“I don’t care!”
In seven years, I’ve never seen Tao this angry.
I stand across the room from him, watching as he hacks into carrots that are supposed to be minced. The soup he’s making smells delicious, a blend with onions, tomatoes, and spices. In better circumstances, I would ask him if I could try some, but not this time.
My best friend is livid.
“Tao.” I fight to keep the annoyance from my voice. This conversation hasn’t gone the way I imagined it would, but I’m doing my best to salvage what’s left of it. “Come on,” I say gently. “It’s really not as big a deal as you’re making it—”
“Not a big deal?” Tao practically throws the ill-fortuned carrots into the pot, ignoring the hot water that splashes when he does. He regards me with something that borders on disgust. “It was a violation, a complete betrayal of trust.”
I barely resist rolling my eyes. He’s making it sound like I stabbed him in the back or pushed him off a cliff. “I really didn’t think you’d care this much,” I say placatingly. “If I had, I’d—”
“The sky garden has always been our place.” There’s still a bite in Tao’s voice, but beneath it, he sounds injured. “It was our secret, something that belonged to no one else. You didn’t have to show it to him. We’ve been going up there since the day we first set foot in this temple.”
“Exactly,” I say with exasperation. “Since we were little kids. It was silly.”
“Not to me,” Tao murmurs.
I pretend I don’t hear him. “Don’t you think it’s time for us to change things a bit, to be more . . . adult?”
“Adult.” Tao’s eyes narrow as he repeats me. “Where’d you get that one from, your new boyfriend?”
My face goes hot, and it has nothing to do with the stifling kitchen. “Dakari isn’t my boyfriend.”
“He might as well be,” says Tao, scowling. “The way he’s always around you, always all over you like a jungle leech.”
I look away, grateful my dark skin hides my blush. It’s true Dakari and I have been spending more time together recently, but . . .
“We’re just friends,” I say defensively. “He’s still new to Lkossa, still getting to know people.”
“Tuh.” Tao jumps down from his stool and grabs several spices from a nearby cupboard. “I think he’s gotten to know plenty of girls.”
I’m offended on Dakari’s behalf. “What’s your problem with him?” I ask, my voice angrier than I mean it to be. “Dakari is perfectly—”
“That’s exactly it!” Tao throws up his hands. “He’s perfect. Perfect face, perfect demeanor, perfect everything. I don’t trust it.”
“You don’t trust anything that doesn’t come from a book,” I mutter.
“I trust myself not to be fooled by a deep voice and some shallow compliments,” Tao says scathingly. “I used to think you were smart enough not to be either.”
The insult stings like a slap to the face; Tao has never spoken to me that way.
“Tao,” I say quietly. “I really care about him.”
It’s hard to read the expression on my friend’s face as he stops short. The pain there doesn’t make sense to me. Just as quickly, it’s gone. “Then there’s nothing left to say,” he murmurs, picking up the pot. “I’ll see you around, Adiah.”
He doesn’t say another word as he leaves me in the kitchens, alone.