Queen Move

“What do you want?” Kayla asks, arms folded under her breasts barely contained in a skimpy tank top. “Is it time to go already? I thought the dance doesn’t start ’til seven.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” I take my life into my hands and sidestep her, entering her inner sanctum. “I was hoping you could help me with my hair?”

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing in assessment. Anita Baker serenades us while I wait, tensed and ready for rejection, until she finally shrugs.

“Meet me in the bathroom.”

Thirty minutes later, not only has she restored my curls to their former glory, but she’s even applied a little makeup for Mona and me. Mama still doesn’t like me wearing makeup yet, but one night won’t hurt.

“This red looks good on you, Tru,” Kayla says. She pops her lips at me. “Do like that.”

I imitate her lip pop and glance in the mirror.

“Wow.” My eyes, fringed with mascara-lengthened lashes and lined with black pencil, look bigger. Darker. Older.

“Right?” Kayla leans back, studying her handiwork. “You gonna kiss it all off tonight?”

Even though I know a blush wouldn’t show through my skin, I’m still glad for the color she applied to my cheeks.

“Um, I dunno.” I shrug. “Maybe.”

“I bet Jeremy will want to,” Mona sing-songs. “He’s kissed a lot of girls in our class, and they all say he’s great at it.”

“You’ve kissed a guy before, right?” Kayla asks, staring at her reflection in the mirror and combing her eyebrows.

“Not exactly,” I mumble, rubbing my lips together. The glossy color feels sticky now and I’d love to wipe it off.

“Shit.” Kayla goes still, her hand pausing mid-air, her eyes shifting to me. “You never been kissed, Tru?”

“It’s not a big deal,” I say, defensive. “Lots of girls in eighth grade haven’t.”

“Have you, Mona?” Kayla asks.

“Yeah, last year.” Mona slides an apologetic look my way and shrugs. “Sorry.”

“So this Jeremy will want to kiss you,” Kayla says. “Let me show you the basics.”

My sister instructs me on French kissing using her hand, doing weird things with her tongue, moaning and closing her eyes in fake rapture. I just stare at her, confused and slightly alarmed and probably traumatized.

Fast tail.

The doorbell saves me from more fake French kisses.

“That’s probably Ez,” I say. “Lemme go put my dress on.”

I leave the bathroom and dash to my bedroom.

“I always thought Ezra would be her first boyfriend,” I hear Kayla telling Mona.

A scene plays in technicolor through my memory. Ezra and me in his backyard when we were six years old. He’d been to a wedding the week before and decided we should get married. Being Ezra, he had memorized all aspects of a Jewish wedding, and we reenacted them under his elm tree. When we got to the part where the groom could kiss the bride, he pecked me on the lips and we both giggled. My heart aches a little for that day. We’re only thirteen and I know there is a lot more innocence to lose, but somehow, I, too, thought we’d save all our firsts for each other. I blink back hot tears thinking of him kissing Hannah tonight with her freckles and long, curly hair. I run a careful finger under my eyes so I won’t mess up Kayla’s hard work and head downstairs.

“Forget you, Ezra Stern.”

Chapter Six

Ezra

This is the worst night of my life.