Chapter Text
She smells like gumdrops.
You’re not exactly sure what gumdrops smell like, but your mom says they’re magical, and when you look at her you feel butterflies and tingles and she makes you smile so she must be made of magic, and, therefore, must smell like gumdrops.
And her hair.
Her hair is this golden colour that sparkles in the sun, and you want to put your hands in it, but your mom says you aren’t allowed to touch people without them asking, so you don’t.
But you really, really want to.
Her hair kind of looks like long strands of straw, but you’ve touched straw and it’s rough and doesn’t feel nice, but her hair? Her hair looks soft and you’re sure it smells like gumdrops too.
Or rain.
Her hair must smell like rain.
She always smiles the biggest when it rains, and she always forgets her umbrella, so you’re sure her hair must smell like rain because her head is always soaked by the time she actually gets to school. Ms. Indra is always scolding her for not wearing her hood when it rains, but her smile is so electric, you think she’d be lightning. And when she smiles, she makes you smile, and your cheeks hurt because she always makes you smile, so you’re sure she must be lightning, because your face tingles whenever you sit next to her on the carpet.
So you really, really love when it rains.
Except, today, it’s raining, but she’s not smiling.
She’s sitting by herself against the wall.
“What’s wrong?” You ask, your lips struggling with the ‘s’ sound ever since you lost your front teeth, but Clarke never judges you. She spends an awful lot of time looking at your mouth, but you think it's because she hasn’t lost her front teeth yet and she’s wondering if she’s going to lose her ‘s’ sounds as well.
She looks up at you and her eyes are bluer than ever, but it makes you sad today because they look that way because she’s been crying.
You want to cry, too.
“John pushed me,” she says, choked by her sobs. She gestures to her jacket and she’s completely drenched in water and mud, and there is grass sticking to the knees of her pants.
You feel tingles in your fingers when her chin quivers and she’s crying again, but they aren’t the good kind of tingles.
They’re the angry kind.
The furious kind.
The kind you feel when you hold your breath for too long when your big sister won’t give you back your toys.
“Do you want me to kill him?” you ask, and your heart skips a beat when she laughs and wipes at her face, because, she’s smiling, but it’s the sad kind of smile that makes you still feel sad, too.
“No, silly, you can’t kill him.”
She smiles so brightly you forget to breathe.
“Losers!”
You spin around and see John Murphy gesticulating wildly at you both, his middle finger in the air, which is totally not cool because your sister isn’t even allowed to do that and she’s almost twelve .
You know your mom said you aren’t allowed to touch people if they don’t want you to, but John put his hands on Clarke when she didn’t want him to and now you’re confused about what that means. Before you fully understand what’s happening, your foot is in his crotch and he’s bent over in pain, crying.
“You’re not allowed to put your hands on people if they don’t want you to!” you yell in his quickly reddening face. He doesn’t respond, just clings to the crotch of his pants and rolls around on the ground.
Clarke immediately stands up and grabs your hand, dragging you behind her as she runs as fast as she can to get to line-up and away from John Murphy. She is also saving you from all the trouble you’d be sure to get in if Ms. Indra caught you hurting someone at recess.
Because you’re not allowed to put your hands on people if they don’t want it.
When you get back to line-up, you’re both breathing heavily, but Clarke is smiling and that makes you smile, and you just want to touch her, but she didn’t ask you to, so you let the feeling simmer in your belly, making you feel warm and content.
And then theres a soft pressure against your hand and you look down, noticing that her hand is still wrapped firmly around yours and she hasn’t let go yet.
When you look back up to meet her blue, blue eyes, you smile because this time they're a nice shade of blue. A happy shade. And, now, you can tell that she just looked down and noticed that your hands are still locked, and you can feel your face get hot.
You think it's from running so fast to get across the field to get into line-up.
“Is this okay?” she asks, and you remember that your mom said you’re not allowed to touch people if they don’t want to, so you’re happy that Clarke asks because you really, really want her to keep holding your hand, even though it makes your hand really sweaty.
When Ms. Indra calls you all into class, Clarke doesn’t let go of your hand even while you sit at your table for lessons. And she doesn’t let go when you have snack time. And she doesn’t let go during story time. And she doesn’t let go when you get to colour. And she doesn’t let go when she shows you her really awesome drawing of you on top of a mountain that has six trees, either.
You let go only when you have to go to the bathroom and when you have to put your jacket back on so that you can go outside for the next recess. Once your jacket is on, you wipe your sweaty palms on your pants to dry them before you hold your hand out proudly and squirm happily as Clarke latches on again.
She’s still holding your hand when your mom comes to pick you up, and still holding your hand when your mom shares a look with her mom.
You know you have to let go for the rest of the day now, but Clarke grips your hand for just a second longer before you can.
She gives you a serious look before she asks, “can I ask you a question?”
You laugh. “You just did!” And you watch as her face scrunches up in confusion, and then she shakes her head and laughs, and your heart beats funny again.
“Lexa, can I hold your hand tomorrow?” she asks, her eyes happy and bright and hopeful.
You feel that heat in your cheeks again and nod vigorously, giving her the biggest, most toothless smile you can muster.
Clarke smiles again and you’re sure you smell the hint of gumdrops in the air. Your mom chuckles at you both and asks, “How was your day, Lex?”
You smile a bigger smile than you think is actually possible and look down at your hands because Clarke is still holding on, and you yell, quite proudly, “Best day ever !”