There was… lots of talk between us over the next few minutes. And chatter. And more talk. Well, not between me and Winona, but rather between Benjamin and Felicity.

  Irish Navajo mumbled out a few words here and there, but otherwise Winona and I remained muted, holding our tongues for one another’s sake in case we made a social faux pas and scared off the other’s crush.

  The fencer and the filmmaker were a terribly powerful twosome when they were together. Benjamin and Felicity seemed to know one another with as much depth as Winona and I did. I couldn’t recall them ever hanging out together, either on campus or back in high school when Benjamin drifted in from California, but they seemed to know one another with as much depth as Winona and I did.

  Shared inside jokes. Knowing looks when they hit upon a distant memory they’d had together. Constant brushes of elbows and slaps on forearms from rowdy laughter that made Winona and me blush from embarrassment. I wasn’t sure why the two of us were trying to get with either of them since it felt like they’d been in one another’s back pockets all their lives.

  Maybe they were. In the age of group chats and all, one could develop a close friendship with someone they rarely, if ever, met in person. While Benjamin started acting all snobbish about DSLR cameras and how only filmmakers used film, I trailed my thumb down Winona’s arm to get her verdict. She looked horribly confused, which meant this shared friendship between them came as much of a shock to her as it did to me.

  “Enough,” Felicity finally said once she’d had enough of Benjamin’s film rants. “As for the road trip, we need to head somewhere. Any ideas, Winona?”

  All those expletives Winona had thrown at her earlier seemed like a distant memory by now. It wasn’t the same for Winona. I could tell from her furrowed brows that being referred to as Navajo girl and Native girl still hung in the air like an awful stench.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “Well, the song’s about a Native American woman,” Winona explained, grinding her teeth, “who was an activist. Singer. Writer. Historian.”

  “Go on,” Felicity pressed with unnatural enthusiasm. I wasn’t sure anymore if Felicity was genuine or feigning interest in Winona’s interests to get a rise out of her.

  “…And, I think, the road trip should be to a reservation.”

  “Excellent idea, Winona!” Benjamin exclaimed, nearly spilling over in applause.

  I felt Winona recoil, cringing at Benjamin’s sudden, irritable excitement. I hoped it wasn’t the last time. The more she cringed, the more she would drift away from him and be wrapped up in my arms.

  Well, she was wrapped up in my arms already. And sitting on my knees, like she’d been with Benjamin. But that was beside the point. I meant in a metaphorical way, when I was the source of all her lovesickness.

  Come to think of it now, Benjamin didn’t seem too bothered that Winona had her hands wrapped around my waist like this. Nor did Felicity. Maybe they weren’t part of that wider world who’d consider this behaviour as anything less than odd if we weren’t a couple.

  I cleared my throat. “Very well. Meeting adjourned for Irish Navajo’s first ever music video?”

  Felicity nodded. “Winona, be a good little Native girl and pick a reservation for us to visit, okay?”

  Oops. I got ahead of myself there with Felicity turning over a new leaf in life. Even the usually smug Benjamin Cohen looked a bit perturbed by such a low blow.

  But… Winona didn’t say anything. In fact, I felt her grow a bit tense in my lap, her cheeks burning red with embarrassment.

  “What?” Felicity pressed with predatory pleasure. “Cat got your tong—”

  “Enough!” I snapped at her. “Just leave us for the time being.”

  It was the first time I’d ever snapped at Felicity. The first time I’d ever acted as anything more than just a simpering fool who followed after her and was at the mercy of her flapping her eyelids at me. A few seconds passed, then she rolled her eyes and tugged Benjamin by the arm to leave the two founding members of Irish Navajo in peace.

  I breathed out a sigh, then looked up at Winona.

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” she stammered.

  “Something’s up,” I said, letting my hands trail down her arm again. “You didn’t get sassy at Ms Briggins when she went on a racist slur tirade again.”

  Winona smiled at me. She would always know I would have her back through things like this.

  “Tell me,” I said again.

  “I’ve…” The words were caught in her throat. “I’ve never actually been to a reservation.”