“That hat looks really good on you.” Her eyes drop to look at the floor. I take the hat off my head, placing it on hers.
“It looks better on you.” That elicits a smile that is gone as soon as it appears. I put my finger under her chin, tipping her head up.
“What are you thinking about?”
“You,” she whispers.
“What about me?” I want to hear her say it out loud.
She takes a breath and speaks in a rush. “Well, I had this crazy thought that I wanted to be with you, you know. Like physically. Completely. And then I thought that I'd just go for it, before I could talk myself out of it. Because I want to, and I have wanted to for a long time and I thought that it would work, even if you couldn't feel the same and I thought that I'd just go for it. But it was a bad idea, because you can't feel the same and it would all be on my side. And I don't even know if I can be with you like that, like humans. And maybe you wouldn't want to and then I'd feel like a moron because I'd just be throwing myself at you, and –”
I stop the waterfall of words by putting my lips against hers. She steps toward me again, but doesn't put her arms on me.
“What was that for?”
“You were talking so much.” Her eyes narrow and I feel a bolt of anger.
“So every time I'm chattering, you are just going to kiss me to shut me up?” Her anger flares like a bright light.
“That was not my intention.”
“Then what was your intention?” Her eyes narrow a fraction. I will have to pick the right words.
“You seemed distressed about something that you needed not to worry about, so I decided to allay your anxiety.” Her anger dissipates a little. She tugs her hand through her wet hair in frustration before stepping away from me.
“So you'd want to be with me? Like that? You can be with me like that?”
“Yes.” Yes, yes, yes. A million times yes. I may not have a beating heart, but my parts do still function. It never seemed important to share with her, because I did not think she would want to be with me like that. Now things are different.
Her blush is sweet as she peers up at me from under the brim of the hat. “You don't have to say that just to make me feel better.”
“I am not.” I would never say that to her. I've told her I'd never lie to her. I have not always been able to be truthful, but I could never lie about this.
“But we should have talked about it before I threw myself at you. I should have been more mature about it instead of just going with my feelings.”
Water drips from the ends of her hair, making wet patches on the floor.
“But your feelings are natural. You should trust them.”
The happiness drops from her face like a curtain. “Not all of them.”
“Yes. But they are a part of me. A part that I have learned to live with. I also have the instinct to fly and to lie in the sun and to kiss you. But I do not act on them all the time. As long as I give in sometimes, I have satisfied the urge.”
“So that's how you control it? Giving in every now and then so you don't explode with the wanting.” I take a step away from her.
“Precisely.”
“So you're saying we should give in, just a little?” She tilts her head to the side and twists one foot, shy. Wary.
“If you want.” I will never do anything she wouldn't want to do. I do that enough already with the Claiming. I feel her want nearly more than I feel my own. The two desires intertwine and dance around each other, twisting and twining.
“I don't know.” Her desire has shifted into something else. It is a feeling I get from her quite frequently that is similar in feel to hesitancy or embarrassment. I do not have a word for it, but I don't like when Ava feels that way.
“What are you thinking?”
“Why do you always want to know?” Her smile is reluctant.
“Because I want to understand you.”
Twisting the towel in her hands, she says, “I'm thinking that even if we were to be together, that it wouldn't be as good as it could be. Because you're missing out on something. It makes me so unhappy thinking about it.” Her anxiety knifes me, and I seize her face.
“I do not want you to be unhappy.”
“Then fix it.” Her eyes reach into mine, begging, searching for a solution.
“Cal will find away. Only five days left.”
Her eyes sear into mine. “What if there is no other way? What if you waste time looking for something that isn't there?” She grasps my hands, fingers clutching, digging.
“Then we will find someone else.” Frustration finally seeps through her skin.
“And then someone else, and someone else. Where will it end? You won't give me a timeline. That's not fair, Peter and you know it.” I don't know what to say to her. She's right.
“Never mind,” she says, waving her hands. “We'll just have to agree to disagree tonight. I don't want to go to bed fighting.”
“We're not fighting.” I cannot exactly remember that we have ever fought. We have had disagreements. But many of those were resolved.
“You're doing that thing again, but I'm going to let it go because my back is wet and I need to detangle my hair and I have to go to school tomorrow.”
“I will do it,” I say, running my fingers across her cheek. She takes off the hat and puts it back on my head.
“Thanks.” She turns her back and hands me a brush.
Ava
Waiting for Saturday night is complete an total torture. I'd take the Spanish Tickler over doing that ever again. I try to fill my time with homework and staring at Peter and emailing Aj massive email sagas about anything and everything that I can tell her and hearing about her new boyfriend and thinking about kissing Peter and trying to get whatever crazy plan he had cooked up out of him with no such luck.
And Peter. And Peter. And Peter. I wasn't mad at him anymore.
I'm so focused on the waiting that my blood want is not foremost in my mind. It's true, what Peter said. You can fight it. And I do.
Finally, Saturday comes. Jamie has one of his last track meets of the season, so Tex and I go to support him. Both of us nearly fall over when we spot his mother, his father and a baby-bumped Cassie. She's just barely starting to show.
Tex and I share a look before we all go over and say hello. Mrs. Barton gives us hugs, saying how much she's missed us. I missed her, too. It's easy to adore Jamie's mom. When we used to go to his his house after school, she'd make us s'mores bars and pink lemonade. She was the kind of mom who let us blow things up in the backyard and didn't ask questions. That was when things were good. Before his dad started drinking and Cassie started getting into trouble. Before his family fell apart.