MONROE STOOD NEXT TO  her motorcycle and beside her, Skylar bounced with hyper, excited energy.

       From here, I couldn't hear what they were talking about. But the way Skylar grinned, tucking a lock of violet hair behind her ear, I knew this was it.

       She was going to try and kiss Monroe.

       Our stupid September goal. Kiss a stranger. 

      "I'll see you at Aaron's later," I promised Cody. And my traitorous legs began making a beeline right towards Skylar and Monroe.

       What the hell was I going to do? 

       Why did I even care?

       But those weren't the right questions, not as fierce, hot courage seared in my veins. I didn't know why I cared, but I did.

        And I was about to do something really, really stupid. I just didn't know what.

      "Oh, really?" Skylar was teasing. "I bet I could drive this motorcycle around the block. How hard could it be?"

       "It's a little harder than it looks," Monroe said with a laugh that made every nerve in my body vibrate.

        "Hey," I interrupted.

        A few of the kids lingering in the area paused. Conversations stilted. Maybe it was the way I braced myself, ready for a fight, or the heat in my words. Maybe there was a sign on my forehead that read: EXPLOSIVE.

        "Monroe," I greeted coldly.

        "Talia?" Skylar touched my shoulder. "What's up?"

        I should have said, I don't want you to go through with this. 

        I should have said, I think I might like Monroe, and I'm not comfortable with this.

        I should have said, Please don't kiss her. 

        I should have said anything.

        Because what I did instead was much, much stupider. 

        The conversation they had been having earlier―what had that been about?

       The motorcycle. 

       Skylar had bet Monroe that she could ride this motorcycle around the block.

       I lifted my chin, gearing myself. What better way to stop the kiss from happening than by putting myself in imminent danger?

       Oh, God. I was crazy.

       Skylar's eyes widened. I didn't know if she had guessed―or if she just knew how impulsive I could get―but she shook her head frantically.

       All I needed was a distraction.

       And the thought of Skylar's lips against Monroe's, the thought of Monroe cupping Skylar's jaw with her tattooed hand . . . it lit the world with white-hot rage.

        So before I could think better, I told Monroe, "I bet I could drive your motorcycle."

        AS A TEENAGER,  I learned two lessons the hard way.

        The first: I should never, ever tell my parents about my love life.

        The second: I should never, ever touch the motorcycle in the garage.

        I learned the first after I mentioned Paul at the dinner table. My parents glanced at me, glanced at each other, and then immediately went on to talk about the birds and the bees.

       Scarring. I know.

       I learned the second when I was thirteen. Claudia and I were cleaning the garage when I lifted up a dusty old tarp―and behold, a shiny, sleek black motorcycle.

       I'd always been fascinated with motorcycles, and seeing one in my own house just about blew my mind.

       Once I convinced Claudia not to tell Mom and Dad that we had found it, I came back later that night.

       I was thirteen, but God, did I have guts. 

       It was almost midnight when I wheeled it out of the garage and onto the gravel driveway. And with only the light of the lampposts and the dim gold of faraway windows, I mounted the motorcycle, straddling it.

       That was my first mistake.

       Because as soon as I was no longer holding it down, the wheels started moving. The slope of our driveway propelled it downhill, faster and faster.

       Thank God it had gas, because if it hadn't? I probably would have landed face-first into the nearest tree.

       Every instinct inside of me kicked in. I grabbed the handles, twisted the key in the ignition, and shoved my foot on the gas.

       That was my second mistake.

       But I don't regret it―not for a second. Because even though the motorcycle took off, and the night ended with me vomiting over the side of a bridge, dizzy with almost killing myself, it became my favourite feeling in the world.

       I didn't ride the motorcycle again until I met Paul. He was a senior, and he came from a family of bikers. He taught me everything I knew about motorcycle, including how to drive one. How to maneuver one―even how to race with one.

       WHICH IS WHY, NOW, as I wrapped one hand around the sleek, dark handle of Monroe's motorcycle, anticipation bloomed in my chest.

       "Talia." My name in her mouth―it made me freeze. There was dark, dangerous worry in Monroe's voice. "I don't think you should―"

       "You're a crazy bitch!" Skylar said anxiously. "Don't you dare get on that or I'll kill you myself."

       But I imagined Skylar kissing Monroe. What would Monroe taste like, soft and sweet and lush with risk.

       "Go ahead and try." I hopped onto the back. No one knew I could ride a motorcycle except Aaron, who was at football practice. He'd bite my head off later, but if it stopped Skylar and Monroe . . .

        "So help me God,"  Skylar said between her teeth. And just as she reached for me―probably to yank me off―I turned the key in the ignition.

        "Talia." Monroe's voice was patient. She didn't think I would do it.

         She thought I was bluffing.

         I shoved my foot on the gas, and the motorcycle lurched forward.

         Her eyes widened, sea-green. 

         Oh. Oh. I liked the feel of this one. The engine roared, and I savoured the looks on their faces right before I leaned forward―and took off.

        All I heard was Monroe's faint murmur, "Holy fuck,"  and then I was soaring.

        I swear, I only went around the block. Although I did revv the engine more than once like I was preparing for the race of a century. The school buses had already left, but there were still kids trailing behind―sitting on benches, laying on the grass, stopped on the sidewalk. And I knew I had all of their attention as I let my hair whip back behind me, twisting the handles of the motorcycle like some kind of Italian Mafia queen. There was no denying it: I felt like a badass.

       And it was so worth it for the look on Monroe's face.

       I had stopped Skylar from kissing her―for today, at least.

       This felt like the kind of thing that happened in a movie. It was rash, impulsive, and even a little suicidal.

       Skylar was going to kill me. She hadn't known I could ride a motorcycle. For God's sake, I didn't even have my driver's license.

       Thank God Cody was long gone, or I'd get shit from him, too. And as for Aaron . . . there was no helping that. At least he would know this wasn't as stupid a stunt as it could've been.

        I pulled back into Monroe's parking space, flushed and wind-blown. I didn't even have a helmet. I probably could have died. And yet, all I could feel was the sparkling rush of exhilaration, bubbling like champagne in my blood.

        I was alive. 

        And suddenly, I wanted to be the one to kiss Monroe.

        Right here. Right now.

        I braked the motorcycle. Stepped off, dizzy with adrenaline. And stumbled right into her.

        I couldn't read her face. Was that anger in her eyes? Shock? Or . . . amazement? 

        I was so close her scent was overwhelming. Citrus and sea salt. 

        Pushing myself onto my tiptoes, I braced my hands on her upper arms.

        Harry Styles had once said, If you're going to get in trouble for hitting someone, might as well hit them hard.

        Leaning up towards her, I figured if I was going to kiss her, I was going to kiss her like I meant it.

        But just before my lips collided with hers, Skylar's hand was on my sleeve and I was whirling back around.

        "Talia, how could you do that?" Skylar hissed. "You are so. Unbelievably. Stupid. You could've died! You don't know how to ride a motorcycle! Are you suicidal?"

         "Yes," I said, breathless. "I mean, not to the suicidal part. I do know how to ride a motorcycle."

         "How could you―are you out of your mind?" 

         I could feel Monroe's presence behind me, so tempting it made focusing on Skylar hard. But . . . she was my best friend.

         And it was always supposed to be bros before hoes, as Cody called it.

        When she dragged me away like an angry mother holding her kicking and screaming child, I stumbled after her. Skylar didn't have a car, but I could see her mom's 1999 Toyota parked in the back. Just before I got in, something like courage possessed me. 

         I blew Monroe a kiss, not waiting to see her reaction, and ducked into the car.

         Inside, Skylar was breathing fire.

        "Of all the reckless, irresponsible things," she hissed. "Talia, do you know how dangerous riding a motorcycle is? And . . . you didn't tell me you already knew how to ride one?"

         "It was a secret," I said lamely. "Nobody knew." Except Aaron. 

         "Well, that's a pretty cool fucking thing. And it was shitty of you to keep it from your best friend. Fuck you."

          "Fuck you, too," I said, laughing. It was a little like saying I love you. "And I'm sorry. I was just . . ."

          "Why'd you do that anyway? You looked like you did when you lost the band competition last year, all hyped up on danger and attitude."

          "It's . . . complicated." It wasn't, though. I should just tell her I didn't want her to kiss Monroe. 

          But if I did, I'd have to tell her why.

          I'd probably end up explaining the dreams, too. Monroe's bare skin on mine, heat flushed between us. The way her lithe body moved, twisting with pleasure. And―

          Oh, God. This was not the time.

          And being gay . . . being a girl who liked girls . . . that was scary. That was real. That involved things like coming out.

         I hadn't even wrapped my head around the idea yet.

         But Skylar wasn't the terrifying unknown world. She was just Sky, with dark brown eyes and pink-and-violet streaked hair, her lips pursed with tentative worry. 

         She had always been there for me. And if anyone was going to understand, it was her. I said, "I think I'm―"

         A car honked behind us. I recognized Jordana's light blue buggy. 

        "Oh, that bitch," Skylar groaned.

        "You don't like her?" 

        "Are you blind, Tal? She's a real piece of work. I just keep my mouth shut because you guys have a band together. And since you like her, I can't talk shit because that would make you the middleman. I don't want to put you in that position."

         Sometimes it surprised me how mature Skylar was. I leaned over to push her shoulder lightly.

        As soon as Jordana's buggy pulled out of the parking lot, Skylar started her car and said, "I was gonna kiss her. Monroe. Today, that is."

        I swallowed. "Oh?"

       "Yeah. We've got two weeks left, and Cody has a date with Teagan Ray today. I bet he'll kiss her tonight. And Aaron invited Lucy Windfield to hang out with us later. So, you see, I'm going to end up as the loser."

       "I haven't kissed anyone yet," I offered.

       "Well, you don't―"

       "Hold on," I said suddenly. "Lucy Windfield, the cheerleader, is coming over to study with us after school?"

        "Isn't that what I just said?"

        "But―" I was a little bit of a jealous person. The four of us were our own group, our own family. And Aaron inviting some preppy cheerleader bitch made my blood spike. "But why?"

        "So he can kiss her," Skylar said. "Duh."

        "But―"

        "Talia, do you like him or something? You've been acting really strange lately. Or . . ." Her eyes were softer now. "Is this about the question you asked me today?"

        "I―I don't know." 

        "Bullshit."

        And then I said it―I just said it: "I think I might like girls."

        In the middle of the road, Skylar slammed the car to a stop.

>>>

How do you think Skylar will react?

From the moon and back,
Sarai