With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo
Ready?
“Where’s your host family?” I ask as I wander through the house. Malachi’s host parents are college professors at the local university and are some of the few host parents who speak perfect English.
“They had an event at the school. A reading or something.”
I nod and stop in front of one of the paintings in the hall. It’s a pretty scene of the city. The light on the stones, the awnings of the marketplace, and the plaza. Malachi tugs on one of my curls before reaching his hand up my neck, to my scalp. It feels good to have him play with my hair.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing. This is a nice painting.”
“Are you nervous? To be here with me? I can stop. We can go out or something.”
It seems a shame not to enjoy one of our last nights in the city, and a Friday at that, but it also seems a shame to waste a perfectly empty apartment. Decisions, decisions.
“Let’s just hang out on the couch for a bit before going out. Maybe we can watch TV?”
A Harry Potter marathon is on and I sit with Malachi’s arm around me. I translate some of the lines but Malachi has seen the movie before so he can work out a lot of the dialogue without me. We get up to the part when Harry emits his Patronus against a dementor for the first time, when Malachi starts playing with my fingers. Then his hand is on my thigh. I sit still. I want to lean against him.
“You are nervous.”
I touch a dimple. “Are you a virgin, Malachi?” I’ve never had the balls to ask, but this seems like something I should know.
He clears his throat and stops playing with my hand. “There was a girl in my last school. We weren’t that serious, but we’d fooled around. We’d talked about doing more. But then my brother was shot and I was a mess and my mother told me she was sending me here and then I met you.”
I turn my face and he gives me a soft tap kiss and leans back. When I don’t move he gives me another tap kiss and it lasts a little longer. The next time he kisses me, I’m on him. Legs straddling his lap, arms wound around his back. Kissing him back.
Tyrone had been fast, and all about him. And it’d been fun the couple of times we did it. Maybe not even fun, as much as it was exciting. It was something new. It was like entering a world everyone talked about but no one knew how to explain, and all of a sudden, you’re allowed into the secret. Even if it’s not much of a secret. And if I had to count, I’d say we had sex three times at the most. The first time, probably when I got pregnant, and twice after that. I never saw what the big deal was about, outside of how nice it was to be touched. But this is different.
“Are you sure you’re a virgin?” I ask him. He kisses like he’s been kissing for a long time. And his hands move slowly like they have a precise goal in mind.
“Are you sure you’ve done this before?” he responds.
I laugh and smack his shoulder. But I am nervous. Not because I know tricks or anything—Tyrone and I didn’t even do it enough times for me to learn much—but my naked body shows it once carried a child. I dropped the weight quick enough, but it’s the other things that show when you aren’t wearing clothes that mark you as someone who’s given birth. With Tyrone it hadn’t even mattered what I knew or didn’t know because he knew I didn’t know anything. But I feel like Malachi expects things.
“Malachi. I’m not really that experienced. It was only a couple of times. Don’t get your hopes—”
He puts a finger up to my lips and keeps kissing my neck. “Please don’t bring up other times right now. We can talk later. If you want. But this isn’t about other people. We’re not here with other people. We’re here. Right now. Me and you. Right?”
He keeps kissing my neck. And then my hands are everywhere. I need to touch his skin, his shoulders, his back. I kiss his ear and he moans into my neck.
“That feels too good.” And this was new, too. This power of making a boy jump or moan.
I take my shirt off. And he takes off his. “Are you sure?” he asks.
I press a hand to his heart. I’m not sure of anything. “Kiss me again?” So we do, we kiss and we rub, and his hands are on my body and I haven’t shown this body to anybody in a long, long time. He rubs a hand along the stretch marks on my breasts and stomach. All the things that mark me as a mom in the most obvious of ways. He kisses me there and everywhere. He reaches for my jeans.
I cover Malachi’s hand where it’s undoing my zipper and hold it still.
“I think we should wait. It would be romantic. In Spain. Your first time. All of that. It’d be like a story. But . . .”
Malachi puts his hands up and throws his head back on the couch. I start scooting off his lap but he holds me in place. “All good, Santi.” He hugs me to himself. “Give me a second to get myself under control.”
I brush my fingers on his chest. “Maybe—” I pause. And make myself be brave enough to ask for what I want and not to be rushed into what I’m not ready for. I clear my throat. “Maybe we can try other things?”
He raises an eyebrow, and with more excitement than I’ve ever seen from him, he gives me a vigorous “Yes, ma’am. Yes, Ms. Santiago. I am your teacher’s pet. Blank book. Best student.”
I laugh at his straight-up silliness. And this feels right. Whatever we are to become, I’m glad that we can laugh through the uncomfortable moments.