IT MUST HAVE BEEN a cold day in hell.

       When the bus jolted to a stop, four hours later, I jerked away and realized my cheek was buried in a certain warm leather jacket.

       "Morning, sunshine," said Monroe.

       If I got to wake up every morning with those words, I think I'd die happy. 

       And it hit me, so suddenly that I wrenched my head away from Monroe's shoulder: I didn't just not hate her. I wanted to be with her.

       Not just sexually. The book had made me realize that. She might have long, sexy legs and an ass that made me stare every damn time she walked away, but . . . fuck. All our time in the library arguing, our laser tag match—there was something about her. I still wanted to fuck her, but I wanted to fall in love with her, too.

         Fall in love. 

         That was scary. That was worse than scary. Loving Monroe meant I couldn't wish away the part of me that liked girls.

         So the best I could do now, after jumping away from her, was say, "Um. Thanks."

         "For what?"

        She damn well knew for what. "Letting me sleep on your shoulder. The whole ride."

        It reminded me of when I'd woken up in her bed, my hand between her—

        Best not to think of that. 

        For some reason, Monroe seemed to require my whole focus. But as I narrowed in on the world around us, I realized students were slowly piling off the bus.

       Since Monroe and I were in the back, we were the last ones. I reached for my duffel bag, but Monroe just slipped it over her shoulder.

       "I can carry that," I protested.

       She grinned, and it was fucking breathtaking. "It's not that heavy."

       That was a lie. I knew exactly how heavy it was, but . . . God, arguing suddenly seemed like the most useless thing in the world. Why bother when I could be making out with her?

        Quickly, I shook my head and hurried off the bus. Behind me, Monroe stopped.

        "Why'd you—" My eyes skated upwards. "Oh."

        The skiing resort in Vail, Colorado was gorgeous. Draped in thick, glittering white snow, the sloping rooftops reminded me almost of a palatial view. Like a French castle in the middle of winter. Up above, I saw the tall peaks of mountains and the glimmering mist that snaked against the sapphire-blue sky.

        This was our home for the next five days.

        No parents. No consequences.

        "Never gets old," Monroe said, squinting up at the sky. Her face was bathed in the bright, almost blinding white light, and she shone in a way that made me want to say a bad pick-up line about angels.

        Inside, the view was just as gorgeous—but cozier. Roaring fireplaces and glossy hewn wood, with rich reds and warm oranges artfully decorating every inch of the lodge. The lights were dimmed, but the blazing fires were enough light that it felt almost otherworldly to be standing here.

         It seemed the seniors were the first ones to arrive, because I didn't see any of the grade nines or tens or elevens. 

        At the desk, a secretary smiled politely at us, like we were a bunch of wild teenagers who had just stumbled onto the skiing lodge by accident.

        And I knew Monroe had been in charge of organizing this whole trip, but somehow, it didn't register until she strode right up to the desk.

       "Hello," she said. "We're the Westmore High School. Here until the 31st. I'm Monroe Kingston, and these are the seniors."

       Even watching her from a distance, I could tell Monroe's grin was charming enough to make the pretty, twenty-something secretary stammer.

       The secretary pursed her red mouth and glanced down. "Oh. Yes. Um. Where are the rest of you?"

       "On their way," Monroe said. "Can we start organizing rooms?"

       "Oh, yes." The secretary was actually blushing. "Um, here. These are the room keys. Assign them one to each senior, and one to each sophomore."

       Once Monroe had returned to my side—and my stupid, stupid heart started beating again—I heard her say, "Alright, gather round if you want the best view."

       I ENDED UP IN A ROOM WITH Olivia. She grinned at me as we slid the key into the lock, and when the door flung open, she tossed her bags onto the bed and I followed suit.

       "We got the view of the ski slopes," she said. The air in here felt chill, but it had the soothing scent that all hotels did. Something warm and sharp and timeless. 

       The tall glass windows revealed little figures in the distance, cutting across the plane of pure white snow. The ski slopes. 

       "That's pretty cool," I acknowledged. But I was thinking of Monroe, and how I'd been so worried to get a room with her.

       Shouldn't I feel relieved now that I didn't?

      "Wish we had the mountains," Olivia sighed. "They're the best, I think."

       As far as hotel rooms went, I was pretty sure this had to be illegal. There was no way the money we had had paid for this:  A suite with lavish furniture and glossy wood and its own damn fireplace.

       But either way, I wasn't going to complain.

       I dialed My Bootylicious Lover, and Skylar's voice rang out on speaker phone: "Talia!"

       "Shit! You're okay. We all thought you had missed the bus," Cody said.

       "Aaron felt really guilty," Skylar added.

       "I'm glad you're okay, Tal," Aaron said. "Don't listen to them. They're idiots. So, you made it on time?"

       "Yeah, I was just late because of, well . . . because of a conversation with my parents about . . . um, getting a job. That's all."

        Why had I lied? It wasn't like Aaron—or any of my friends—wouldn't have understood. But talking about it would mean reliving it, and I didn't want to do that. Not for this whole damn vacation, not if I could help it.

       Five days. Five whole fucking days.

       Once I clicked off the phone, Olivia stared at me expectantly. "Well?"

       "Well?" I echoed.

       "We're going to have such a great time! This is better than I hoped for. What do you think of bathbombs and face masks?"

       I cracked a small smile. "I'm down."

       I realized, then, that besides our one performance at the Hamilton, Olivia and I didn't really hang out together. At least, not alone. Not with Jordana.

       And as if her name was a fog, as if Olivia was thinking the same thing I was, her face darkened.

      "I think everyone's arrived," Olivia said. "I'm gonna go check on Christie. See you later?"

      "Yeah. See you later." I had no idea who Christie was. But if it meant having a hotel room to myself. . . .

       "TAKE A LOOK AT THIS," Skylar said, fishing into the mini-fridge beneath the countertop. "There's alcohol. Honest to God, alcohol. Who the fuck let that happen?"

       "Aren't there supervising teachers? Maybe you should put that away," said Aaron.

       Skylar popped open the cork. "Buzzkill."

       Cody, lounging on the bed, looked up at the fizz of bubbles. "Pass me some of that."

       "If you guys make a mess out of my room," I warned, "Olivia is going to kill me."

       She probably wouldn't, but I didn't want to be rude. This wasn't just my space now.

       Skylar said, "I wish we could've been roommates."

       I made a scissor motion, like the one I'd seen her do at the café in November. Before I could ask what the hell that meant, she burst into laughter.

      "What? What did I do?"

      "You don't know what scissoring is?"

      "Is that code for something to do with sex?"

      Skylar had a sly glint in her eye. "I think you should ask Monroe. She'll know what it means."

       "Monroe? Fine. Maybe I will." 

       Cody passed me the bottle of champagne Skylar had opened. "Drink some of this before you go."

       "Go? Now? You want me to go right now?"

       "Exactly."

        I glanced over to Aaron, who was watching us with a bemused expression. Did he know what scissoring was?

       Before I could ask, Skylar said, "Get. Skedaddle. Whatever the fuck you call it. I'm gonna go find the light of my life and make love to her."

       Cody scratched the back of his neck. "I'm going to go avoid all my scorned ex-lovers."

        I turned to Aaron. Hadn't he been the one who had told me Monroe was bad news? The black eye he had was fading, but it was still there. And Monroe had given it to him. "Are you—"

        "I'm going to hit the slopes," he said. "With some football friends. You know, kick their asses. Show them how it's done."

        It occurred to me that this was suspicious. Hadn't Aaron hated Monroe only a month ago? They'd gotten into a fight on Thanksgiving, for God's sake. He couldn't possibly want me to go up to her now.

        "Where is she?" I asked. "Monroe, that is."

        Skylar shrugged. "Check my room. I got paired with her."

        I KNOCKED ON THE DOOR TO Room 117, and Monroe answered as if she'd just woken up for a nap.

        All along the walk up here, I had come up with a very brilliant, very ingenious mantra: I am not jealous that Skylar is sharing a room with Monroe. I am not jealous that Skylar is sharing a room with Monroe. I am not jealous that Skylar is sharing a room with Monroe.

       As soon as she opened the door, all sleepy and mussed, I gave up all pretense of lying.

       I was really fucking jealous.

       Skylar got to see this?  Skylar got to wake up in the middle of the night and roll over and maybe catch a glimpse of Monroe sleeping? 

       Not that I cared. Because she didn't like me, and maybe I didn't like her, and it was all just fucking impossible. I could never be with her, because breaking up with Aaron—

       Breaking up with Aaron. Why couldn't I?

       I knew how it worked. I knew that when one best friend had feelings for another, it never ended well. And if those feelings weren't reciprocated, they'd lose each other forever. It had happened a million times, and I didn't want it to be me. 

       Was Monroe worth that? Was she worth losing my best friend?

       "Hey," Monroe said, and I realized I had just been staring at her in the doorway.

        "What's scissoring?" I blurted out.

        Her expression changed from tired to amused. I liked the way her dimple appeared, denting her left cheek. "Well," she said. "When a woman likes another woman very much . . ."

        I swatted at her. "Come on."

        "No, it's true. It's kind of a bees-and-bees story."

        "Shut up," I said, laughing. "You're not funny."

         Then I realized me touching her had put her in much, much closer proximity than I had meant. Because she was leaning against the doorframe, and I was inches away from her face.

         "I'm hilarious," she said, and if I wasn't mistaken, she was a little breathless. "You shut up."

         I stepped closer. My fingers brushed against the grey material of her shirt. Who is this girl?  I wondered, as I tilted my head and peered at her beneath my lashes.

        "Make me," I whispered.

        An infinite beat of silence stretched between us.

        And then she was shaking her head, stepping back, and it felt like a blow to the stomach. "No, Talia," she said roughly. "You have no idea what you're asking for."

        I felt almost ashamed. Heat spread beneath my skin. Had I really just been flirting with her?

        "What?" I forced myself to say. "What's wrong?"

        "If I'm going to fuck you," she said, her jade eyes piercing into mine, "it'll be when I can call you my girl."

***

Is it getting a little hot in here or am I imagining this...

From the moon and back,
Sarai