Chapter 2

"I really hope you are planning on eating that."

You blink. Your eyes focusing on your sister, "What?" you ask leaning in slightly.

Anya points down to the plate in front of you, "That. That Datson Plum Clitoris or whatever the hell you call it. That stupid thing was like thirty bucks, so you better eat it."

You look down at the plate. It doesn't look like the most appetizing thing in the world, despite the colorful burst of purple, "You know your self-named title doesn't really make me want to eat it," you say, looking up at Anya.

"Shut it, squirt," she says rolling her eyes, her mouth quirking slightly in the corner before straightening out in a flat line. She looks down at her own empty plate for a second before she shifts in her seat a little. She looks uncomfortable. Nervous almost. You are about to ask what is wrong, but she beats you to it, "You kind of disappeared on me for a bit there. Where'd you go?"

You can't help the flush that appeared on your face and you really hope Anya thinks it's just from the heat.

If you are being honest with yourself you had been completely lost in thought. Lost in thought, thinking about the stunning lifeguard, with the beautiful smile, and shimmering eyes. And if you are being completely honest with yourself you don't know how you got to this table or how long you have been sitting there or even if you have been talking to Anya. Because you don't really remember anything after Clarke waved goodbye to you.

"Um," you start, your brow furrowing in an attempt to think of a not so lame excuse as to why you've been completely blank. Completely absent.

"Oh my god," Anya exclaims. You look up at her. "You were totally thinking about that lifeguard." You gulp. She takes your silence as a confirmation, "You totally were, weren't you?"

"Anya."

"Oh my god. You thought she was hot didn't you?"

"Anya."

"This is so cute. Are you gonna call her? Are you gonna date her?"

You blanch, "No! No way!"

"What? Why not?" Anya asks.

"Because Anya. I'm just. I can't. She's just so. I don't. I don't know," you drop your gaze; suddenly, unable to look your sister in the eye.

Anya reaches across the table and picks up your hand, carefully flipping it over until you palm is facing up.

"Lexa. If she didn't want to get to know you or talk to you, she wouldn't have come up to you and she certainly would not have given you her number."

She squeezes your hand a little and you look up. "I'm. I. I. I'm not good. I'm not good enough for her. I don't deserve to date her," you say softly, your words almost drowned out by the wind.

Anya's eyes soften as the silence stretches, tears welling deep in their amber depths, "Lexa. I cannot even begin to describe how wrong that statement is," she stops and takes a breath, collecting her thoughts. "Inside you, there is a power to love that is so deep and so strong that it runs through your entire being. Okay? Inside of you there is the strength to love, purely and intensely, and to have someone love you back. I know this because every time I see you I can feel it. You love so deeply and so wholeheartedly that it hurts. And I have never. Never. Met anyone more deserving of being loved by someone. So if this Clarke girl can provide that for you. Then I will be hell-bent on making sure that happens. Okay?"

You feel a drop of wetness on your face, strikingly cold against your skin. You look to the sky thinking it might be raining, but it's clear and beautiful and blue. Your hand comes to your cheek and you wipe away a tear you never knew had formed. A small shaking breath rattles your lungs as you stare at your hand, at the wetness on your fingertips. Your heart thumps steadily beneath your chest. Easily, making more room for Anya to snuggle deeper into your soul with each rhythmic beat.

You look up and Anya blinks a few times, forcing her own tears away, her gaze never leaving your face.

She clears her throat, nodding slightly, clearly trying not to make a big deal about her words, "Now give me your phone," she says, her voice cracking slightly at the emotion still swirling around in the air.

You nod and pull it out of your pocket. She picks up your hand again and glances at the number in your palm a few times before dropping your hand and typing something on your phone, "There. You can thank me later."

Your eyes widen at her words and you snatch the phone from Anya.

Sure enough 'you' had sent off a message to an unknown number.

"Anya!" you hiss, looking up at her.

"We both know you weren't going to message her. So I did it for you."

"What if she doesn't respond?" you fret.

Anya's shoulder's slump, "Lexa. She. Is. Going. To. Respond. She gave you her number for a reason. She wanted you to text her. Just give it a few minutes."

You are about to rip Anya a new one, your emotional talk now the furthest thing from your mind, but your phone pings from its place on the table and you look down. Anya just leans back in her chair, a smirk crossing her features. She waves her hand toward the phone, "Told you."

Slowly, you pick up the phone.

808-796-1996

Hey Woods ;) You ready for that surfing lesson yet?

"What. What do I say?"

Anya laughs, like full belly shaking, head thrown back, laughs.

"Oh. Squirt you are so adorable. Just tell her yes."

You gulp and type out the message.

Lexa Woods

Yes.

Anya looks at you, "Well what did you say?"

"Yes."

Anya tilts her head a little at you, "That's it?"

"Yes."

"Oh god," she slaps her forehead. "Clearly, I have a lot to teach you."

"What?" you panic, "You told me to say yes!"

"Well, usually you say something like 'yes, I'm looking forward to it' not just 'yes'" she deadpans.

"Oh my god," you squeak, your mind immediately racing to every possible terrible outcome, "she's going to think I'm a freak or something. She's not going to want to respond now. She's not going to respond. She's taking so long to respond. Oh god. I've screwed this up already. Fuck. I've already messed this up. Oh god."

Your eyes snap shut as your words peter out, suddenly unable to voice anything else for lack of air in your lungs. You suck in a ragged breath and will yourself to calm down, because you refuse to have a break down right now. You refuse.

You feel Anya's soft hand on your wrist and you know she is offering her silent support.

"Lex, I'm sure it's fine. She's probably still busy at-"

Her words are cut off by another small ping from your phone.

Your hand snatches the phone before your mind even has time for the neuron to send off the instruction for it to move.

A small smile spreads across your face as your read her message.

Clarke Griffin

Ah. A woman of many words, I see. How endearing J

Just name a time and a beach and I will be there, Woods.

Anya clears her throat and you look up at her excited, expectant eyes, "She. She, uh, she wants me to name a time and a beach," you say, the small smile still tugging at your lips.

Anya places her clasped hands in front of her face, obscuring her smile, "Well, would you look at that." She stands and looks down at you, "Come on, squirt, we've got to go shopping. Tell Clarke two o'clock tomorrow and give her my address. She'll find the beach easy enough." She turns to leave, but then stops, and looks over her shoulder, "And bring that stupid Dim sum mum flu. Or whatever it is. You are going to eat that."

You laugh, "Anya, that isn't anywhere near the name."


"Anya, I can't do this," you exclaim, tangling your fingers in your hair, pacing in front of your mirror.

She comes over and stands by you, placing her hands on your shoulders, effectively stopping your scattered movements, "Lexa, you can do this. It's just like hanging out with me or with Gustus. Nothing new. She is just going to teach you how to surf and you are going to have a blast."

Your shoulder's slump under her gaze, your eyes falling to the floor, "You are really overestimating my social astuteness, Anya. I'm going to make a fool of myself. I can already see it. This is going to be so embarrassing. It like I've got the plague, Anya. The plague of perpetual mortification and rejection. One look at me and everyone stays away. "

She sighs, her breath puffing out across your face, "Lexa, listen to me very, very carefully. First of all, you are an amazing person. You are just… a little shy. When you let your walls down and let people in, they get to see what a brilliant and beautiful person you are. You just got to be willing to let Clarke in and see you without your walls. Let her see the real Lexa. Not the one that your parents beat into you," you look up at her, her eyes only expressing honesty.

She tugs on your shoulders a little bit and pushes you toward your mirror, "You just got to see the girl that I see," she points at your reflection in the mirror, "you just got to believe that you are better than the person that your mother and father have made you think you are. Because I know. I know how good you are. I know how smart. I know how talented and beautiful and amazing and kind. And who cares if your social astuteness isn't the same? Because I sure as hell don't. You make up for it in so many other ways that are far more important than being socially shrewd."

Her voice cracks a little, a hint of desperation in her words, "Because, god damn it Lexa, I know that. And I just want you to see what I see. Because what I see is pretty fucking amazing." She pauses and clutches at her chest, gripping her shirt just above her heart. "It hurts me so bad," she taps her chest a bit with her fist, "deep inside me, Lexa, to know that you think so little of yourself. You are more than what your parents make you out to be. You are so much more. And I will make you see that. I will make you see what I see."

Your eyes lock in the mirror. Haunted amber and wounded gray.

There are no words. Absolutely none. To describe how you feel right now. And even if you wanted to you wouldn't be able to speak. Your mouth is so dry it feels like you might choke. So you do the only thing you know that will at least somewhat explain how you feel.

Throwing your arms over Anya's shoulders you pull her into a strong hug. You know you must be crushing her slightly, but she never complains, so you never ease up. Your head falls into the nape of her neck and she lays her chin softly on your head, her fingers curling in your hair.

You know your words will never be enough, your actions will never be enough, you might never be enough. But for Anya you will try. You will try to be the person she thinks you are.

You nod slightly and Anya releases a deep breath, "Okay."


Five hundred and twenty six. It takes you five hundred and twenty six steps to get down to the beach. It wasn't particularly exhausting because you are in pretty good shape. But the combination of the summer heat and the humidity took its toll and so by the time your feet touched the last step you are a little winded. You shuffle around a little and wait until your breathing is back to normal.

It's warm and when you finally break through the trees and get down on the beach you can feel the full force of the sun. The sand is hot to the touch, the air even hotter. But it can't take away from the beauty around you.

The water in front of you is an unnatural shade of green, swirling with hues of blue. Clearer than bath water. The sand is a crisp, warm, welcoming tan and you just want to bury your hands in it. The water is calm, protected from the fury of the ocean by the cove. Tall palm trees tower around the perimeter. It's stunning. And it's rather hard to pull your eyes away from the splendor around you.

But once you do, you see someone in the water. A body swims toward the beach and as soon as she stands she flips her hair over her shoulder. Blonde strands glowing gold in the sunlight. Beads of water spraying in every direction. Water glistening off of her tanned skin. Her blue swim suit closely resembling the water around her.

Breathtaking.

You gulp as Clarke makes her way toward you. Her blues eyes are sparkling more than the sun kissed water. Her face breaks into a smile and you are rendered speechless. Breathless. It strikes you odd that being a lifeguard is Clarke's job because she is doing the exact opposite of saving your life. She is taking your breath away rather than breathing it back into you.

"Hey, Woods," she grins as she makes her way toward you, panting slightly from her swim.

You don't say anything because you certainly do not trust yourself right now.

"Is this your beach?" she asks, twisting her hair slightly in her hands, trying to dry out the perfect waves, "Because if it is, it is absolutely stunning and I would be very jealous."

Still you say nothing until she cocks her head to the side and looks at you, her eyes honest and searching.

"Yes."

"Wow. Lucky."

You shake yourself a little, Anya's words of remembering to actually carry on a conversation run through your head, "Um. It's actually my sister's beach."

You turn slightly and point up the stairs, partially hidden by the trees, "Her house is just up there."

Clarke hums, "Cool. It's nice to finally figure out who lives in that house. I've always wondered." She grins a faint, wistful smile and chuckles, "It sounds kind of stupid, but when I was younger, like way younger, I used to try and make up stories for who I thought lived up there."

You smile slightly at the thought of baby Clarke, "Who did you picture living up there?"

Blue eyes study your face carefully, her lips tugging into a smile. She shrugs, "Usually princesses and royalty."

You chuckle quietly and Clarke beams.

You are about to say that you've never done something like that before, you've never played make believe because your parents were very adamant about not playing such childish games, but before you can Clarke is bounding towards the water.

"Come on, Woods. I've gotta teach you how to surf."

She trots over to a couple of boards that are lying in the sand and begins dragging one to the water.

You follow after her, your mind still swirling with thoughts of your childhood. Thoughts of your parents. Thoughts of how much different your life could have been had you grown up without them. When the warm water rushes over your feet you stop.

Clarke is already splashing around in the knee deep water, oblivious to your sudden panic. Your eyes lock onto the waves trying their best to knock the blonde over. Trying to drag her under.

You freeze. Memories of the darkness that clouded your vision. Nightmares of yelling and strong hands. The struggle. The fight to resurface. Your chest burns and it's like you are ten years old all over again.

You gasp and fight to control your breathing. Because you know you aren't there. You know your father isn't here. But it stings. It hurts and you can feel the tears in your eyes.

You are still grappling for the surface. Still wrestling with yourself- willing yourself to fight the power, the control your parents have over you- when Clarke finally notices you. She watches you for a few minutes before she walks over and stands next to you. Her face scrunches in concern, but she doesn't say anything. Doesn't question what you are doing or what you are thinking about. No. She simply stands there and takes in the waves and breaths in the air.

Every once in a while her elbow will brush your arm, a silent comfort that you aren't alone. You aren't alone in this darkness. And when the sun starts it's decent and the air begins to cool; still, Clarke stays. It isn't until her hand lightly squeezes your own do you finally surface.

You gasp and splutter, your lungs finally taking in the much needed air. The tears finally escaping the barriers that were so desperately holding them in. You don't look at Clarke, but instead squeeze her hand. A silent way of saying that you are alright. That you are starting to heal. You are starting to be free of them.

It's silent for a while. The two of you just standing. Staring. Being. Breathing. The water gently washing over your feet. But Clarke breaks the silence.

"You know," she says, her voice soft and gentle, "sometimes you just need to have a moment. In a beautiful place. In order to figure everything out. To figure out that you are going to be okay."

You sniffle a little and look down at Clarke. She has a gentle smile on her lips, her blue eyes sparkling.

"That was incredibly profound for a lifeguard," you say.

Clarke snorts, "Hey," blue eyes turn to you, "I will have you know that being a lifeguard is only a summer pastime for me. I am very capable of philosophical thought."

You chuckle quietly, more of a whimper than anything, and she squeezes your hand a little more, before tugging you into her arms. To say you are shocked is an understatement and you know you are as stiff as a board. But Clarke keeps her grip around you, tightening marginally. You sigh into her shoulder and bring your arms to her back, clutching to her. A rock in stormy weather.

"Thank you," you whisper.

Clarke nods, "There is nothing to thank me for."


It was a couple days before you got to see Clarke again, but on Tuesday right on the dot, she was waiting for you outside of Anya's house. She's carrying a board, her wayfarers tucked safely in her hair, and a white tank top falling off of her right shoulder, exposing the top of her black swim top.

It strikes you that Clarke always looks amazing. Effortlessly, flawlessly, beautiful. And you are instantly struck with self-consciousness, tugging slightly on the swim shirt you are wearing. The only thing preventing the world from seeing your scars.

She greets you with a smile and a wave, before propping her board against side of the house and pulling you into a hug. You welcome it this time. The top of her head reaches just below your chin and you can't help it when you unconsciously nuzzle your nose into her hair. Your eyes slipping closed at her touch.

You decide that she smells like just before it rains. Crisp and fresh. Like a soft breeze on a summer day. Like a breath of fresh air. And of course a subtle hint of the sea.

It's absolutely intoxicating. And you hum in delight. A soft gentle purr rising from deep in your chest.

Fuck.

Your eyes snap open and you jump away.

You had absolutely no idea where that came from, but you know you did not do it on purpose.

Clarke has a slightly disappointed look on her face, but it's gone before you can say anything. Before you can apologize for hugging her for longer than what is deemed friendly. Before you can apologize for… whatever the hell that was.

"Help me with this?" she asks as she picks up the front of the board. You take the back and together you start the trek down to the beach.

If it was possible, it was even hotter than the first time they were here. But the water and the sand are just as beautiful. Clarke looks over her shoulder at you, a silent question, and when you nod she keeps trudging down to the waves.

Her feet splash into the water, sending sparkling droplets through the air. She drops the board and you do the same. She floats it out into a little deeper water and calls over for you, "Alright, so I think it would be best if we just get you used to standing on the board. Like balancing with it." She places her hands on her hips, "That was always the toughest part for me."

She looks up from the board and her blue eyes scan you. You can feel the blush rising up your neck as her eyes unabashedly appraises you.

"You look hot…" she says.

You cock your head, the redness only blooming further across your face, "What?"

She gulps and this time her face turns beat red, "Um. You look pretty… um," she tilts her head back to the sky a little, her voice straining, "Athletic. You look pretty athletic. So. Um," her hand reaches up to the back of her neck, her eyes falling to the water, wide and worried, "You should get the hang of it pretty easily."

She closes her eyes and starts mumbling something uncoherent under her breath. You gulp and try to ignore the way your heart seems to be fluttering in your chest.

"Um. So do I just hop on?"

Her eyes snap open and she looks at you, her blush now gone. Only playful eyes are left, "Yeah. Just throw your leg over and straddle it," she says, a smirk twitching on her lips. Your heart positively swoons in your chest.

God damn it. You can actually feel the heat radiating from your face and you just know it isn't from the sun.

You try to ignore the burn and do as the blonde says.

Clarke clears her throat, "Good. Okay, now just lie on your stomach and grip the sides of the board."

Again you comply.

"So the hardest part is standing up. But basically all you have to do is push yourself up with your hands and kind of. I guess. Jump to your feet. If that makes any sense at all."

You look at her, a dubious look on your face, before nodding. You take a deep breath and push yourself up and somehow managing to land somewhat evenly. But suddenly the board is shooting out from underneath you. The water hitting you like cold wakeup call and you come spluttering to the surface.

Clarke is cackling behind you. But your glare shuts her up.

"That went really well," you growl.

"I'm sorry," she snickers from behind her hand, "I was going to hold the board."

"Well why didn't you?" you exclaim, which only makes Clarke laugh harder.

"You just looked so eager and tried it before I could say anything!" she laughs back.

You harrumph before getting back on the board.

"Are you going to let me hold it this time or do you want to belly flop again?"

You roll your eyes at her before getting back on your stomach.

The blonde grabs the side of the board and lightly lays her hand on your back, "Okay so this time don't throw your legs underneath you. That's what made you so wobbly last time. Try and make it flow more. Less jerky."

Your breath halts at her touch- a sturdy, comforting touch- but you nod nonetheless.

Her hand is gone faster than it showed up and you miss the touch. You miss the warmth of her hand.

Which is weird.

"You ready?" she asks.

"As I'll ever be."

She smiles, widens her stance, and grips the board tighter, "Go for it then, dude."

You squint your eyes, "Dude?"

"Shut up," she giggles with a roll of her eyes, "just try and stand up will, you?"

You let out a breathy laugh, and haul yourself to your feet. You managed a few seconds before a particularly large swell came along. It rocked the board just enough to knock your balance and before you know it your feet are flying into the air, your back splashing into the water.

You resurface, coughing and splutter, pushing your sopping hair off your face.

Clarke isn't laughing this time and when you look over, she is grimacing and holding her nose.

Shit.

"Are you alright?"

She tries to smile, but the action makes her grimace even more and her hand shifts a little revealing a trail of red leaking out of her nose.

"Oh my god. Clarke!" you rush towards her.

"It's okay. It's okay. Don't worry about it. It was an accident."

You stomach drops, "I. I did this?" you sputter.

Her head wobbles in an indecisive decision between a nod and a shake, "When you fell your foot kind of popped out and hit me."

"Clarke, I'm so sorry," you reach out slightly, but instantly snag back your hand. This was your fault. It's your fault that Clarke is in pain. That Clarke is bleeding.

It's your fault.

You want to scream. You want to run. You need to get as far away as possible so you don't hurt her again.

God, you knew it was a bad idea to hang out with her. You only hurt everything you touch. You are such a screw up. Such a fuck up. Your parent's were right. They are right.

You are useless.

"Hey."

Clarke grabs your hand, which had somehow mindlessly wound its way into your hair, tugging rather painfully at it.

"It's fine. I'm fine."

You shake your head. Fight against the tears. Because no it isn't alright.

"Lexa," her voice is sharp, "I'm okay. Really." She stops and snuffles a little, her voice softens, "seriously, I'm fine." She pulls her hand away and smiles. A pitiful bloodied smile. "See. Nothing too serious."

You nod, hoping it's convincing enough, because your gut is still in knots. Your heart is still hammering painfully away at your ribs.

"Do you think I could use your bathroom, though? And clean up?" she says, trying to wipe some of the blood off her chin.

"Yes. Yes of course," you stutter.

She gives you a rather watery smile, her eyes still filled with unshed tears, and follows you out of the water.


You have to run back in because you forgot the wretched board.


You refuse to let Clarke carry the board and instead schlep the thing up all five hundred and twenty six steps.

By the time you get to the top you are embarrassingly out of breath, but try and hide the fact by continuing to the house. Ignoring Clarke when she asked if you wanted a break.

You open the door and you are instantly hit with a wave of cool air. Thank god for air conditioning.

Clarke shivers a little when she steps inside but she stops and looks around.

"Wow. This place is amazing."

You smile slightly, "That's what I said."

"I may have to stop by more often," Clarke mentions, her eyes twinkling mischievously in the light.

You swallow, "You are welcome here any time, Clarke," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. Clarke stops dead in her tracks and so do you. You barely suppress the urge to smack yourself because who says that to a person they have literally talked to three times?

But it seems Clarke is incapable of letting things be awkward because she takes it in stride and smiles at you, wide and beautiful, and says, "I'll take you up on that offer," before trotting off down the hall in search of the bathroom.

You stand in the middle of the kitchen, looking like an idiot, really contemplating your life decisions and why the hell you are completely incapable of acting normal around Clarke, before groaning and grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.

You have a mouthful of water when Clarke comes sauntering back in, face blood free, and wearing nothing but a pair of really short jean shorts and her swim top. Exposing a soft yet defined stomach and hardly leaving anything to the imagination.

You choke mid-swallow, the water spraying from your mouth in every direction. You honestly feel like you are dying and Clarke's amused look is only making it worse.

You slap your hand over your mouth and turn around to grab a towel, eyes wide and stomach fluttering like a seven year old on a sugar high.

"Sorry," you gasp, voice raspy and raw, finally free from water, "The water went down the wrong pipe."

Clarke doesn't say anything and when you turn around she is staring at your, eyes bluer than anything you have ever seen.

She opens her mouth to say something, but you both hear the front door opening and Anya walks in.

Her brows raise fractionally, eyes darting between you and the scantily clad blonde.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Your face blows up in a vibrant display of colors, but Clarke merely smiles, "No. Lexa was just letting me use your bathroom," she takes a few steps closer to Anya and extends her hand, "I'm Clarke."

Anya smirks and looks toward you, "Ah. So you're Clarke. It's nice to finally meet you."

Her eyes flash back to Clarke, "I'm Anya. Lexa's older sister."

Clarke smiles again, "Lexa never told me she had a sister."

"I never knew I had a sister until a couple days ago," you say quietly.

Clarke's brows furrow in confusion and she turns slightly toward you.

"Why don't we explain over dinner? Would you care to stay, Clarke?"

"Oh." She pauses, "I would love to actually, if it's not too much of a hassle."

Anya waves her off, "Of course not. It's only the two of us. Plus I was planning on ordering pizza so, I don't even have to worry about cooking."

Oh god.

This is going to be interesting.

"I'm going. I'm just going to go get changed," you mumble walking towards your room. Hardly, aware that Clarke is following you.

You are about to close your door when Clarke walks in, well more like barges in, "You mind if I borrow some clothes. I'm literally a little underdressed," she says, gesturing to her clothes, or lack thereof.

Your eyes follow her hands, swallowing in the sight before you. But when Clarke clears her throat your eyes snap to her face.

"Yes," you barely get out. "I mean no. I don't mind. And yes you can borrow some clothes," you splutter.

"Awesome," she bounces to your closet and starts pulling out clothes.

Her voice is a little muffled, "Man you have a ton of black in here and like everything is long sleeved."

You don't say anything. Because how do you tell someone that you only wear long sleeves to cover the bruising up your arms. To block the world from seeing your scars. You unconsciously tug at your swim sleeve, pulling it down further.

Clarke comes out of the closet a few seconds later, slipping her arms into the sleeves of your favorite flannel, buttoning up the front. The green and red and navy pattern only making her hair more gold, making her eyes a shade darker. Deeper.

Those eyes, god those eyes, they land on you and seem to drink you in. As if they can see right through you. As if they know everything. You gulp because how do you tell her? How do you tell this girl that you are hiding from the world? How do you tell her that your parent's are abusive and there is literally nothing you can do about it?

And is it weird that you want to tell her? Is it weird that you want her to know everything about you? Is it weird that you feel like you can trust Clarke? A girl you had only met a few days ago.

She studies you. She studies you in the quiet. Her eyes dark and inquisitive and lovely, oh so lovely. They make your heart spark and sputter and your throat dry and literally nothing else in your life has ever done that.

It feels strange. So strange.

Yet. So, so good.

They make you feel good and alive and human.

It's strange. So, so strange.

You open your mouth to say something. Literally anything. But a pathetic squeak comes out and you flush furiously and all but sprint to your closet, slamming the door behind you.

You try to collect yourself. But it's hard. It's hard when all you can think about is Clarke. All you can think about is the beautiful blonde lifeguard. And it's ridiculous at how attracted you are to her. You want to berate yourself because you hardly know her. No. Scratch that. You don't know her at all. Yet you can't. You can't because Clarke is the first person that has actually made you feel something. She's the first person that has ever made you heart race and your breathing shallow and your mind go blank.

She's the first.

And that scares you because you have no idea what the hell that means.

Let alone what your parents would do about it if they found out.

Because, god, if they found out. If they found out… you can already feel the bruises.

Your mind is quickly spiraling away, but you just stop and take a deep breath. Breathe like how Anya taught you.

Focus on your breathing.

You can hear soft footsteps on the other side of the door, so you quickly grab whatever you can and throw it on.

And of course it doesn't match at all.

But when you step out, Clarke is sitting on your bed, her face soft, and her eyes even softer, trained on the picture in her hands.

"You were so little," she says quietly.

You don't say anything because you aren't really sure what to say.

"Is that Anya?"

You nod, before realizing that Clarke can't see you, "Yea. I was in the second grade when that was taken I think. Anya was in sixth."

"So," her eyes squint a little, "you didn't know you were sisters?"

"Oh," you smile slightly, "yea. That was a recent discovery. But Anya and I went to the same school. So that's how we knew each other. And we were best friends."

"Sounds kind of like the Parent Trap. Without the twin part of course."

"I suppose it does," you let out a sigh and sit down on the bed next to Clarke. "It sounds a little weird but I always felt really close to Anya. I don't know. Call it sibling telepathy, but I just felt like she knew everything about me. I could trust her with everything. And I did. She helped me a lot when I was dealing with… some stuff in my life."

Clarke nudges your shoulder with her own, "Anya sounds amazing. You're lucky you have a sister. I'm an only kid."

"Well, I was too. I suppose. Until my mom dropped the bomb that Anya was my dad's illegitimate kid."

"Being an only kid isn't all it's cracked up to be is it?" she titters.

You snort because, god, that was an understatement, "You could say that again."

"So. Um. What do your parents do?"

You look down at your hands. They are the last people you want to talk about, "They're business moguls."

Clarke makes an 'O' with her mouth, but you interrupt her before she can continue, "What about yours? What do they do?"

"My mom's a surgeon. And my dad works at the Mauna Kea Observatories."

Your eyes widen marginally, "Wow, so he gets to see the stars, like up close and personal."

The blonde chuckles before laying back on the bed with a soft whump, "Yeah. I suppose you could put it that way."

You glance over at her before doing the same.

There is a quiet ruffling as she turns on her side to face you, "I'm actually studying astrology. I want to be like him. I want to explore the stars. I want to see what is beyond our world."

"Sounds far more interesting than anything I have studied."

Clarke hums gently, "What are you studying?"

"Business law. It's about as dry as the title sounds. My parents want me to take over the family business one day."

It's quiet for a bit before Clarke reaches out and lightly grips your arm, sending shockwaves up it. Tingles racing down your arm from her finger tips.

"And what do you want to do?"

You roll onto your side, your eyes catching on Clarke's face, "Ideally? I guess I would love to be a teacher. I love history. I would love to teach history."

"Ah, so you are one of the brave souls who wants to deal with the little demons in the classroom."

That gets a giggle out of you and Clarke smiles, her hand still alarmingly warm on your arm, "You know you have a really cute-"

"Pizzas here. Oh."

You practically rocket up from the bed, your face heating up to the tips of your ears.

"Um. Pizzas here," Anya says.

Clarke lazily sits up behind you, an even lazier smile on her face, "Awesome. What kind did you get?"

Anya is looking at you when she answers, her face scrunched into an unspoken question, "I wasn't really sure what everyone liked so I got two pizzas. Meat lovers and cheese on one and pepperoni and Hawaiian on the other, because you know why not. We are in Hawaii after all."

"The only reason Hawaiian pizza is called the Hawaiian is because of the pineapples. Which aren't even native to the islands. So technically it should be called the Canadian because of the Canadian bacon. Which likely didn't come from Canada. So really the pizza's name makes no sense," you blurt out, "If anything it should be Pineapple bacon pizza."

"Right," Anya drawls out, "thanks for the history lesson there, Lexa"

She throws her thumb over her shoulder, "I'm just gonna go cut up the pizza. Come out when you are ready."

"Pineapple bacon pizza?" Clarke asks. You don't have it in you to look at her. You know. You just know how red you are. And you have no idea why you blurted that out. Nor why you felt the need to jump away from Clarke like she had the plague. It's not like you were doing anything. Anya has nothing to judge you for. After all she was shamelessly flirting with the guy at the pastry shop. So what if you and Clarke were both on the bed. Laying down on the bed. Laying down on the bed and very close to each other. Talking about really personal and deep stuff and-

"Lexa?" Clarke's voice pulls you out of your head and you release a breath you didn't know you were holding. "You okay?"

"Yes," you wheeze.

"I kind of like Pineapple bacon pizza better than Hawaiian pizza."

Her voice is so soft. So hopeful. That it actually makes you smile. You turn around slowly and look at her. She is still sitting on the bed, with one leg tucked under her, "It has such a good ring to it, you know?" she jokes and you smile just a little bit wider.

She stands up and grabs your hand, "Now come on. We've got two whole pizzas to eat between three people."