“Sure I can,” he says. “Check this out.” He leans toward me, closer and closer as if in slow motion. I giggle. Knowing Spike, any minute now he’s going to stick his finger up my nose or try to lick my face.
But he doesn’t, and the closer he gets—so close I almost go cross-eyed—I’m suddenly paralyzed. It seems unreal, like I’m having an out-of-body experience, like it’s not really happening. I feel … dazed and close my eyes. I smell chocolate.
—want this, what if she doesn’t, but it’s worth a try isn’t it, not like she hates you—
I hear it like an urgent litany in my head, and our lips touch. For a moment, I’m frozen in place. I feel the warmth of his breath mingling with mine. I’m caught. My body leans toward his, my hand rises to touch the back of his neck. My arms are covered in goose bumps.
—yes—
But the desire surging through me isn’t my own.
My eyes fly open and I scoot frantically back.
It’s not just a joke. He meant it this time. And I’m not ready for it. I still have goose bumps but now I’m shivering, hugging my knees, looking everywhere but at him.
He sits back, looking startled and a little crestfallen. To cover my embarrassment, my guilt at recoiling so abruptly, I say, “I’ve fallen for that one before. No face-licking.” I force a smile. But I feel terrible.
Credit where credit’s due; he’s quick to save face.
“Face-licking? Please. So juvenile. You’ll just have to wonder whether it was going to be nose-picking … or ear-snorting … or what.” He grins like nothing’s wrong. But I know the answer is “or what,” and I know what the “or what” was going to be.
“Well, I’m not sure I want to stick around here and risk invasion of my facial space,” I say casually, picking my way down the rock pile toward the sand. “I think it’s time for another hot dog.”
I expect Spike to say “that’s what she said” again, but he just raises his eyebrows at me as we walk back toward the group in silence.
My breath catches. I can sense Spike glancing at me as we crunch across the wet sand, but I don’t turn his way. What’s wrong with me? I’ve known Spike since we were twelve. I’ve never thought about kissing him, not once. It’s not that he’s not attractive. He’s nice, and he cares about me. And, after everything that’s happened, we’re still friends. He wants to kiss me. Maybe I’ve never considered it, but I like him. I always have. Why did I flinch?
If I hadn’t underheard him, would I have reacted differently? I felt something—it felt good—but what if they weren’t my emotions?
I don’t even know how I feel about him, especially not now. But it’s not going to be easy to look at our friendship the same way anymore.
Are all of my friendships going to turn weird, one by one?
I cross my arms and hug myself tightly. That’s not going to happen. I can make this work. All I have to do is learn to control my underhearing; control when it happens—and when it doesn’t. And I’m almost there.
Everything’s going to be fine.
When I walk through the door, my mom calls out, “Sunny, honey, can you come in here, please?” in an overly cheerful voice. I walk into the kitchen and glance at the clock. That’s when I remember: Tonight is Auntie Mina’s scheduled phone call with Uncle Randall. Not just tonight; right now.
I want nothing to do with any of this, so I turn right back around.
Mom’s voice stops me. “Sunny. Now.” I look at her and lean against the counter, my arms crossed.
“We’re going to have a little talk, now,” she says, sitting at the table. She reaches for a brightly colored ceramic mug, probably some ridiculous tea blend that she thinks is going to solve everyone’s problems. She pushes another mug in my general direction. I don’t take it. Instead, I just stand there in stony silence, waiting.
“You see, this is exactly what I’m worried about, Sunshine,” she says, as if I’ve done something wrong just by standing here. “You haven’t talked to us lately. You’re either out somewhere or you’re hiding in your room.” She gesticulates jerkily with her left hand. “You just breeze out of the house to go to school, and on the weekends you’re out with your friends.”
“I thought you were happy I’ve been going out. You kept saying you didn’t want me to ‘mope around.’” Who in their right mind would want to stick around here? I stare up at the ceiling.
“Yes, but honey, you need to understand that there’s no such thing as a part-time family member. I want you to think about that. This is a difficult time, and we need you to be supportive.”
I draw in a sharp breath. “I have been supportive. And if I’m such a full-time family member, how come I don’t have the same rights as everyone else? I don’t have any privacy around the house. Nobody cares or even asks me how I feel. Everything we do revolves around Auntie Mina.”
“This is no time to start picking up an attitude.” Mom’s face is grim and her lips are set in a thin line.
My voice comes out in a hoarse croak. “An attitude? Mom, you don’t know what it’s been like for me. If I don’t get the chance to get out of here, I’ll go crazy.”
“Sunny—”
“And now she’s talking to him like he didn’t do anything wrong. How can she give him that satisfaction?” I’m stomping back and forth across the kitchen now, agitated.
Mom makes a wordless noise of frustration. She looks up at me, her eyes tired. “Sunny, it’s Mina’s decision to talk to him,” she says. “And they are both capable of acting like adults. They need to discuss a lot more than just the way he’s been treating her. It’s more complicated than you think.”
“I know it’s complicated.” I slam my hand on the counter. “You don’t think my life has been complicated ever since Shiri died? Ever since Auntie Mina came here?” She doesn’t know the half of it. I straighten up. “I don’t want any more complications. I’m going upstairs.” Upstairs, where it’s quiet. Where I won’t have to deal with any of this.
Mom looks at me, emotions warring on her face. Frustration. Sympathy. Sadness. But she doesn’t try to stop me this time.
I only make it as far as the hall when Auntie Mina walks into the kitchen, her face pale but calm. Seconds later, Dad comes in from the garage; he must have been waiting around to hear the study door open.
I hover in the hallway, indecisive. I can’t help wanting to know what happened. I hear soft voices talking around the kitchen table as I dither, and then the voices get louder.
“You’re not going to tell us what he said?” my dad says loudly.
“Mina, you don’t have to talk about it right now if you don’t want to.” My mom’s voice is softer, and I strain to hear more, huddling against the wall in the darkened hallway.
“It’s okay, really,” Auntie Mina says. I’d expected more anger, but her voice is mild. “Surprisingly,” she says, “it was actually … fine.”
I frown. How can any of us believe that?
“It was fine?” My dad sounds like he’s never heard anything more ludicrous in his life.
“It was,” Auntie Mina insists. “He was calm. He listened to everything I had to say. He didn’t really say much. I think it’s finally sinking in, that I’m not just going to do what he wants all the time.” She trails off. When she speaks up again, her voice is soft. “I really think he heard me this time. And I really think I might be able to work things out with him.”
My stomach churns.
Could we have been wrong about him?
Shiri didn’t think so, and she was the one who really knew.