26 Kisses by Anna Michels

idea.” I cross my arms over my chest.
    Mel takes another exaggerated bite of jalapeño, grinning. “Actually, I think I’ll just keep you in suspense for a while.”
    I swear she enjoys torturing me. “Mel—”
    “ Mija! And Veda!” Manuela pops out from behind a tall bush, watering can in hand. Dirt is streaked across the front of her white T-shirt, which pulls tight across her chest and stomach, and her smile grows even wider when she sees Mel chomping on the pepper.
    “ Tienen hambre? Do you want something to eat?”
    “No, Mamá.” Mel pushes open the front door and motions me inside. “We’ll eat later, at lunch.”
    “You sure?” Manuela’s eyebrows dip, unwilling to believe we’re not starving to death and in desperate need of a full meal at ten thirty in the morning.
    “I’m fine, thanks.” I wave as Mel yanks my arm and pulls me through the door and into the riot of color that is her living room. Bright yellow walls, a tufted turquoise sofa, and a green-tiled fireplace fill the space, and about a dozen mirrors bounce the color and light streaming in from the giant windows around in a million different ways.
    “Come on,” I say, hands on my hips. “Spit it out. You’ve built up the suspense long enough.”
    Mel shakes her head. “Hang on. First you have to listen to this,” she says, pushing me back against the sofa so my knees give way and I fall onto the squashy cushions. “I think it’s really good. Like, really.” She drops her guitar strap over one shoulder and sneaks a glance at me, her hair falling over one eye. “Ready?”
    I sigh. “Ready.”
    She hesitates for a moment, her fingers poised over the strings. “I need you to tell me the truth, okay? Don’t be afraid to say if it sucks.”
    “It won’t suck,” I say automatically, which earns me another long look. “Okay,” I finally say, pulling my knees up and tucking my feet under me. “I promise to tell you if it sucks. Even though it won’t.”
    Mel nods and hunches over the guitar, avoiding my eyes as she picks out the first chords. It sounds like the same song she was playing at my house this morning when I woke up, but rounded out and filled in. My annoyance melts away as her fingers fly over the strings. Her head drops lower as she strums, humming a melody over the top of the chords that reminds me of the way sunlight sparkles on Lake Michigan on a perfectly cloudless day, or the sound of Kaylee laughing as I tickle her. Or the way I felt when Mark first held my hand.
    I don’t realize my eyes are closed until the music stops.
    “Well?” Mel’s voice is soft.
    I open my eyes, and she fixes her gaze on the wall behind me.
    “You can tell me if it’s terrible. Please tell me.”
    “Have you played it for Seth?”
    Mel’s shoulders jerk, and she sets the guitar down quickly. “Why would I play it for Seth?”
    I narrow my eyes. “Um, because you and Seth play all your songs for each other.”
    “And for you,” she says.
    “I guess.”
    There’s an awkward pause, and Mel stands up, brushing her hands off on her shorts. “Whatever. It’s terrible. Just forget about it.”
    “Hey.” I reach over and grab her hand. “It’s not terrible. And you should play it for him.”
    She hesitates for a moment, then shrugs and pulls away. “I actually am kind of hungry. You want something to eat?”
    As soon as Mel opens the refrigerator, Manuela’s sixth sense kicks in, and she comes bustling in from the yard, wiping her dirty hands on her shorts. “No, no, no, mija , let me get it for you.” She nudges Mel away from the fridge and begins pulling out plates of food and jars of condiments.
    We eat chips and salsa, and then some fruit salad, and Manuela is about to force a plate of homemade cherry bars on us when Bob comes rushing into the kitchen, his arms full of clipboards and folders bursting with paper.
    “Here’s my favorite one.” Manuela plants a kiss on his cheek. “What’s going on?”
    Bob