AmberZ10: Do you think this format is working?
areyoukiddingmedude: You mean, the internet? Yeah, I think it's our only option.
AZ10: What? No- I mean the switching authors and POV thing. And how we sometimes write the same scene from two different perspectives but we don't always end up in the same place. Do you...think that's confusing?
AYKMD: WE WRITE THE SAME SCENE FROM TWO DIFFERENT PERSPECTIVES?
AZ: ...Yes. Like all the time. And why are you yelling?
AY: I THOUGHT THIS STORY WAS LIKE GROUNDHOG DAY
AZ:...Are you OK?
The two girls retraced their steps out of the bedroom and toward the majestic staircase, walking in comfortable silence. This time, Harley walked beside Pam instead of trailing behind her – their tutoring session had helped her feel slightly more confident about more than just biology. Or maybe biology is exactly what this is, Harley mused, and the thought startled her so that she would have tripped and missed the top stair if Pam hadn't reflexively caught her around the waist.
They froze, teetering on the precipice – Pam had one foot on the landing and one on the top stair, one arm tight around Harley's waist, the other hand digging into Harley's hip to keep her from falling, and Harley was crouched slightly, her feet one step below each of Pam's. Pam's breath was warm on the side of Harley's neck, and the complex smell of her perfume and her conditioner and just . . . her was all Harley could breathe in.
The blonde girl straightened up slightly to show Pam that she'd regained her footing, and she thought she heard a tiny gasp as her back brushed the other girl. Pam stiffened even further, then stepped back. Harley put a hand to her heart and turned slightly to grin up at her, relieved, clutching the banister for support. "How – the hell – did you do that in heels?" she panted.
Pam's eyes widened slightly in surprise, and then she smiled that little smirk of hers. "Oh, Harleen, I was born in heels," she said, and she moved confidently down the staircase.
"Aw, a tiny little baby Pam in tiny little high heels! My next tattoo," Harley babbled as she followed, and Pam snorted.
Instead of heading out the front door, Pam turned the opposite way. "Are you taking me out back to murder me and dispose of my body?" Harley said. You don't have to say every word you think! she reminded herself.
Pam stopped and turned, looking at her mock pensively. Her internal calculus seemed to once again equate to 'Harley was joking,' because her eyes glimmered and she put one exquisitely manicured hand on her hip. "Silly girl. If I'd wanted you dead, I would simply have let you go bowling head over heels down the stairs like you so obviously wanted to," she said before turning and leading the way out the back door.
The sun had just gone down, and tasteful floodlights illuminated the back yard. Harley thought she spotted a hedge maze.
Just before they turned a corner, Pam stopped suddenly again and held out a hand. "Close your eyes," she said with a smile, and Harley didn't hesitate to obey.
She swallowed hard, taking tentative steps as they walked on, rounding the corner. "Keep them closed," Pam murmured, pausing, and Harley heard the click of a latch, the flick of a light switch before Pam tugged her forward a few more steps.
Her hand was warm and dry against Harley's, her fingers long and elegant, and Harley hoped her own palm wasn't sweating as badly as she feared. Then Pam whispered, "Open them!" – and Harley did.
She blinked a little against the sudden dazzle of a brightly lit greenhouse, until her eyes adjusted. "Wow," Harley breathed, looking around slowly, taking in the lush greens, the occasional fireworks where flowers bloomed. She'd been to a botanical garden once on a third-grade school field trip, and she still remembered the sudden rush of heat when they entered the greenhouse, the moisture in the air, the chirping of insects. Harley had begged her mom to take her back there, but there was never time.
And that was nothing compared to Pamela Isley's greenhouse.
As Harley's eyes continued their circuit, they flicked briefly up to Pam's – and she found herself unable to look away from the piercing green gaze. Pam was watching her intently, seemingly as rapt as Harley in that moment, though for the life of her Harley couldn't figure out why.
"You like it?" Pam said, eager and shy all at once. Harley bit her lip and nodded, and it was only when she tried to gesture around the room that she realized they were still holding hands.
They let go at the same time, grinning, both a little pink-cheeked. "This place is amazing," Harley said. "Can I just move in? I can put my sleeping bag right over there by that – cactus-y looking thing."
Pam followed her gaze and said automatically, "Leptocereus arboreus. Native to the Caribbean. They're extremely rare, almost unknown except to experts."
"Are you a cactus expert?" Harley said, fully expecting the answer to be yes.
Pam shrugged demurely. "I like plants," she said simply. "I plan to study botany."
"What do you use the greenhouse for?" Harley asked. "And can I –?"
"Oh yes, please feel free to wander around," said Pam. "I use it mostly for research purposes. Genetics and interbreeding are subjects I find particularly fascinating, so I use these specimen to conduct my experiments."
Harley had wandered to a corner in the back, where flowers bloomed more brightly than anywhere else. "I'll say it again . . . wow," she said.
"Those are mine. Completely unique specimens. My own intellectual property." Pam said, and this time there was pride mixed with the shyness.
"You mean you…made these?" Harley's eyes were wide with amazement.
Pam nodded, a smile lighting her eyes.
Harley walked back over to her. "You are just full of surprises," she said quietly, slowing as she neared the other girl, but not stopping – somehow she couldn't stop inching closer – until their feet were almost touching, and their eyes were locked together again, and Pam's lips parted slightly in surprise, and if Harley just reached out a tiny bit she could put a hand on Pam's hip. She knew, she just knew that this perfect glorious creature would let her, too.
But then a church bell rang out in the distance, and Harley said "Shit!" as she realized that it must be 9pm already. Pam's face fell, but she quickly covered it with a stony expression that honestly scared Harley a little. "No, not – I mean – I said 'shit' because it's 9 already – see?' Harley said a bit desperately, whipping out her phone to show Pam the time.
Pam looked slightly mollified, but still confused. Harley sighed. "The next bus is at 9:11, and it's a 10-minute walk," she explained, torn between bolting for the door and staying to explain.
"There's a bus?" Pam said, sounding so thoroughly shocked that Harley burst out laughing. She squeezed the redhead's arm affectionately and pecked her on the cheek. "Took three of them, but yeah. By the way, you're the best tutor ever," she said impulsively, then ran out into the night.
Harley barely caught the bus, and as she sank onto a seat near the back, her phone buzzed.
It was a text from an unknown number. Do you not have a car?
Harley smiled. if I had a car, would I bike 45 minutes to school? she typed back.
I assumed you were merely being environmentally conscious, came the reply.
nope, just environmentally car-less. Harley hit Send before she could think better of it.
Was that a pun? Harley could picture Pam's exact face – probably the cute little nose wrinkle.
not a good one, she admitted, already awaiting Pam's reply, which came almost instantly.
To Harley's surprise, they texted her whole way home.
They texted while Harley kissed her brothers hello and apologized to her mom for being so late.
They texted past Pam's self-imposed 10pm bedtime, though Harley didn't know that at the time.
And Pam's Good night was the last thing Harley saw before she closed her eyes, smiling.
/
Pamela forced her eyes up to look at the girl. Fighting through her baseless adolescent nervousness, she asked: "Would you like to see something?"
"I never say no to that," was Harley's cheeky response and Pamela had no choice but to blush.
She didn't mean it like that! Honestly, Pamela. She thought about telling the blonde to follow her, but decided that was implied and simply started for the door instead. Harley was on her feet quickly, walking side by side with Pamela down the hallway. Pamela perceived Harley as a rather talkative person, and so when she was silent, the redhead took it as her cue that she should stay silent as well. She wasn't quite sure what their rapport was exactly. Harley certainly wasn't Selina, her humor wasn't quite as biting, but she did seem to like to make jokes. Pamela was naturally quick-witted – it seemed to come as a package deal with her advanced IQ – so it wasn't replying humorously that she found daunting; it was striking the right tone.
Just as they reached the top of the staircase, Pamela tingled slightly as Harley's bare arm bumped up against hers, but she soon realized it wasn't intentional – the other girl was falling. In a purely autonomic response, Pamela grabbed Harley around the waist with her racquet arm, which was naturally much stronger (thank goodness) and stopped the girl's stumble before it turned ugly.
Harley's arm jutted out to steady herself further on the banister as she straightened up, her back brushing lightly against Pam's chest, and Pamela instinctively stepped back. "How – the hell – did you do that in heels?" Harley asked.
Pam was still too preoccupied with the memory of the girl's tight stomach beneath her fingertips to truly comprehend what she was saying, but when her brain caught up and she realized she'd received a compliment, she fell back into her usual confidence rather easily. "Oh, Harleen, I was born in heels."
Despite her confidence, though, Pamela's heart began to beat faster as they approached the greenhouse. As they rounded the final corner, Pamela stopped. She had one of the most impressive private greenhouses in the country. Harley would be surprised, she would be amazed…she'd need something to anchor herself, something like…Pamela's hand. "Close your eyes," the redhead instructed as she offered it to her, and to Pamela's absolute delight, the girl took it almost immediately.
"Keep them closed." Pamela nearly whispered as she led Harley by the hand. She was walking slower than usual; one can never be too cautious when leading someone blind. She could trip! That would be embarrassing for her. So Pamela squeezed her hand a bit tighter, enamored by the feel of Harley's calloused palm against her smooth one as she fumbled with the latch and the light switch. "Open them."
Pamela rarely felt lonely, but later, after Harley had left, the house felt a bit empty. It was always empty, well…usually, anyway, but Pamela had preferred the silence until Harley ran out so suddenly, leaving her alone with only her flowers. They'd been so close, only a breath apart. And Pamela knew that if she'd leaned in, just barely…but then the time, and did Harley truly not have a car? That was a question that couldn't wait until literature class the next morning.
She made her way quickly back to the main house after locking up the greenhouse. She sat down on the couch with her phone and quickly dialed a number.
"Hey, bitch." Was Selina's greeting.
"I thought I was 'slut.'"
"You can be both, hon. I know I am." Selina laughed, never failing to amuse herself.
Pamela rolled her eyes. "I need that Quinzel girl's number."
"Why?" Selina asked, although her voice was slightly drowned out by what sounded like a blender in the background. "Hey, Pammy? Did you know kale still tastes like shit if you drink it? Turns out that doesn't change."
"I happen to like the taste of kale." Pamela's reply was haughty, as she wanted Selina to stay on task. "Harley's number. I need it."
"Her name is Crotch Rocket." Selina informed her. "And what's your deal? You have a thing for her or something?"
"No." Pamela said, way too defensively. "I'm her biology tutor. And that's a stupid nickname."
"Oh, suck my dick!" Selina shouted.
Pamela was offended at her friend's evident lack of anatomical knowledge. "You don't have one!"
"My smoothie spilled. I was talking to my blender." Selina explained quickly, her face obviously a few feet away as it seemed she'd put Pam on speaker. "But if I did, you would. Everyone would. Bruce would."
"Selina, please." Pam attempted to rein her back in before this became another conversation about Selina's sex life.
"Fine. Yeah, I have Quinzel's number," she admitted. "But you have to put her in your phone as 'Crotch Rocket.' I want photo evidence."
Pam groaned at her friend's childishness. "Fine."
"Yay!" Selina squealed. "OK, it's coming at you. Love you, babe."
"Yeah, sure." Pamela hung up.
Bonus question: Besides kale, what else do you think is in Selina's smoothie?
