I swallow. “Okay. Um. My next evening off is Tuesday.”
“I’ll pick you up then.”
We kiss good night again, and then again, and then we both laugh because I guess everything about this feels so good. I know it’s mostly due to endorphins and oxytocin and whatever other hormones are responsible for human romantic attachment, but I don’t care. I want more of this, more of him. It feels unfair now that I don’t know what he would feel like, banging me hard against my bed.
I even wistfully watch him cross the street, making sure he gets inside his home safely.
I’m so full of energy—left over from my nervousness earlier, when I was scared I would probably be Adam’s worst lover he’s ever had, as well as my nervous system trying to deal with theintensity of post-orgasmic euphoria—that I know I need to take a walk in the woods. I go inside to grab a hoodie and slip on some sneakers, and I make my way down the street. Just beyond the cul-de-sac is a skinny trail that, as far as I know, only I and the opossums, skunks, and raccoons use. But before I can reach it, there is the low rumble of a car engine getting closer behind me. I step into the nearest yard so they can drive around me, whoever they are. But instead they go even slower. They come even closer. I don’t look back. I sense this all with my ears, even as I pretend I do not hear them. Who is following me in the dark with their headlights off?
Finally, they step on the gas and reach me. When I turn, it’s Janie, the cranky lady next door who always acts like I can’t see her spying on me and obviously hating on me through her kitchen window. “Can I help you?” I ask.
Her face is completely expressionless. “Was that Adam Noemi I saw just leaving your grandmother’s home?”
What the fuck is she asking that for? Does she need Adam for something? “Yeah?”
She shakes her head. “Haven’t you done enough to the reputation of this town?” My jaw drops, because although I knew she was a nosy busybody, I didn’t think she was also a nasty gossip like that. I guess I should have known, but honestly, I try not to assume the worst of people every chance I get. I probably should change that, considering all they do is prove me wrong.
She goes on, “What have you done to him? He knows well enough to stay away from the likes of you, so you must’ve donesomething.”
I almost jump when I feel a quick bump of something furry on my hand. I don’t have to glance down to know it’s a coyote I’ve named Granola, for his beautiful toasted-oat coloring. “Oh,” Isay so soft it’s a hum, when I sense that he’s brought his whole family, eleven coyotes in all. He nudges my hand again and I know he’s here, that they’re all here, because he sensed my fear. They’re my backup. My beloved, beautiful backup.
I turn back to Janie and decide to go with my earlier plan from what feels like ages ago now. She wants to believe I’m evil?
Okay. Let’s do this, then.
I look right into her eyes—she’s still got that nasty, holier-than-thou expression on her face—and then I begin to bark.
I growl and chirp and when I begin howling, the coyotes surround me and they do the exact same thing. They howl, too.
She was pretty freaked out when I began barking, but once the coyotes join me, she opens her mouth and screams. And of course, that just makes the rest of us louder.
She hits reverse and doesn’t even take the time to turn her white SUV around. She reverses it all the way down the street, and I cannot help it. I chase her and keep howling, my backup adding to the chase, joyfully joining me and yipping while running in circles around me.
I know she will tell people. I know that by tomorrow, the whole town will know about Sky Flores’s barking escapades. But I find, as I arch my back and howl for the final time, good and long at the blue ink sky—that for the first time in maybe ever, I simply do not care.
“Skyyyyy.”
The scents of bacon and coffee awaken my stomach, but I’m still half in a dream about spending the night in a coyote den, sprawled in a big pile with them, relaxing while watching videos on my phone.
“Oh, Skyyyyyy!!!” the voice chirps again.
“What,” I mumble. It’s not Nadia or Amá Sonya, because they would never take it upon themselves to disturb me while I was still asleep, which means it’s got to be one of my annoying sisters.
“Did you get the plate next to her nose?”
“I tried, but her face is buried in the pillow!”
Orbothof my annoying sisters, rather.
I lift up my head and the first thing I focus on is Sage’s hands, wrapped around a plate full of what looks like breakfast tacos. Both of my sisters are great cooks—we kinda all had to learn because Nadia sure as hell didn’t cook for us—but these look a little bougie, which is Teal’s style. The corn tortillas are fried with chili powder, making them much more golden than usual. Inside each one are scrambled eggs cooked with spinach, or maybe kale, with fried potatoes and scallions. Each is topped with a fan of sliced avocado, a drizzle of crema, and chopped cilantro. On the side are three slices of bacon that don’t exactly look right, so I’m assuming they’re turkey bacon or maybe made out of soy.
Motivated by hunger, I sit up and rub my eyes. Teal places the plate in my lap. “There ya go.”
“Thanks.” I reach for the water at my bedside first, and take in the scene. Teal’s standing next to me, arms crossed, like she’s some kind of boot camp leader monitoring if I’m going to eat her food properly or not. Sage is sitting at the end of the bed, legs crossed, her own plate in her lap, working on her last taco, from the looks of it. She looks around and gestures with half a taco in her hand. “When the hell did you do all this?”
I furrow my brow and say, “Oh right. The décor. A while ago.”
“It looks amazing.” She points at the furniture and my bed and the wallpaper. “Jesus, you need to be an interior designer, Sky.”
