not fucking confused!"

        "You can't know that you . . . you like girls," Mom said, her voice catching on a sob. "You've never tried it."

        "How do you know that you don't like girls if you've never tried it?"

        Mom's face contorted, turning splotchy. I could tell she was on the verge of tears, and maybe I was fucking ruining Christmas, but I couldn't care less now. 

        Dad crossed his arms. "Go to your room, Talia. You're making your mother upset."

        "Fine," I said, yanking the warm blanket off me. Fuck Hallmark. Fuck this straight bullshit. Fuck this stupid compulsive heterosexuality. Fuck all of it. 

        "She's right," I heard Claudia say, when I was at the top of the stairs. It was soft, hesitant. But it was there.

        My sister was defending me. I didn't think I'd ever loved her more than in that moment.

        INSIDE MY ROOM, SAPPHIE the duck was perched on my bed. I had no idea how she'd gotten in here.

        I had left my phone inside my room, and I realized now that it was buzzing.

        Messages from Olivia. Jordana. Aaron. 

        And . . . I scrolled down. One from Monroe.

        It said, simply, Talia.

        It had been sent—fuck. Two minutes ago.

        Something hit my window, and I jumped.

        A fist, poised to knock. But it wasn't Aaron's.

        "Monroe," I hissed, sliding the glass upwards, not sure if I was doing it because it was cold and she shouldn't have to stay out there, or because I actually wanted her inside. "What are you—"

        "I have something for you." When she saw my panicked expression, she laughed. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, and she was so lovely in that moment I wanted to grab her by the collar of that black winter coat and kiss her. "It's not what you think. Relax."

        "Did you . . . wait, you brought me something??"

        Shaped like a rectangle, it was a slim object covered in purple tissue paper. A book. "Here."

        When she passed it to me, our fingers brushed. The electricity almost stung me.

        "Sappho,"  she whispered. "Her completed works." She tucked back a lock of her black hair. "All her writing is in there."

       "Sappho?" I echoed. I still had no idea who that was.

        "Yeah." Monroe stepped back. She seemed almost nervous. "Figured I was just doing the universe a favour. It'd be pretty much criminal if you didn't know who she was."

        I hesitated. I hadn't known she would get me a gift.

        But I had gotten one for her, too.

        Still, I didn't move. I could only stand there, staring at her. Because why would she do this? Why would she give me something? Why? 

        No, I didn't hate her. I didn't hate her at all.

        Before I could do something incredibly, monumentally stupid, like pull her close to me and seal her mouth to mine, she was ducking back beneath the window.

        "Merry Christmas, by the way," she breathed. The smile on her lips was warmer than the cold wind outside, but it didn't make me feel any better.

       I don't hate her. I don't hate her. I don't—

       "See you tomorrow," I said weakly. When we were boarding the buses for the skiing trip. 

       I couldn't get over the fact that there was the slightest, slightest chance we might end up in the same room together.

       "Yeah," she said. She smirked, and I wondered if I had imagined all traces of nervousness, if maybe it was wishful thinking that she felt even a fraction as shy around me as I did around her. "See you tomorrow."

       Just like that, she was gone. And all that was left of her was the winter breeze, swirling into my room from the open window.

***

THE SKIING TRIP. Oh, God, the skiing trip.

From the moon and back,
Sarai