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not beta'd

storyline - Malicious

prompt- bake

The parking lot's full by the time I arrive on the first day of school, but my spot beneath the tree is available. I pull in quickly, grateful my truck won't be left to bake in the sweltering September sun all day.

It's weird to think this is our last year. So much has happened since we crept in as naïve little freshman. Honestly, we're probably still a little naïve; every year I realize how little I knew the year before. It occurs to me, as I join my peers, that we still know almost nothing.

Alice and Jessica find me in the crowd, and together we walk to the office for our schedules. It's the last time we'll have to do this. Nostalgia unexpectedly rushes through me.

"I really hope I have gym last period this time," I say, tightening my ponytail while we stand in line. "I hate being sweaty in class."

"Seniors usually get first dibs on that," Jess says, shrugging. "Hey, did you bring that book?"

Shuffling forward, I search my bag for the novel I'd told her she could borrow. The person in front of me leaves suddenly, and I walk in to someone tall, someone who I can always recognize in a crowd. Years of swimming together means I probably know your body better than most of the girls you've dated.

Your stitches look even better. I wonder if you'll have to get them removed, or if they're absorbable.

"Hey."

I nod. "Hey."

Alice pushes me forward in line. I get my paperwork from Mrs. Cope, who already looks frazzled, and turn to leave. We nearly collide again, and I find myself surprised you're hanging around.

Jess grabs the book in my hand, and I don't miss her and Alice's overly raised eyebrows as they leave. Any attempt I make to go with them is thwarted when you start talking.

"Whose room are you in?"

"Kushner. You?"

"Kushner." You give me a real smile, and not the sarcastic smirk I've become so accustomed to.

I lower my eyes. "Cool. Are you… coming to practice later?"

You run your hand through your hair. Usually you get it buzzed right before school starts so that it doesn't get in your way in the water. "I don't know."

Exhaling heavily, I look up just in time to see several people staring at us as we walk down the hall. Your near death experience, and my part in preventing it, has become practically legendary. More than once people stop you, their eyes huge and their voices awed, like you're a ghost or a god.

I wait until the latest fan has left and then I turn to you. "You need to be there after school. This is… ridiculous."

Your eyes turn cloudy. "You don't know what it's like."

"No, I don't. But this doesn't get to define you."

Someone yells your name from across the hall and I slip in to homeroom.

Adjusting the bottom of my suit, I leave the locker room and scan the pool area. You're not here.

Coach begins talking; giving us the usual beginning of the season spiel, but it's hard to concentrate.

You're right: I don't know what it's like to be afraid of the water, and I hope I never know. It's easy as breathing for me, and it always has been for you, too. With all of the mutual animosity we've shared, and how it escalated over the years, this is the one thing we share, the one thing we relate to.

But I'm not going to chase you.

If you want to be an ass and throw your talent away because you're scared, I'm not going to be the one to save you. Again.

Then the door opens and you walk in, out of place in jeans and a t-shirt. Our eyes meet for a second. You still have that number one swagger in your step, but it's hollow and we both know it.

It doesn't matter, though. You're here.

It's subtle, but Coach Clapp is relieved. He hardly falters in his speech, but he's smiling now.

"Welcome back, Cullen. Suit up."