Pele started dating my older sister when I was like twelve. She’d come over, jean jacket layered in pins, anarchy and misfits and sonic youth, her red bangs sprayed in a bouffant wave, her red lips smacking hubba bubba. My mom didn’t like it, but who can say no to a goddess who at any slight could destroy our whole neighborhood. I didn’t know what Pele saw in my sister, anyway, head cheerleader, dated the quarterback, destined for a mainland school, I guess she was kind of pretty too, but she was my older sister and we definitely didn’t get along. I’d side eye them on the couch, giggling and trying not to make out, because my mom may not have liked it, but this was her damn house and she didn’t give a god damn, or Pele damn, I would whisper under my breath because I didn’t want Pele eyeing me up for destruction either. Pele didn’t stick around though, which surprised no one except for my sister who ugly cried, kohl eyeliner and mascara, racooning her face, and punched pillows and swore she was done dating goddess or gods or whatever, especially cheating aholes like Pele who on a whim decided she wanted to date my sister’s ex, the quarterback, and I wondered if Pele came swinging by my side when I was older would I take her up on it, and you know what? I probably would because who doesn’t want to be singed by fire just once in their lives.