"TALIA, WE WANT TO talk to you about yesterday."

     I was halfway out the door, my duffel bang slung over my shoulder. Slowly, slowly, I forced myself to turn around. 

    "About what? I didn't think there was anything to talk about." Other than the fact that both of you are homophobic and I had no idea, no idea, no idea—

     Seven—it was seven in the morning, and if I didn't leave soon, I'd be fucking late.

     Skylar had told me to hurry my ass, because if I didn't get there on the time, the seats on the bus would be taken up. And I'd end up sitting next to Todd for all four miserable hours to Vail.

      Not to mention that Aaron was probably waiting on me. He'd have to leave soon, considering we needed to pick up Skylar and Cody, too.

      "Christmas was . . . a little unpleasant yesterday," Dad said, pushing his wiry glasses up his nose. "We want to discuss how you're feeling. Don't think that we don't love you any less, but we understand what it was like to be a teenager and—"

      "You think I'm bi because I'm a teenager?"

      "Honey," Mom said. "You have to understand. We all did stupid things when we were teenagers."

       Me liking girls is stupid?  "I have to go. Really. I'm going to be late."

        Claudia had already left five minutes ago. One of her friends had picked her up. So if I didn't get going, I'd pretty much be the only one late.

       "But," Dad said. "This can't go on any longer. You're making a bad image for yourself, and it'll haunt you in your future years. Employers will look back at this time and—"

        "Seriously, Dad. I have to go."

        "Sweetie, this isn't natural. Maybe this is all that time hanging around those friends. Cody and—what's her name? Skylar."

         I couldn't help it. I exploded. "My friends are responsible for my sexuality now? What is it, a virus? Being gay isn't contagious!"

        "Nobody said that," Dad said, shaking his head. "Don't put words in our mouths. You're being irrational, Talia."

        "It's the hormones," Mom added.

        And I couldn't stand it. I just couldn't stand it. I had never been more glad for a five-day vacation in my life.

        "I'm leaving," I snapped.

        Mom was crying. Again. "Just think about it, sweetie! Think about how much you loved Prince Charming when you were little! You can't possibly be—be—"

         I slammed the front door before I could hear more.

         Prince Charming. I almost laughed.

         Now, looking back, I wondered if I had really liked Prince Charming because I had wanted to, or because it was just what had been expected of me. He had the personality of a cardboard box, so how much of my crush had been real?

         Looking back . . . how many of my childhood crushes on men had ever been real?

       I WAS LATE. OH, GOD, I was really fucking late. Aaron had already picked up Cody and Skylar—considering I'd taken way too long and hadn't been answering his messages—so I was forced to speed in my mom's van.

       I parked diagonal, taking up two spots, and hurried out of the car. Four buses stalled against the curb, but everyone was already boarded. Besides the teachers, whistling on the sidewalk, not a single student was in sight.

        Oh. Fuck. I was going to have to walk onto one of those buses and find myself a place to sit.

         For the next four hours.

         As I climbed onto the first bus, I just prayed it wouldn't be Todd. I'd take anyone but Todd. I couldn't bear listening to an hour-long rant about anime characters. Not this early in the morning.

         Lucky for me—or really fucking unluckily—there was one seat available.

         It wasn't Todd's.

         "Just find anything," Mrs. Vicky had said before I'd headed onto the bus. "No time to be picky."

         I didn't want to be picky. But how exactly did I tell Mrs. Vicky that I couldn't—couldn't—possibly sit next to a girl who had just yesterday climbed through my window and gifted me a book about Sappho?

       Because I didn't hate her. I didn't hate her, and I didn't want to keep pretending that I did. 

       But if I stopped pretending, I might give in to the stupid, fucking tension and just kiss her. 

       And I couldn't kiss her. Because if I kissed her, I'd break Aaron's goddamn heart. 

       She had given me a book about Sappho.

       Who, I had learned last night, was a lesbian poet.

       Now, Monroe was sitting in the last row of the bus. Or, well, not sitting—I wasn't sure what I could call it when her legs were spread wide and she was leaning back, arms stretched out over the back of the seat.

       I almost backed off the bus right then.

       Every pair of eyes in the bus burned into me. I saw Teagen Ray, Cody's date to Homecoming. She glared at me as if I was personally responsible for Cody being an asshole. There was also Samantha Reyez, who I'd never noticed before, but had these really expressive brown eyes. Todd occupied the front seat, but even he had someone to sit with, a girl with acne scars I didn't recognize. And—fuck. There was Olivia, smiling prettily at me with an unfamiliar boy next to her.

       Where the fuck were Cody and Aaron and Skylar?

       And as if I'd said it aloud, the bus driver said, "This is the seniors' bus."

       Because there were four. One for each grade. Of course.

       And instead of stumbling, breathless, onto the freshman bus, I had picked the goddamn seniors.

       Okay, I thought. I'll just leave and get on the juniors' bus.

       Except the bus driver said, "It's this or nothing. We've gotta go, so find a seat."

       "Wait," I squeaked. "I'm not—"

       He just shrugged. Gruffly, he said, "Doesn't matter. Sit down. We've got a schedule to follow."

       And that was how I ended up shuffling to the back of the bus, with every single senior in the damn school watching me. 

       Monroe grinned, slouching forward to balance her elbows on her knees. A cocky smile formed on her mouth. 

       Why was it that she was the only one who got to sit alone? Why? Why couldn't it be Todd?

       "I organized the trip," Monroe explained, as I slid into the space next to her. "I pretty much get a say in whatever I want to do now."

       "Must be nice," I said under my breath.

       I had really wanted the window side. But Monroe and I were crammed into one small seat, and the only way to get there now—as the bus rumbled into motion—was by climbing over her lap.

        Don't talk to me. Don't talk to me. Don't—

        "Excited?"

        "Very," I managed. "Super."

        Had I really just said that? Had I said super?  Oh, my fucking God. She was going to think I was a loser.

        Monroe bit her lip, a crooked grin already in full-force. "How do you feel?"

        Like Edward in Twilight, trying not to breathe in Bella's scent because he knew she was too tempting and he would drain her fucking blood.

        In my case, I wouldn't bother with the whole draining-blood thing. I'd probably end up shoving her against the bus window and kissing her senseless. Which could absolutely not happen. For obvious reasons.

        "Tired," I told her. "Um. How about you?"

        "How was the sunrise?"

        "Didn't watch it," I confessed. "I . . ." Was up last night, reading lesbian poetry and thinking about you. "Just. Didn't have time?"

        "That's too bad," Monroe said, settling back into her seat with her arms crossed behind her head. 

        Why did she look so hot doing that? What the fuck?

        "Yeah," I said, focusing on Carmela Elana's head of curly auburn hair, right in front of our seat. Maybe if I just stared straight ahead this whole ride—

       "Do you know how to ski?"

       "No."

       "Me neither."

       Now, I had no choice but to swivel around and look at her. "You organized a skiing trip and you don't know how to ski?"

       Her eyes glinted. In the morning light, they were the colour of raw, uncut jade. "This trip isn't about the skiing."

       That . . . sounded particularly dirty. And I thought about Claudia saying, Hot tub sex. Sex by the fireplace. Sex with hot chocolate . . . 

        It suddenly made me inexplicably furious to think about that.

        Because what if Monroe had had sex at the skiing lounge? What if, like Cody, that was where she'd lost her virginity?

        You're just making yourself jealous, some rational part of me suggested.

        Jealous of what?

       "I'm sorry," I blurted out.

       Monroe didn't say anything. Her eyes just flickered to mine, so fucking green in a sudden ray of sunlight that I just—stopped. Why wasn't I with her? Why couldn't I call her mine?

       Aaron. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron. But if I broke up with him—no. 

       And even if I did, even if I entertained the thought for just a second, it wasn't like Monroe wanted me back. I had made it clear to her that I hated her—months ago. 

       She's changed her mind, I reassured myself. It would be pointless.

       "I'm sorry for . . . um. Saying those things. In September. About you running away and crawling back home because the real world wasn't like you thought it'd be."

        Her jaw hardened. "It's fine."

        "No, it's not. I—I was an asshole. I wanted to lash out." I laughed weakly. Because I couldn't admit that hurting her had seemed like the only way to keep her at a distance. "In the Christmas spirit . . . um, would you consider forgiving me?"

         And that smirk—God, that ridiculous, arrogant, beautiful smirk. It made me want to believe in the kind of love all the movies talked about. Passion and electricity and the feeling that you never want to lose them. "You're forgiven."

       "Oh," I breathed, and I slumped back. "Thanks."

       "You do owe me a hot chocolate."

        Was that . . . a date? "Only if you like it with lots of marshmallows. I don't think I could be friends with someone who doesn't like marshmallows."

        Friends?  Had I really said that? It was too late to take it back now.

        "I hate marshmallows," she said. I almost gasped.

        "We can't be friends."

        "Over marshmallows? That sounds . . . extreme."

        I had to ignore the way her lips formed the word extreme, because I found it so incredibly hot I wanted to fuck her right there and then, bus full of seniors be damned.

        "Marshmallows are worth ruining and forming friendships," I said with a shrug. 

        Who was I—all casual and calm? 

       "Would you consider dueling to the death over marshmallows?"

        I pretended to consider it. "No, that's reserved for things more like honor, glory, true love. The like."

       "Oh, true love?" Her eyes glinted. "Have you ever dueled to the death for a shining knight or, say, a fair maiden?"

       "No," I admitted. "But if I did have a fair maiden, I think I'd wage an entire war for her."

       "I think that's the kind of attitude that started the Trojan War."

       "Really, I can't even blame Helen's husband. If Helen of Troy was my wife, I'd take the whole city to war too."

       "Sounds romantic." Monroe's jawline was so sharp, outlined in cold white light. "Your future fair maiden sounds very lucky."

       My future fair maiden . . . was she implying that I'd break up with Aaron someday?

       The thought didn't bother me as much as it should have.

       And, almost unconsciously, I yawned. Reading late last night and talking to my parents this morning—it had sapped all the energy from me.

       The urge to fall asleep was suddenly overwhelming.

       But I didn't have a window to rest my head on. And the next best thing . . . was Monroe's shoulder.

       Even if I didn't hate her, I wasn't going to lean on her.

       Absolutely fucking not.

       "I'm just going to close my eyes for a little bit," I told Monroe.

        Her tone always sounded just a little teasing. "That sounds like a good idea. You look exhausted."

        Absolutely fucking not, I repeated in my mind.

        I was going to sleep staring straight ahead. Or I was going to tilt my head back. Or I was going to fall into the goddamn aisle of he bus. Anything was better than touching her.

        Just before I dozed off, I could have sworn I heard her say, "Sweet dreams, Talia."

        It would be a cold fucking day in hell before I slept on Monroe's shoulder.

>>>

Well, Talia, I can't wait for the next chapter.

From the moon and back,
Sarai