I'm standing in my tent, trying to put my hair up.

You know, the hair I can't stand and want to shave off completely.

Even though it's the same color as my mother's (onyx) and can be wavy and pretty, I hate it.

And, my loathing for my hair intensifies as the heat makes it feel sticky and even more harder to put up.

So, here I have been for the last half-hour, trying to put it up into a decent, out-of-my-face ponytail.

I've been putting it up everyday since the age of seven so I don't understand why it's being so difficult now.

I shake my fist at myself in the mirror, fuming irritably.

As I furiously brush it out again, my mind wanders over to the tent next to me, curious as to what it's guest is doing at this particular moment in time...

I stop, my eyes widening.

I slap my face lightly.

I CAN'T be curious as to what Indy is doing in his tent next door.

I just can't.

I manage to put the pony-tail up and smirk at my reflection.

Suddenly, someone whispers in my ear.

"Boo."

I nearly jump out of my skin, flying around and punching whoever is assaulting me in my own tent. I freeze, fist in mid-air when I see Indiana Jones standing in front of me.

"Jesus Christ! Don't do that again!" I yell, slapping him on the arm.

"Sorry, I thought you saw me in your mirror." He says, wincing in pain.

I blink, finding it odd that I DIDN'T see him in my mirror. I must have been too absorbed in my own thoughts to notice him there.

Behind me.

Whispering and breathing in my ear...

STOP IT.

"Well, we need to go work now." I say, trying to clear my head as I put my brush on my sink.

I walk ahead of him but he grabs my hand and whips me around.

We're too close. Somehow, he managed to yank me right over to him, so we're invading comfort zones a little too much.

My heart gives an involuntary spasm, but I don't know why.

He reaches out with his left hand (his right is still clutching MY hand) and brushes a stray strand of my hair behind my ear.

For some reason, I can't think.

"Do you always have to wear your hair up?" He asks, almost groans, as if my hair being up hurts him personally.

"Yes." I say softly, for my voice is losing itself. "It's hot out. And my hair is too crazy to tame."

His hands are now reaching behind my head, tugging oh-so-lightly at the ribbon I tied it up with it. My hair fans out around my shoulders, bouncing slightly as it falls.

His hands are now reaching around and cupping my cheeks, along with my hair.

"But its so soft and pretty." He argues with a smile, rubbing his thumbs along my cheeks.

What are we talking about again?

Breathe in. Breathe put.

I can't seem to move. I'm rotted to the spot.

"If it makes you happy." I shrug, trying to act like the things he's doing and the way he's touching me is no big whoop.

He leans forward, so we're practically eye to eye.

Oh, god, his EYES.

"It would." He says.

A gust of wind suddenly fills the tent and my senses are cleared, I can breathe again.

"Fine." I say, stepping slyly away from him. "But just for today."

I walk out of the tent, nearly wanting to beat myself with a stick.

I hate my hair.

Why does he like it?

Why would he like it?

And why does he keep touching me like I'm a precious jewel to him?!

My eyes follow Indy as he walks over to the digging area, and I see him glance at me.

And I swear that just before he turns to his work, the cockiest of smiles is tugging at the corners of his lips.

I sigh.

Why is this getting harder and harder for me to understand?

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