by Sunniva Dee
So then I stalk her Twitter too. @EsmeBabe isn’t as shy about videos as @DrakeC is, and she’s apparently very proud of their “work” in said film. I glance around me, but my classmates pay no attention to me and my sick new hobby. I get off Twitter and onto Facebook. I find him there too, but not to read his wall. I friend him. He accepts immediately.
Hey, baby girl.
My heart kick-starts in my chest. Hey, yourself. Grats with the award.
You saw that? he types.
I did...
You don’t like it.
It’s whatever.
It’s just a job.
Just a job.
It looks like he’s writing again, but then he stops. He starts up again a moment later, and I can picture him do what I’m doing in my head, formulating and erasing stuff I want to tell him.
I miss you, he finally says. I want to go straight from the airport to see you.
Do you ever take no for an answer? I key out, and neither of us follow up with the obvious, that I’m the one who contacted him this time.
Not with you, I don’t.
You should.
I disagree.
I smile.
Ciro...
Yes, baby girl.
When you come back, can we just be friends? Because I miss being with you too.
So just being friends will be good? he asks.
Yeah. I won’t have to worry about “faithful.”
But I would be faithful. He adds an emoticon of a small animal shrugging.
I know you say that. Anyway.
Around me, people are packing their bags. The girl next to me apologizes and gives my pen back after accidentally putting it behind her ear. I tell her no worries.
Savannah, can I call you?
I get up too. Shove my things into my backpack and leave the room behind the others. When my phone buzzes, I take a deep breath and grab one of the chairs by the lobby vending machine.
“Hey.” I puff it out as if I’ve been running.
“Hey, you. How are you?” he asks, and he sounds so close, that silky voice almost more than I can bear after ten whole days without him. I shut my eyes and inhale deeply. I can almost smell him.
“I’m okay.”
“Just okay? What’s wrong?” The concern in his voice is so genuine.
“No, it’s all good. Just, you know—life. How about you? Is South Africa everything you hoped it’d be?” I deflect.
“How’s your mother?”
“She’s fine.” I groan. “For the most part.”
“So it’s her, then. What’s she up to? Any more terrible ideas?” We chuckle quietly together.
“Yeah, you could say that. I haven’t seen her this... active in years.”
“Oh boy. More traveling? Saving the world?”
“Yeah. On the good side, she hasn’t started packing yet. She seems to consider the practical side of things at the moment. Like, she might not move to save polar bears in the Arctic without having financial stability and a job up there first.”
“Oh she was considering the North Pole? Has she applied to Santa? Rumor has it his toy factory employs upbeat, energetic people.”
I laugh. “Yep, she’d fit right in.”
He joins me, but our laughter dies quickly. “Keep her safe until I get there. I’m home soon,” he says as if we live together and my mother is our common problem. “I’ve got an idea, but it’s better to talk about it in person.”
“You’re making me curious.”
“So, Savannah. I have questions about the friend zone.”
That’s not an expression to be uttered in a deep-red-pillows-and-smooth-sheets voice. I should disclose this to him.
“What about it?”
“How far do friends go with each other?”
All the way, every day! my girly-parts scream soundlessly.
“Not as far as you’d think.”
“Only as far as to the dog park?”
“Maybe a little farther. Probably to the grocery store. Maybe the boardwalk.”
“Hmm. If friends go to the boardwalk, do they buy popcorn for each other?”
“They could, I believe.” I bite my lip, smiling.
“Okay, and after they’ve polished off a couple of churros or what-have-you, would friends go on rollercoasters together?”
“Definitely.”
“Sit in the same seat?”
“If they’re two-seaters.”
“Now, let’s say, hypothetically, that the girl friend is very scared of the rollercoaster and needs a hug after they stop.... Are you picturing the scenario?”
“I am.” Definitely.
“And the boy friend needs to comfort her and make her feel safe again. You see it?”
“I do.” Sadly, my smile is growing.
“Would he put his arms around her and hug her close, perhaps even let her rest her head under his chin?”
“I think that would work.”
“And if he kissed her head, would he have overstepped?”
“Kissing of heads should be within the realm of opportunity for friends,” I say. “Don’t see an issue with that.”
“Cool. What if—”
I snort, because I can’t see him stopping any time soon.
“Are you laughing at me, Miss Nichols?”
“A little bit?”
He lets out the softest snicker. “What if he tilted her head up, pressed his lips to hers and opened her mouth with his tongue. Then he kissed her until she was panting and wanted him to lift her and carry her to the car so he could drive her home to his bunker. When they got there—”
“Shut up, you’re so naughty.” I laugh, tingling.
“See you in a few days, friend.”
It’s nine p.m. I’m at my house biting nails, and all because Ciro’s coming home today. He’s already warned me he’s driving straight to my house from the airport. That’s not what a friend does. Friends go to their bunker and sleep, then they set up some leisurely not-boardwalk-rollercoaster-related playdate with their friend.
“But you said you’re just pals now.” Frieda levels her gaze on me, brown eyes serious and not sparkling. Yep, she definitely isn’t into the kind of fuzzy borders Ciro envisions for us.
“We are.”
“Stop chewing on your nails. Nail polish can leave you paralyzed if you eat enough of it.”
“I won’t be inhaling my own weight in it any time soon,” I mumble, eyes flickering to the curtains. I wish I were at work.
My phone buzzes. It scoots forward on the coffee table, making the surface resonate in a low hum.
“Don’t look so jumpy.”
“I am jumpy.”
“Come on, you’re being silly. There’s nothing he can do to you if you don’t want it.”
Almost at your house.
“What’s he saying?”
“That he’s about to pull up.”
“Well, just shake his damn hand and send him on his merry way.”
“Have you met him? He’s impossible to say no to.”
“And you don’t think it’s time you do something about that? Reminder: what does he do for a living? Hint: something no girl in her right mind would approve of. Especially someone like you, with her self-respect intact.”
“No need to hammer it in,” I mutter once she’s done dragging out “self-respect.”
“No? Because I just thought that you might need it.” She folds her arms, and I wish Charlotte weren’t at work. She’s nicer about certain things than Frieda.
Lights in the driveway. Lights going out. Car door slamming. Steps up, up, up to the second floor and then a knock on the door. Frieda runs ahead of me, but that makes me feel like the child she says I am. I’m pretty e
mphatic myself when I tell her to back the hell off.
“You sure you don’t want me to tell him right now? I’ll send him off.”
“I can take care of things myself, thank you.”
Ciro is golden when I open the door. He’s had just enough sun. Those tousled blond bangs and the exposed skin on his arms and neck cause my breathing to stutter.
“Hey, baby girl.”
Aqua-colored eyes go brighter after a few weeks in South Africa. His I’ve seen gleam before, but man, they are sparkling, and then there’re those deep pupils, which drag me in, and—
I’ve never missed anyone as much in my life!
“You jerk,” I say, feeling my brows contract.
He bites his lower lip, which makes it look impossibly plumper. That’s so odd. I mean, he bites it. The thing should look flatter, right? No. No, no, just juicier and more perfectly mauve-colored.
I throw my arms up. “Sorry, that’s not something one says to a pal.”
“Unless you’re mad at them,” Frieda helps from behind me. “She’s mad at you for not being boyfriend material in case you wondered. And you can go home now, thanks. You’re tired, right? Time zones and all that.”
I turn to glare just as she clamps her hands on her hips.
Ciro shakes his head slowly, a small smile lifting his cheeks. “I can’t win in this house, can I?”
“No, nuh-huh, we liked you before. Until you broke my best friend’s heart.”
“Will you shut up?” My anger explodes out so fast. “Stop freaking meddling in my life!”
She freezes, incredulous, and I meet her stare head on. Frieda breaks our stare-down first and huffs off. Small steps punctuate her anger until she hits the stairs to the Gross Dungeon where the boys are holding court.
“Ciro, come in. I’ll make us some tea in the kitchen.”
Tea, no alcohol. In the kitchen, not in my room.
Ciro gives me the courtesy of remaining quiet until I’ve got him seated by the breakfast bar. I occupy myself by boiling water. Steeping tea. Grabbing small fistfuls of sugar and pouring them into our cups because the dishwasher is running with all our spoons. I hear him stifle a laugh behind me. I ignore it.
“So, how was Cape Town?” I ask conversationally, still busy with the cups and not meeting his eyes. He’s too handsome right now. I want to throw myself at him.
“It was good.”
“Great award ceremony, yeah?” I ask, suddenly British. Maybe South African. He laughs softly. Enough with the silky voice, please.
“Quite so. It was quite nice.”
“You’re mocking me.”
“Not really, no. It just feels like you’re making small-talk. I don’t remember you as a small-talk girl. Then again, I was gone for a long time, so maybe you’ve changed?”
My cheeks do that burning thing they like to do. “I guess you remember me as a get-down-to-business, ask-the-tough-questions girl.” I slide his cup over the table and into his hands. He accepts it and takes a blow.
“I’m thinking it’s only a matter of time.”
“No. I’m a new person now that you’re my friend. Friends aren’t so judgmental,” I explain to him and smile pretty serenely. I can do it and not even go behind him and embrace him from behind, nuzzle against his back and stretch my arms up his entire chest, encapsulating him in me while I let out some ridiculous mm-hmm sound. “Friends, you see, let other friends’ livelihood be their livelihood.”
I haven’t moved. I’m still in front of him and not touching. His hand trails toward me on the table, and then he’s rubbing a thumb over my wrist and it’s the single most erotic thing of ever.
“You hearted my Instagram pictures,” he murmurs.
“Yeah, you’re a good photographer, really artistic. You know that?” I ask and bite my tongue so I don’t add, You should make a career out of it.
“Not that good. Just a hobby I enjoy.” He looks me over. “I’d take pictures of you.”
“Tell me about South Africa.” I think about his “my lady” comment on Twitter. “Would I like it?”
He nods slowly. “It’s absolutely beautiful. And the food, the architecture, the people. Say the word, and we’ll go. There would be nothing like discovering more of that country with you.
“One day, we went to a cheetah rescue, and I thought of your mother. I could picture her there, running around and helping with that bright enthusiasm she has. I got to pet one of the cubs.”
He browses through his phone and pulls up a heart-stopping picture of a cheetah baby and himself. The cheetah lounges on the grass, lids half-closed against the sun. Ciro sits behind it, a hand on its back and a wide smile on his face. He’s wearing a thin white cotton shirt with four buttons open. His chest is in-your-face tanned, muscular, oh god and there’s a nipple.
“Wow. So cute.” I swallow lovesickly.
He chuckles and blows the picture up for a close-up of the cheetah cub. “See how soft she looks?”
“Yeah. I want to pet her right now. So jelly.”
“She wasn’t. Her fur was so coarse it felt like petting a steel brush.”
I look up. “Seriously?”
“Uh-huh, I don’t know what it was. Maybe the oils in her fur?”
“Or it could be that they just hadn’t washed her. A good cheetah shampoo and conditioner would do the trick, I bet.”
His nostrils flare with humor. “You suggest washing cheetahs?”
“Yep!” I grin. “If my mom worked there, that cheetah baby would’ve been as soft as a rabbit. Its mother too.”
He lets out a laugh. Then he rakes a hand through his hair, humor fading. “You sounded worried about her on the phone. How is she? How are you?”
“I’m okay. It’s just that her brain doesn’t take much of a break lately. She’s awake a lot at night, and I’m content when I don’t wake up to a four-o’clock ping on my phone.”
He crosses his arms. It makes me think he’s bracing himself. “Have you ever thought that she might need to be seen by a specialist? That she might have a condition she could get help with?”
“A condition? She’s just a quirky artist. Come on. Is it a condition to want to save the world? That’s what most of her ideas are about.”
“That’s true—most of her ideas. And that is a noble mindset.”
“Oh you’re doing that thing.” I study his expression. It’s mild, understanding, like with Mom when he made her see that she couldn’t just run off to China. “Cut the crap and spit it out, Ciro.”
“No, you’re right. There’s the cult stuff and a few other things you’ve mentioned, but mostly she just wants to save animals somewhere.”
“Right, but she is better.”
“Yeah?”
“I haven’t received a single ADHD burst of texting in sixteen hours.”
He nods slowly while I realize how pathetic that sounded.
I have my friend back.
He works in the Valley for the next two weeks, and we see each other almost every day. I walk Princess in the morning with Daisy and Rough. Sometimes I meet Ana and her Chihuahua at the dog park too. She’s a sweet girl. As far as she’s concerned, Ciro and I are still a couple. I don’t feel like telling her we’re not. The initial jealousy I felt over her having “worked” with him dissipates too. Maybe the friend zone has something to do with that?
Today, Ana and I end the dog park trip at a Starbucks down the hill from Ciro’s house. Her boyfriend works there, it turns out, and he treats us to breakfast and frappucinos. The dry Valley heat isn’t scorching this early, so we keep the dogs with us at an outside table.
“Did Ciro tell you we have a gig together tomorrow?” she says, licking jam from her exploded Danish. Innocent eyes meet mine over her food.
“What?” I inhale cream and cough.
“Oops, I hate that.” She dries her hand on a napkin and hurries to pat my back. “You okay?”
I bob my head quickly, clearing my throat. “Sure, yeah, just... inhaled stuff.”
“I do that all the time. Aaron laughs at me,” she says, glancing fondly at her boyfriend. He tends to hover close, I notice, eyes on his girl.
“So, you’re working together, you said?” I make working sound normal. How do I do that?
“Yeah, over at Lucid. I’m excited—it’s been too long.” She claps her hands. “We shoot the breeze between takes. The last time, the producer told us to shut up, claiming we bickered like siblings. Ha, your BF is hilarious.”
“He sure is.” I suck cool coffee slush through my straw. “So... long job?” I can’t formulate polite questions about this and get the answers I want. Do you enjoy-enjoy it? Does he make you climax?
“Just a few days.” She juts out a pout, and her boyfriend sees it. He haunches next to us and rocks her thigh with a hand.
“What’s up, baby?”
She laughs. “Oh nothing. You know how I get to work with a good friend over the next few days?”
“The guy who helped you out when you first got started, right?”
“Yep, Ciro. I was just telling Savannah it’s only for a few days and I wish it was longer. He’s so nice.”
Her boyfriend forms a relaxed “Ah” and rubs her shoulder.
“You know him?” he asks me.
“Savannah is his girlfriend, so yeah, she knows him,” Ana giggles out.
“Oh cool! Well, Ana has talked a lot about him. Maybe we can get together, the four of us one of these days. Do a double date?”
I nod, speechless. When I don’t stop nodding, Ana nods with me, staring like she’s trying to figure me out.
“Yep, sounds good,” I say once I can muster a calm voice.
Ana breaks into a happy grin. “Yay! How about Friday night? We’re supposed to be done shooting Loins of Fire by then, and we could go out and celebrate, the four of us together? Have you been to The Timber Ranch?”
“Yeah, I love it.”