The Anatomy of An Aguamala

LMNO: Animal, mineral, vegetable, boy?
Anna: Boy.

She swirled a striped lolli across her tongue, lips stained pineapple yellow. “And is this boy…”

“Louisa! I don’t know what to say, I don’t want to give you the wrong idea about this. I wouldn’t have said anything at all except—”

“Question two.”
LMNO: When you look at him—I don’t care what the reason is for why you’re looking—do you get butterflies?
Anna: …yes
LMNO: And where are they?

A pause. Then, softly:
Anna: Not quite my stomach… more along the bottom of my ribs. And running up and down my spine. Sometimes in my fingers, like they’re reaching—
I stopped, voice fading like from embarrassment.

LMNO: And do they reach him? In your dreams.
Anna: Yes.

She tapped the sticky treat against her temple, then tossed it with a dull thud into the waste basket. It glued itself to the metal rim like an ulcer, unfurling tendrils of saliva and sugar crystals into the bin.

LMNO: And don’t you think that means something?

“Anna, you told me you wanted to be brave.”