Page 25

When she brings her hands up to brush soaked hair out of her face, I notice there’s still freshly dried paint on her fingers. I don’t remember her even bringing paint here, but somehow her hands are still stained by it, almost like it’s permanently tattooed on her skin at all times. Like, even the mucky lake water can’t wash away her color.

Instantly, my insides are burning, and suddenly I’m not shivering anymore. I wrap my arms around her shoulders, melting into her embrace for warmth. Our faces are inches apart again, and I can’t pull my eyes off her.

I stare softly into her eyes, admiring the droplets of water that rest ever so delicately on her lashes and the way the pigmented swirls in her eyes look to be at war between green and brown, almost as if her parents’ genes couldn’t decide whose eyes she would inherit, so they went with both. I suppose the logical term for that is hazel, but nothing about Laine feels logical.

We don’t say anything, still feeling the tension and warmth fromour bodies pressed together. I can tell, though, that on the outside her face is still cold by the way her rounded cheeks are extra rosy and her lips are still shaking, more subtly now, but still.

Between the light from the stars and the moisture from the air and water, her hair has turned a burnt brown, almost the color of mine when dry, and it sticks to her forehead messily.

I’m not sure if this is an appropriate thought to have right now, but I can’t help but think that maybe both of her parents belong in prison, because it should be illegal to make a daughter so radiantly beautiful.

My thoughts are interrupted when I feel a drop of wetness fall from the sky right on the top of my head. I look up, mouth slightly agape, and another drop falls on my tongue.

I pull her closer and whisper in her ear. “I think it’s raining.”

“I love swimming in the rain.” She gives a soft chuckle. “And dancing, and singing, and jumping in it.” God, I love her ability to romanticize everything in life. I wonder if this is how she always remains so happy on the outside despite everything she’s battling on the inside.

The rain pours harder, causing me to flinch. Laine pulls away, laughing and spinning out across the water in the same starfish position she sleeps in. She looks so ridiculous, but I love seeing her this way, especially after seeing her in the complete opposite mindset at the playground.

As she’s spinning around in the heavy pour of rain now, a large flash of light shines over her face. The flash is soon followed by a booming roar of thunder, and her face widens.

“Oh my god. We have to get out of here!” She’s still laughing, now frantically paddling to the docks. I follow her, my heart beating out of my chest and my insides feeling like the popping of firecrackers at Chinese New Year’s parades.

“Come on! Hurry!” She shouts to me as she reaches the docks,pulling herself up and then extending a hand to me.

She doesn’t let go of my hand after pulling me up.

We grab our clothes and make a beeline for the cabin. My vision is blurry, and the rain feels like a weighted blanket on me as we sprint full speed to the screen door, clutching our drenched clothes against our half-naked bodies. By the time we reach the covered patio of the cabin, we’re both panting and trying to catch our breath.

She drops my hand.

“I can’t believe how fast that storm came in!” She whispers loudly, her voice raspy from heaving the whole way up the hill.

“I know! That was insane!” I giggle, my breath steadying.

“You know, we still have to sneak back in.”

I eyeball the screen door, then gently push it open, wincing when it inevitably creaks as it swings.

“Our clothes!” Laine whispers, yet still at too loud a volume for this mission.

“SHH.” I shoot her a look and grab her wrist, guiding her inside. We tiptoe across the living room and into the master bedroom, our wet clothes leaving a trail of mucky water behind us.

Once we’re back in our room, her voice returns to normal.

“We almost died.” She exclaims, wringing her hair out over the bathroom sink.

I playfully roll my eyes at her theatrics.

“Did that count as skinny dipping?” I ask her, excited to check something off my non-existent bucket list that I just made up in my head an hour ago.

“Well, were you swimming in a bathing suit? Or anything meant to be swum in?”

“No, but-”

“No buts! We totally did it.” She smiles proudly.

Tonight, I saw a side of Laine that I didn’t know she had in her. Not only that, for the first time, I saw a future for myself that felthopeful; a future where my past—and the people in my past—doesn’t define me. Conversely, I’ve always told myself that hope was a dangerous feeling. Hope creates false premonitions of what is possible.