A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed on this story and my others! You are my inspiration. If you have any opinion whatsoever about any part of my story, review and tell me! I'm trying to become a better writer, so criticism and compliments are both welcome! Here's chapter 5: I Wasn't Drowning, Doofus.

Disclaimer: I don't own Kickin' It.

The next thing I know, I'm curled up in a ball on the dirty floor tiles, sobbing and trying to breathe. How did I get here? What just happened? The air is going in and out of my lungs, but it's not working. I can't get enough oxygen, and I feel like my chest is so tight it's going to implode.

"Kim, breathe with me. In," I breathe in and wait for Jack's cue to exhale. "And out… and in… and out… in… out… in… out… There you go, good job. Just focus on breathing and nothing else," he instructs me.

After about a minute or two, I'm breathing normally and I can sit up. "What happened?"

Jack looks around as if he's looking for an answer and says, "You screamed at me to get off, it hurts, please stop, somebody help me."

Why is it that every time I have a panic attack, I'm with Jack? "I'm sorry I freaked out on you. I just… I remembered something. It's not a big deal; I just overreacted. I'm fine."

"Do you think you can go back to class?" he asks with a straight face, which is at least better than his usual glare.

"I should do something to take my mind off of it, so yeah."

Jack, who is currently crouching beside me, stands up and says, "I'm going to go to class so the teacher doesn't get suspicious." I nod and watch him walk away.

I'm in the bathroom, splashing my face with cool water to make it less puffy, when another girl comes in. She has brown hair and she's wearing an orange dress.

"Um, who are you?" she asks rudely. Who does this girl think she is?

"I'm Kim," I say simply.

"I'm Lindsay," she says, fixing her hair in the mirror. "I saw you in the hall with Jack. He made you cry?" she asks, feigning sympathy.

"Not that it's any of your business, but no. I don't cry over boys," I reply.

"Then what were you crying about?" Lindsay asks, as if that's the only possible reason I could be crying.

"I have a feeling you don't actually care; you just want to be the one with new juicy gossip," I answer as I apply chapstick to my swollen lips. "It's none of your business. Buh-bye, Lindsay," I say as I leave the bathroom for the second time.

Friday

Jack has been avoiding me all week. It's not that big of a deal; it's not like my main goal in life is to get his attention. I'm busy with school, karate, homework, and I spend a lot of time with my parents and my friends.

Milton, Eddie, Jerry and I are all currently hanging out in the dojo. Rudy had to go help his mother's man friend because his nose got stuck in a bowling ball after playing a game called 'I Bet I Can Fit My Nose In That.'

"So, Kim… We've noticed that you and Jack have had some tension going on between you two. What happened?" Milton asks, changing the subject.

I roll my eyes and sigh, debating whether to tell them everything that's happened between Jack and me so far. I opt to tell them only certain parts. "Well, after the tournament on Saturday, I tried to talk to Jack and he said some… hurtful things. He basically told me he hates me and he wants nothing to do with me. Then on Monday during math class, I came out of the bathroom and Jack ran into me and fell on top of me. We had an altercation, and at some point he said 'fuck you,' and then I said 'you obviously want to or you wouldn't still be on top of me,' and then he said 'even if I did want to fuck you, you'd let me because I turn you on,' and then he like pressed his body up against me, and he was like grinding on me and he said he knew he was turning me on. Anyways, I think he's avoiding me because of that encounter."

All three boys are wide-eyed and open-mouthed. "Wow. That explains the tension between you two," Milton finally says.

"Yo, was he right? Was he turning you on?" Jerry asked.

I forced myself to admit it. "Yes. I think he was turned on, too. Either that or he had a banana in his pocket."

"That means he's straight!" Eddie comments.

"It also means he likes you, Kim," Milton adds.

"He said he hates me and he told me to leave him alone. How could he like me?" I ask.

Eddie cocks his head and squints while he says, "Jack's a complicated guy. He's probably just trying to hide how he really feels."

"If he thinks I like him, why would he be afraid of letting me know he likes me?" I question.

"Maybe he's afraid of getting hurt in a relationship. Or maybe he's afraid of hurting you," Jerry suggests.

"Wow, Jerry. That's insightful. I was just going to say he's hiding his feelings because he's put up walls and he doesn't like feeling vulnerable," Milton says.

"Maybe it's all of those things," I suggest.

"Or none of them," Eddie counters. "We can't jump to the conclusion that Jack actually has feelings for Kim. Maybe he only finds her physically attractive."

As much as I hate to admit it, Eddie has a good point. "Well, it doesn't matter whether he has feelings for me. What really matters is our experiment: making Jack smile. If he does have walls, maybe I can break them down and find out who he really is behind his bad boy persona."

"Exactly. So, what's our next step?" Milton asks. Then he answers his own question. "Kim has to spend some time with him. The more often you're around him, Kim, even if you're just watching a movie or sitting in the same room, the more he'll feel like he can be himself. Just don't ask him personal questions or let the conversation get too deep, or he'll build all those walls back up. Keep it lighthearted, playful, and friendly."

"Wow. I have to admit, that's a really good plan. I'll do it."

"Guys!" Rudy says, barging into the dojo, "My cat has to get braces. Can you believe that?"

Saturday morning

"Kim! Breakfast!" my mom yells from downstairs. I reply with a sleepy groan and cuddle with my pillow.

"Knock knock… Kimmy? Your mom and I made breakfast. Omelettes, hash browns, fruit salad, orange juice… doesn't that sound good?" my dad says in an attempt to get me out of bed.

"Yeah… but why don't you guys ever make French toast or pancakes or waffles?" The thought of that kind of food would usually make my mouth water, but now it just sounds… bleh.

My dad chuckles and sits next to me on the edge of my bed. "We do on special occasions. But for the most part we try to be healthier and make food with more nutrition. All those foods are pure carbs and sugar, which will make you feel sick," he explains. "You might as well just have ice cream for breakfast."

"Mmmmmh…. I love you dad. You and mom are so—"

"You can butter me up all you want, little girl, but you're not getting breakfast in bed. Let's go downstairs," he says. My dad knows me too well.

"Carry me?"

My dad growls playfully and scoops me up in his arms, tossing me over his shoulder and carrying me fireman style down the stairs. He sets me down in the cushioned chair at the table, where a plate full of colorful food awaits me. I wait for my mom and dad to sit at the table before I start eating. The food is delicious, as always, and my parents ask me about how school is going, how my friends are, and how karate is. They already know about the gang—Milton, Jerry, Eddie, and Rudy—and they're glad I found such great friends, even if none of them are girls.

This is how Saturday and Sunday mornings typically go in the Crawford house. On weekdays, my mom will usually make scrambled eggs and a fresh smoothie before work and before I walk to school. We always eat breakfast and dinner as a family every day. My dad works in the automotive business while my mom is a physical therapist.

Breakfast this whole past week has felt different. It's not my parents; they're the same as always. It feels like something inside me just snapped shut, and is keeping me from sharing my thoughts and feelings with them. I haven't told them anything about Jack or the memories. Jack is the only person who knows, and I think I want to keep it that way. My parents would make a big deal out of it and ask questions that I don't want to answer. Plus, I'd have to explain what triggered the flashbacks, and I don't think they'd be very understanding about why I was in such close quarters with any guy, especially a 'bad boy.'

After breakfast, I jog upstairs and take a nice, warm shower. I get dressed in something comfy: grey yoga pants and a black zip-up hoodie. Usually I'd do my makeup, blow dry my hair, and add some loose curls, but today I don't really feel like getting all dolled up. I can be girly sometimes, in the way that I care about my appearance, but sometimes it's not worth all the trouble. I slip on flip-flops and text the group chat:

You guys want to hang today?

Eddie replies first:

Sorry, I have to practice for tomorrow's cello recital.

Then Jerry:

Got a date with a real cutie. Sorry not sorry :P

Then Milton:

At a study party at Sidney's house. Try to get together with Jack!

I'm kind of relieved that I'm not going to see them today, though I don't know why. I guess Milton is right, but I need a reason to spend time with Jack. I have another math test on Monday that I need to study for. Maybe he'll tutor me again.

I jog downstairs and find that my parents are gone. They're probably getting groceries or something. I grab the lasagna from the fridge—I hope Jack likes lasagna—and take it over to Jack's house. But now that I've pressed the doorbell, anxiety kicks in and I feel the need to leave. I feel self conscious because I definitely don't look put together or cute, with my hair all wet and stringy and my face bare and pale. When I finally start to leave, Jack opens the door and, as always, my heart skips five beats when I see him. "I was hoping you could help me study for the math test on Monday, and I don't have money, so hopefully you like Costco's lasagna," I say awkwardly, holding the package out to him. He gives me a weird look, takes the package, and closes the door in my face. Rude!

I pound on the door until he opens it again. "If you're not going to help me, I want my lasagna back," I say, folding my arms over my chest. Jack rolls his eyes and steps aside to let me in before closing the door behind me. He puts the lasagna in his fridge and I follow him upstairs into his room. Every time I'm in here, I wonder why it's so plain and empty-feeling. It's kind of depressing.

Jack grabs his math textbook from his desk and flops onto his bed. He's laying on his front, flipping through the pages, when he speaks for the first time. "Here. Do these problems and tell me if you need help."

I sit at his desk and find a blank sheet of lined paper. "You're not going to study?" I ask, taking the textbook from him.

"I don't have to."

"What did you get on the last test?" I ask while copying down the first problem on my paper.

"A hundred," Jack replies nonchalantly, lying back on his bed.

I spin around in the chair. "You got a better grade than Milton? Are you a nerd?"

Jack folds his arms behind his head and crosses his legs. "Nerds study. I don't."

"You don't study for any of your classes? What are your grades?" I ask incredulously.

"Straight A's. Now stop interrogating me and do your work before I kick you out."

I spin back around in the chair and try to do my work, but I don't know how to do this problem. "Jack? I need help."

Jack groans and says, "Come show me. I'm not getting up."

"Okay," I say awkwardly, carrying the book and my paper over to him. I kneel on the ground next to his bed so I can see the paper when he writes on it. He does the problem with ease and hands the book back to me. I read over it and say, "How did you do that? Now I'm more confused." Jack groans and explains his work. "Oh. I get it now. Thanks." I sit back at the desk, but it's not for long because I have no idea how to do the next problem. "I'm confused again." I bring the book to him again, but this time I go to the other side of his bed so I can sit next to him. I have the book and the paper in my lap, and he guides me through the steps. We do this for the rest of the problems, because they're all equally hard for me.

"Okay. That's all the problems. You can leave now," Jack says bluntly. I close the book and set it on his nightstand. Lately, I've felt irritable around people and want to be alone. Jack is the only person I feel comfortable around, which is weird, because he's the one who has been triggering my flashbacks. Plus, he hates me. What is it about him that makes me feel so warm and safe?

"Maybe we could hang out again? I promise, I won't make you get naked this time," I say, face palming at my choice of words.

Jack snorts—does that count as a laugh?—and says, "Fine. But I don't want to talk to you."

"Okay," I say, getting up from his bed. I look out his window that faces his backyard and notice a pool with a hot tub. I spin around and ask, "You have a pool? Can we use it?"

Jack rolls his eyes and says reluctantly, "Fine."

I giggle in excitement and run downstairs and go to my house to change into my bikini. Once I'm in my room, I make sure to close the curtains before changing. Then I put on a baby blue triangle halter top and baby blue cheeky bottoms. They're not too skimpy, but they also don't look like a diaper on my butt. I put on a flowy yellow coverup dress, slide my flip-flops back on, and go back to Jack's house. The door is unlocked—I almost thought he might lock me out—so I go inside. Right as I enter his house, Jack comes down the stairs in dark grey swim trunks and a white t-shirt, carrying two pool towels. I follow him to his living room, where he opens the sliding glass door and goes outside. He tosses a towel onto one pool chair, and lays his out on the other before lying back on it.

"You're not going in the pool?" I ask, laying my towel out on my chair, kicking off my flip-flops, and pulling my dress off over my head. Jack has his arm over his eyes, probably to block them from the sun.

"I'm not hot enough yet."

"You're going to get a farmer's tan if you wear your shirt in the sun," I tell him. I don't want it to seem like I want to see him shirtless, even though I really do.

"So what. If I always wear a shirt, nobody will know I have a farmer's tan," Jack explains.

"You're going to wear your shirt in the pool?"

"It's not a shirt. It's a rashguard."

I scoff and retort, "You're worried about getting a rash from the pool? Rashguards are for the beach."

"Did you know that you're really annoying? Like, the sound of you talking makes me want to rip my ears off," Jack says harshly.

"If you keep being an asshole, I'll rip 'em off for you," I reply, stepping down the stairs into the pool.

"Go ahead. And while you're at it you can suck my dick," Jack says in a possibly sarcastic tone.

"What dick? You mean your personality?"

"You already used that comeback," Jack says. He's right, and now I feel awkward.

"Goodbye," I say, swimming backwards while still facing him. I reach the deep end of the pool and dive underwater, staying down there for awhile. I love the peaceful feeling of slowly gliding along the bottom of the pool like a stingray, not using my muscles so I can last longer without breathing. I can hold my breath for a pretty long time. Tiny bubbles tickle my face as I let out some air, and I watch the images of the the surface of the water refracting the sunlight onto the pool floor. As relaxing as it is, you start to feel like you're slipping into another dimension after looking at it too long. I hear a splash and my body is being pulled up, while my mind is being pulled out of this trance. When I come to the surface, I gasp in the air and smooth my hair out of my face. Jack is looking at me in concern and I roll my eyes and laugh.

"I wasn't drowning, doofus. I like to hold my breath," I tell him. Now I notice his large hands holding my sides and his white t-shirt—oops, apparently it's a rashguard—clinging to his toned muscular body. My hands are on his biceps, which are huge. His hair is wet and stringy, some of it stuck to his face. Our chests are touching, both of them heaving as we catch our breaths. I feel a tingling sensation deep in my core. He drops his head backwards and sighs, revealing his Adam's apple and his sharp jawline, which is even more of a turn-on. When he looks back at me he seems annoyed.

"What is wrong with you? How the hell did you stay down there so long? I thought you were dying! I mean, how did you expect me not to think you were drowning?" He rambles, making me laugh. "It's not funny!" He says, causing me to laugh harder. "Fine. If it's that funny to you I'll make you drown for real," he says, and my eyes widen. I instinctively hold my breath and he pushes me down by my shoulders. I grip his shirt—sorry, I mean rashguard—and try to pull myself up, but he keeps holding me down. I panic and squeeze his hand tightly. He immediately pulls me up and I cough up water.

"Oh my god, I— I didn't mean to— are you okay?" He asks nervously. I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my chin on his shoulder, breathing heavily. I feel his hands on my waist and his fast heartbeat on my chest, which doesn't help slow down my erratic breathing.

When I finally feel better I pull back and see Jack looking at me with a straight face. A smile creeps onto my face, and he furrows his brows.

"What?" he asks.

I laugh and move my hands to the tops of his shoulders. Then I push him down underwater, and he struggles to get me out of his way. He eventually grabs my thighs and pulls them down until I'm straddling his waist with my ankles crossed behind his back. He grabs my wrists and bursts out of the water, breathing hard. Jack flips his hair back with his head and looks at me strangely. We stay there like that for a while, with my legs around him and his hands on my wrists. Our bodies move together when he breathes, his rising and falling chest moving me up and down. This movement is almost like… no, Kim! Don't think about that! He's looking up at me, and his eyes flicker down to my chest in front of him. When he looks back up I smirk. He lets go of my wrists and I wrap them around his neck. My body starts sliding down his torso, but he stops me by holding me under my thighs. I furrow my eyebrows at him, and he puts one hand on my lower back. When I start to fall lower, he instinctively moves his hand down to my butt. I gasp, and both of our eyes go wide, but neither of us move. His hand is so big it almost covers my whole butt cheek. He slowly caresses it when he moves his hand back to my thigh.

"Um… sorry," he whispers.

"It's okay," I whisper back. Jack's cheeks are tinted pink and he pushes me off of him. He swims away and starts to get out of the pool, but when he looks down he immediately gets back in. I wonder why. It's like he's trying to hide something. I brush off that thought and swim towards him, and he looks at me uncomfortably.

"Wanna play Marco Polo?" I ask.

Jack lets out an exaggerated sigh and says, "Not really."

"You're it. Close your eyes," I say, swimming away.

Jack reluctantly closes his eyes and asks, "Marco?"

"Polo," I reply quietly. Jack walks towards me in the water with his hands out, floating on the surface.

"Marco?"

"Polo," I say right before diving underwater and swimming all the way to the end of the pool.

When I come up, Jack calls out, "Marco?"

"Polo," I whisper. Jack is getting close to me surprisingly fast. I try to swim towards the left side of the pool so I can get around him, but when he calls Marco I'm even closer to him than before. I reply, "Polo," and swim back to the deep end. Jack hears me, and swims towards me really fast. I'm trapped in the corner now, and if I try to escape on either side of Jack, I'll probably brush against him and lose.

"Marco?" Jack asks quietly, knowing he's close.

I whisper back, "Polo." Jack's hands find the edge of the pool on either side of my head and he gets very close. I notice the water droplets making his eyelashes clump together and his sexy mop of wet hair and his pronounced pecs, with his nipples visible through the slightly transparent fabric of his rashguard. His warm, firm body finally presses mine into the wall, and he opens his eyes. Suddenly I'm drowning in two large black pools, surrounded by two thin rings of hazel.

"I win," he says in a low, husky voice. My hands subconsciously land on his bulging biceps again, while he delicately rests both hands on my face, caressing my cheeks with his calloused thumbs. We're both breathing heavily from all the swimming, which makes this whole situation even sexier. His gaze is flickering between my eyes and my lips. My heart is practically pounding out of my chest, and the butterflies in my stomach are more like bees. This is it: my first kiss. His eyes close and I follow his lead, our noses touch, his lips are brushing against mine, his hot breath is on my face…

A/N: I think you all know what's about to happen… or do you? Did you like it? Love it? Hate it? Any particular parts that you liked/disliked? Review and let me know! I'm trying to use symbolism without making it too obvious, so shoutout to anyone who analyzes it, even if you're wrong lol! Tell me what you think I was trying to portray! I'll be surprised if anyone gets it because it was pretty subtle. Or was it? Idk. Peace out homeslices :P