One (Sarah Crossan)

Sexy

‘I like the way you say “squirrel,” ’ Jon says, laughing.

‘How do I say it?’ I ask.

We are in the common room

next to an open window.

Tippi and Yasmeen are

watching YouTube clips of Simon Cowell’s worst insults

and no doubt

committing them to memory.

Jon pulls the straw from his carton of juice

and drags on it like it’s a cigarette,

then blows imagined smoke

through the window.

‘I don’t know.

You say it like it’s two syllables.

“Squir-rel,” ’ he says.

‘It is two syllables,’ I tell him.

‘Squir-rel. Squir-rel.

Yes, definitely two syllables.’

‘Nope.

It’s one.

It’s one long, sexy, nut-eating word.

Squirrel.’

It comes out of his mouth like

squeeerl

and then

it’s my turn to laugh.

‘You have managed to make it

sound

sort of sexy.

I admit that.’

He sucks on the end of the plastic straw again.

‘Not hard.

I mean, if you use your whole mouth to speak,

your tongue and teeth and lips,

most words are sexy.

Especially the word sexy.

Sex-y,’ he says, slowly.

And again,

‘Sex-y.

Try it.

Use your whole mouth.’

He doesn’t laugh.

He is watching me.

‘Sex-y,’ I whisper.

‘Sex-y,’ he says.

‘Yeah.’