A forbidden love more tragic than Romeo and Juliet, a love deeper and more intense than Cinderella and her Prince Charming. Forbidden love is a curse that has plagued me, and I knew it was love on his 9th birthday. The whole family was there, in our Sunday best, in my home. We crowded around our new deep brown mahogany table with a colorful dragon cake, lit up like the 4th of July. I loved this home; I loved the memories in it. I smile seeing our sea green walls and remembering the day we chose that color, how we all painted it together. This place was a typical home to me; the lingering freshly baked cookie smell that seemed consistent around our whole home; my mothers hundreds of pictures hung on every wall of our family; My long brown hair and green eyes stuck out like a sore thumb next to my blue eyed blonde haired family. I wish things could go back to those days, not a worry in the world, where school, relationships, friends and fashion didn’t define you. Where you didn’t feel despair for the one’s who doubted you. I miss the time in my life where everything made sense, and now everything is just a jumbled mess. We sang Happy Birthday like every other typical family, and he sat there humbly; eyes sparkling blue looking at the cake. He wasn’t expecting anything, just content with everything and everyone around him. When the cake and songs were over, our family swarmed him, engorging him with hugs and kisses and presents wrapped in every color of the rainbow. He politely thanked everyone with a simple smile and head nod, but in the midst of presents and raving over him, he noticed my loneliness and slipped away coming to sit by me. Jimmy swooped his arm over my dark cyan sweater, and with a smile and undeniable eye contact, he asked; “Are you having a good time Coco?”
“It’s ok I guess,” I exhaled. We never lied to each other, even though it was his birthday I wasn’t going to start and fib now for his sake.
“Happy Birthday by the way!” I decided to pick up the conversation, it was his 9th birthday, and this was his last year in the single digits. He responded by squeezing me tight, arms around each others necks as if to say thank you. I loved when we hugged, the way he really meant it; he really did want to hold and show his love to me.
“Oh look how cute our babies are! Jane, get a camera!” My mom and Aunt Jane stared adoringly. We ceased to hug immediately; never liking when people see us give affection. This is where the big problem comes in, the boy who always saves me from trouble, terror, these timeless family gatherings. My best friend, the love of my life, is also my cousin.


I’m 17 now and he is 18, we are both seniors, attending Lake View High School, and closer than ever. We have homeroom together, physics. Its 2nd trimester of the year and my stress level is at an all time high. I wouldn’t call myself “popular” either. My friend number has a lone population of one; Mary. We’ve been best friends since 4th grade, and the only other person I can trust other than Jimmy. Jimmy is popular, the best guy in school, he’s captain of the varsity hockey team and in general kind to every soul he meets.
I clumsily run into my Physics class this cold, grey Monday morning, my books ebbing out of my arms, attempting to get there before the late bell. Every day I had to endure looking at this hall, this wretched hall. We have the worst combination of colors for our school; purple and yellow. Our school is just filled with yellow and purple, purple lockers and yellow walls, murals of a yellow Vikings head around every corner. There was no escaping the ugly school pep; I was a mere speck of dirt surrounded by a world painted in purple and yellow. While reminiscing about how much I hate our school colors, I was surprised to see Jimmy was right behind me, hustling to get to class too. He sped up, took my marketing and ELA books from my hands, slapped me in the back and yelled behind him, “Pick up the pace Coco!” He giggled his stupid girly laugh, and leaped in the class. I rolled my dim green eyes, and took a heaping step into this class with few seconds to spare. I smoothed my black maxi dress and grey sweater, clearing my throat and shaking my long brown hair out to get myself together. I started to walk to my 100 year old chair; blue, cracking, and gum stuck to the bottom of it around the turn of the century. Jimmy rubbed the seat as I approached it with a sarcastic “took you long enough” look. He thought he was the funniest kid in school but his jokes really never made any sense; it’s a good thing he’s cute otherwise there would be no pity laughs to be shared. I slapped the back of his sandy blonde head right when Mr. Rene clapped his hands to get our attention.

When we got started with our assignment, I turned to Jimmy to ask if he got question 8, Mr. Rene never failed to make our assignments completely impossible and irrelevant to our current subject. When I looked over, mouth already open preparing for questioning, I see Marguerite leaning over his desk with a hot pink V-neck and tight black skinny jeans asking about what he’s doing this weekend. It’s like clock work; every morning Marguerite just becomes so interested in his weekend, his day, his life. I mean he’s not going to tell you every event of his childhood, it’s Monday morning; do you really think he already knows what he is doing this weekend? I swear to God sometimes that Marguerite, maybe it’s the constant failed flirting that gets to me, or her pure ignorance that it’s not working, the flirting that is.

“What do you want Coco?” Marguerite snarled at me, teeth clenched like pit-bull, ready to pounce.

“Nothing, I was just going to ask-” I shut my mouth and turned away before I got any more dirty looks.

“Marguerite I think you should head back to your seat and get started on your homework, okay? Let’s at least try to get you to graduation day. Maybe you can take a lesson from Coco; she has a future that doesn’t depend on becoming a professional cheerleader.” Jimmy responded straight faced.
The one thing he means to be taken seriously was the funniest thing to me; I couldn’t help but crack a smile.
“At least my parents kept me, you know I’m surprised you are as smart as you are Coco, your mother was probably some drug addict or something. Or maybe she gave you up as soon as she saw you pop out.” Marguerite bitterly responded,
“What the hell are you talking about?” I angrily questioned
“Wow maybe you aren't as intelligent as I thought you were, if you haven't realized you were adopted by now I doubt you ever would.”