Page 125 of Collision
“Ready?”
I nod and hold my nose. Thomas laughs and shakes his head.
He takes a short run-up and then, the next moment, we are underwater. The pressure of the plunge briefly separates us, but he grabs my hand and uses it to pull me to the surface. I gulp air, and when Thomas pulls me into his arms, I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me like this to the shallow end of the pool, where the water comes to my clavicle.
“I think I just gave you a good reason to hate me.” He smiles, moving closer to me.
“Just the one? Let’s hear it, what is it?”
“Your eye makeup is melting.” He chuckles.
Damn it, Tiff. I wipe my eyes quickly. “Is it all gone?”
“Yeah, now you look like a panda.” He laughs. Thomas draws very close to me and whispers, “Your eyes are a work of art, don’t hide them with this crap.” With his right thumb, he rubs my face from cheek to chin. Immediately, even underwater, a feeling of warmth suffuses my body. My God, I really have to stop melting like a jellyfish in the sun every time he touches me. Or looks at me. Or smiles at me…or compliments my eyes. To break the tension a bit, I splash him, catching him off guard.
He gives me a bright look, with just a hint of fiendishness. “I wouldn’t do that again, if I were you.”
“Or what?” I challenge him.
He approaches with a wild look, and I retreat. I half smile and, hit by a sudden wave of courage, I splash him again. “Bad choice,” he announces with a devilish grin.
I turn away, ready to take cover, but in the blink of an eye, he pounces. He wraps his arms around me, and I hurry to plug my nose; I already know exactly what he’s got planned. And indeed, Thomas lifts me up before dropping me back into the water. I resurface a few moments later and, with my eyes still closed, I feel his hands pushing me right back under. When I get back to the surface, I can’t stop laughing. He draws me close to him, trapping my back against his chest.
“Do you give up, little shrew?” he asks, amused.
“Never!” I windmill my arms, throwing water behind me. I drench him relentlessly, then turn to face him and grab him by the shoulders. I try with all my might to push him under the water, but there is no budging him. We both cackle at my miserable attempt.
Incredibly, we spend the next half hour laughing and joking around, talking about everything and nothing. We start with the disgusting cafeteria food, which the school chefs are inexplicably proud to present. They’re so scary that not even Thomas has the courage to point out how bad the food really is. He tells me about the time hefound his roommate soaking in the tub, sprinkled with mineral salts and encircled by candles, romantic music playing in the background. I point out to him how strange Professor Scott’s voice is, even improvising an imitation that’s not too far off the mark, and he bursts out laughing. I’m having such a good time that I don’t even notice the people around us, drinking, laughing, shouting, and diving. From time to time, I catch curious glances from Alex and Tiffany, and I think I see them talking to each other, pointing at Thomas and me. But he’s the only thing I can focus on.
When, later, some guys suggest a swimming competition, I curse them in my head for breaking the spell we’d taken refuge inside. I demur, but Thomas accepts. He swims along with the others, while I go over to the edge of the pool and watch his every move. How he shakes away the hair that falls onto his forehead when he emerges from the water, the veins on his arms that stand out thickly when he tenses his muscles, the movement of his shoulder blades with each stroke. The broad shoulders, the muscles in his back entirely covered by that tattoo so forbidding as to be fascinating and tragic at the same time. And, almost imperceptible under all that ink, but impossible to miss once you know it’s there: that scar.
I am so lost in my thoughts that when I find him standing in front of me, I gasp in surprise.
He looks at me thoughtfully then asks, “What are thinking about, stranger?”
“Lots of things.”
He gets so close that I can feel his breath on my face. “Tell me a few.”
“I’m thinking about the philosophy test we have on Monday. About the work uniform I need to wash. And I’m thinking about you.” I don’t know where I got the courage to admit it, but he seems pleased.
“About me?” He strokes my cheek. “And tell me, what do you think about when you think about me?” I have to think a bit before convincing myself to speak, although the little voice in my head is screaming at me not to do it. As always, I don’t listen to it.
“Thomas, can I…” I take a shallow breath. “Can I ask you a question?”
“You’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you, you little snoop?” He prods me, making me giggle.
“Well, I was wondering. The scar you have on your side… Is it from the accident you had with your motorcycle?”
The way his face immediately tightens, the way it takes on such a furious, chilling look makes me wish I could rewind this moment and go back thirty seconds to stop my mouth from running away with me.
“And what the fuck do you know about the accident?” he explodes, crimson with rage.
I swallow in fear. “N-nothing, I…Leila told me about it a while ago.”
Thomas heaves a big sigh and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he somehow manages to look even scarier. “I never want to hear you talk about that ever again, is that clear?”
“I didn’t mean to…”
