"Fedora, I don't hate Tyra. I don't believe in faith, but for you to believe me, I swear to God!"
Miguel paused, his chest heaving, scanning Fedora's face for a shred of empathy. But It wasn't there. Fedora's expression was a cold, impenetrable wall, his eyebrows arched in a jagged, theatrical slant that cut through Miguel's desperation.
Miguel plunged forward anyway, the confession spilling out in a jagged, breathless rush.
"I'm just being jealous."
"Jealous?" Fedora leaned in, the movement precise. 'Why would he be jealous? We aren't even dating', Fedora thought.
If only he knew that jealousy didn't even crack the top five reasons for Miguel's erratic behavior. But jealousy was safe; it was a manageable kind of crazy, so Miguel decided to go along with it.
Miguel nodded, a sharp, affirmative jerk of his chin. He wanted to clamp his mouth shut, to let the silence do the work,but the way Fedora was staring, daring him not to leave the narrative hanging, forced his hand.
