Mango Passion and The Male Species (Editing)

Chapter 2|| A Fruit Party in Your Mouth

C H A P T E R    T W O:

"It's about a girl who is on the cusp of becoming someone.. A girl who may not know what she wants right now, and she may not know who she is right now, but who deserves the chance to find out."

~ Jodi Picoult

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The wind roars in my ears as my aunt Cleo, the one who I haven't seen since I was thirteen and whom I thought would be a little less reckless by age 40, speeds down Highway 17 on her motorcycle. I clutch onto her even tighter, digging my nails into her leather jacket.

"Can we please pull over?" I yell over the noise, hoping she can hear the desperation in my voice.

"I thought by eighteen you would have learned to live a little, peachy girl," she shouts back to me. We turn around a particularly harsh bend and I squeak a little. My mom would not approve of her sister's means of transporting me.

When Cleo picked me up at the airport, curls bouncing and green eyes beaming, I should have known she wouldn't have changed. The last time we were in the same city it was for my dad's funeral. It wasn't that bright outside but she showed up with huge black sunglasses on. As she sat down next to me, I glanced at her and asked why she was wearing those. Maybe it was an out of character display of emotion. She had liked my dad.

But instead my aunt Cleo waved me off and said, "It's not polite to talk during a funeral. Also I'm a little bit high."

The motorcycle jerks again. If this goes on much longer I may just have a heart attack. "I think our definitions of learning to live are a little different," I say back through gritted teeth. There's no way she hears me, if not because of the wind, because of how loud my heart is pounding.

"Hold on!" she yells, revving the engine louder and ignoring the fact that I'm already clinging on for dear life. Cleo bends down further over the front of the bike and weaves in between two cars. I close my eyes, I can't watch anymore.

The key is to turn my focus to the roaring of the wind instead of the pinching in my chest. Cleo knows what she's doing. It won't be like it was with my dad.

One breath in. One breath out. This isn't so bad. I can do this. We're almost to Santa Cruz and then it'll be smooth sailing.

"Peachy girl."

I slowly open my eyes and look up. Palm trees tower above me into an impossibly blue sky. The sun is shining through- no fog like Cleo warned there might be- and the temperature is perfect. Warm, but not wet. Good riddance, humidity. And best of all, we aren't moving anymore. My muscles begin to relax and my feet gladly ground themselves on the firm pavement. No death by motorcycle today, folks.

"Coming?" Cleo asks, flashing me a winning grin and shaking out her hair. She tucks her helmet under her arm and strides toward the three shops in front of us. I wrestle with my helmet for a minute and stumble after her.

"Where are we going?" I ask as I catch up to her and try to steady my breathing so I don't sound like a wheezing dog.

"The Easy Bean," she responds. "You'll love it." She pushes open the door and a bell jingles above our heads. "Hey, bitches!" She ruffles my hair like I'm twelve again and then saunters over to join a group of three blondes who greet her like she's family. They've all obviously come from the ocean- their hair is damp and wetsuits are slung over the back of their chairs.