Flo

Six

Despite telling myself I wouldn't go back to training, I found myself waking up at five every morning for my run, getting barked at by Dean, and returning home feeling like I could die. I had fallen into routine within the week and although all the work during summer was questionable, I didn't make the situation problematic. Instead, I pushed aside any doubtful thoughts and trained my ass off.

And hoped to return to school completely buff.

It was mid-afternoon when I finally came out from my room and sculled half of a litre bottle of juice. Once again, the sun was at its peak, threatening to kill all human beings with its heat and the cool, sweetened liquid felt amazing against my dry throat. When I finally lowered the rim from my lips and took a sharp intake of breath, the doorbell rang.

Deciding to take the bottle with me, I headed towards the door and opened it. There, standing barefoot, with paint splattered overalls was Flo. She smiled up at me nervously, tugging a dark curl behind her ear, causing a petal from her crown of white daisies to fall loose and fall onto her shoulder. I had an urge to reach over and brush it off, but instead, I kept my feet planted to the ground and returned the smile.

"Hey," she greeted.

"Hi," I answered. "How are you feeling? Last time we met, you were half naked."

Of all the lines to say to a girl, mentioning her lack of clothes during your last encounter was definitely not something to repeat. Instantly, I regret it, not just because it was sexually suggestive, but also because she had almost died. But rather than seeming offended or embarrassed, she laughed. 

Flo Jefferson's laugh was one of the utter most amazing sounds you could ever hear. 

When she sobered, she explained.

"Yeah," she said. "Now you're the half-naked one."

Any guy would have taken this opportunity to use a smooth pick up line and a suggestive smirk, but I wasn't any guy. Instead, I looked down at my lack of clothing and felt heat creep up my neck.

"I guess you're right," I agreed, keeping my head down.

Flo slid her hands into her pockets and rocked back on her heels. "So, I wanted to thank you about the other day."

"Don't mention it," I answered, and truly meant it.

Most people take pride in the fact that they had done a heroic deed, whether it be helping old ladies cross the road or saving a baby in a fire. But I didn't want to repeat the incident, even if it were in narrative form in a casual conversation. It was a fluke.

"No," Flo interjected, "seriously. Thank you."

I caved in, staring at her faded green eyes. "You're welcome."

"And," she continued, "I wanted to apologise for acting so bratty afterwards." She crinkled her nose. "I was really embarrassed, I guess. I mean, who's ever heard of a sixteen-year-old who can't swim?"