she peeked around the corner. the dim­ming lamp hanging above lit her red hair on fire, and glinted its light off her eye. i recog­nised that glint only as mischief.

‘i can see you,’ i said.

she feigned alarm that i noticed she was there. after step­ping out into full view and dra­mat­ic­ally pla­cing her arms on her hips and frowning, i nodded her over. she slowly sauntered toward me, exag­ger­ating her move­ments, swinging one foot in front of the other with both hands clasped behind her. she could have been drunk, but this one was always a great act­ress. i could tell she was hiding some­thing, and the sharp corner of the left side of her mouth told me it was prob­ably nothing good.

‘i got a sur­prise for you…’ she purred, stretching out the last word con­spir­at­ori­ally. she pivoted and leaned against the wall beside me. i took a long swig from the wine bottle and offered it to her. she shook her head. ‘aren’t you going to ask me what it is?’ she pouted a little.

she looked up with eyes wide open, big and round, spark­ling… no, glinting mis­chief still. and as always, in all the years i’ve known her, i sub­mitted. ‘what is it?’

she let out a cackle and she pulled out a pack of cigar­ettes from behind her.

‘oh jeez. really?’ i rolled my eyes. ‘what are you, fourteen?’

her glare morphed into an accus­a­tion. ‘you used to smoke! besides, the owner got drunk and passed out some­where. it is only right we put these suckers to good use.’

‘fig­ures. you were always one for long, slow, tor­turous deaths.’

‘only with you’, she replied, sounding much too chipper. ‘want to smoke some with me?’

‘since when do you smoke?’

‘i don’t,’ she said plainly.

‘clearly.’

‘come on,’ she per­sisted. ‘i wanna be bad.’

‘you are always bad.’

‘i am not! how dare you say such thing to me,’ she said while deftly flicking open the top of the pack. i guess she isn’t drunk, i thought. she lifted the pack toward her mouth, and tried to pull one out to her lips. four cigar­ettes spilled onto her face and dropped to the ground. okay, maybe she is a little. undeterred by my mocking laughter, she pulled two out with her fin­gers, and offered one to me. i took both from her.

‘hey!’ she cried.

‘relax. do you even have a lighter?’ i pulled out my red zippo, lit both and handed one back to her.

‘thanks,’ she said grudgingly.

we stood there and took long drags in silence. i tilted my head and bounced it lightly against the alu­minium siding of the house. i could feel the vibra­tions of the deep fuzzy bass eman­ating from some­where in the base­ment. i started thinking about how i had known this girl for almost six years now, and this was the first time i had ever smoked any­thing with her. we were always talkers, her and i, but that can only take you so far. by some unseen force, there was sud­denly a four year sep­ar­a­tion between us get­ting reac­quainted last month and the last time we spoke. real life had somehow wedged its way between us, but now we stood out­side in the back­yard of someone’s bun­galow, at a house party filled with a bunch of her friends, all of whom were mostly mostly strangers to me, her and i strung together again by a mira­cu­lous set of serendip­itous coin­cid­ences. i could not shake the feeling of how the same things felt, how com­fort­ably it all fell back into place, like it was only yes­terday we were embar­rassing ourselves in rooms full of strangers, flirting like we would even­tu­ally take each other ser­i­ously. of course, we never did.

‘where’s jon?’ i asked, stamping out the first cigar­ette. she imme­di­ately passed me another.

‘don’t know. some­where in there,’ she said, with vague dis­in­terest in her voice.

i raised an eye­brow. ‘trouble in para­dise, eh?’

she shrugged. i could tell she did not want to con­tinue this line of ques­tioning and silence fell between us again. i watched her flick the butt end of her cigar­ette into the dark­ness of the yard. like a snake, she snatched the lighter out of my hand and lit another one. i watched her chest expand as she took a drag and exhaled a long slow mist into the night air.

‘careful, red. you might start liking this.’

‘i kind of do,’ she said sol­emnly. ‘thanks for coming, by the way. i know this prob­ably isn’t your crowd.’

i laughed. ‘yeah, not really. but i figure i’d make an appear­ance so i don’t need to deal with the hours of whining and guilt-​tripping you’d put me through.’

‘hey, i don’t whine!’ she pro­tested. i grinned. ‘you’re such a dick,’ she fin­ished, breaking into a laugh.

‘only with you.’

‘and a liar,’ she countered. ‘don’t make me hit you.’

‘even if you did, it wouldn’t hurt. you’re too skinny and you punch like a girl.’

she sud­denly threw a right cross into my shoulder, catching me by sur­prise. she scowled defi­antly. ‘i might be skinny, but i’m pointy. and i know that hurt.’ and turned her head and raised her chin like how all proper girls are taught to do when feeling indignant.

i rubbed my shoulder. ‘has anyone told you how mean you are?’

‘i’m really nice to everyone else.’

she wore a green dress with a small belt that accen­tu­ated how tiny her waist was. the green emphas­ized the red of her hair, and the pale­ness of her skin. she car­ried a cer­tain waifish dig­nity to her that, in equal parts, made her look vul­ner­able and under­stated, but also there was a lot of pride in the slightly upturned chin and in her voice, a quiet strength. laughter always came easily to her, and when she did, her shoulders shook grace­fully. but her most mes­mer­ising talent was her skill in con­ver­sa­tion. this one could never be caught at a loss for words. always meas­ured, always unsurprised.

‘you should dump him,’ i finally said after a time. she didn’t reply imme­di­ately. i was silently wagering whether she was offended, or was actu­ally ser­i­ously con­sid­ering the idea.

‘you always say that,’ she said, sounding very serious.

‘i’m just jealous.’

‘and you should stop saying shit like that.’ now she sounded genu­inely angry. ‘anyway, how come you never tell me about any of the girls you’re seeing? i know there have been a lot. because you’re such a whore.’

that made me laugh. she stood there unimpressed.

‘i’m ser­ious,’ she said. ‘how come?’

i real­ised i felt dizzy from the nicotine. reflex­ively, i took another long drag to col­lect myself, making the light­headed feeling worse. she was not going to let me get out of this one easily, and the impa­tience in her eyes told me that i would prob­ably get hit again if i did not say some­thing that sounded at least a little bit honest.

‘i don’t know,’ i started. she looked at me pens­ively. ‘i guess… ’ i dragged it out, ‘i just don’t think of anyone else when i’m with you.’

she looked down at her feet. i could not tell if she was trying her best to stifle a laugh — she never used to take things like that ser­i­ously. but four years can change a lot. instead of the laughter i was expecting, a small ‘oh’ escaped from her lips.

i con­tinued, trying my best to give away the struggle. ‘yeah… i don’t know… i remember the first time we met, i knew you were dan­gerous imme­di­ately. i was with denise at the time, and you were with god knows who anymore-’

‘mark,’ she interjected.

‘yeah, that guy. the timing was never right. we both got busy.’

‘i was never that busy. you just took off.’

‘you never seemed all that inter­ested, anyway.’

‘not inter­ested!’ she sounded exas­per­ated. ‘you were the one fucking any­thing that moved. how could i have taken you seriously?’

‘okay, okay. it was my fault.’

‘it’s always your fault.’

i let out a small laugh. ‘i think i just got really com­fort­able with the way things were between us. maybe not com­fort­able… more like, i liked the safety in the way things were. dis­tant but not out of reach. you were the one girl i was the most scared to get to know. i could never treat you like i treated the other ones. i could never talk to you like i could talk to someone else. and i know that if i got to know you better… anyway, all of that, put together, i felt like doing nothing was the best course of action.’

‘so you dis­ap­peared,’ she said.

‘i doubt you turned into a weeping mess without me.’

‘no. but i still would have pre­ferred it if you actu­ally made an effort to keep in touch once in a while.’

‘hey, who hunted who down after all these years. besides, you’ve done fine for your­self. had to let you prac­tise with all the other boys so that i’d seem a lot more incred­ible when we’d even­tu­ally meet up again.’

she put her hands on her hips, ‘oh, you were so cer­tain we’d reunite, huh? why did you want to meet up again anyway?’

i took a deep breath. ‘some­thing happened when i broke up with emily,’ i started. i do not know where it came from, but a part of my sub­con­scious prob­ably real­ised that i had squandered so many oppor­tun­ities to be honest with her, that now might be my last chance — the pro­ver­bial all or nothing moment. i con­tinued, ‘i spent an entire night sit­ting at the foot of my bed, and i just started thinking about the girls i had the most fun with, and you were always at the top of every con­ceiv­able list. i figure, you know, maybe… what the hell have i got to lose? more import­antly, spending this last month, get­ting to know you all over again, everything about you is better than i remember.’

she looked angry. ‘god!’ she threw her hands up, and turned sharply toward me. i almost flinched, expecting another punch. instead she spoke. ‘you… fuck! damn it!’ she was almost screaming now, fists clenched. she closed her eyes and she vis­ibly slowed her breathing. ‘i don’t know.’ she sounded sud­denly resigned. ‘i don’t know how to know! but right now, i am ninety-​nine per­cent in love with you.’

‘it’s mutual,’ i said quietly, stunned.

she found her way back against the wall with me. but this time, the foot of space between us dis­ap­peared, and i could feel her arm against mine, leaning gently against me. she lit up the two remaining cigar­ettes and tossed the empty pack over the hedge. the silence was dif­ferent this time. it did not feel weighted down by things unsaid. instead, it was being drowned by the con­ver­sa­tion that had just passed. for the first time, it finally felt like we man­aged to be honest to each other for any con­sequen­tial length of time, and could finally enjoy the near­ness of each other, com­forted by mutual body heat on a chilly spring night.

after a time, long after the ashes of the last cigar­ette was flicked away, she stepped off the wall for the last time, taking my hand with both of hers and pulled me off. she tilted her head and spoke, ‘walk me home?’

‘no way.’

she rolled her eyes. ‘why?!’

‘okay, let’s go.’