by Foxglove Lee
By the time they’d finished eating, it was getting kind of late and they still hadn’t prepped for Mr. Godfrey’s debate assignment. Every time Laura thought about it, her stomach turned. Had he called Child and Family Services? Had he made a report about Jaden and candy-man Stan?
“You okay?” Mila asked.
Laura was holding her stomach with both hands, curled up in the big-bear embrace of a tattered recliner.
“Yeah, fine. Just ate too much.”
Laura sat up straight as Mila unzipped the hoodie she’d been wearing all evening. Oh no! Not the cleavage! Mila’s purple top dipped down so low Laura could see the black lace of her bra. Mila either didn’t notice it was showing, or didn’t care, because she did nothing about it.
“Want to start on the V-Day debate stuff?” Mila asked.
Laura’s hand warmed as she ogled the bit of Mila’s bra that was showing. Why couldn’t she stop staring? She was acting like a total perv. Had Mila really not noticed?
“Laura?”
“Huh?” She grasped her hot hand with her cool one. “Debate? Yeah. Where should we start?”
Mila leaned back on the couch. “Well, we already know the enemy. We are the enemy. So, if we were arguing that Valentine’s Day was crap, what would we say?”
“That’s easy,” Laura said while Mila took notes. “V-Day is just an excuse to sell greeting cards, overpriced chocolates, fancy meals, crappy date-night romantic comedies, you name it. It’s a made-up holiday.”
Mila chewed on the end of her pen. “Okay, then we could say Valentine’s Day has roots in, like, Roman times when the emperor outlawed marriage because single men made better soldiers.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, and Valentine was a priest who was like, ‘No way, that’s not fair,’ so he performed marriages in secret. When the emperor found out, Valentine was put to death.”
“Really?” Laura asked. “Where’d you learn that?”
Mila shrugged. “I don’t know. History Channel?”
“Kind of reminds me of today, how some priests or whatever perform gay marriages even where it’s not legal, just because they think it’s the right thing to do.”
“Yeah, for sure.” Mila jotted it down while Laura joined her on the couch to see what she was writing. “I don’t know how that fits with our argument, though.”
“No, true.” Laura closed her eyes, because that was the only way she could stop staring down Mila’s top. “Okay, we can say the obvious: that all those purchases of flowers and candy contribute positively to the economy.”
“Eww, skeevy.”
“I know, but it’s a solid defense.”
Mila’s pen raced across the page. “What else?”
“Umm…” Laura pressed her palms against her eyelids, until she saw swirling stars across a black background. All she could think about was Jaden. Why was he so hot for V-Day? “Maybe if you’re greedy and you like getting presents, then it’s good?”
“Or if you like romance,” Mila said. “Or, like, if you’re shy and you don’t know how to tell someone you love them. Or if you want to do something special like cook them dinner but any other day they’d think it was cheesy? You can do all kinds of stuff on Valentine’s Day that you wouldn’t get away with the rest of the year.”
“That’s kind of dumb,” Laura said.
“No it’s not.”
She pulled her hands away from her eyes, but the stars still swirled around Mila’s face, sparkling and popping like magic.
Snapping her pen onto her notebook, Mila looked Laura plain in the face and asked, “Why do you hate love?”
“Why do you?” Laura shot back. Why was she being so defensive? She shook her head. “Sorry. I mean… I don’t hate love. I just think it’s, like, overrated or something.”
Mila didn’t pick up her pen. She didn’t move. “Did you love Ryan?”
A groan streaked from Laura’s throat, and she tossed her head back on the couch. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Never?” Mila asked. “Come on. I’m, like, your best friend, and you never even told me what happened.”
“Nothing happened,” Laura snapped. “Nothing. At all. Why do you think the whole school calls me the fricken’ Ice Queen?”
“I heard he wanted to do it, and you didn’t. So what? That’s not exactly headline news.”
Laura seriously didn’t want to talk about this, but she’d held it in so long it just exploded out. “It’s not just that I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to do anything. I didn’t even want to, like, kiss him. He’d try to warm me up, but everywhere he touched just turned to ice. It was so wrong.”
“But you loved him,” Mila said. “Or, you told me you loved him. Did you?”
“Yeah.” Laura chewed her fingernail as she thought about Ryan. “I mean… I think so. He was my favorite person to be around, to talk to or whatever. He’s really smart and funny and all that.”
“But something was missing,” Mila said as Laura tucked her warm hand under her chin.
“The heat,” Laura said. Her hand was on fire. “I thought there was something wrong with me. There wasn’t any passion or tingly… stuff… oh my god, I sound like such a dweeb.”
“Do you think Jaden feels the heat for candy-man Stan?” Mila asked. “I mean, if he works part-time at a movie theatre, he can’t be rich. He can’t really be a candy man. Maybe Jaden actually likes the guy.”
“There’s no accounting for taste,” Laura said. “Do you think it’s wrong, what they’re doing?”
“Why? Because they’re gay or because of the age thing?”
“No, not because they’re gay,” Laura said quickly. They were sitting so close to each other on the couch she could hardly breathe. “I don’t care about stuff like that. I mean, do you think comb-over guy’s taking advantage of Jaden? Or do you think they’re a real couple and they’re going to grow old together and adopt fourteen golden retriever puppies?”
“I really have no idea.” Mila set her notebook on the coffee table and turned toward Laura. “Can I tell you something?”
“No.” Laura tried not to look into Mila’s cleavage, but she couldn’t face the dull glow in those beautiful black eyes, either. Her heart was hammering in her throat. She was practically choking on it. “Please don’t.”
Mila took her hand, the warm one, and held it tight. “What are you so afraid of?”
Everything was melting. Laura struggled to keep the ice castle together, but there was no use. She was a hot, wet mess in Mila’s hands.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Mila whispered. Her full lips hovered close. So close.
“Please…”
But it was too late. The moment Mila’s lips met hers, Laura knew what she needed. It wasn’t much. Just this. Just this, for now.
They leaned into the couch and kissed deeply. Laura wasn’t brave with her hands, and neither was Mila, but that didn’t matter. Mila’s heat flooded Laura’s system and fried her brain -- singed her hair, probably. Her whole body felt hot, right down to her toes.
Mila was right. There was nothing wrong with her. Ever since Ryan, she’d thought she was broken, but here was proof -- proof that she wasn’t. New joy bubbled through her limbs, making her feel light as air.
They kissed forever, or what felt like felt like forever, until Mila pulled away, laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Laura asked.
“I feel like my tongue just ran a marathon.” Mila massaged her jaw. “You’re a good kisser.”
Laura knew her cheeks must be crimson. “I am?”
“Yeah.” Mila pointed at her mouth. “Oh my god, your lips are huge.”
“Oh.” Laura covered them with the one hand that was still hotter than the other.
“No, you look good. They’re really red, too. People pay big money to look like that.”
“Thanks.” Laura tried not to smile because her jaw ached from kissing, but she couldn’t help herself. She could
n’t remember the last time she’d felt this happy. “Do you think this is how Jaden feels when he’s with mister comb-over candy-man?”
“I don’t know.” Mila picked up her Spanish books from the floor. “What do you care? What difference does it make?”
“Just…” Laura’s mind was so inflamed from the heat of their kisses that she couldn’t find the right words. “I keep wondering if we should have told Mr. Godfrey the truth. I don’t know if it’s right or wrong. The law obviously says it’s wrong. Do you think Stan would go to jail for, like, corrupting a minor or something?”
Mila’s expression went blank, like she’d never considered that possibility. “Maybe they’re not even sleeping together. We don’t really know. We only know what Jaden tells us.”
Laura’s mind turned over like an engine, again and again, until her brain hurt. She would do the right thing in a heartbeat, if only she knew what the right thing was. “Ugh, I can’t think about this anymore.”
“Fine,” Mila said, kissing her warm hand. “Then think about me.”
They sat together, so close their bodies touched every time they breathed. Another kiss consumed them, like they couldn’t help it, like a giant that gobbled them up in one big bite.
When their lips parted, it was Mila who said, “You know what? I’m glad we got pro-V-Day. I don’t feel like arguing against it anymore.”
“Yeah,” Laura agreed, closing her eyes to the night. “Me neither.”
Happy Birthday, Klutzface!
“I don’t know how you talked me into this,” Mila groaned. Grocery bags dug into her hands as she heaved them along. “And, hey, how come I’m lugging all the heavy stuff, and all you have to carry is a light little box?”
“I love you,” Laura said, “but you’re a notorious klutzface. No way I’m letting you carry a birthday cake.”
Mila’s cheeks blazed. Laura never used to say “I love you,” but lately she’d been saying it all the time. It was kind of embarrassing, especially when they were at school, with other people around. Luckily, she and Laura were the only two people walking down Mila’s aunt’s street at the moment.
“There, that’s Aunt Qeisha’s house.” Mila pointed to number seventy-two.
“Oh, it’s a bungalow?” Laura tilted her head and looked at the house as if it were some kind of weird sculpture. “It’s smaller than I thought. Didn’t you say your aunt was rich?”
“This is a super-expensive neighborhood, you know. Even the smaller places on this street are probably more expensive than your house.”
Laura rolled her eyes. “Doubt it.”
Mila’s teeth clenched, but she just set down the grocery bags and dug out her key. She wanted so badly for Laura to be impressed by something pertaining to her family. It’s not like the ratty two-bedroom apartment Mila lived in with her father was going to win any awards.
“Just wait until you see inside.” Mila stuck the key in the lock. “Aunt Qeisha’s an amazing decorator. Oh, and she’s very particular -- that’s what my mom used to call her -- so don’t move anything.”
“I know, I know!” Laura laughed. “You’ve only told me, like, a million times!”
Out of the corner of her eye, Mila spotted a big white SUV rolling down the street. Her breath hitched, and she shoved the door open. “Get inside. Fast!”
“Okay, I’m going. Sheesh!”
When the SUV rolled into the driveway next door, Laura was safe inside the house. Mila scooped up the bags of groceries. Aunt Qeisha had told her to go next door if she had any problems with the house, but she still felt like the neighbors would report back and get her in trouble if they witnessed any questionable activity.
The car door slammed shut, and Mr. Singh greeted her with a smile. Just as she’d crossed the threshold, thinking she was home free, she heard him holler, “Mila! Come quick!”
Dropping the groceries, she stuck her head out the door. He sounded panic-stricken, and she wondered if he’d hurt himself or something. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Your aunt’s cat -- he darted right past you.” Mr. Singh pointed as Apricot leaped like an acrobat onto the roof of his car. “He’s not allowed outside, is he?”
“Crap,” Mila muttered, racing down the drive and scooping up the cat. “Every time I open the door he makes a run for it.”
“You should pay closer attention,” Mr. Singh said, in a gently scolding voice.
“Yeah, thanks.” She tried not to be rude, even though she wished he would mind his own business. Her aunt had definitely asked the neighbors to keep an eye out while she was house sitting.
“What was that about?” Laura asked from the kitchen.
Mila’s heart slipped. All week she’d looked forward to giving Laura the grand tour. Closing the door with her butt, she set Apricot down. “I guess you showed yourself around, huh?”
“Just the kitchen,” Laura said, as she peeked in every cupboard. “You were right -- this place is swanky! Look how the light shimmers off the granite countertops. And is this a gas stove? I’ve never used one before.”
“Uh-oh,” Mila teased. “If you can burn mac and cheese on an electric stove, God only knows what you’ll do with gas. Probably burn the house down!”
“Very funny.”
“It’s true -- you did burn the mac and cheese. Do you know how long it took me to scrub that pot? We don’t all have dishwashers, you know.”
Laura wrapped her arms around Mila’s waist. As they stood like that, all tangled up together in the middle of the kitchen, Mila closed her eyes and smiled. Laura smelled so yummy -- or maybe it was the cake. Something smelled like vanilla, and it was making Mila’s stomach growl.
“Want to show me around?” Laura asked.
“Sure,” Mila said, but she didn’t move.
Neither did Laura. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks. I’ve been looking forward to this.”
“To my cooking?” Laura laughed.
Mila smiled hazily. “Well, to being together -- being domestic together. Cooking, cleaning, all that stuff.”
“But we cook all the time at your place, and we help with the dishes at mine.”
“I know, but this is special.” Mila unlocked her body from Laura’s. “I can’t explain it. Never mind. Let me give you the grand tour.”
Laura seemed impressed by the house. Mila was glad. She’d worried maybe Laura wouldn’t get the African influence in the patterns and sculptures, but Laura had only nice things to say.
“So, this is where we’re eating dinner?” Laura asked, pulling out one of the dining room chairs.
Mila laughed. “I don’t think we’ve ever not eaten in front of the TV.”
“A few times, we have. At my house.”
That was true. Laura still had family meals at her house, if everyone was home. Mila almost never ate dinner with her dad. He worked nights, so he wasn’t usually home for meals. She missed him a lot, sometimes. She missed her mom more, but there was nothing she could do about that.
“This is a great table,” Laura said, running her hand across the surface.
The wood was just about the same color as Mila’s skin, and when Laura touched it, she sort of felt like it was her being touched. Weird.
“You have to take really good care of it,” Mila said, as Laura wandered toward the kitchen. “We’ll use placemats, for sure. If we leave any rings or chips or burn marks on this table, my aunt will kill me.”
Laura laughed. “You’re paranoid.”
“You don’t know my aunt.”
“Okay, okay.” Laura started unloading groceries onto the counter. “I’m gonna get started on dinner.”
“I can help!”
“No, you don’t have to. It’s your birthday.”
Mila hopped into the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator door. “I don’t mind. I want to help. Hey, you know what I was thinking? Once I had twice-baked potatoes, and they were the best things ever. They were baked potatoes, t
hen you hollow out the potato part, mix it with a bunch of stuff, and cram it back in the skins.”
“I don’t know how to make that,” Laura said flatly.
“It won’t be hard.” Mila pulled a tub of mayonnaise from the fridge. “Aunt Qeisha’s got all the ingredients. There’s no real cheese, but I guess we could add this crumbly parmesan stuff.”
The parmesan must have piqued Laura’s interest, because when Mila grabbed it out of the fridge, she took it in hand. The plastic tub was see-through, and Laura gazed judgingly at the cheese. “Why are there clumps in it?”
“They’ll come apart if you--”
It happened like a slow-motion scene from a horror movie: as Laura started shaking the tub, the plastic lid popped off and flew into the fridge, followed by a snowfall of parmesan. Laura must not have noticed, not right away, because she kept on shaking the tub. Crumbly bits of cheese exploded all over, coating the condiments in the fridge door.
Parmesan everywhere! In the fridge, on the floor, and all over their socks…
Laura gaped when she saw what she’d done. Mila’s brain burned. Laura had no idea -- no idea! -- how irritated Aunt Qeisha would be if she came home to find her fridge full of parmesan. And her floor! There were bits of cheese between all the tiles. That would be hell to clean up. Mila wanted to scream.
But she didn’t scream. She could tell that Laura felt awful for making a mess. What good would it do to bite her head off? Mila didn’t want a little parmesan to ruin her birthday.
“Sorry,” Laura said. “Really. I mean it. I’ll clean everything up.”
“No, you don’t have to.” Mila didn’t feel much like smiling, but she smiled anyway. “You’ve got a birthday dinner to cook, remember? Chop chop!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Mila grabbed a dishcloth and ran it under the tap. “I’ll clean the fridge. It’s fine.”
Laura laughed. “Looks like your aunt’s cat will do the floor.”
Mila looked down to find sweet little Apricot licking parmesan off the tile. “I don’t think she’s supposed to eat cheese.”
“Why not?” Laura teased. “Is she lactose intolerant?”
