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behind in a raid. In her high, Charu had lost track of her sister, who had managed to slip out of the room.
    After four months of chaste skateboarding and two-slices-and-a-soda specials at Luv ’N Oven, things between Charu and Malik had changed in the past week. Each day after school, a new lesson, the unfurling of their desire. Monday, riding the G train back and forth between Queens and Gowanus, kissing. Tuesday, humping jeans over jeans in his empty apartment in Bed-Stuy. His mother worked interminable shifts at JFK airport at the British Airways counter. Malik missed her, but freedom (and free trips to the West Indies) was a fair trade. Wednesday, he rolled Charu a joint ( the most potent shit, courtesy of Uncle Bic ); they ate Luv ’N Oven and watched Total Request Live , which killed the vibe. Thursday, he churned her insides with strong bassist fingers. Playing chords in your pussy , he had chuckled. It hurt terribly. But it was the first time she could ever remember something that hurt terribly but felt good all at once. Maybe Chinatown massages or tattoos or gym class, but she didn’t know much about those things either.
    Charu closed her laptop and watched Malik sleep. Her mouth watered, wanting to nosh and suckle flesh like a newborn. She raked him with her teeth, tasted hard salty shoulder, vein ridges along his sinewy arm, a slim wrist and musky fingers. He whistled air fromhis nose. She straddled the morning tent that sprouted from his underwear and bent down to kiss his snoring mouth. His locks lay gnarled on his chest like a prized fleece. She sucked his breath and kissed him harder. He heaved and gasped as if drowning and pushed her aside.
    “Whaaat?”
    “I—I—couldn’t breathe,” said Malik. “Stop.”
    She flinched at his tone. “Maybe you should leave,” she told him, peeling herself off his body.
    He took a few more deep breaths. “Relax. No need for salt, sugar,” he said, chuckling. He spread his fingers over her belly. She stiffened, but let him suck on her breast, eyes still half-asleep. She pressed against him to imprint a raspberry star, one more in a galaxy of bruises.
    He pulled her closer, swiped a condom from her bedside table.
    “Wish we could listen to music,” he said. “Maybe we should just wait to do it in my house.”
    She ripped the wrapper with her teeth. “We can’t wait.” She handed him the condom, uncertain.
    He slipped it on and rubbed himself on her thigh. She took a few deep breaths and closed her eyes.
    Malik grinned and she grinned back. She looked up at him as a drop of his sweat fell onto her cheek. The silver cross on his neck brushed her mouth, and she opened to swallow it. She clasped the charm under her tongue like a thermometer. Rays of morning sun filtered inside her eyelids. Somewhere, far away, she heard the crackle of thunder.
    She opened her eyes to find Malik’s face stricken with fear.
    “Oh shit ,” he wheezed. He jumped out of bed and froze, then brought a finger to his lips.
    “What’s wrong? What’s wrong ?”
    Her locked door rattled furiously.
    “Charu!” yelled her mother. “How many times must I tell you not to lock the door? You took my thread! I have fifteen bridesmaids’ eyebrows waiting!”
    “One sec, Ma!” said Charu. “I-I’m getting dressed.”
    “You are already awake? You must be hungry,” said Hashi. “Hurry up, child!”
    Go go go! Charu mouthed to Malik, pushing him inside the closet. She grabbed the spools of thread and opened the door a sliver to drop them into Hashi’s extended hand.
    “What is the matter, are you getting sick?” asked Hashi. “Let me make you breakfast now. Come. Ella will join us.”
    “No!” yelped Charu.
    “No?”
    “I’ll do it. I’ll make brunch for all of us.”
    “You sound like me,” said Hashi, laughing. She pinched Charu’s cheek. “It’s still early, child. Get some sleep.”
    As soon as Hashi’s footsteps faded, Malik broke out of the closet. He headed