REND

After a thousand years, we arrived at the airport. Surprisingly, Mom’s flight still hadn’t landed; we had thirty minutes to spare. I thought that with the heavy traffic, we’d be super late. Maybe the trip felt longer because Deen was being a perverted piece of shit all along the way.

The arrival area was full of waiting people—there were many scheduled flights because of the Greaves Tech Fair—so I dragged Deen to roam elsewhere. After getting trapped in heavy traffic, I didn’t want to be packed with other people again. The huge displays of flight schedules plastered all over the building would tell us if Mom’s plane was arriving.

“Let’s go to the duty-free shops,” Deen suggested. “There’ll be a lot of stuff there not available in regular malls outside. They’d be cheaper too.”

“You can’t buy from duty-free shops unless you have a ticket,” I told her. “Those stores are on the other side of the departure area—passengers only. And since when did you care about getting discounts?”

“Since now,” she said, sticking her tongue out. “What if we bought tickets so we could shop at the duty-free stores, and then, like, sneak back out? You think they’d allow that?”

“You’ll buy plane tickets to get discounts?” I made a face at her. “Don’t perpetuate the stereotype about blondes.”

“What stereotype? That we’re beautiful?”

I rolled my eyes. “And no, they won’t allow that because it’s illegal. Duty-free items are for export. Like, they should fly out of this country. That’s why they’re free from regular taxes and all that.”

“Since when did you care about what’s illegal?” she asked, hands on her hips. “Like, what you did to me was super illegal. I can list all the crimes you committed when you—”

“There’s a small mall on the east wing of the airport,” I interjected. “Maybe we can find a restaurant there and have a sandwich or something while we wait.”

My game plan for now was to deflect or ignore everything Deen would say about what happened between us when I transformed into Blanchette. I couldn’t think of any other option. I’d just wait until she got tired of it and hoped she’d get distracted with Mom around. Deen was excited to meet my mother and asked a lot of questions about her. I wouldn’t be surprised if Deen would ask to get adopted into my family.

As we walked, I stayed a foot away from Deen, wary she’d try something. I didn’t know what, but I could feel it. She got that mischievous aura oozing out of her.

Deen reached out to hold my hand. I swatted her away.

She tried again and again, and I kept parrying her. She stepped closer and, before I could keep my distance, laced our fingers. I quickly untangled my fingers from hers, but she wouldn’t stop trying to grasp me. We looked super weird like we were performing some slapstick comedic act.

“Cut that out,” I finally said after a couple of minutes of shenanigans.

“What’s wrong with best friends holding hands?” she asked. “I’d understand if we were both guys—you’d probably not want to get mistaken for something else. But we’re girls. No one’s going to take a second glance.”

“It’ll look like I’m a child holding hands with my older sister.”

“You’d be lucky to have me as your older sister,” Deen haughtily replied. She stuck a tongue out at me and laughed. “Just kidding, Erind. You’re beautiful in your own way.”

“Somehow, that’s worse than getting told I’m beautiful on the inside. You do realize hearing beautiful people say that is just grating rather than inspiring?”

“I know,” she said. “That’s why I’m saying it only to you.”

“I should’ve recorded your admission of bullying,” I said with a groan. “Anyway, we can sit here to pass the time.” I spotted a café with a fancily spelled, possibly French name I wouldn’t dare pronounce. They had cakes with an invitingly glossy glaze that made my sweet tooth act up. I was about to head to their pastry display when Deen stopped me. She hooked a finger into one of the belt loops of my pants and pulled me.

She then continued to walk, dragging me away. “That’s enough sugar for you. Just because you’re skinny doesn’t mean you shouldn’t watch what you eat.”

“I won’t forget, Mom,” I grumbled. “Like, can we even get diabetes given our, um, new bodies?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out. Prevention is better than cure. Let’s continue walking. If you don’t want to hold hands, then let’s link arms.” She held her right arm half a foot away from her body, indicating I should grab onto it.

“I’m not going to do that,” I said. “If you want to link arms, then you grab onto me. I’ll allow it if it’d stop you from trying to hold hands.” Might as well give in to Deen on my terms. This was as much of a win as I’d get.

“No, you should hold onto me,” she said. “Otherwise, I’d have to bend down because I’m taller than you, and it’ll get all awkward. That’s why I wanted to hold hands.”

“Ugh, fine. I’ll hold onto you.” I snaked my left arm under her right and then over it, bringing my arm over my chest. It still felt like I was a kid grabbing onto my mother.

This might be the first time I had linked arms with anyone. I had faked interest in a few guys during high school to manipulate them for my juvenile schemes, but I only held hands with them. Linking arms felt like I was surrendering. It was uneven, with the shorter person clinging onto the taller one. I was the one in control, so I was hesitant about doing it.

But if it was with my best friend, there wouldn’t be any problems, right?

“Yay!” Deen cheered. She hummed tone as we walked past several stores.

To my relief, it wasn’t crowded in this part of the airport. Just the right amount of people and noise. I assumed most here were passing the time while waiting for people on the incoming flights to arrive. There were also passengers sitting at the restaurants, identifiable from their luggage crowding the space.

Deen suddenly elbowed my chest. “Erind, what time’s your Mom arriving again? And where’s she coming from?”

I narrowed my eyes at Deen as I recounted Mom’s flight details. Innocent questions or the start of another battle?

“Hey, Erind,” said Deen, nudging my chest, more forcefully this time. It was obvious what she was doing. “Look at that shop beside the blue donut store.”

“Deen, can you stop that?”

“Stop what?”

“It’s not like you’ll feel anything.”

“Feel what?” She rubbed the back of her arm against my left breast as I held onto her.

“Whatever,” I drawled, deciding not to react.

This was now tame by our standards. For a moment, I reviewed how we got to this point. It was insanity—me becoming an Adumbrae and surviving a mini-nuke was more believable than whatever was happening between me and Deen. But we were at this point, somehow, and there was no going back. To go back was to be a loser. I’d eventually get my chance to put Deen in her place.

“What are you pointing at?” I asked her.

“That shop—Mimzy’s? They have cute headbands on display. Let’s buy one.”

“Headbands? I haven’t seen you wear those before. Are you trying a new style?”

“I’m not buying for me.” She tilted her head right and bopped mine. “For you. See that top one hanging over there? With furry triangle ears on—”

“The answer is no,” I snapped. “No way I’m going to wear that. I’m not your doll. Let’s go already.” I tried to pull her, but she stayed rooted.

“Wait, wait! I want to check out those tops.”

“You’re seriously going to do some shopping here? At the airport?” Something wasn’t right. I still couldn’t pinpoint what Deen’s next scheme was. It had something to do with the animal-eared hairband. I bet she’d try to put it on me.

“Remember you owe me a shirt?” she said.

“What shirt? I don’t remem—oh, right…” Deen was talking about her shirt I tore while I was Blanchette. I thought it’d embarrass her, but it didn’t have the intended effect. She just got turned on by it. Stupid, Erind, making the situation worse.

Deen pulled me to the store. “Come, come, come.”

The store had a small floor space but several rows of display shelves, so the aisles in between were small. Despite the many items for sale, only four people were inside, and that was counting the cashier. The stuff they had were pretty cute, and I might unironically buy some if we were on a shopping trip. However, as I had told Deen, this was an airport. Kinda weird to go here specifically to buy outfits.

One person was done with her shopping. She stood by the counter as the cashier put her purchases in a paper bag. A pair of friends chatted while picking hair clips next to the headbands by the front of the store. Deen led me past the headbands, much to my surprise, and into one of the isles. Because it was cramped, only fitting one person, we couldn’t walk side by side and had to entangle our arms.

“Pick one out for me,” she said.

Oh, she really just wants to buy clothes, I thought. I went in first, and Deen followed me. Cabinets with shelves stacked with folded shirts were to my right and left.

But I was soon proven wrong as I felt her hand on my butt.

At first, I assumed she was pushing me onward, so I kept walking. But the touching didn’t stop and it became a massage. I tried to swat her hand away from my behind. She stuck to me, holding on to my hips. Her bumpers squeezed against my shoulder blades, her cotton candy scent wafting over me.

“Stop that,” I hissed. “Can’t we do anything normal anymore?”

Deen nestled her chin on my shoulder. “See something that’ll look good on me?” Her hands on my hips snaked forward, wrapping around my mid-section in a loose hug.

“Can you please move away so I can—Deen!” Her right hand sneaked inside my shirt. I could feel her long fingers scratching the skin of my abdomen. I grabbed her hand and tried to pull. She used super strength to resist. I wanted to forcefully yank her arm, but I might knock over the cabinets in our tussle. “Public molestation, Deen? Seriously?”

She pecked my cheek and then whispered in my ear. “It’s not so public. Don’t worry.”