THERE WAS A FIRE in the backyard.

I'd figured it was only a matter of time, earlier, when I'd seen how tipsy all the seniors were, playing around with fireworks. But it came to my attention when I stepped back from Monroe, when the world filtered back in.

There was a fire in the backyard, and a boy with hazel eyes staring at me from across the lawn.

It occurred to me that the fire was probably the reason he'd seen me. Seen us.

Next to him, I noticed Skylar and Cody, too. Three figures, cut in shadow, dark against the golden light of the kitchen behind them. They stood so ominously for a moment that I was terrified they'd judge me—that they'd hate me forever.

Maybe I was Bella Swan, about to be tortured by the Volturi.

After all, I had broken up with Aaron only hours ago. And now I was kissing the girl I'd sworn was my enemy.

For one whole moment, I could feel my heartbeat, radiating from my chest to my fingertips, roaring so loudly in my ears that I could hear nothing else.

I was only aware of Monroe, touching my hand lightly, and I knew that even if everyone else in the world hated me, I still had her.

But please, please don't hate me.

Aaron took one step towards me, and I imagined the anger that would contort his face. The fury that would darken his features.

Instead, he laughed.

"What?" I said weakly, but I was laughing now too. "What's so funny?"

"I'm gay," he told me.

And then I really did laugh. "I'm a lesbian."

He had crossed the distance of the lawn, and now he pulled me into a hug that felt just—right, somehow. Because there was no pretense of romance, no need to be what neither of us were. His chest shook, and I squeezed him tighter. Here. Here was my best friend. I hadn't lost him.

"We really are such fucking idiots, aren't we?" I mumbled into his letterman jacket.

"Yeah," he said. "We really fucking are."

"I'm sorry," I said into his chest. "I think I was using you, in some way, because I thought that―that you were the perfect boy for me―and if I didn't like you―I'd really have to admit I didn't like boys at all."

Aaron's scent, cedar and pine, was home. He said, "I think I figured it out when I kissed you for the first time. Remember the bleachers and the football field? I was ecstatic. Because it felt like―I think I knew, then. That I didn't like girls. But then . . . I doubted myself. Maybe I just needed to give it time, but then I gave it time, and I tried my best―to play the part of a perfect boyfriend. You know, goodnight texts and I love you's and kissing. I'm sorry. If I didn't notice you weren't happy, it's because I think I felt the same way."

We had both just been trying our best to be something we weren't.

Finally, I stepped back from Aaron. Cody and Skylar were watching me with something like bewilderment.

Then Skylar's expression morphed into mischief. "You finally did it, Decker. You kissed Monroe fucking Kingston."

Cody clapped me on the back, and I glanced back, where I knew Monroe was standing.

She seemed amused, with her jade eyes dark and her mouth edged in a smirk.

"Yeah," I said. "I kissed Monroe fucking Kingston."

"NO, YOU DIDN'T."

"Yes, I did."

"No, Monroe told me she kissed you."

My mouth fell open. Claudia, swinging back and forth in the early morning sun, seemed entirely unaffected. As if she regularly exchanged conversation with Monroe.

"Monroe told you about the kiss?"

"Yes, she did," Claudia said. "Don't act so surprised."

"Holy shit," I said.

We were at our old playground, the park with the little foodstand―Waffles. Behind us, the lake sparkled with the early sun. Claudia and I were on the swings again, and so far, she was going higher than I was.

"That's how I know she kissed you. Also, her version of events seems more accurate."

"What part of my version wasn't accurate?"

"Well," Claudia said, pretending to consider it. "You said that the fireworks went off, and that you were all cool and confident, super chill. And when the New Year hit, you kissed her, no words needed. Boom. The end."

"That is what happened!" I lied.

"Sorry, Talia, but you hesitating, rambling, and then letting her kiss you sounds way more real."

"Well, that's not fair. That's just simply untrue. Me, rambling? I'd never―"

Behind me, I heard Monroe say, "Oh, you don't ramble, Talia?"

My entire face heated. I skidded my feet into the sand, stopping the swing, and turned around.

"Monroe, what are you―"

"I invited her," Claudia said. "Because knowing you, Tal, you'd overthink everything that happened last night and then just stew about it for the rest of break until your inevitable encounter when school begins again, and by then, you'll be too nervous to just get on with how you really feel. I can't take anymore of this. Make it official now."

My face turned hot. Blushing―I was blushing.

"Claudia," I said, without looking away from Monroe, "you can't just assume she wants me to be her―"

In the bright morning sunlight, with the gold igniting the green in her eyes, Monroe looked more beautiful than I'd ever seen her. For once, there were no fresh bruises or cuts on her knuckles, and when she took my hand in hers, she said, "Will you be my girlfriend, Talia?"

Instead of screaming, I said, very calmly, "Yes."

Just kidding. I screamed.

And then I tumbled into her, launching us onto the grass, and then we were laughing under the bright blue sky, and I didn't think I'd ever get of this, of her.

"Monroe?" I said, highly aware of every inch of my body that was tangled with hers. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

Her lips quirked up into a knowing smile. "I thought that was implied."

"Just say it. For―um, the record."

"Are you sure that's necessary?" she teased.

"Definitely," I said, nodding. "Say it for the court. Or, you know. Because I want to hear it."

"I'm your girlfriend."

I blushed again. Her lips were so fucking close to mine. How did God create Monroe Kingston, knowing I'd have to work twice as hard to pay attention to her when she had a mouth like that?

"Again. You should say that again."

"I'm your girlfriend," Monroe said.

"Could you, maybe, add my name to that? For empirical data?"

"I'm your girlfriend, Talia Decker."

I pretended to frown. "You must like me, if you were willing to say that three times."

Monroe grinned, and her fingers curled into the collar of my shirt. Bringing my lips so close to hers that we were a breath apart.

Kiss me, I thought. Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.

She was torturing me on purpose.

"I do like you," Monroe said. "Didn't you know?"

"I had no idea," I said, and then I just couldn't take it―I slid my hand over the edge of her jaw, and I brought her lips to mine.

There was that reverent look in her eyes, again, when we withdrew. As if she'd never seen anyone more beautiful before. And I blushed―because hadn't I just been thinking the same thing?

"Well," Monroe whispered, and I knew we were on the grass of park―knew that we were in open view of any old men or children or families who wanted to see. But I didn't care. Because how could I, when I thought I might be falling in love? "In case it wasn't clear, Talia . . . I really fucking like you."

And then she kissed me, and I stopped keeping score.

Finally, she lifted me to my feet. I let her, still dazed. My thoughts were still on a loop: Monroe Kingston is my girlfriend. Monroe Kingston is my girlfriend. Monroe Kingston is my fucking girl. Monroe fucking Kingston is my fucking girlfriend.

It was January 1st, and I had a girlfriend―and that girlfriend was Monroe Kingston.

Who would've thought?

"Come here," Monroe said, and I realized we were now in the parking lot of the playground. She tossed me a helmet, and numbly, I clasped it. "Want to go for a ride?"

"Only if you let me drive," I said, with an unfamiliar note of teasing in my voice. Who was I?

With a grin, she threw me the keys. I caught them in one hand, and her eyes glinted.

Then I swung leg over the back of the motorcycle, and I felt her get on behind me. Her arms slipped around my waist and―oh. I hadn't thought this through.

"Where do you want to go, Talia?" she asked me.

"Anywhere," I breathed, revving the engine.

She kissed the space between my jaw and neck, and my whole body melted. "Then let's go anywhere."

I stepped on the gas, and I prayed to God that I wouldn't crash into anyone.

Eventually, we ended up along the coast, with the sea on our left side and the mountains on our right. The road in front of us was long and curved and pale grey, smooth with wear, and as the wind swirled through my hair and Monroe's fingers tightened on my stomach, I thought that this was another perfect moment. I had a collection of them now, and I wanted more with Monroe―a lifetime's worth of them. She fit perfectly against me, and I liked the way her lips brushed my neck every so often. I knew she was trying to rile me up, and it was working.

Finally, I slowed to a stop along the road of a beach, and I rested the motorcycle against a few rocks. The wind was fiercer now, the sky a deeper shade of grey, and I hadn't realized it would be so cold.

I sat down on the sand, a few feet away from the shore. The sound of the waves was so soothing I almost forgot I was shivering.

"Do you ever think about―you know, life and death and all?"

Monroe pulled off her leather jacket and slipped it over my shoulders wordlessly, sitting down next to me.

"Yeah," she said. "I don't believe in Heaven. But I do find the idea of reincarnation beautiful, if you think about it. Like you're one with the earth, the world itself, and you become everything living―every blade of grass and animal and human being. So everything is all just connected."

"I like that," I admitted. "I guess . . . I don't know. I've been raised Catholic. But some people say there's nothingness, and that kind of scares me. What if there isn't anything waiting for us when we die?"

"I don't believe that," she said fiercely. "We didn't do all this―live all this―just so we could be nothing. I think we all have a purpose."

"What's yours?"

"I'm not sure yet." Her voice was soft, and she slipped one arm around me. "But I'm trying to find it. I think . . . I think it involves justice."

I wanted to bring up the fighting, but I didn't want to ruin what we had―this precious moment, this sweet quiet. But the need to know burned inside of me. The bruises, the fights, the men in alleyways.

The waiter's face flashed in front of me, and I wondered why he had vehemently protested when I'd offered to call the police. What was he hiding?

What was Monroe hiding?

"I don't know mine either," I confessed. "Cody wants to be a photographer and Aaron wants to travel the world and Skylar wants to be a lawyer. But I―I have no idea. I know I'm smart, but I just don't . . . love any one subject, you know? Except . . ."

"Except?"

"English, maybe," I said. But I waved my hand. "That's not a useful major, though. I'll never find a job."

"Is that you talking," Monroe asked softly, "or your parents?"

And I had to think about it. Because―fuck. "My parents, but . . . I don't know. Will I really find a career in English?"

"Listen to me, Talia. If you want to do it, you'll find a way. I promise. And . . . I'll be by your side. The whole time."

"Promise?" I asked.

"Promise," she said.

Then I smiled, and I leaned into her. Water swept over the shore, seeping into my shoes, but before I could gasp at how cold it was, she placed her hand to my neck―turning my head slightly―and kissed me.

"You're really good at that," I whispered.

But the thought of her kissing me brought to mind the thought of my head between her thighs. I had always wanted to know what she would taste like, and now that she was my girlfriend . . .

She was older. I knew she had more experience―with girls, definitely even with sex. But I'd only ever been with men before, so what if I disappointed her? What if I didn't measure up to her other girlfriends?

"Tal," said Monroe, and the nickname warmed me.

"Yeah?" I couldn't meet her eyes: I only focused on the ocean in the distance, the navy blue of the waves.

"What are you thinking?"

And I hesitated. Because how could I tell her I was scared, when I knew how confident she was? When I knew she had so much more experience with girls than I did?

But something in me trusted her. We'd fought and we'd argued and we'd hated each other―or pretended to―and we hadn't come this far just for me to pull back now.

"I've never had sex with a girl before," I said.

Her eyes widened. And then a grip sparked on those soft, sweet lips. "I had a feeling."

"Or anyone, for that matter," I blurted out.

She might have been about to laugh, but I think she realized how important it was to me. Slowly, she tilted my face up to hers.

"Talia," she said, and there was sea salt in her hair, sand on her skin. I saw myself reflected in her eyes, and I looked beautiful. "I don't care."

"But I . . ."

"No," she repeated fiercely. "I don't care. I like you, Talia. You. If this is what you need to hear, then let me say it: I won't compare you to anyone else I've slept with. I won't judge you for anything you don't know how to do. If anything, I consider myself the luckiest girl on earth―because I get to teach you."

I had to blink a few times to clear my eyes―definitely just some sand. "Monroe?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," I said, and I knew I was ready.

***

Goodnight, Seattle.

From the moon and back,
Sarai