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So Priscila and Adrián sat, under Alex’s stunned look.
Alex didn’t understand—when exactly had his neighbor become that pretty? She’s so hot, was his first thought. With all that long coppery hair and those big caramel eyes, even with those bloody unusual sneakers with the huge red bows. He couldn’t help it; a smile escaped him. He wanted to kiss her. It had been a while since he’d seen her around—or rather, a while since he’d looked at her—but tonight... he liked her.
The siblings, side by side, merged easily into the dynamics of the game. Adrián went with ‘truth’ on four rounds and ‘kiss’ on none. Priscila hadn’t played that last one yet. Until... she did.
“Alex, your turn. Kiss, Truth or Dare?”
“Kiss,” the boy stated with confidence.
“Who?” his friends asked.
“Her.” And Alex pointed a finger at Priscila.
Priscila’s heart went bump, bump—this time, a double bump. She’d lost count of the times such a thing had happened when the neighbor from the house across the street was near. And she had to admit, the neighbor in question looked good enough to eat just now. His hair was longer than usual, his skin very tanned—or that’s what Priscila thought as the firelight bathed his face and body. His black eyes were shining like never before and his dimples were on display, marking his cheeks like footprints on the sand. She didn’t like him much though; since he’d become a member of the national swim team he strutted through town as if he were king of the world. So she weighed those traits: handsome against asshole. And handsome won.
“Okay,” she agreed.
She looked for Adrián’s eyes; her brother didn’t look too happy, but Priscila knew he would accept her decision.
Alex came closer, crawling slowly forward... too slowly... until he was there. Kissing her. Direct and to the point. No preliminaries. Not a single glance.
And that kiss was the real thing. Nothing like the one they’d shared when they were kids. Alex put his tongue in Priscila’s mouth and she had to hold on to his neck to keep from collapsing. She needed her hands to calm her heartbeat, but they had latched onto Alex’s skin and soft hair and refused to let go. All the sounds around them disappeared then; she heard only the crackle of objects being thrown into the bonfire and their own agitated breathing.
Adrián had to leave his place in the circle; the couple was too close to him and he wasn’t enjoying the scene. His expression changed helplessly, uncomfortable, but he didn’t do anything. It was Pris’ decision. And it was just a kiss.
Alex had kissed hundreds of girls, but that kiss was different. It tasted different: it tasted of summer, pompoms, glitter and caramel. He loved it. He wanted to keep going, keep kissing her, but that was outside of political correctness, and he was never outside of political correctness. Priscila was so different from the others, soft but strong at the same time, like her kiss, which began shyly but vigorously, as if she wanted to eat him whole as much as he wanted her. From that day on, Alex became a slave to her kisses, although he’d never tell her.
When Alex and Priscila parted, they both wanted more, but it didn’t matter. They couldn’t do anything else—the rules were the rules.
Before the neighbor from the house across the street returned to his place, a song began to play somewhere on the beach—a song neither Alex nor Priscila had ever heard before. One of the girls was whistling its tune and singing something about being afraid, being petrified.
The entire group looked at the girl in question, stunned, when between bursts of laugher she explained, “It’s from The Adventures of Priscilla Queen of the Desert. Get it? Priscilla? Like her?” Everyone joined her laughing; everyone except Alex, Priscila and Adrián.
Priscila didn’t understand the joke; later, she would search the internet for information about the movie. She still didn’t find it funny. But that kiss had been amazing—their second first kiss. Neither of them wanted to admit it, though; they just carried on as if it had never happened.
On the way home, slightly separated from the rest of the Cabanas, Adrián and Priscila reviewed the game, whispering—especially Adrián, who kept asking his sister about the neighbor from the house across the street. And Priscila told him. Of course she told him; after all, Adrián wasn’t just her brother, he was also her best friend.
Priscila spent most of that summer—colored campfire orange—listening to “I Will Survive,” touching her lips as she did. She had discovered the soundtrack of The Adventures of Priscilla Queen of the Desert, and she liked it—even if she didn’t understand most of the lyrics. Like those phrases from “Mamma Mia”—the guy was a cheater, but she couldn’t resist him?... Truthfully, Priscila couldn’t understand why—if he cheated on her—this lady missed him so much.
Alex spent the rest of his summer swimming, training for competitions. But he also began to seek her out, not wanting to take his eyes off her. He used to track her among the rest of faces of the town and when he found her, he went to her with the sole intention of sticking his tongue in her mouth. But since that wasn’t politically correct either, he never did it.
Oh, the jellyfish. Blame the jellyfish
Iwake up at six in the morning with an awful headache. It’s so excruciating I actually need to get out of bed. I lived the worst of it last night at dinnertime, but this hangover is relentless—it’s still torturing me. Damn martinis!
Since sleep doesn’t seem to be an option, I decide to go to the beach for a run. This early there should be very few people there, and the beach is like a healer to me. It can cure almost everything.
I wash my face and hands, dress in comfortable clothes, and leave the house. With each step I take, the sky becomes more orange—or pink, maybe. I guess today it’s a mixture of both. I stop abruptly in the middle of the green tile sidewalk to stare at the sunrise. It’s been a while. In Boston, sunrise is a different color.
I get to the beach and run for more than an hour, alone with the purring of the waves as they die on the shore and the discordant squawks of the seagulls saying their good mornings—not melodious at all. I’m about to take off my sneakers—my glittery sneakers with their big blue laces—and sit on the sand to rest and get my breath back, when I notice a little thing running towards me in the distance.
The instant I recognize him, completely in shock, the animal is on me, throwing me to the sand and kissing me all over my face. Okay... it could be a very similar dog, there’s a tiny possibility. But it’s not, it’s him: Dark. My dog. Well, ours. And Alex has lied to me again.
“Hello, baby,” I say as I lie down on the sand, holding him and kissing him. I can’t believe it. “I’ve missed you so much. Did you miss me too?”
Dark barks at me in sheer joy and I take it as a clear “yes, I missed you.” He’s wagging his little tail left and right, left and right at full speed. I’m sure if I had a tail, I’d be doing the same.
“Dark! Dark, come!” The dog ignores Alex’s shout, but I don’t. I turn to look at him. He’s a few yards away, running up to us with a scowl.
