Falling For My Best Friend

Chapter 8

I'm a normal teenager.

I like s*x, I like my girlfriend, and I like monogamy.

And that's why I've been eating lunch in the bathrooms for the past three days to avoid Pearl.

I've been staking it out in the only bathroom that actually locks- a gender neutral single toilet stall that was built after the school's GSA (fancy acronym for 'Gay Club') fought tooth and nail to have the old custodian's restroom refurbished.

It's quiet and isolated, and while I do occasionally have to wade through the guilt of a poor kid desperately banging on the heavy wooden door, it's a pretty decent sanctuary. And eating lunch right next to a toilet isn't nearly as revolting as one might suspect.

My phone buzzes in my lap and I stare down at the luminescent screen. Pearl's name flashes in bold letters and I roll my eyes. She's been texting and calling me nonstop since I pulled my little stunt on Monday, and while it's nice to know that she cares, it's absolutely driving me up the wall.

Against my good judgment (okay, so maybe my judgment isn't exactly that good in the first place, but still) I check the text she left me.

Pearl: Lapis, I'm sorry for whatever it is I did. Please call me.

I groan as I read it and toss the phone away from me. "f**k you," I whine without a venomous note in my cracking voice.

The phone doesn't care about my obscenities (in all fairness, it probably wouldn't care even if it did contain the capability to foster human emotion) and buzzes again. After a short internal argument, I reach for my cell and read her text.

Pearl: [attached: a picture of a clipart teddy bear hugging a heart with sparkling text reading 'I wuv u']

A smile peeks from the corners of my lips and I hover over the call button. My finger is magnetized to the green button like a child is magnetized to that one thing you told them they are never, in any circumstances, not-even-if-the-house-is-on-fire-and-we're-dying, allowed to touch.

I press the phone to my ear, heart pounding. One ring. Two rings. Three. Just when I'm afraid (or relieved) that she won't pick up, I hear a click.

"Lapis, oh my goodness. Do you know how long I've been trying to get a hold of you?" Pearl huffs, exasperated.

"Like, three days? Sorry."

"What happened? Are you okay? I haven't been seeing you in lunch and I'm really worried. And after you left so suddenly..." I feel a little pit form in my gut and wince. "Is it… something I did? Or…?"

"It's nothing, babe," I say in a voice I know but can't recognize as my own. "I've just been busy, you know?"

There's an extended pause before Pearl replies, as if she's trying to figure out whether or not I'm lying. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" She pleads.

And for once it's not me lying, because I couldn't ever tell Pearl about this. See, I'm like a book with a really good summary but a horrible plot- the more you read me, the less you end up liking me. And I'm afraid that if Pearl reads me any further, I'll get put back on the shelf.

Still, I murmur a soft, "Yeah."

"Okay…"

"Look, I have some uh… homework. Talk to you later?" I mumble, wishing that talking didn't feel so foreign and awkward. It feels like there's more I want to say, and the unthought words bubble in my chest, trying desperately to arrange themselves into any coherent pattern.

"Oh… Oh yes! Of course. Bye Lapis. Love you."

"You too," I say, hanging up.

I set my phone down, feeling sick yet satisfied at the results of our conversation. Out of instinct, I start typing out a message to Peridot about our talk before realizing what I'm doing and erasing it.

Peridot probably doesn't want anything to do with me. Word of mouth spread faster than the black plague or a viral video, and now the entire student body knows about our little altercation. You see, Beach city is a small town. And the thing about small towns is that the metaphorical creek powering the rumor mill is pretty slow most of the time. So things like our little outburst get eaten up by the school populous like it's pizza day and spat back out like a spitball.

Which is pretty unfortunate, because I'd rather just forget that it ever happened.

I lick my lip and curse at the still-present sting.

God, I hate this feeling. My body is tensed like I'm waiting for the gun to shoot blanks at a swim meet, and my leg jounces without my consent. When I get like this, I can't concentrate, and any sort of monotony agitates me, so I abandon my history homework and get up. I'm going to fail that class anyways, so why bother?

I kick my way through my rug of discarded clothing. I don't know where I'm going, but I don't care. I'm too exhausted to stand still, and when I get like this, the best remedy is to get lost.

My feet carry me downstairs and I scoop my shoes from the mat as I hurry outside. I lace up on the porch and stretch my arms above my head before breaking out into a run.

I've always liked running. Maybe it's the pure monotony of the sport, but I feel most at ease when my body starts working like a simple machine. Pivots and hinges move like solid water, drawing me across the uneven sidewalk like a practiced artist draws a line of charcoal across a piece of paper.

The sound of my rubber soles rasping against the concrete beneath me soothes me, and I start to fall into a rhythm. My mind wanders. I usually let it travel anywhere it wants, but this time, I've barred off a certain area for my own safety.

Don't think about her.

I turn a corner and sprint two houses down before slowing to a jog. I'm starting to sweat.

Don't think about how she held you.

My ragged breath is the only thing louder than the blood roaring in my ears. There's an overturned trash can in the middle of the sidewalk. I effortlessly vault over it and continue on.

Don't think about what she said.

A red car drives past me and I give it a little smirk before putting on a full burst of speed and racing it to the corner. It wins by a second and I pause to catch my breath as it motors further down the street.

Don't think about how she kissed you.

Oh god, please don't think about that.

I come to a stop, exhausted. Not so much because of the run, but because of my mind overworking itself.

I pick my head up and try to take in my surroundings. The quiet atmosphere and stench of freshly cut grass betrays that I'm in the suburban part of Beach City. The part past the tourist trap façade by the boardwalk. Instead of amusement parks and beaches, there's a winding maze of houses and grocery stores.

Personally, I think it's the prettiest part of town.

I wish I was a photographer, because the sun is peeking perfectly over the thatched roofs of the houses, and the dissolving leaves are vibrant, forgettable shades of mahogany and citrus. It would be a nice picture, if I knew how to take it.

That's the thing about photography that I've always admired. I could sit here for hours taking pictures with my smartphone and never would I capture one photo that could make me feel like I do right now staring at the sight before me. But a photographer? They can take one that fills you with the same emotion and then more. They can make a picture smell like the crisp cusp of winter and feel like the sharp chill of early-autumn frost.

This aspect of immortalization infatuates me, because I know that everything is finite- words, language, and even entire civilizations.

And if I could have one picture to immortalize for the rest my finite life, I'd have one of a lightning strike in a storm. Because the blue light bouncing off of the thick gray storm cloud reminds me of her eyes.

Don't think about her.

But it's too late, because I'm already thinking about her. I've been thinking about her for the past three days now. No matter how far I cast my mind out to sea, she always reels it back in.

Actually, that would be a pretty neat song lyric. I mentally jot it down.

I breathe in. Low, long, languid. A big gulp of fresh air to suffocate me and set my lungs on fire. My throat burns from the heavy breathing. And now that I've got no energy left to amuse myself with, I contemplate my next plan of action.

After weighing the risks and bigger risks in my head, I decide that I want to see Peridot. I don't want to play this stupid game of aversion anymore while our friendship gets pulled like the melted cheese between a split mozzarella stick.

I know that if I text her, she'll be expecting me and fake sick or something, so I don't. I catch a glance of the street I'm on and discover that I'm only a block away from her house. Biting the inside of my cheek, I start walking, trying to formulate an excuse to see her. Something just level-headed enough for her to buy, and at the same time, just ridiculous enough for her to understand that I'm desperate.

I roll over some ideas in my head before quitting and deciding to wing it.

When I get to Peridot's plain yellow house, I'm a little startled to hear loud music blaring through her half-open window. And it's not that weird techy stuff that she likes, either. It's... Taylor Swift. 2008 Taylor Swift, to be exact. I begin to worry. Things must've really gone to s**t if she's listening to country. I furrow my brow and knock on the door. I know she's home, but the music must be drowning me out. I check the driveway and groan when I find that her parents won't be coming to my rescue either.

"Yo! Peridot!" I yell, slamming on the door again.

I get nothing in return save for the twangy opening bits to 'Love Story'.

I growl and hurry to the side of her house where her window pokes out. There used to be a pretty big tree next to it that I could climb, but Peridot's landlord got rid of it when the roots started shifting the plumbing. I notice that there's a sturdy looking gutter-drain next to it.

"Peridot!" I roar again. Still, nothing.

I have half the mind to leave, but my feet are planted firmly into the ground. I couldn't escape if I wanted to.

Shit. I eye the gutter again. Okay, I decide, I'm totally desperate. Stepping close, I wrap my hands around it and tug. The pipe doesn't even budge. I experimentally hook my shoe into the grove between the gutter and the house's siding, gradually adding weight until it's completely carrying all my one hundred-some pounds. Gaining confidence like it's a ball rolling down a hill, I latch my arms onto the next portion of pipe and pretend it's the gym class rope, pulling myself up. As I inch myself up the perilous climb, I try to avoid thinking about what would happen if I slipped.

Do it for your stupid best friend, I tell myself as I lose my footing for a scary moment and shove my cheek against the cold gutter. The slick rubber of my shoes scrabble at the siding in order to catch traction. I'm too high up to drop down, and I don't think I'd want to start over again anyways, so I keep at it until I catch a foothold. Not too long passes before I pick up a rhythm again. The higher I go, the louder the gutter groans in protest. I can only hope that it won't collapse on me.

Finally, palms sweaty and body trembling with effort, I'm at the top. I manage to throw my arm on to Peridot's bedroom window. The volume of the acoustic guitar is absolutely overwhelming now, and I can understand why Peridot didn't hear me knock. I didn't know that laptop speakers could go so ear-splittingly loud.

"Peridot!" I yell, trusting myself just enough to let go of the pipe with my remaining hand and grab the window pane. I shove it open too hard and nearly lose my balance. My hands are slick, and they threaten to give any second, but I still manage to yell out one more warning. "If you're m**********g, cover it up now! I'm coming in!"

I don't know what kind of person you have to be in order to get off to 2008 Taylor Swift, but I don't want to learn something about Peridot that I'd rather forget.

Taking a deep breath, I check my grip one last time. And then, painstakingly slowly, I pull my legs off the pipe and let myself dangle. I adjust myself until my elbows lock and my hands are on the window sill. My hips touch the rim of the opening. And then, with all the control a swimmer should possess, I lean back slightly before swinging inwards, taking advantage of my momentum to tuck and roll into the room.

I end up flattening her plastic laundry bin with my dead weight, and there's a slight throbbing in my forehead, but other than those minor casualties, I'd say I pulled that off pretty well. I pull a nasty blue sock off of my face and try to gather my surroundings.

Peridot's room has hardly changed, save for her trash bin which is now filled with Big Donut packaging remnants. She's sitting on her bed peering over her laptop in pure horror with a half eaten donut in her hands. Her glasses are balanced precariously upon her thin face, and she pushes them up by crinkling her nose. Her eyes don't leave mine. Her expression is downright comical, and I'd be laughing at it if she didn't look like she wanted castrate me with the donut in her hands.

"What the fuck." Peridot pauses her music and pushes her computer from her lap, shifting off of her bed. She stands up cautiously, and then sprints to her window. She pokes her head out and then withdraws it, gaping in disbelief.

"How did you-"

"I climbed your gutter," I say with an unfitting yet natural goofy smile.

Peridot looks like she got slapped in the face. She sticks her head back out the window to make sure I didn't just cost her a house repair. When it's apparent that the drain is unharmed, She slams her window shut and takes a few steps back. I notice suddenly that she's wearing my coat, and some of my tension melts. It compliments her. Maybe it's because of the way it clings to her chest without accentuating her stomach. Or maybe it's because it's mine. I'm not sure if I care at this point.

"Soooo," I drawl, trying to seem as composed as my anxiety will allow me. "Wanna go swimming?"

"What the f**k is wrong with you?" Peridot snarls, balling her fists. "Seriously, I want to know."

"Gee, I don't know where to start," I say, biting back a layer of poison. My bitter humor misses its mark, and Peridot growls. She tenses, takes a breath, and relaxes her shoulders. An exhausted expression passes her face.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because you're my friend."

"Am I?"

"Are you?"

We match each other word for word, our brains supplying our tongues without tax, the way all conversations with between best friends should be.

Peridot doesn't answer for a long time, inspecting me with stained steel eyes the remind me of factory machines.

"Okay," she says finally. She doesn't answer my question, but the action of relent is enough to convince me that I won't get shoved back out the window I came from.

"So that's a yes?" I ask, a wobbly grin on my cheeks.

"Oh my god. Okay, let me get this straight. You almost drowned me, I kissed you, and now we're friends again? Like nothing ever f*****g happened?"

"I'm glad we're on the same page," I grin, stopping myself just as my hand goes to grab her arm. I make a show of coughing into my elbow, and look away. "So what's up with the Taylor Swift? You have a falling out with someone?"

There's a pause. And then; "You could say that," she says, cracking the absolute minimum degree of a smile.

"You're not having secret affairs without me, are you?" I ask, mocking horror. Peridot looks me over, debating whether to go with it or to sock me.

Eventually, she shrugs and settles on, "You never know."

Within the next minute, we're packed into Peridot's filthy junker of a Volkswagen (and I'm being generous with my adjectives here) and headed out to go swimming. Peridot tells me that her dad won't be home until ten, so I have until then to seduce her back into friendship with me. There's a nervous bug in my stomach, but I brush it off as leftover tension from the pool-kiss incident.

"So, are we going to the beach then?" Peridot asks, hands tightening around the steering wheel stiffly.

"No- take us to school," I instruct. "I have the keys to the gym. It'll be more private."

Peridot raises an eyebrow at my wording, but complies despite, pulling her yellow Volkswagen out of the drive and heading down the road to our school.

"So now that you've successfully tricked me into leaving my donuts, wanna tell me what's going on?" Peridot asks through grit teeth, nearly running a stoplight.

"The donuts! What a tragedy! Really though. I think I'm trying to keep the dying embers of our friendship alight, or something like that." I say, trapping her eyes with mine. The deep, swirling grays in her eyes seem to darken, like thick stratus clouds rolling in before a natural disaster.

"You're a real trip, Lazuli." Peridot sneers. I'm too nervous to quip back, so I leave it at that.

After a few more poor road safety decisions, Peridot manages to pull us into the school parking lot and settles her car besides the brick walls of the institution. I reach into my pocket and whip out my phone. Peridot got me a cute little keyring a few grades back that hooks on to my phone case and I've been using it religiously ever since. I grab the key between my fingers and jam it into the lock, swinging open the bulky glass doors with ease.

"I'm not supposed to be here," Peridot reminds me, raising a brow.

"Well school ended like two hours ago so..." I reassure her, walking her into the locker rooms. Most of the kids keep their swimsuits in the metal lockers from the first day of class up until the end of the semester. They recommend we wash them at least once a week to keep them in line with some sort of health code, but Peridot washes hers every two.

We wordlessly retreat to our lockers to find our suits, and once Peri's one piece and board shorts are in her hands, she skitters to the bathroom stalls.

"Hey, wait!" I yell, stopping her.

"What now?"

I hurry over to wedge my way between her and the stalls, raising an eyebrow. "Relax," I say, "nobody's here. Just change out in the room like a normal person, alright? Stop making it weird."

"You're the only one making things weird," Peridot snaps. "I'll pass."

"Stop being an ass. You're totally sexy, I swear," there's an undertone of truth to that statement, and even if I don't recognize it myself, Peridot certainly does.

Peridot blushes bright red and turns around furiously unzipping my swim coat and setting it besides her. "If that's what you want," Peridot grumbles. The ease of getting her to shed her clothes amuses me, for the sheer platonic fact that she is the most pigheaded person I know.

I watch in muted interest as she nervously pulls up the hem of her shirt. My heart picks up and my breath slows down. To be honest, I've never even seen past Peridot's midriff. Those awkward friend moments where you see a little more than originally intended? We never had those. Peridot was always adamant on putting at least three concrete walls and a blindfold between my eyes and her skin. This is definitely new.

Not to say that I don't enjoy the change of pace.

Peridot quickly realizes that I'm staring and turns a deep shade of red. "Look, I know I'm positively stunning, but please stop being a f*****g creep and turn around," She demands, crossing her arms over her chest and dropping her shirt back down.

"R-right. That's what I- s**t. Okay." I stammer, face red and eyes darting away. Based on the little snicker I hear from behind me as I twist around to get my suit, Peridot finds me pretty damn amusing. At least one of us does.

I try to focus on suiting up as I take off my shorts, but it's hard to focus when I know that Peridot's practically the human manifestation of Pandora's box three feet away.

And unlike Pandora, it takes all of ten seconds for my curiosity to get the better of me.

I tilt my head just enough to see that she's down to a pair of green striped underwear with the words 'NOT EVEN BLACKBEARD COULD STEAL THIS BOOTY'. I stifle a giggle because Peridot is the only person who would unironically buy something so tacky.

"You done?" I ask, slipping my swimsuit straps over my shoulders. When I don't hear a response, I make a show of clearing my throat and speak up again, "What, Blackbeard got your ass? Come on. Are you done?"

"You little s**t!" Peridot yells, and I turn around to see her face redder than a stop sign. She curls her arms together, and that's when I see it.

It's a huge purple blemish staining the pale skin on her upper arm. It's deep and discolored, and it looks eerily like finger marks. Peridot catches my eyes, and her hands shoot up to the bruise immediately, covering it up.

"That-,"

"I fell," Peridot lies immediately, as if she had been planning on my questioning.

I step closer, my eyes flickering from the wound to her own. She looks down and away, like a guilt-ridden pet. God, that thing is huge. It takes up her entire upper arm. I inspect it quietly.

"Can I-,"

"I'd rather you not. And if you're over your arm fetish, let's go swim." Peridot pushes past me and out the locker room into the pool deck. I follow behind her, slowed by a painful weight on my chest. It's gotta be a pretty bad situation if Peridot is suggesting physical activity. Still, I go along with it. It's not like we're foreign to leaving bruises on each other.

The pool deck is very strange without the presence of other students to keep it alive. The entire room seems like it's suspended in time, with only the gentle ticking of the wall clock to ground you in reality. Even the pool water is motionless. It almost looks like stained blue glass. The scent of sweat and chlorine is so loud that you can taste it in the stuffy air. But I don't care- I love it. I get my high from this overpowering sensation of chemical water.

Peridot grimaces before sitting down by the edge and easing herself in. She rattles like a snake as she submerges her hips, and her hands fly up to her chest, keeping dry out of instinct. She turns back around at me.

"Aren't you getting in? The water's," she suppresses a shiver, "just lovely."

I laugh and take a few steps back. "Just watch me."

Running forwards, I tuck my entire body into a roll as soon as my feet leave the poolside. I careen forwards and feel the rush of cold ice upon in what feels like an instant. I hold my breath and swim back to the edge, coming up for air when my nose bumps the tiled wall. Peridot wipes off droplets of water from my splash and looks less than impressed.

"Show off."

"Sinker."

We share a short laugh, and I feel amazing because we're both finally smiling. I haven't seen that goofy look on Peridot for weeks. It ends too soon, but I'm begging for more. And I always get what I want.

"Come on, Peri. Head under. Don't be lame," I urge, splashing some water at her.

"Right, right, okay." Peridot takes a breath and dunks herself underwater. She spends hardly a second under before shooting up and yelling. "That's cold! f**k!"

I laugh and paddle up next to her. "Now that you're used to the water, let's do some practices. I am not having you kill my grade. And since you've missed gym for the past three days, you need to catch up."

"Who's fault is that?" Peridot snaps, quirking a brow.

"Um, yours, actually," I retort. She looks like she's about to protest, but I stop her. "Now come on, let's do this."

Peridot nods and begrudgingly follows me along as I ease down the length of water. She's swimming vertically again. I groan and correct her verbally. I'm too afraid to touch her. I'm afraid that I'll bruise that delicate skin again without even knowing it.

We swim for a little while before Peridot slumps against the pool deck and calls a time out.

"One sec- let me catch my breath. Not everyone's an Olympic champion like you."

"Okay," I offer her a cocky grin. She accepts it with an audible sigh and a roll of her eyes.

She hoists herself up on the pool deck. I want to follow, but one look at that nasty bruise stops me. I don't want to get too close should we get out of hand again. I stay in the water, contemplating my options.

"Don't you wanna come up? I know how much you love being wet around me, but you should take a break." Peridot says as she brushes a lock of damp blond hair away from her eyes. I blush and grumble something inaudible before swimming to the other side of the deck and getting out. Peridot raises an eyebrow.

I wanted to sit here to keep some space between us, but the view isn't horrible either. From where I'm sitting, the window across from me shines a beautiful strawberry gold ray of sunshine that highlights Peridot's face like a perfectly placed backlight.

"Lapis, I know what you're doing," Peridot says suddenly, her face takes on a solemn grimace, and I know she's not in the mood for one of my emotionally evasive humorous cop-outs.

"Oh yeah?"

"You're trying to keep your distance because you're freaked out about this dumb bruise," Peridot hypothesizes. I wince. Why does she have to be so damn smart?

"Well, I mean, I did hurt you," I grumble, feeling guilt well up in my chest once more. I cross my arms over it tightly, clenching my fists.

"Like that's anything new to me. It's not like we wrestle all the time or something. Not at all."

"You know what I mean," I assert. "I hurt you without even knowing it. My mind just like, blanked, y'know? I lost it." I pause for a long time before finally letting my arms fall. "I'm scared that I'll do something like that again, y'know? I'm like, real f*****g scared." I furrow my eyebrows and look at my submerged feet. The last sentence takes everything I've got to choke out, because showing weakness has never been acceptable and here I am bluntly showing Peridot where the c***k in my armor is.

Maybe she knows that I'm being cautious with my vulnerability, or maybe she's sick of being invincible herself, because she only hangs her head.

"It's okay," she whispers after some time. "I mean, no, actually. It's not okay. But I forgive you." Her voice magnifies as it bounces from wall to tiled wall, and I'm overwhelmed.

"Aren't you scared too?"

"Maybe. I don't know," she says, and I know that she is.

We're silent for a long time after that. But it's a good silence. The kind that feels like the absence of words speak volumes alone.

If a picture is worth one thousand words, then this precious blank slate is worth none. And I think that's what makes it so valuable. We can use this sheet of white to write anything we want: a tragedy, a love story, a happy ending- it's all new and fresh and full of potential. And it's all very overwhelming. So I let the silence be- at least for another ten minutes.

I stare at the still water beneath me, watching the liquid glass as it rings around my legs.

I unclasp my closed fist and examine my large hands.

I cast a shy sort of glance in Peridot's direction, trying to absorb the way the sun filters through her hair in a split second or less.

I see and I smell and I taste and I feel. And suddenly it's all too apparent to me that I don't exist in a vacuum and that I am alive.

And then I talk.

"Let's play a game. It's called Marco-Polo-,"

Peridot cuts me off immediately. "I'll pass."

"Not for the water," I clarify. "No physical activity involved. I just think it'll be good for us to set some boundaries, you know?"

Peridot releases a cynical laugh and purses her lips. "This sounds like a fun game," she sneers.

"So?"

Peridot decides to humor me. "Okay, Lapis. How do I 'play'?"

"I'm going to do something and say Marco. If you're comfortable with it, say Polo. If it makes you uncomfortable say, uh... 'fish out of water'," I explain. I'm making this up as I go, but Peridot isn't calling bullshit yet.

So I stand up.

"Marco."

"Fish out of water."

I reel back, "Really?!"

Peridot snickers. "No. I'm messing with you. This is stupid."

I roll my eyes. "Just go along with it. For me, at least."

Peridot sighs and crosses her arms. "Polo," she grumbles.

I smile and take three steps forwards, careful to read her body language in case she feels obliged to say Polo without meaning it.

"Marco?"

"Polo."

I nod, and, feeling a tad braver, I take another three steps. I'm at the corner of the pool deck now, and only a small stretch of space interrupts Peridot and I.

"Marco?"

"Polo."

I close the gap. Peridot looks up at me and seems to shrink. I knit my brows.

"Marco?"

She pauses before answering, "Polo."

I sit down and lean in, so that my shoulder touches her good arm. She tenses, but takes a deep breath. I see her jaw lock.

"Marco?"

"Polo," she replies evenly.

I rest my hand on top of hers, and I'm shocked at how warm they are. I notice for the first time that they're small enough to be completely drowned in mine and inexplicably, this thought makes me smile.

"Marco?"

"Polo."

I slip my fingers between the spaces of her own. Her breath hitches.

"Marco?"

"Why are you doing this?" She asks, voice wobbly and riddled with doubt heavier than the bags pulling at her eyes.

I wish I could manage more than a sad stare, but all the words I want to say are hidden in the pool water and I can't find them. God, Peri, I think, I wish I knew.

"Marco?" Is all I respond with.

"... Polo."

How far can one go before a friendly encounter becomes inherently romantic? How easy is it to push a lover out of one's mind if in the pursuit of something else? I wonder this as my hand wanders to her cheek. My fingers slip under her jaw almost lovingly, and I tilt her face to mine. Our eyes lock in place like rusted gears.

"Marco?"

"Polo."

My hand drifts down to her bad arm. I motion for her to twist her body so that I can see. Peridot's movements are tight and jerky (imagine the predestined movements of a theme park animatronic) as she pulls her legs from the water and crosses them, turning to face me. I inspect the bruise closer, trying to imagine what my hands must've felt like creating it. I wrap my fingers around it loosely.

She freezes.

"Stop- just- no." Peridot whimpers, pulling away. "Fish out of water." I retract my hand instantly.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," I whisper frantically. I put some space between us. "Are you okay?"

"F-fine. You can keep going. Just not there, alright?" Peridot takes a deep breath and scoots closer to me until we're in the same position as before.

"Okay. Okay. Just tell me to stop when I go too far."

"I'm not dumb. I will."

I take care to avoid the injury I'd caused and let my hand wander to her knee instead. Peridot shivers.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"Polo," she breathes.

"Okay."

A million and two things must be racing through her head, because she's all too quiet. It's disconcerting to see her sit so rigidly still and proper.

I drag my hand up her thigh. She winces and bares her teeth.

"Oh no," I mutter, recognizing the expression of pain. "I didn't-"

"Polo," Peridot snaps.

"Can I look?" I ask, my lip trembling. I stare at my hands. They're so large compared to her. They can do so much damage.

"Polo."

I gently use my large five-fingered death traps abd roll back the leg on her board shorts to reveal her thigh. Staining her pasty skin is another paint splatter of purple and yellow. I hardly even remember touching her there but it's apparent to me that no other hand could cause that kind of mark. I roll down the fabric and pull my hands away.

"I'm so sorry. Peri, I-,"

"It's fine. Seriously, since when did you start acting your age?" she grumbles, smoothing out her swim trunks.

I force out a laugh if not for any other reason than to laugh. And then I keep going. I move back to her hands, although I've already covered them.

I know what I'm doing, but I hardly trust myself to stop. Something draws me to this, in the way a thief is drawn to an unlocked house.

"Marco?"

"Polo?" This one comes out as a question. As if Peridot is finally realizing that this innocent game to discover personal boundaries is getting a tad more complex.

I gently pin down her hands and lean forwards so that our noses almost bump. I could lose it all in one move if I wanted to. I could lose a best friend and a girlfriend in one deadly move.

I could lose control.

And that's exactly what I intend to do.

"Marco?"

"P-polo."

I push forward so that our foreheads touch. I can taste her breath mix with mine. They're both feverish and ragged, and Peridot's quivers with uncertainty and anticipation. I see the muscles in her neck and shoulders fight against the compelling urge to move, but I can't tell if they intend to go further or closer to me.

I could back out right now and stop myself from ruining my life. I could pretend that this is a silly joke and go back to tutoring Peridot. I can stop whenever I want to.

But the thing is, I really don't want to stop.

"So consider this: what if I have some minor complications saying Marco due to the condition of my lips?" I propose, snickering a bit when Peridot's eyes shoot open.

"Um," Peridot replies with a flustered air of awkwardness, "I guess I'll just punch you if I don't like it."

"Go for the throat," I whisper.

And with that, I close the gap between our mouths. And everything in my universe kind of explodes.

I think Pearl once explained what it would theoretically feel like if you were caught in a black hole. You would get stretched like trampoline, and compressed into something the size of a pinhead. You'd burn and freeze at the same time, and since you're the only medium for sound to travel through in the vacuum of space, your screams would only tear through your mutilated body.

That's how it feels right now as I pull my fingers from Peridot's and use them to sift through her unruly hair. That's how it feels as she brings hers to rest on my collar bones and trail the curves of skin and muscle. That's how it feels when this entire culmination of conflict comes crashing down with a single kiss by a freezing poolside. And there's a split second where I realize that this is something I've wanted since forever. And this sensation of wanting only amplifies when Peridot pulls away.

"Marco?" I ask, breathless.

"Polo." She hisses.

"Again?"

"Please," I eat up her tone as she says this, because it's so faint and heavy at the same time.

And because the empty feeling in my chest is tearing me apart, I smash our lips together again just to see if I can fill it with her breath.

I can tell by the almost desperate way she arches into my embrace that the pool-kiss incident wasn't an act of thoughtless intent. The way her restless fingers knead my neck and hip betrays every emotion she's ever bottled up without a single uttered word. And it's incredibly overwhelming, but I don't care anymore. I don't care at all.

I pull back again and smile. She returns the gesture.

"Marco?"

"Polo. Wow. Polo." She breathes.

And we laugh because this is all so strange and unprecedented, and we have no idea what just happened, but we're glad it happened anyways.

And then we stop laughing very suddenly, because we both start to understand the gravity of our situation. This is wrong. We shouldn't be doing this. And we can't go back now. Like all things in my life, I realize the absolute magnitude of my complete f**k-upery too late.

"What are you going to tell Pearl?" Peridot asks, her voice laced with tension. Something tells me she's expecting an answer I can't give her.

I wonder if she can read the torn look in my eyes, or the way I squeeze my fingers into fists. I hope she can't because they make it obvious that I'm panicking.

That kiss wasn't a joke, and we both know it. Stopping this now would sever our relationship even further, and after the past month, I just want to be her friend again. Likewise, telling Pearl would be the rough equivalent of going to Walmart on Black Friday after they've marked down their flat screens by 90%. In other words- suicide.

It's okay, though, because I know how to control this and I won't let it get out of hand.

In a moment of impulse, I grab Peridot's hand and give it a soft squeeze. The comfort is returned eagerly. I swallow a wad of spit before speaking.

"This doesn't concern Pearl. It's going to stay between you and me, okay? Nobody can know. Do you understand? Nobody can know," I say, my tone stern and detached. I don't recognize my voice as it comes out, and I don't think Peridot does either.

I can pinpoint the exact moment when her heart shatters. Her eyes gloss over, and she looks like she's trying to conceal tears. She heaves a shaky breath and grits her teeth.

I'm stuck in silence, wondering when, exactly, I lost my mind. Something tells me that this isn't just a spur of the moment action- it's the ultimate culmination of every mistake I never learned from and everything thereafter.

My vice is dependence, because I've put so much of myself into these two people, that losing them would mean losing myself, too. And now I've jammed myself into a situation where there is only one way to keep both. It's a good thing that swimmers aren't afraid of sinking.

Some say that a picture is worth one thousand words. But right now, in this moment of tension and silence, ours is only worth one.

"Okay."