JUST KIDDING. THAT DIDN'T  actually happen.

        Monroe just blinked at me, before a confident smirk tugged on the corner of her mouth. I had never found a smile so attractive.

        But the hallucination of her kissing me . . . that couldn't be healthy, could it?

        I was no expert on sexuality, but I was pretty sure that imagining what her mouth would taste like on mine was definitely not straight.

        Did she recognize me from the day in the parking lot?

        Did I want her to recognize me?

        I remembered the way her fingers pulled through her ink-black hair as she undid it from her ponytail. I remembered how vivid her green eyes were in the rain. The blood on her knuckles, the ferocity in her eyes . . . it made her hot as hell.

       Monroe. Fucking. Kingston.

        Obviously, I was just a straight girl admiring another girl's looks.

        Nothing more to it. 

        It took me too long―an awkward amount of time too long―to realize we were just staring at each other.

        Or was I just staring at her?

        "I should definitely, um, go," I said.

        Monroe's smile was so sharp, so confident, that my eyes wandered over the shape of her lips, tracing over the curve of her soft, luscious mouth, the way it moved . . .

        The way it moved.

        She was speaking―and I hadn't heard a word.

        A thought came to mind: Skylar calling herself a gay disaster. 

        "Yeah, I should go," I blurted out.

        And then Monroe really did lean in.

       This isn't a hallucination. Oh, my God. This isn't a hallucination. 

        Her lips were against my jaw, I lost the ability to breathe, and she whispered, "This should help your problem."

        As inspiration for my wet dreams?

        But she didn't pin me against the locker and fuck me senseless, like my dirty mind pictured. I didn't even realize what she had done until she stepped back.

        I could only stare at her knuckles. And it dawned on me that she had struck my locker open with only her fist.

        Behind me, the locker door creaked.

        I might have said thanks, but it was more likely I just stammered incoherently.

        "No problem," she said coolly, and when she was gone, I sank down against my locker, hugging my knees to my chest.

        Was this what they called a gay awakening?

      "YOU'RE LATE." JORDANA'S ARMS WERE  crossed, her pink lips pinched into a scowl. "You know how important practice is with Battle of the Bands coming up."

       It was what the school district had named their music competition. Probably to make it sound much cooler.

       "Back me up, Olivia," said Jordana, shooting Olivia a death-defying glare. "Talia is eighteen minutes late."

        "Really?" I said. "You've been counting the minutes?"

        "Yeah," she said. "I have. You're late, Talia. What do you have to say for yourself?"

        She was right. I was late. And even though I didn't see how eighteen minutes could make the difference between winning or losing a competition that was in December, I shrugged anyway. "Fine. I'm sorry."

        Olivia's black hair glistened in the light of the basement. Her eyes met mine and she mouthed, She's in a bad mood today. 

        "So let's start?" I asked. 

        Olivia's eyes lit up, and I couldn't help but smile at that excitement. People talking about something they were passionate for was so damn infectious. "I was writing a new song," she began shyly. "It's called The Meaning of Birds."

        "I like it already," I told her.

        Her face brightened. Honestly, when Olivia got like this, she was . . . really pretty. I know she used to be a child model. With a Chinese mother and a South African father, she had inherited sleek black hair, uptilted eyes, and beautiful brown skin. 

        As Olivia began to sing softly, I couldn't help but think of Monroe again.

       Kiss a stranger. 

       I touched my jaw, right where her lips had murmured, This should help your problem. 

       Maybe I . . . maybe I wasn't straight.

       But―I thought about my ex-boyfriend. Paul. A senior, like Monroe, but at a different high school. He had been sweet, kind, supportive. In the beginning, I thought that I could deal with his clinginess. After all, he was just like a golden retriever. And those were adorable, weren't they?

       Never mind the fact that I didn't like dogs.

       By the time I figured it out, it was a little too late: I didn't want a golden retriever for a boyfriend. And by then, his clinginess―well, it had been downright obsessive.

       At the thought of him, I couldn't help but check my phone. The 7 new messages from him.

       Hey, we should talk.

       Talia?

       Are you there? 

       Did your dad take away your phone or something?

       Are you ignoring me

       Talia???

       Seriously, let's talk.

       I shoved my phone back into my pocket. Olivia's song was done, and self-consciously, she folded her hands over the guitar on her lap.

       "You did great," I told her. Another song about boys―of course it was a beautiful song, but . . . wasn't anyone else tired of hearing about men in general?

       Fuck, maybe I wasn't entirely straight.

       "Yeah, that was good," Jordana said brightly. "We should practice using that. Maybe even compete with it."

       "Really?" Olivia asked.

       "Yeah, really." Jordana's reassuring smile never left her face. "Let's try it out now."

       Drumming was the highlight of my day. Letting the clash of cymbals and the deep, reverberating beat of the bass echo in my chest, it never failed―not once―to give me an escape.

        Sometimes I nodded my head along with the music, getting really into it. Skylar once told me I looked hot as hell while I was drumming.

       After practice, Jordana and I said goodbye to Olivia, who was still glowing with praise over her song. But once we were on the driveway, blinking in the sunny afternoon light, Jordana said, "Bruno Mars probably would have been better."

       "What?"

       "I'm not saying I didn't like it, but like . . . is it really Battle of the Bands material?"

       "You mean Olivia's song?"

       "I was gonna say we should do Talking To The Moon. It's a lot more catchy. Not that I don't like Olivia's stuff, her talent is unreal, but―"

       I climbed into the passenger seat of Jordana's car. Since my house was on the way to hers, she usually drove me home. "I thought you said you wanted to compete with the song."

       "I didn't want to hurt her feelings, but maybe if we brought it up together?"

       "I like the song." To be fair, none of the songs we picked ever resonated with me. In my opinion, it didn't even make a difference.

       Jordana started the car and pulled out of the driveway. "Talia, you know what I'm saying, though, right? About how it's just not competition material?"

       "If it's bothering you, you can tell her tomorrow."

       "No, really, it's fine. Like I'd totally be fine if we sang that at a competition. But it's just . . ."

       "It's just what?"

       "I don't know. It's silly anyway."

       "It's obviously bothering you, though."

       "Forget it," Jordana said. "It's stupid."

       "Just tell her! I'm sure she won't mind. Being honest is better than secretly resenting her, you know?"

       "No, I don't like confrontation anyway," Jordana said, pulling up in front of my house. "I'm not like you, you know. I'm not going to cause a scene or anything over something so little."

       "What the fuck is that supposed to be mean?"

       Jordana rolled her eyes. "Let's just not even get into it, Talia. You remember the time where I mentioned how Black Panther's all-black cast was unnecessary? Yeah, you made that a big fucking deal. But whatever. That's the past, so you don't have to bring that up."

       I tried saying, I didn't, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, I just opened the car door.

       Jordana had been through a lot with me. In grade nine, when we first formed the band, she had persuaded us all to dye our hair purple. 

       In grade ten, when things got rough with Cody and Skylar, she had been there as a neutral party for me to talk about it with.

       This summer, after I broke up with Paul, she had been the one to find me crying on the curb―an attempt to walk back home from the opposite end of town. She'd cheered me up, even though it must have cost her a lot of money worth of ice cream.

       She had never not been anything but supportive. 

       Olivia had said she was just in a bad mood anyway, so I let it go when I said, "Thanks for the ride. See you tomorrow?"

       "See you," Jordana clipped out. "Bye."

       Just like that, her pale blue Acura sped off down the street. And I was left standing in my own driveway, wondering how she had just managed to turn something as simple as her dislike of a song into my fault.

       "HOW WAS SCHOOL TODAY?" MY MOM asked, sprinkling salt into her bowl. 

        I shrugged. "Boring."

        Claudia said, "I had a very scintillating debate today on whether smut can be considered word porn."

         Across the table, after swallowing a bite of pasta, my dad managed to bark out, "Claudia."

        "Yes?" 

        "We're eating dinner."

        "Mom asked how my day was."

        "That's not―" My dad sighed. "That's strike one. I'm taking your phone away after three."

        "Sure thing, Dad."

        After dinner, while Claudia and I washed the dishes, I bumped her hip and whispered, "Smut can't be considered word porn. It's erotica."

        "Yeah, but it's porn written out in words."

        "Except if you think about it, the word porn is short for pornography. Which is like photography. So saying word porn doesn't make sense, because porn is already like a picture."

         "There was literally no logic to that at all."

         "Maybe not to your walnut-sized brain."

         "Girls, not now," said my dad distractedly, watching TV in the other room. "I'm trying to pay attention to this show on Netflix."

          "What's it called?" Claudia asked.

          "The 100. It's okay so far, but it's unrealistic that there are so many gays."

          Claudia stilled, but I made a noncommittal shrug, barely registering that, and pulled out of my phone.  

         One text message from Aaron.

         Roof tonight?

         Smiling to myself, I finished the last of the dishes, ready to sprint upstairs when Claudia hummed.

         And God, did I know that hum.

         "Why are you making that sound?" I demanded.

         "You're smiling at your phone. Who is it? Your boyfriend?"

          "No, it's just Aaron." But that brought to mind what Skylar had said today―about Aaron liking me.

           Fuck. Fuck.

           "Oh, okay," Claudia teased. "Just  Aaron. I'll be sure to mention that next time he's―"

           "Oh, be quiet." My cheeks were turning red. "You're insufferable, you know that?" 

           "Whatever you say, sister dearest."

           "Don't you have homework or something? A life, maybe?"

           "Yeah, but why would I do that when I can stand here and bother you?"

            "I'm leaving now," I said, walking backwards out of the kitchen. "You're such a loser."

            "A charming, beautiful, wonderful, amazing, endearing―"

           "Stop plagiarizing the dictionary."

           "Just tell me if you have a boyfriend, Talia!"

            Before bolting up the stairs, I only gave her a cocky grin and said, "Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy?"

            The last thing I heard her say from the kitchen was, "Fuck you!"

>>>

Well, fuck me too.

I actually tried driving today, and it was surprisingly not rocket science? Although I did almost ran over a goose.

From the moon and back,
Sarai

PS. Goose are spawn of the devil anyway, so I can't say I'm sorry for giving that goose the shock of its life.