They spread out the food and all the fixings on the checkered tablecloth. Elle lifted the plastic lid from the red and white bucket and a waft of steam fogged up her sunglasses. There was enough fried chicken to feed an entire village. They dished the coleslaw, mashed potatoes and gravy, and corn bread on to their paper plates. Elle’s mom saw the fast food and said with a tone of barely hidden disdain, “Don’t spoil your appetite with that stuff.” Her mom’s gaze shifted to the spring rolls, lemongrass chicken, and the papaya salad she’d spent two days preparing.

“Oh my God, it’s so bad,” Sophia said reaching into the bucket, “but I can’t help it. I love it.”

“Me too,” said Elle. She gave her cousin a wink. Even though she loved her mom’s cooking best, today Elle reached for the fried chicken too. She said, “Do you think it’s good in a bad way? Or bad in a good way?”

Sophia said, “I think it just hurts so good.”

The girls bared their teeth and bit into the drumsticks at the same moment. The fried meat was succulent and juicy. The golden batter was crispy and hot. A layer of oil dripped down their fingers and lips while the girls glistened beneath the sun.

ARCADE GAMES

ARCADE GAMES

The surface of beauty is awful and enormous to all of us who are left behind and yet we seek our coordinates, willfully follow them just the same as the moon might seem from certain angles to willfully follow the earth.

—Jennifer Moxley, “Fear of an Empty Life”

Michelle was tying her hair in a ponytail about to go for a swim when he walked up and asked, “Oye, morena, ¿quieres nadar?”

“I don’t speak Spanish,” she said.

“Aahh, americana,” he said. “You like swim?” and began carving his arms through the air in sharp swimming strokes. The sides of his torso flared out like wings. She could imagine a jet stream trailing behind in his wake. Suddenly, he put both hands to his throat and made himself go cross-eyed. He stuck out his tongue. It was the color of her favorite bubble gum. She laughed, covering her mouth the way her mother had taught.

He repeated, “Swim yes?” When he kneeled on the edge of her towel she noticed the glaze of salt on his browned skin.

“Michelle!” She heard her name being called but pretended she didn’t hear it.

“Mi cariño,” he said and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. The salt granules scratched a fine line across her face. She was fifteen and for the first time in her life wondered what a man must taste like.