"YOU BROKE UP WITH MONROE KINGSTON?"

      "I just told you about how I won the game of tag, and that's all you want to talk about?"

      "So it's been a whole month?"  Claudia screeched. "And you didn't tell me you broke up with Monroe Kingston?"

      "There's nothing to tell."

      Claudia lunged towards me, tackling me onto the bed. With a pillow, she smacked my face. Hard.

     "You broke up with Monroe Kingston."

      I thought of the way Monroe had breathed, Then so do I. "It was mutual."

      "Oh, you―" Claudia attempted to smother me with a pillow. "You were so happy, why on earth―"

       "She was keeping things from me," I said stubbornly. "And . . . she didn't show up when I needed her most."

       "What, at the Hamilton café? Maybe she had a really good reason." 

       "Or maybe I just didn't matter enough to her. Stop making excuses for her."

        Tonight, there would be a party at Skylar's house. It was March 1st, and somehow me winning Tag merited a whole celebration. With alcohol and our classmates included. But somehow, I didn't want to go wild and down a few shots. Since yesterday, I'd been feeling the impact of the breakup. And it hurt like hell.

        I could pretend I wasn't, though. I could pretend it didn't matter to me. After all, I'd been doing a good job of shoving it down for a whole month. I didn't know why my emotions were acting up now.

       Claudia eyed me doubtfully. "Are you sure?  'Cause Monroe didn't even mention it to me."

       "She . . . didn't?"

       "No. We've talked a few times. She never mentioned that you . . ."

       Maybe I had misread the situation. Maybe―maybe―

       But no. That break-up had been unmistakable. She was just sparing Claudia's feelings. And―I needed to change the subject. "Are you bringing Amita to Skylar's party tonight?"

       "Yes," Claudia said immediately, brightening. For a moment, she seemed dreamy. And then her stare whipped back in my direction―this time, with narrowed eyes. "Do you think you can distract me from the fact that you didn't tell me about this break-up for a month?"

       "Maybe?" I tried. "Fine. A little. Shut up." 

       Claudia huffed. For some reason, she looked different and I couldn't tell what it was. Her blonde hair was the same shade of honey, like it had been melted in the sun, and her blue eyes had the same mischievous glint. But . . . no. Not her face.

       Her body. I'd never noticed before, but she had muscles.

       "Claudia," I gasped. "Have you been working out?"

       She glanced down at her lap. Sheepish. "A little. I got rejected for the soccer try-outs in the fall. And now that they're in the spring . . . I was kinda thinking I could . . . maybe . . . try again. But without the rejection part."

       "So you've been training?"

       "Yeah, by myself." Her cheeks pinkened. "I still need a coach or something, and before you ask, Skylar said no. She looked really sorry, though. She said between being the captain of two sports teams, there was a lot of work."

       I was not going to think of Monroe and the fact that she, too, had once been the soccer captain. "Well, you're doing a good job. Let me feel your bicep."

       She grinned. "My legs have a lot of muscle now, too. At least if this soccer thing doesn't work out, I'll have more stamina to sit on a girl's―"

       Okay, enough of that conversation.

       WHEN I RANG THE DOORBELL, the party was in full-force. Streamers blazed from the staircase, down the chandelier, even out of the sink. This seemed way too wild for a school night, but then again, it was Skylar.

       I knocked on the door. It opened instantly.

       "Talia!" Skylar said, lurching towards me with a giant hug. She was . . . wet. As if she'd taken a dip in the swimming pool, clothes included. "There you are. I missed you so, so . . . so much."

       "It's been a couple hours."

       "Do you want a drink? You should . . ." Her eyes unfocused, and then focused again. Her violet hair was slicked to her face, but she still managed to look like a model off the runaway―albeit, maybe for an underwater fashion collection. "Have a drink! Or seven or six! Whichever is a bigger number. Oh, and . . ." She leaned in conspiratorially. "Your ex-girlfriend is here."

        Well, that answered it. Skylar was definitely drunk enough to kill a horse. If she couldn't tell the difference between seven and six, we were going to have a problem. 

        It was only ten p.m. 

        And . . . ex-girlfriend. Why―why―did that hurt so much? Three syllables, and I felt like someone had wrecked me inside out.

        "Where's Aaron?" I asked above the music, as Skylar led me towards the kitchen. Through the glass wall, I could see the backyard was a tangle of limbs and leaves and neon lights. "And Cody?"

        "Shh," Skylar said, pressing a finger to my mouth. "Don't talk. I have to―"

        She threw up in a vase. Thankfully, it looked like a vase that had been glued together. As if it had shattered at some point, and then Skylar herself had hurriedly attached its pieces.

        "Okay, I'm done," she said, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. "Maybe I should take a swim."

        "And drown?" I steered Skylar towards the bathroom. "Absolutely not."

        Once she had washed her face and hands and the mysterious sticky wetness, I let her slump down against the wall. Through mascara-streaked eyes, she asked me, "Do you believe in love?"

        "I―I guess." I had. But my heart was a wreck, and even I knew I wasn't the right person to be asking. Not right now. Not when my whole insides writhed with agony and guilt and― "Why?"

        Skylar couldn't be . . . no. She couldn't be crying.

        But those were tears, smudged in black, sliding down to her chin. Real tears. It had been a while since I had seen Skylar cry. If I'd ever seen it.

        "She broke my heart," Skylar whispered. 

        "Lila?"

         Skylar just nodded. "She―told me she loved me. She said that. She said, 'I love you, Sky,' and then she left, a week later. What changed? Or did she never love me at all?"

         "What an asshole," I snapped. I had no fighting skills whatsoever, but if Skylar hadn't yanked me down to sit with her, I might have done something stupid. Like challenge Lila to a fight that I couldn't win. "How could she . . ."

         "She said I was fun," Skylar whispered. And her voice broke. "Fun."

         "You are fun," I said gently.

         "But that's it. That's all I ever was to her. Just fun. Just a fling. Well, she didn't say that part, about the fling, but . . . I could tell. I could tell, you know? You don't tell someone that you fucking love them and then―and then―"

         I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into my chest. "She didn't deserve you. So what if she thought you were only fun? I know you're more than that. Most importantly, you know you're more than that. And―and so does Aaron and Cody and even Claudia, too."

         "Claudia," Skylar moaned. "Who knew your sister was so pretty?"

         Before she could say another word, her eyes fluttered shut. A snore bubbled from her lips.

         Sleeping. She was sleeping. 

         I couldn't just leave her in the bathroom or―couldn't I? This was her house. And if she had to throw up again, she'd have a toilet right next to her. If I locked the door from the inside out, she'd be much safer here than in her bedroom.

         I'd find Aaron and Cody, and then I'd come back.

         It took me twenty minutes to lay Skylar as gently as possible on the tile, head cradled in her arms, and find a coin to twist the lock from the outside. And it took me twenty minutes more to even locate Aaron and Cody―who were extremely drunk, too. Maybe this was the peer pressure I'd been warned about as a kid. 

         "Aaron!" I said, waving him down.

         "Tal!" He scooped me into his arms and swung me around. The lights and rainbow confetti blurred, until all I could see was his face. Dim hazel eyes and curly bronze hair. He grinned, a stupid grin, and when he set me down, he pinched my cheeks. 

         I hadn't seen Aaron drunk in a long time. Actually . . . ever. His dad was so strict about staying healthy for spots that I didn't think Aaron ever got drunk enough to act like . . .

         Well, this.

         "I'm sorry I didn't break up with you sooner," Aaron slurred. "If I realized you liked Monroe, I would have."

         Boys were oblivious, weren't they? "It's okay," I promised. "But you just have to―wait. What's Cody doing?"

         Next to us, Cody was climbing into the giant sink. Water brimmed in it, rising almost to the top, and foam gathered at the edges. With one splash, Cody slipped in.

        "Oh, my God," I said. "Am I supposed to be the mother hen here? Get out of there!"

        I ignored Aaron and braced myself against the counter, reaching for Cody. He only giggled and splashed soapy water at me.

        "Haven't you ever wanted to have a sink bath?"

        "No! Get out before you drown!" I couldn't believe I was saving my best friend from death at the hands of a villainous sink. It was deep enough that if he just slid under, he'd probably never come back up. 

        "It's fun," Aaron said, his smile lopsided now. He was so tall that when he used me as an arm-rest, he leaned on my head instead of my shoulder. "You should have more fun. I don't think you have enough fun. Not lately. Why are you so serious?"

        Because . . . because I made the biggest mistake in my life.

         I swallowed. I had no idea where that thought had come from. But now that it had sprung to life, now that it burned, harsh and bright, I couldn't get rid of it. A mistake. Had breaking up with Monroe been a mistake? No. No.  No. She had secrets―she hadn't been there for me―she didn't trust me―

          And Cody was drowning.

          "Damn you rich people and your giant fucking sinks," I said, hauling him up by the shoulders. Cody spluttered.

         "Do you think penguins wish they could fly?" he said, as if he hadn't just been about to die a terrible, soapy death.

         "No! You're―drenched! Get out of here! Aaron, help me."

         With Aaron's muscle, we managed to drag Cody out of the sink. Sprawled on the kitchen floor in a growing puddle, his hair black as pure night, Cody just smiled at the ceiling.

         "What is he looking at?" I whispered to Aaron. But Aaron wasn't beside me. He was―

         Making out with Brady Williams?

         What?

         And then: Oh. Should have seen that coming.

         It looked . . . harmless enough. At least if he was occupied with Brady, I could focus on taking care of Cody.

        "I," said Cody, "am looking at the secrets of the universe."

         I glanced up at the ceiling. 

         "No," Cody moaned, tugging my hand. "You have to be here to see."

         Here, as in laying on the tiled floor in a pool of sink water. 

        Okay. Fine.

        Gingerly, I allowed myself to lay on my back, side by side with Cody. He didn't look at me; his eyes were fixed on the ceiling. His long black lashes fluttered against his cheekbones, casting pale shadows on porcelain skin. Maybe he was seeing the secrets of the universe. It sure looked like it.

       I remembered what he'd told me once: When he got drunk, he contemplated life. An existential crisis, basically.

       That didn't sound too bad right now.

       Because―a mistake. Had it been a mistake? I hadn't let myself think of it, think of her, for a whole month. But a mistake. A mistake. I couldn't get it out of my head.

       Couples fought. Couples got mad at each other. Couples hurt each other. It didn't mean they had to break up.

       "Cody?" I whispered. I realized we were holding hands, and thank God. I needed it. "Where can I find some alcohol?"

        FIVE OR TEN OR HALF AN hour later, I was tipsy. Maybe. Probably. Kind of. No. Yeah. Definitely.

        I was definitely tipsy.

        I'd gulped down two or four or nine shots of tequila or vodka or rum. Not sure.

        Monroe was here. Somewhere. Skylar had said so. I had to find her.

        Yeah. I had to find her. 

        No. Yes. No. Yes. Yes.

        The world swayed around me. No. Not swayed. The world smudged. Like an impressionist painting. No. Abstract. Everything was just―one tangle. One colourful, artistic disaster. Someone's face smeared in front of me, a laugh. I could barely hear it, but the smile was there.

        "Talia," said a strange, feminine, disconnected voice. "I heard you broke up with Monroe . . ."

        Yes. Yes. Yes! Monroe. I'm looking for Monroe.

        "I wanted to say that . . ." Big, glittery brown eyes blinked up at me. "I've always found you hot. And now that you're available . . ."

        "Monroe," I said. 

        "No, I'm Sam. Samantha. Sam Reyez. You know, in your history class."

        I might have tripped. All I knew was that I was close. Too close. Samantha's face was pretty. Very pretty. She had nice eyes. Nice lips. Kiss me, her mouth said. Kiss me kiss me kiss me―

       I didn't care, though. I could barely see her. Narrowing my eyes, I blurted out, "Monroe. Do you know where she is?"

       Sam―Samantha―Sam Reyez said, "Upstairs."

       Upstairs . . . what an adventure. How would I get there? I couldn't even see straight. Was I on the floor? Glossy brown wood kissed my palms. I was crawling. A rug. A rug scratching my chin. Two shoes in front of me. Sneakers.

       Monroe. I had made it to Monroe.

       But then the owner of the sneakers crouched down and . . . nope. Still Sam. Samantha. Sam Reyez.

      I giggled.

      She giggled.

      I'm pretty sure we were both black-out drunk.

      "Sam," I whispered. I need to find Monroe. The words wouldn't come out. "I―"

      Kiss me kiss me kiss me, her mouth said.

      No. I had to find Monroe. I wanted Monroe. I needed to tell her. This was a mistake. This breakup had been a mistake. A huge, gigantic, phenomenal mistake.

      I meant to say all that. I really did. But when I opened my mouth again, there was a gentle tongue there. Lips, pressing against mine. A girl. A girl's mouth. 

      Monroe's?

      No. Still Sam. Still Sam. Still Sam.

      Sam? Who was Sam?

      Oh. Sam. My eyes opened. Hers were closed. She was even prettier up close. Brown skin and bronze freckles and mascara-long eyelashes. But she wasn't Monroe. She wasn't Monroe, and that was a problem.

       I pushed her away from me. 

       She giggled. I giggled. I couldn't remember what was funny. 

       "I'm looking for my ex-girlfriend," I said. That word hurt less when it was coming from me. "Monroe Kingston."

       "Oh," said Sam. 

       "Monroe?" said someone else. I didn't know who. I couldn't see beyond the blur of colours and shapes and flashing neon lights.

       "Yes, yes, yes―" I might have tripped again. The floor was so close to my nose I could smell varnish. What was I doing? Monroe. Monroe.

       "Monroe's right there."

       "Oh," said Sam.

       "Oh," I repeated.

        On my hands and knees, I lifted my head. Coming down the stairs was a girl. A girl with nice legs and a leather jacket and green eyes. Green eyes that had to be fake. Fake fake fake. 

        No girl was that pretty. No way. 

        "No way Jose," I said.

        Monroe's eyes were cold on mine. So cold I shivered. She seemed mad. I hoped she wasn't mad at me. 

        "Monroe," I said.

        And then―I could see her ass. Her beautiful, sexy ass.

        Wait. That meant she was walking away.

        I picked myself up, staggering forward. I clutched the banister, launching myself a few more steps. But she was still far. Too far. Where was she going? 

        I'm right here, I wanted to shout.

        The front door opened. I threw myself towards the frame just in time. Had opening doors always been so hard?

        "Monroe!" I hollered.

        She looked back. Her eyes burned. Not cold anymore.

        "Talia." It was all she said. 

        We were on the porch now. With the door closed behind me, the sounds of the party faded away. Crickets chirped, and it must have been late. The sky was pitch-black, a shadowy fog leaning down on my shoulders. I couldn't breathe.

        "Monroe," I said. "Monroe, I made a mistake."

        "Is that what you call kissing another girl?"

        "Kissing another girl?" I gasped. "Who did that?"

        She sighed. "You did, Talia."

        "No, I . . ." Dimly, I recalled Samantha's tongue, her pretty brown eyes from way up close. "No!" I slurred. "I didn't mean to! I love you―not―not anybody else―"

         Something in her expression changed. Became hotter. Why? What had I said?

         "Talia, you're drunk."

         "No I'm not."

         "You're really fucking drunk."

         "Yes . . . I maybe am." I stepped away from the door, stumbling a few steps onto the porch. Monroe was standing a few feet away, and I wanted―I wanted―

         Her hands braced mine. Tattooed fingers clutching my forearms. Steadying me. Jade green eyes looking into me. My soul.

        So damn beautiful. "You're fake," I accused.

       "What?"

       "You said you were real and you lied, you lied, you lied." I leaned into her warmth anyway. I wrapped my arms around her neck. She smelled so sweet, like lemon and sea salt. "You're not a real girl. No way. Because if you were―if you are―you'd be―losing you―that'd be―"

        "Talia, please." Monroe's voice was still stony. Why? Why? "You're very drunk."

        I'd always thought missing someone meant that they were gone. Somewhere far away, somewhere you couldn't reach them, couldn't see them. But I'd never known anything like this. Missing a girl who was right here, whose arms held me tight, whose skin grazed mine. 

        She wasn't far away. She wasn't out of reach. I could see her, more clearly than I had ever seen anything in my life, but I still missed her. How was that possible?

        Because she was right here, but―she wasn't mine. She wasn't my girl. She wasn't―

       "Talia, why are you crying?" Monroe breathed.

       You're gone. You're here but you're still gone.

        "No reason," I said. Swiping at my cheeks. At the wetness I hadn't realized I'd left behind. "No reason at all."

        "Come on. I'm going to get you home safe. Just―lean on me, alright?"

         I realized now: what I had said. I love you. But she hadn't said it back. And now, even as she carried me, there was a stiffness to her. A hardness there hadn't been before. I wanted to take it all back, everything everything everything.

        "Kiss me," I said, and I was crying and I couldn't stop. Stop stop stop. "Just one last time. A goodbye. So I know what we had was real. That's it. For―for closure."

        Monroe paused. My head was against her shoulder, my body tucked into her chest. How was she so strong? 

        The sky sang a soft song. Stars chirping and clouds whistling. Monroe's eyes weren't jade anymore. They were black, like the moonless night.

       "Kiss me," I whispered again. "One last goodbye. Please."

        But I'd never know what her answer was, because only a moment later, the sky claimed me for itself and I dissolved into the stars' lullaby.

***

SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE. Does anyone feel as destroyed by this as I do? Because I did not expect it to hurt this bad.

From the moon and back,
Sarai