—You want to go to Catholic school when you complain about going to church with me on Sundays? Please, I was already coming home with the cheese when you were still milking the cow.

Hush practically lived in the luncheonette, along with three other kids from around the way, none of whom attended their school but who were cute enough to tap kiss and play spin the bottle.

Then Hush spun the bottle.

—I’ll spin and it’s a tongue-kiss game, Hush said.

They all nodded because no one—especially Dallas, who had never kissed anyone—wanted to be called scared. She had practiced tongue kissing on the back of her hand for so long that she’d given herself black and blues. Esperanza called it a disgusting habit, much like the way Dallas bit her nails and liked to stick her hands inside her armpits when they were cold.

The first spin pointed to the staircase leading up to the luncheonette. Hush grabbed the bottle and spun it again, licking her lips, while Dallas hugged her knees. The three boys crouched on their feet as they waited for the bottle to stop. They sat waiting on milk crates in the dim basement, musty from the damp cardboard boxes and lack of windows. The green Presidente beer bottle spun past each of them, slowly slid toward the boys, and finally stopped in front of Dallas. They gasped. One boy fell back. Hush covered her mouth. —I ain’t gonna kiss Hush, Dallas said with a face of disgust.

—’Cause she smell, one boy said.

—’Cause she eat cat food, another said.

Hush’s lips puffed out into a pout and she ran away, hiding herself deeper in the storage space where the stacks of toilet paper and pancake mix were piled high to the ceiling.

Dallas went after her. And when she found Hush curled up, tucked in a sack of rice, she went to hug her. Hush, half the size of Dallas, felt very fragile in her arms. Dallas saw how hurt Hush was and that she could lose the only friend she had in the world, the only friend who was allowed to sleep over at her place.

—I’m so sorry, Dallas said.

Hush turned around and smiled.

—Those stupid boys, Hush said and grabbed Dallas’s face and kissed her. Her pouty lips dug into hers, their tongues swapping spit, cold, tasting like cherry soda. Dallas sucked on her tongue, trying to taste every bit of her, her lips a little salty from the heat. Everything started to tingle. Her insides pulsating, contracting, even Hush’s slight caress on her arms awoke desire she didn’t know existed in her. And when Hush pushed herself on her, her thighs pushing between her legs, Dallas remembered her mother and father dancing bachata. She remembered the way they moved back and forth, forth and back and wondered if she and Hush could dance that way. She wanted her to keep her leg inside her thighs, although she was afraid of what was happening to her: the weakness in her knees, her arms trembling from not knowing what to do with them. Her heart beating rapidly, afraid someone would walk in and find them. When they parted, Dallas wanted to hide. What had she done? She had kissed Hush, whose lips were rosy and full. When she puckered them, they looked like a heart.