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Technically Leo and I are cousins, though not by blood.
His father’s sister is married to my mother’s brother.
It’s complicated, and nobody at school could ever understand it when we tried to explain. They all just accepted that we were family, which was fine, because that’s how our own family views us. I’ve always called his parents Uncle Seb and Aunt Yelena, and he’s always called mine Uncle Miko and Aunt Nessa. He loves my little siblings and is the same toward them as he is to me: teasing, friendly, and occasionally exasperating.
Like right now on the plane. Leo seizes my packet of pretzels—having already eaten his own—and tears them open with his teeth.
“In your dreams.” I snatch them back. “I’m hungry, too.”
He grins. “Then why haven’t you eaten them yet?”
“Because I’m not a rabid animal that inhales food in five seconds.”
“You would if you were as big as me,” he says, trying to steal them back again.
He’s fast as fuck, but so am I. I manage to keep the torn packet away from his grasping fingers, just barely.
“Paws off,” I say. “And don’t be thinking you’re going to put your elbow over that armrest, either. I don’t care how big youare, you’re not using any of my precious personal space on this flight.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding. Look at these legs!” Leo sprawls out his massive thighs, each the size of a small tree trunk. His leg presses up against the outside of mine, and I can feel the warmth of his flesh through my jeans. I shove him back, my face getting hot.
“You should have bought two seats, then.”
“My dad’s too cheap,” Leo says sourly. Then, grinning at me again, “Bet Papa Miko would have gotten you two seats if you asked him nicely . . .”
“Probably. But I wouldn’t ask him, because I’m not a spoiled baby like you.”
I lift a pretzel to my lips. Leo manages to snitch it out of my hand, tossing it into his mouth. He crunches it up deliberately loud, just to annoy me.
“I’m going to flick you every time you try to fall asleep,” I inform him.
“No fucking way am I falling asleep!” Leo says. “I’m too excited.”
Ten minutes later he’s snoring with his heavy head flopped over on my shoulder.
Leoand I switch planes in Frankfurt with a six-hour layover. Refreshed from his nap, Leo convinces me to pop out of the airport so we can find a proper Biergarten, where he orders us two massive foaming pints and a sizzling platter of sausages served with thick black bread.
Once we’re up in the air again, the beer seems to hit me much harder than normal. My head feels pleasantly light on my shoulders, and I’m warm and relaxed.
I’ve got the window seat. The airplane seems like a ship floating over a sea of clouds with peaks tinged pink from the setting sun.
“Look . . . I say to Leo.
He leans across me so he can peer out the window. His shoulder presses against my chest, and his soft, dark curls brush my cheek. His hair smells nice, like sandalwood. Below that, I smell the richer and more dangerous scent of his skin. It has the same effect on me as other scents that are both stimulating and upsetting: smoke from a fire, iron and blood, spilled gasoline. It makes my heart rate jump.
“Beautiful,” Leo says, glancing back at me with his face right next to mine.
The sun hits his irises, illuminating every fleck of gold in the brown. His eyes are lighter than his deeply tanned skin. He’s burned darker than toast after a long summer of boating and shirtless basketball games on the lakeshore courts.
I notice details. Things that make one person different from anyone else. Leo has a lot of things like that. More than anyone. There’s nobody who looks quite like him.
I push him off so he’s not so close to me. “Alright. Back to your own side.”
Leo brought a pack of cards. We play some ridiculous game that involves betting on a hidden card that your opponent can’t see. Leo’s good at trying to convince me of what he’s got, but I have a better poker face. It’s hard to keep from laughing too loud when the cabin lights dim and everyone else tries to get some sleep.
We have to switch planes again in Zagreb at some ungodly hour, and we both fall asleep on top of our duffel bags, barely waking up in time to sprint down the concourse to our last flight.
Sweaty and grumpy, we finally fly into Dubrovnik. It’s a port city on the edge of the Adriatic Sea, right at the very southernmost tip of Croatia.
