I don't own iCarly. Please review!
For some reason her best friend had volunteered at a recreation center. For some reason she had been asked to help. For some reason, she'd actually agreed to come. Maybe it was because her friend had offered bacon. Maybe it was because she hoped to see that special someone who'd be clad in his thinnest t-shirt to beat this ridiculous heat wave. Either way, she was there.
The fans were plugged in and on high. Unfortunately that didn't help keep the sweat from dripping down her face. She was right. He was there, wearing that stupid clingy t-shirt. He was overseeing a game of ping pong.
Her thoughts drift.
She pings. He pongs. It's not a game. Rather, it is a way of life. Insults fly across the room. She defends her side better than he ever could. Slowly his skills improve Her face shows her pride in winning. If only he could see behind the mask.
Her friend waves her hand in front of her, snapping her back to reality. She shakes the thought out of her head and gives a sheepish grin. She walks away, determined not to let that happen again.
But it does. She's outside, watching the kids play on the playground. The teeter totters, the swings, the monkey bars.
Their relationship is like a giant teeter totter. One always has the upper hand and it never seems to stay still. The relationship is shaky. They can only touch down for an instant, to pop back into reality. The reality that says they can't be together. Nobody sees the potential. Nobody sees how a teeter totter can balance if both sides give the effort. All they ever see is one side always being higher than the other. But teeter tottering takes teamwork. If both go up or both go down, the moment falters. Instead they lift and lower each other we teamwork. Isn't that what every good relationship needs? Teamwork?
A kid runs up to her, breaking her thoughts. She follows her to the swings to push her like she requested. What would that be like? To be pushed on the swings again?
Ever since that kiss she's had dreams. Of them. Together. Not together like working on the webshow together. Not together like the three of them going out for smoothies. Together in a whole new way. Dancing on the fire escape. Holding hands at the drive-in. Which she knows can't happen. Not because he's too young to drive, but that they can't be together. He will never push her on the swing. They'll never race to see who can get higher, quicker. He'll never spin her around until she begs him to quit. He'll never give into her command and stop her, only to be brought in for a mind-blowing kiss.
She looked down at the kid who she had been pushing. She wasn't there anymore. She'd been absent mindedly pushing an empty swing. What is this boy doing to her? Ever since that stupid day where she kissed that stupid boy that melted her stupid heart she hasn't stopped thinking about it. She should be craving bacon right now. Not some nerd who pulled at her heart strings. Not that he noticed. He's in love with her best friend.
She needed to sit down. Taking the empty swing, she dragged her sneakers in the woodchip pile below. She needed to get him of her mind and everything would be fine. The farther she dug with her feet, the better she felt. All she'd need was her hole, and she'd bury herself in it. It'd take too long to dig to China. She'd get bored and start thinking of him again. Like how she is right now. After she promised she wouldn't.
Yelps and whistles were heard across the playground. There, dangling from the bars was that boy. He was crossing the playground, skipping bars as he went. He had to pull his legs up to keep from touching the ground. His shirt was riding up. She couldn't take it. She got up and walked back inside. She felt his eyes follow her. She had a feeling he'd jump down to follow her. She never let him see her upset. Today was no exception.
She spun around and gave a big plastic smile. Pumping a fist in the air, she cheered for his name like the crowd that had formed. Why was everyone so amazed by a grown man tackling the monkey bars? Unless they all thought he was....
She refused to finish that sentence. It'd leave her feeling stripped of all her pride. Pride in not loving him. Truthfully, she wondered more often lately if it'd be so bad. To forget about standards and succumb to admitting it. Admitting how she really felt.
He smiled back and continued his journey. Instead of following through her previous plan to leave, she stayed. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to risk it. Though that might be the heat talking to her. What was she thinking? Loving him?
She took a deep breath and swallowed her pride. Yes. That was what she was thinking. The heat wasn't frying her brain like an egg. Ooh, eggs and bacon. Her stomach rumbled in agreement. She headed for the kitchen. And then she felt those eyes on her again. She tentatively took another step forward. Her stomach was pushing her towards the kitchen. Her brain was pushing her towards the kitchen. So what was holding her back? Didn't her heart know it was a useless battle? It was outnumbered.
So she kept walking. She never noticed the look of sorrow buried under his happy expression as he finished the last bar. The group lifted him and cheered. But that wasn't where his attention was. He watched as the door closed behind her.
She fell asleep on her friend's couch that night. Again, another dream came to her.
Early morning smells good. Like bacon and eggs and, is that waffles? Most defiantly, their kitchen smells like frozen toaster waffles. She's not exactly sure why. Normally it smells like French toast. And if she's cooking, burnt French toast. She sits down at the table, and a hand glides over her well rounding stomach. Then a pair of lips find their way and join the hand. She can't believe it. He says good morning to the baby before he even acknowledges the rest of her. Once he's satisfied, he straightens himself out and greets his impatient wife.
He sets a plate in front of her and she smiles. The strip of bacon forms an "I". He's shaped the eggs like a well rounded valley. The waffles are cut expertly into hearts, stacked high between the bacon and eggs. Aw, cryptic breakfast messages. Her heart melts like the butter resting on the top waffle. How had she gotten so lucky?
When she woke up the apartment didn't smell like bacon. No eggs or fancy cut waffles. Just soggy cereal. She needed to talk to him. The sooner, the better. She gets up and finds a different shirt to wear. Apparently she sweated through this one last night. Stupid heat wave.
She knocks on his door once she crosses the hall. His mother answers. Immediately she questions her choice of outfit. She slathers her visible skin (which is a lot) with a thick layer of sunscreen. Half a bottle later, she is satisfied and let's her see her son, who is equally as covered. They go out to the fire escape.
She spots a yoyo sitting on the step. He grabs it fiddles around, performing simple tricks.
Their relationship is like a yoyo. What goes down must come up. Simple everyday tasks like walking the dog are glitzed up into some fancy trick. But life isn't a trick. You're going to screw up, but practice makes perfect. Well, almost perfect. Because everybody knows that perfection is overrated.
She takes the yoyo from his hands and holds it over the edge of the escape. It slowly unravels and she snaps it back up It goes up and down and back again. She holds it out to him. He reaches for it but she snags it away. He steps closer to her. It's no longer about the yoyo. It's about them.
While their eyes are closed, he manages to get the yoyo. She breaks away when she realizes what happened. He simpers and turns away. She sighs, defeated. She should've known better than to give her hopes up. He chucks the yoyo to the ground.
Their relationship is like the yoyo. Free falling and risking it all.
And she likes it.