When Opposites Attract

I.

“Your favorite novel is Lolita?” I don't miss the way her lips tug down disdainfully. 

I shrug, speaking around the lollipop in my mouth. “One of many.” 

“Right.” The look in her eyes tells me she doesn’t believe me, and it sets me on edge. As a matter of fact, everything about this posh, preppy princess of a girl makes me want to gouge my own eyes out with a soup spoon. She rolls her lip under her teeth before speaking. “Have you ever been down to the lake?” I roll my eyes because everyone has been down to the lake, but her brows furrow in something akin to hurt, and my heart aches. 

Yeah, screw this chick. 

I nudge my sneaker against the edge of her pinky toe, and her cheeks tint a light shade of pink. I don’t know why. It’s just a shoe. But her reaction prompts a blush of my own, and I curse her internally for making this entire interaction awkward. “I mean, yeah. Why?” 

She licks her lips like she’s nervous. I see the gloss on them, something glittery that seems fitting for her personality. My gaze darts to the end of her pink dress. You could not pay me to dress like that, yet she does so willingly. 

Her lips lift in the faintest smile. “I’ve never been before.” 

“Oh.” I don’t move for a second because what am I supposed to do about that? But then my body moves before my brain does, and for no reason at all, I close the book in my lap and rise to a stand, brushing imaginary dust off the back of my jeans. I extend my hand to her suddenly, and her blush deepens, but she accepts. 

I walk a few steps ahead of her because she unnerves me, but it doesn’t take long for her cheerleader gait to catch up to me. 

“Do you always dress like this?” I’m just wearing jeans and a white tee, so I don’t know what she means. 

“Do you always dress like that?” My voice comes out too judgmental, and she shrinks back into herself beside me. I wipe a hand down my face. “No, I just meant…Yeah, I dress like this usually. I don’t really like…” My eyes unintentionally dart toward her dress again. “Pink,” I finish. 

She moves slightly away from me. “Oh.” Then, as if she is the reason pink exists, she pouts apologetically. “Sorry.” 

“What? No.” My patience with her is waning, and I tilt my head to one side. “Why would you apologize for that?” This time, her eyes light with defiance, and it fills me with relief. She’s not fragile, and that makes it a little easier to be myself around her. I’ve been told I’m crass. Probably because I grew up with three brothers.

“You said it like it was something I should apologize for.” 

I blow out a breath. “Well, don’t. I don’t like pink on me.” As soon as I say it, I feel heat flood my cheeks. Because, what? 

She bites back a smile unsuccessfully. “And on me?” 

And this is when my stomach flutters with something I violently want to stamp out. “I have a feeling any color would look good on you,” I say grudgingly. As if it’s some well-kept secret. It isn’t. Everyone can see. I scratch the back of my neck awkwardly. “Why do you want to go to the lake?” 

She lifts one shoulder indifferently. “We’re graduating soon, and I’ve already been admitted to my dream school.” Of course she has. “I think I deserve to have some fun before leaving.” 

“Not planning on coming back?” I’m not sure why it matters to me. 

She licks her lip. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on what’s left for me to come back to here.” 

I try to ignore the flurry of movement in my gut at her response. “Is there anything to come back to now?” 

“I don’t know.” Her voice sounds far away, and we fall into tense silence as we walk the rest of the way. I can feel her eyes searing into my skin, and it makes my hair stand on end. Why is she staring? I grimace, and she chuckles lightheartedly. She pokes my tricep with her index finger. “Are you always frowning?” 

“I’m not frowning,” I say, frowning. 

She puts her fingers on either side of my mouth and lifts, and we both fall into laughter. I shake my head in disbelief, tearing my gaze away from her. You’ve known her three minutes, and you’re laughing. What’s wrong with you, Clara? I clear my throat and pray she can’t see my blush before asking, “Why does it matter if I frown?” 

“I don’t know,” she says again. The lake is now in sight, and she speaks more to it than me when she says, “I like seeing you happy.” 

“Who says I’m not happy?” I counter. It isn't always appropriate to counter, because not everything someone says is an attack. But I was raised not to trust anyone, so my default is the defensive anyways.

“Your frown.” It comes out matter-of-factly. She picks up speed as we near the edge of the water. Then, suddenly, she’s peeling off her dress to reveal a multichromatic bikini underneath it. Her belly button piercing flashes at me, as well as a butterfly tattoo on her neck. 

I look away sheepishly. I must stare at the ground for too long, though, because I feel her hand grip my wrist a few beats later. “Come on. Take a swim with me.” 

Who are you, Maria Castenada, and how are you convincing me to do all these things? 

“Come on,” she repeats when I’ve said nothing. My blush deepens as I harden my stare at the grass, and that’s when I feel her palm cup my cheek. She turns my face so that I’m looking down into her eyes. They’re a pale, nearly translucent shade of green that communicates everything to me. Why is she looking at me like that? “I don’t mind if you see me in my bikini.” 

“Oh.” I blink. “Why don’t you?” Wow. What a day to not think before saying something? 

Her smile widens. “Maybe I think you’ll like what you see.” 

I swallow, and she chuckles lightly. “Meet me in the water?” 

Things are starting to make a lot more sense to me.

II. 

We don’t speak much in the water, mostly because I lose my head when I swim. You know how some people say they enjoy driving because it gives them space to think? Well, that’s how I feel about swimming. 

When I finally climb back onto the deck a while later, Maria has her knees hugged to her chest and is staring off into the distance. She hears me wade toward her and grins, piercing me with a gaze so inviting it knocks me off-kilter. I compensate for my break in composure by splashing water on her, and she laughs. “I wouldn’t tease the girl currently sitting next to your jeans, Clara.” 

Which reminds me that I’m in nothing but a t-shirt and panties. She dived into the water before me, and I stripped my jeans off when she was looking away, so there was nothing to be embarrassed about. Now, though… Well, my nipples are hard from the temperature of the water, my shirt is white and, therefore, see-through, and I’m almost certain she’ll see the black lace at the top of my underwear the minute I climb out of the water. So I float around the wooden deck indecisively until Maria narrows her eyes at me. “You’re stalling.” 

I release a low laugh, but I was never a good liar. It comes out unconvincing, and she lifts one brow at me. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid I’ll judge you for whatever you’re wearing under the water?” 

Does she read minds? I wipe beads of water off my cheeks to mask my blush. “I’m not afraid of anything.” 

“Everyone’s afraid of something.” She moves to the edge of the deck and extends her manicured hand toward me. Her nails are the color of roses. I grab it instinctively and watch her pupils dilate when our skin meets. She runs her tongue along her lower lip. Her voice wavers when she speaks. “I always thought you would bite my head off if I got close enough to talk to you.” 

“I would never…bite your head off.” We both laugh at the way the sentence comes out, and she helps me onto the deck. I tug my shirt down, but it’s not oversized, and I know that Maria can see everything. 

She nudges my calf with her toes. “So how come you don’t talk to more people at school?” 

I force out another laugh. “Uhm…Malcolm usually does most of the talking.” 

She wrings water out of her caramel-streaked black hair. “Yeah, I know. No offense, but he could stand to hold his thoughts in a little more.” 

I laugh at that. “He’s just spoiled. My mom’s first kid and everything.” 

She fixes me with an intense gaze. “Do you feel overshadowed by him?” 

I’d expect to find her direct questions off-putting, but I don’t. Instead, I sigh. “Doesn’t everyone feel a little overshadowed by Malcolm when you’re around him?” 

She rolls her neck in a stretch. “I just find it funny that anyone could look at him when you’re there too.” 

I feel the same sensation as earlier – of something fluttering in my stomach, and I snap. “Why’d you ask me to take you here, Maria?” This. This is the version of me that people see – the version that she was expecting. And for good reason. This must be some sick joke she’s playing, where she gets me to open up just so she can make fun of me. I can’t believe I trusted her. 

Her chin wobbles as she speaks, and I make a concerted effort not to notice the smoothness of her skin. “Are you really going to make me say?” 

I tear my gaze away from her. It’s easier to look at the water. It’s more predictable than Maria or the conversation we’re having now. “Is this some joke to you?” 

She actually scoffs. “Is this how it usually goes for you? People start to show they like you, and you run away from them? Scared you won’t live up to their standards?” 

Her tone is mocking, and I force my own into one equally as scorching. “If you’re looking for some sort of detour from your perfect life, look elsewhere.” She throws her head back and laughs so long my attention returns to her. “Why are you laughing about that?” 

She collects her dress in her chest, rolling to a stand. “Do you remember when we were in seventh grade, and you were in the band, and they held that ceremony for the eighth-grade graduation? And you still wore glasses and braces, and you looked so unsure of yourself? You were trembling when it came time for the clarinet solo. And I remember because everyone remembers, because whether or not you know it, you were the best musician there.” She’s pointing at me now, and her chest is visibly rising and falling, and her cheeks are flushed. “I was so stupid back then. Because I waited for you to come off stage. Because I wanted to personally congratulate you. God, I thought you were so cool then. And I harbored this stupid, silly little crush on you all this time since, because it wasn’t you I ran into but fucking April Green. And when she saw me, she had that shit-eating grin on her face when she said, ‘I bet you’re waiting for Clara, aren’t you? Everyone sees the way you look at her. You’re in luck, ‘cause I think she’s a lesbian. The two of you can finally live out your wet dreams together.’ And it was cruel. It was one of the cruelest things that anyone has ever said to me, and I crumbled. And I determined I would curate a picture-perfect image of myself from that point on because if fucking April Green could see through me, so could everyone else.” She backs away from me a step, like it’s finally set in that she just confessed all this to me. “Fuck you, Clara McNamara.” 

And my body does that thing again where it moves at the speed of light when I stand up and reach for her, pulling her with too much force into my chest, which she collides against with a curse. And I tuck her hair behind her ear and swallow. “Just wait a minute.” 

She looks like she’s going to be sick. “Don’t give me false hope.” 

“There’s nothing false here.” And I put my hand on her waist like it was always supposed to be there and feel her shiver. “You’re cold.” What a fucking astute observation. 

She looks like she’s going to cry. 

I’ll come to appreciate the way she wears her heart on her sleeve. Months from now. And I’ll vow to treasure it several years later. “Just wait a minute,” I say again. 

She rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t move. 

“I noticed you, too.” The words fall out before I can stop them. I put my hand on her shoulder to steady myself. “Who could fail to notice Maria Castenada?” I pull on the string of her bikini bottom, rolling it between my fingers gently. “I would feel you staring at me…sometimes, and I would make every effort not to look at you because I knew.” I swallow. “I knew you were someone I would fall for.” 

Breath gusts out of her chest like a tsunami. “Don’t fuck with me, Clara.” 

“I’m not fucking with you.” It comes out a whisper. “I knew you would fuck me up with how much I would feel for you. If I ever looked back.” I run my thumb along her lower lip. “And now, here you are, and I know I was right about that.” 

She blows out a string of curses so unlike herself I startle, but it isn’t shocking enough to stop me from closing the distance between our lips.