Jackie stops in her tracks. Her eyes are wide, and a little hurt. It pierces the panic slowly rising in Claire.
Claire clears her throat, trying to lower her voice. “Sorry. It’s only that I—I burn very easily. Maybe I should just stay up here under the umbrella?”
“We can do whatever you’d like,” Jackie says softly.
Whatever Claire would like. WhatwouldClaire like?
What Claire would like is to feel as comfortable in herself as Jackie does. What Claire would like is to understand her own fascination, her ownfixation. What Claire would like is to forget her strange dreams and the tension they leave her with, and have a good time with her friend.
Claire drops the towel.
Jackie goes silent.
Her eyes rake over Claire’s shoulders, over her stomach and her bare legs, in a way that reminds Claire of how she felt in that department store changing room. It doesn’t feel like Claire isbeing judged, as she feared, but it’s certainly more focused than Claire expected. She feels as bare as a newborn.
Jackie’s skin has gone rosy. Just when Claire is about to ask what’s wrong, Jackie seems to snap out of it. She blinks rapidly, her wide eyes snap up, and in a rush, she sprints past Claire and dives into the pool.
It’s out of character for Jackie to do something so sudden, so dramatic, and the water from her dive splashes on Claire’s feet in a big wave. Jackie stays underwater, seeming to settle on the bottom of the pool; Claire remembers seeing her do the same thing from her window, once.
That remembrance leaves her hot all over.
Claire descends the stairs into the shallow end at a normal pace. The water is just cool enough to be refreshing, but it does make her shiver as it hits her thighs. She can see Jackie moving under the rippling surface, coming towards her, closer and closer, until Claire is sure Jackie is going to plow right into her.
A hand closes around Claire’s ankle, pulling sharply, and suddenly she’s underwater.
The water is a shock to her system, but not nearly as much as Jackie’s sudden move. When Claire surfaces again, shaking water out of her eyes, her first order of business is to shout.
“Why did you do that?”
Jackie, of course, surfaces perfectly. Her hair slicks back. Water droplets form on her eyelashes. In contrast, Claire’s curls are stuck to her face, and the borrowed bikini bottoms are riding up.
“You were taking too long,” Jackie says. The strangeness from before seems to be gone—she’s her usual self again, cheeky and laughing as Claire finger-combs her own hair.
“So your solution was to try to drown me?”
“You’re perfectly welcome to try to drown me in retaliation,” Jackie says, grinning as she drifts away in a perfect backstroke. “If you can.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“More of a dare.”
“Oh, I’m gonnagetyou,” Claire says, laughing as she lunges in Jackie’s direction. Jackie gets a face full of pool water, and the war begins.
Jackie is a great swimmer, but Claire has a longer reach. They chase each other around the pool, giggling and shouting like children, and Claire forgets propriety. She forgets that anyone could be listening, and that Pete will notice if her hair is wet when he comes home. She swims and splashes and laughs with Jackie, and she doesn’t care about anything else. Her sides are sore with pure, undiluted joy when Jackie successfully jumps on her back, playfully shoving her under the water.
Claire surfaces again quickly. She turns to grab for Jackie’s legs, pulling her all the way around with the intention to dunk her under the water in retaliation, but Jackie latches on like a koala bear—her legs wrap around Claire’s waist. Claire’s hands go, instinctively, to Jackie’s thighs.
The game stops.
They’re pressed together in every conceivable place. Suddenly Claire is very aware of every inch of touching skin, every scrap of fabric, every tiny movement between them. Now it’s Claire’s fingers making divots in Jackie’s thighs, gripping them like a life raft. The water is cool, but Jackie’s skin is hot.
Jackie is staring at Claire’s mouth with an indecipherable expression. Claire can see every soft, dark hair on her face, illuminated by the bright sun. Droplets of water slide down her temples.
Claire is hit with a thought that goes off like a gunshot.
They’re close enough to kiss.
The very idea is like a foreign language deciphering itself before Claire’s eyes. Kissing a woman. KissingJackie. It’s unfamiliar, frightening, but something about it resonates somewhere deep inside her. It’s like a tuning fork, striking a piercing note that lines up exactly where it’s supposed to.
