Kiss of Death

Feya and I watched our winged mothers from under the maple trees in her front yard. Their demon and fairy outlines circled in front of the full moon in either dance or combat, I couldn't tell. Thelsenica's high-heel shoes lay abandoned in the tall grass. Crickets chirped. The empty swing hung still in the evening air. It would have been a nice night, but Feya still wouldn't look at me.

She leaned against one of the trees, her arms folded, her face full of silver moonlight and tree shadows. I tried finding the right speech maze to ask her what was wrong. My stomach moaned like a zombie. I crossed my arms over my skinny torso.

Feya leaned away from the tree.

“Here,” she said. From the pocket of her pajama pants, she handed me a colorful mushroom slider hidden in her cloth napkin. “I figured I'd have to sneak you one when your mom wasn't looking. I didn't know about the truth cheese.”

I unfolded the napkin pouch, staring at the delicious smelling roll filled with cooling veggies and cheese that made you throw-up your secrets. Feya lumbered back to the tree, leaning against it like she was waiting for me to leave.

“I know why you won't eat it,” she said. “You've been tricked enough by fairies.”

Feya clutched her own groaning stomach. “Oh, my yeast babies, that truth cheese!” She covered her mouth, trying not to spew more truth, but then threw up her hands.

“Fine! Yes! I'm a magic-stealer! But you don't know how many times my mom lectured me. Careful, Fey-Fey, demons steal magic, demons steal magic. Well, I was going to prove her wrong and steal your magic first! I went to my grandma's kitchen and made the chocolate that would enchant you to want to give me your first kiss. Then I'd get my wings and get out from under my mom's perfect fairy foot! But the chocolate didn't even work! I thought there were times you were going to kiss me, but you didn't, and then. . .”

Feya gave me her full, golden gaze. “I don't want to need anyone, Jack,” she whispered. “That's how your magic gets stolen. But I started . . . looking for you, to ride up my street.” She stared down at her pink boots. “I couldn't let you go to school by yourself, surrounded by mortals who wouldn't even try to realize how wonderful you are. I found myself wanting to kiss you, just to kiss you, and not to take your magic. When Natasha Goldenberg tried kissing you, I thought a monster would explode from my chest.” Feya braced the sides of her head. “I can't believe I'm no better than Natasha, that I'm just like my mom!” She threw away her daisy crown, making her hair poof back into its dandelion-fluff sphere.

Her hands hid her face as she mumbled, “I'm sorry, Jack. You can hate me now.”

I reached out, and stroked Feya's arm with the back of my knuckles. The green leaves above us rattled.

Feya's fingertips slid down onto her cheeks. She looked at me, waiting.

I figured it was the truth cheese's pungent odor, but I could smell Feya's fears loud and clear. She wanted to make her wings grow, to be independent and strong. She also wanted to kiss me, but was afraid of losing me.

I gazed at her softly, wanting to tell her I felt the same. There was only one way to tell the truth.

I held up the cheesy slider between us, perching in the cloth napkin like a jewel, and shoved the entire roll into my mouth.

Feya's hands dropped. Her eyes wide.

I closed my eyes and chewed. My hunger seized the delicious fairy food, making its magic stronger. The truth inside me built into a storm of confessions.

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

My thoughts, feelings, and all the truths thundering inside me were still trapped behind invisible mazes. Even with the help of truth cheese, I couldn't speak. The napkin dropped from my hand. I tilted my head, staring up at the moon and our winged mothers through the corner of my eyes so I could better focus. I smelled rain on rotting leaves, my wish for demon wings that would never grow.

Feya crouched down and threw back the fallen napkin covering a twig. She stood, rolling the stick in her hands, gold dust and white powder falling from her palms. She took up my heavy hand. With a nervous breath she placed a nubby piece of chalk, still growing a little green leaf, in my grasp.

We knelt together at her sidewalk's end. Feya opened her hand for the chalk to draw the alphabet.

“You can point out what you really think of me on my own sidewalk,” Feya sighed.

A smile twitched on my lips. Perhaps it was the truth cheese, or the full moon above on the eve of October's Friday the 13th. Wherever the magic came from, I awkwardly held the twig chalk and began writing the truth.

Feya Green, I wanted to kiss you before you gave me the enchanted chocolate.

“What!?” Feya gaped at Jack's letters glowing in the moonlight. She never asked ‘what’.

A silver memory bubble floated down from the moon, bouncing like a balloon on the sidewalk. I waited for the memory to pop on me, but it bounced to Feya.

She caught it, and stared down into my memory, her face lit with the bubble's soft blue light. She watched, from my perspective, of me breaking my arm yesterday. She even saw the dragon inside my chest awakening my desire to kiss her. The bubble popped, glittering in her open hands.

“I remember,” Feya whispered.

I looked up at the moon, waiting for more of my memories to descend. None came. Pressing my hand against the sidewalk I began writing all the things I always wanted to say.

After we built our sand haunted house I looked for you for years I wished for a friend like you more than I wished for my wings I'm sorry for almost running you over with my bike Thank you for forgiving me For trusting me

The bubbles came, gently bouncing down the sidewalk where we knelt. Feya caught them, holding two or three at a time. She gazed into their watery surfaces, taking in the scenes of me pushing against Maple Street's magical barrier to see her again, and of me sending the dandelion seeds into her yard to help her want to fly on her swing. She laughed, watching herself jump into the tree when I almost ran her over on the mountain trail.

I kept writing down the sidewalk, my messy words swerving and leaping over the cracks. Feya followed me, catching the memories I unleashed through writing.

I felt so lost when I found out I wasn't a demon but you invited me to climb our library tree You understood me when I couldn't speak You don't care I'm not magical

“But you are magical,” Feya said, spinning on her finger the memory of the paper birds in the attic. When the memory changed to us nearly kissing, the bubble fell off her finger and popped. I blushed but kept writing.

The spell you smelled – the one I put on myself – was so I wouldn't kiss you or make you uncomfortable while we were alone at my haunted house I was so afraid that if I kissed you it would ruin everything.

A flutter of snaps went through my fingers grasping the twig chalk. I had always been afraid of the truth, its power. But a sharp weight leaning against my heart was gone. I wanted all the truth I had ever felt about Feya to glow on her summer street like a declaration. I wanted her to read my words, experience my memories, and be understood.

I would never steal the magic of your first kiss Feya Green but I want to give you mine.