Upon pedaling into town on a bicycle earlier tonight, Stella hadn't planned on resorting to violence.
Yet, here she is: arm shoved down a whale's throat—it's impassive steel gray eyes mocking her—with absolutely no intent on being the first to back down.
"You know," Jake clears his throat, weighing back on his heels where he's stood next to her—their golf clubs in one of his hands and their towering cloud of white cotton candy in the other. "We could just get you a new ball."
"Yes and then we can spread our wings and fly, sprinkle a little bit of peace all over the world," Stella rolls her eyes, ignoring the smile tugging on Jake's lips, and bangs her free hand against the whale's solid side. "Come on! Just spit it out already."
"Maybe you should try whispering sweet promises?"
Stella glares at the stupid gigantic plastic whale. Normally—going on seven years as a vegetarian—she'd consider herself an ally of animals, even plastic ones, but the time for being sweet has come and gone; this whale picked a fight with the wrong girl and she's getting her ball back. Her perfectly purple ball.
A shiver runs up her spine as her pinky touches against something inside the whale that's definitely not part of the plastic decor.
Is that gum? Ugh.
Grimacing, she reaches further. A breath of relief escapes her as her fingers finally close around the pebbled surface of a ball. "Aha!"
She frowns as she steps back from the whale, gaze locked on the ball in her hand.
It's yellow.
"Oh for fu–"
"Stells." Jake interrupts, his eyes darting in the direction of a big group passing them by the very same moment. Five kids walk in the midst of it, happily inhaling the ice cream cones in their hands.
"Fu–...anta's sake."
"Okay, I'm getting you a new ball."
A defeated sigh slips Stella's lips. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she brushes some imaginary dust from the front of her cream colored—knit, puff-and short sleeved—top and trails behind Jake. "Yeah, fine. Okay,"
Throwing one last glance over her shoulder, she sticks her tongue out. "Suck it whale."
━ ♡♡♡ ━
Her mood improves as they move through the twelve holes of the adventure golf course. Much thanks to the hole-in-one she managed on the eighth, and she had instantly decided to guard her new ball and the winning streak it brought along with her life.
Whirling through the bustling crowd, they dodge kids rushing past—a patter of feet against the stone floor. The sweet aroma of buttery popcorn and spun sugar envelopes them, blending with the faint whiffs of flowery perfumes and stark after-sun lotion.
The pier is a sea of summer pastels, a whirl of dresses, denim shorts and headbands. Some families play adventure golf, others walk along the long dock where it stretches out—the stone floor of the platform exchanged for wide wooden planks—high above the water of the lake. Faint music carries through the air, a backdrop to the loud chatter of the crowd.
Stella peers down at the slip of paper in Jake's hand, letting her golf club sway slightly back and forth. "What's the score?"
Her lips curl into a small smile as she notices they're balancing on the same number, side by side in a sprint to the finish line, with only the twelfth—and last—hole to go.
"Ready to lose?"
Jake shoots her a glance."You sound awfully confident for someone who just battled a plastic whale for an entire ten minutes."
"More like three minutes."
Sidestepping an inconsolable young girl bawling her eyes out over the hotdog having toppled out of her hand to the floor—refusing to cheer up despite her family's best efforts, wails only growing louder—, Stella's lips slip into a sympathetic smile.
"Well, here we are," Jake says, pausing by the twelfth hole. He nods toward the overly extravagant decor of a miniature Ferris wheel stood in the crooked center of the course, its passenger cars painted in bright colors of orange and yellow. "Youngest go first."
"So you can steal my technique? I'll pass."
Someone carefully clears their throat behind them, a hand brushing over Stella's shoulder.
Simultaneously, her heart drops deeper into her chest as it picks up speed, heartbeat soaring along to the thundering beat of hooves on a racetrack. She's never been one to enjoy being caught off guard—on her 10th birthday she'd actually begun crying upon entering a surprise party, and not because she'd been grateful to everyone who'd shown up—, but it's grown worse in these past couple of years. She's found herself glance over her shoulder more than once, the anxieties lingering in the back of her mind making a crowd appearing out of nowhere adorned in party hats seem like heaven-on-earth in comparison.
Almost having toppled over her own two feet, she turns around to find a group of teenagers, or tweens more likely, stood there.
"Are you using the course?" One of them asks, eyes flickering over them as his cheeks flush a faint shade of pink. "Or would it be alright if my friends and I play?"
"Oh," The rise-and-fall of Stella's chest slows as her smile softens. She nudges Jake's arm and moves aside, the green leaves of a decorative bush brushing her knees. "No, you go ahead."
Jake raises his brows, mouth in an upward tilt. "You know you have to play eventually, right?"
"They were so polite about it. We can wait."
She smooths a palm over her sweater, picking at an imaginary speck of lint.
"Everything okay?"
"What?" Glancing up, she realizes Jake's eyes are focused on her—head slightly slanted to his left. "Oh, yeah," Her gaze flickers to the fluffy whirl of white towering in his hand. "Though, I wouldn't mind some of that."
Stepping closer, she laces her fingers around Jake's wrist for support as she bites into the cotton candy. The cloud melts on her tongue, its sweetness a promise of a fun summer's day.
"Don't gobble all over it, use your hand."
Stella scrunches her nose up, gaze falling to their golf clubs. She flickers her eyes toward the whale back at the seventh hole. "No thanks."
Taking another bite, she laughs through a snort as she attempts to eat it as gracefully as possible.
A stone's throw away, the group of tweens are done playing—stood shoulder to shoulder as they peer down at their slip of scores to figure out who can call themselves the winner.
"Time to settle this I guess," Stella nods toward the course and lets her tongue run over the sugar stuck to her lips; maybe she should've grabbed a few paper napkins over at the concession stand. "Do I have it all over my face?"
Jake's eyes flicker over her features as he speaks through the mouthful of cotton candy he just helped himself to. "No, you look– you're good."
━ ♡♡♡ ━
Stella's heeled sandals click against the wooden planks of the raised boardwalk as they make their way from the pier toward the restaurant, a diner, Jake claims serve the best fries in the state. Maybe in the country—or the world.
Somehow she doubts it. Due to traveling around because of her swimming, Stella's had a lot of fries in her twenty-one years of life. In somewhat strange roadside diners, in nice quaint town restaurants, from questionable poolside kiosks and—occasionally—fancy hotel room-service. One could say the stakes are high.
The town bathes in a calm of light blue sky and though its rays no longer beat down on them, the sun has yet to set, lingering in the horizon with a faint honey glow as it awaits nighttime. There's barely a breeze at all tonight; the warmth of the day still hung in the sky is far from sweltering, instead it provides a comfortable softness to their surroundings.
Stella sings under her breath as they walk, taking in the sights before her.
"She wore a raspberry beret, the kind you find in a secondhand store. Raspberry beret. And if it was warm she wouldn't wear much more."
Her eyes flicker over storefronts and travel agencies, bars and restaurants. Music and a murmur of chatter spill out of the propped open doors, the premises behind the windows barely larger than holes-in-the-wall. In a way they remind her of restaurants lining the narrow cobblestone streets of Rome, rather than a lakeside town sprung out of flourishing tourism.
Pausing in her step, she turns to glance out at the lake.
A pool of green and blue, it stretches far and wide—glimmering beneath the faint glow of the evening sun.
Across from her, on a dock surrounded by the greenery of trees, she notices a banner strung up reading 'WATER SPORTS'. Small scooters and boats bob on the surface of the water, tied closed together. She can't help the small purse of her lips; to her, water sports include surfing, swimming and water polo—not engine-driven vehicles polluting their waters. But each to their own, she guesses.
"She wore a raspberry beret, the kind you find in a secondhand store. Raspberry beret. And if it was warm she wouldn't wear much more."
"Are those the only lines you know from that song?"
Lips quirking up, Stella shoots Jake a glance as he sidles up next to her. He lifts his hand, motioning to an alcove along the small beach a stone's throw away from the pier on its opposite side.
"The Bay."
She lets her gaze wander over it. It's mostly hidden behind an old boating shed, shadowed by the long dock the pier lies upon. A group of teenagers already linger there—their voices loud, their laughter louder—even though it's barely past 8.30 in the evening.
"That's the vital stepping stone of Blue Windflower Lake's adolescent youth?"
"Well, one of them."
Stella's hands come to rest on the railing, smile widening as she notices someone's carved 'Inez <3 Nadia' into the dark wood. She lets her finger trace the lines of the heart, green nail polish glistening under the light of the melting colors of the sky.
━ ♡♡♡ ━
Nose scrunched up at the slightly worn state of the restroom, Stella leans closer to the mirror over the sink and reapplies her cherry chapstick. The flavor blends with the spun sugar still lingering on her lips despite her attempts to wash the stickiness away just seconds earlier.
A few sun-freckles dot her skin, like small stars sprinkled around the small brown—barely bigger than the nail of her pinky—café-au-lait birthmark on the edge of her left cheekbone.
Brushing a few errant strands of her dark-brown hair away from her face, she's hit by a whiff of her perfume; notes of peach, blood orange and sandalwood blended together almost a scent as sweet as that of the cotton candy.
A group of girls are stood next to her, laughing through broken sentences as they linger by the paper towels dispenser. There's a tug at Stella's heartstrings, tightening her chest, as she glances at the four of them through the reflection of the mirror.
The girls' laughter still rings through the air as they stumble out the door.
She misses that part of her. The fun part.
She misses spending time with her friends. Of sharing lanes in the pool in the mornings and plates of French fries in the evenings. Of going out, not returning home again until the first rays of light peek out in the horizon. Of staying in together, wrapped in duvets watching movies such as Raising Helen or marathoning New Girl.
━ ♡♡♡ ━
Jake looks up from his phone as she returns and slides into the seat across from him in their booth, the leather audibly creasing underneath her legs.
"So? Ready to try the greatest fries in the world?"
Stella runs a finger along the edge of the laminated menu before her. "Uh-huh," Her gaze wanders over the busy diner, catching sight of the drinks stood on the tray a waitress emerges with from behind the counter that very same moment. "I want a milkshake. Or, actually, make that two."
━ ♡♡♡ ━
"For you."
Stella beams as Jake extends her the pickle speared atop his veggie-burger. "Why thank you,"
Taking a sip from her strawberry milkshake, she picks a fry off her plate and bites into it before dipping the rest of it into her other milkshake—chocolate this time. Her smile widens as she catches the dubious look on Jake's face.
Fingertips on the foot of the cold glass, she gently pushes the strawberry shake over the table, nodding toward his plate. "Come on, try it."
Jake regards his fries, eyes flickering to the milkshake. "This feels wrong."
"It's the only way to have fries."
Grabbing another fry off her plate, she raises her brows and makes a show of dipping it into her chocolate shake. Jake mimics her motions.
"I don't hate it."
She closes her fingers around the glass as he slides it back to her, her lips closing over the straw once more. "Told you so."
The next hour they fall in and out of conversation easily—reminiscing on old times as well as catching up on the past few years—in between bites of their food. Stella's cheeks tighten, rounding, with every laugh shared between them; her smile is surely taking up half her face by now.
They touch upon Stella's hopes of continuing to swim competitively in the future, gathered she's still got it in her once she arrives at her new school this fall. Jake does his best to reassure her she will, and though she's not as convinced she appreciates his words nonetheless.
Halfway through her milkshakes, she asks whether his decision to become a layer came naturally, or if he plans on selling his soul to corporate law to be able to afford every item of Tom Ford one could ever wish for—the latter, obviously.
While scooping a few fries off his plate he explains that, in reality, he likes the idea of helping people. Of course he does, Stella thinks to herself; it's so true to the Jake she's always known. Though, when she prompts him, he admits a nice enough office showcasing a row of fancy looking books and his diploma doesn't sound too bad either.
He dips a fry into her shake and leans back in his seat, shooting her a version of her own questions back at her. Why did she choose to major in behavioral sciences?—that one's easy. Ever since her early teenage years she's been curious of the different aspects of mental health, especially in relation to athletes and so, in high school she studied a course in Psychology. Her interest grew from there.
Does she ever make fun of Freud's theories?—yes, all the time. It makes for great conversation and is particularly fun to throw around at parties, assuming the crowd is right, of course.
Is she analyzing his personality right now?—no, but suddenly she's intrigued to try.
Somehow, as their plates are next to empty, they find their conversation has shifted direction yet again. And after a lively discussion of who would make the better James Bond—Jake or Stella— they, eventually, agree to disagree.
Though Stella thinks it's quite obvious she'd be the evident choice.
She sinks back in her seat, her chest expanding with a flutter of content as the night dawns on her. Her cheeks are warm, hurting slightly from the smile that hasn't left them even once in the past hours.
Absentmindedly grabbing a fry off her plate, she bites into it at the very same time Jake bites into one of his. Then, as clock-work, they audibly begin to count down from ten. 10, 9, 8–
Stella snorts ungracefully, a short laugh follows as her smile turns into a grin. "Faye would have killed us if she was here."
Amusement dances over Jake's lips, a cross of a smirk and a grin tugging at the smile already settled there. "But it is funny."
Stella's cheeks grow warmer as she laughs again. One specific summer in the past—Faye had been nine going on ten years old, Stella seven—their mothers had grown tired of Faye's tendency of shoveling her food down in one go. And so, she had been forced to spend the rest of her summer counting backwards from ten in between her every bite. Stella's never let her sister forget, and it seems the same goes for Jake.
"It is."
Jake straightens up in his seat with a long exhale, as if holding back a laugh of his own, and accidentally kicks her under the table in the process. It's barely a brush of his sneaker against her skin, still he flashes her an apologetic smile. "Sorry."
"Don't lie," Stella sips the last of her strawberry shake. "You did that on purpose. Such a sore loser."
Jake rolls his eyes at the reference to his defeat in their game of adventure golf and reaches over to snatch a fry—the last one—off her plate considering his is empty. He holds it up. "Want to share?"
"Yeah."
"So?" Jake waves his half of the fry before him. "What's the verdict?"
There's a lightness to Stella's chest as she scrapes some milkshake up with her half of the fry. She doesn't remember the last time she felt this way—truly pleased, happy, with her day.
She bites into her fry, leaning back in her chair. "You were right: these may be the best fries in the world."
Her eyes flicker out the window as a man walks by, a Shepard dog happily trotting by his side and there's a tug at her heart as she thinks of Fizzy all alone in the big lake house.
As if having read her mind, Jake wipes his fingers on a paper napkin. "Time to get back to our four legged friend?"
Stella nods, twirling the straw of her chocolate shake around the empty glass. "Yeah, let's go home."
━ ♡♡♡ ━
Fizzy leaps for them as soon as they cross the threshold of the front door, greeting them with a few howls and barks as her tail wags violently in the air. It seems she's conflicted, as if she cannot truly decide whether she's more upset with them for leaving her alone in the first place than she is happy they have returned.
Jake crouches down to pat her head. "Sorry for leaving you Fiz. We'll make it up to you with a really long walk tomorrow morning."
Stella's smile softens—nodding in agreement as though the dog would understand the gesture—as she wanders into the kitchen. She pauses by the wide bookcase, palm coming to rest against the frame as she glances over her shoulder at Jake. "Tea?"
"Yeah, I'll be right there."
The spotlights over the counter are her only source of light as she moves around the kitchen, singing under her breath as she goes.
Taking two cups out of the cupboard, she surveys the shelf of teas in the pantry. She knows Jake would rather have Earl Grey—always black tea, and God forbid it carries even a note of sweet flavor—but it's past eleven, and now she's the one making the tea.
Her, probably horrendous, singing is cut off by the whistle of the kettle, and she's quick to grab the package of 'Sleepy-time' from the cabinet, dropping a teabag into each cup.
Cups of steaming tea in hand, she softly beckons for Fizzy and, with some struggle, slides the door to the patio open.
A refreshing breeze of summer-night air hits her in the face as she steps onto the cold stone and she refrains from awakening any source of light in an attempt to avoid luring any mosquitoes her way as she walks over to sit down in one of the lounge chairs.
Crickets thrum in the darkness, being the only sound other than the occasional laughs from a patio a few houses down the street. The flowers, reeds and the dock in the distance are all merely dark shapes in the night and Stella grimaces as Fizzy leaps through a bed of flowers, hoping they'll look untouched in the morning light.
A stray breeze whirls through the garden, bringing out a whiny whistle from the rotary drying rack as it moves with the wind and Stella's skin prickles with a trail of goosebumps at the sudden chill.
Tilting her head back against the backrest, she glances up at the sky. Out here, with the glow of the city lights nonexistent, she can see the stars. White glittering speckles painting a dark blue canvas, they seem to increase in numbers the longer she keeps her eyes on them.
A moment later, Jake's voice sounds from within the house. "Stells?"
"Out here!"
She hands him his cup of tea as he sinks into the chair next to her, her lips quirking up as he brings it to his with a grimace at the realization it's not only herbal but chamomile too.
Simply shrugging, she recalls the words of her mother—Andrea that is—from her lectures of not having caffeine right before bed. "You'll learn to like it."
Apparently having grown tired of demolishing the garden, Fizzy comes to join them. She drops down on the stone of the patio with a content sigh as she rests her head upon her paws.
Stella sips her tea. "I had fun today."
"Well that's a relief. I would have felt really bad if you said it was torturous."
"Would it kill you to be serious for one second?"
"Probably yeah," Jake sips his tea, only to frown down at it. Shooting her a sideways glance, he sets his cup down. "I had fun too."
"Good."
"The tea's horrible though."
A small smile curls her lips. "Whatever."
They stay out a while longer, falling into a comfortable silence as they gaze up at the stars—it's quite the contrast from the bustle of the pier, but Stella finds she likes this just as much. Maybe even more.