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Aaron laughs, warm and honeyed, and my flushed face cools in spite of my desire to cling to my fury. I should hate that sound, but it’s like an antidote to my tension, loosening my limbs and chilling my boiling blood. “Then we’ll edit the date and jump in together,” he says, ambling back to the edge. “No pushing, I promise.”

I’m not sure if his promises mean anything, but I can only avoid the inevitable for so long, so I reluctantly return to his side. Maybe I shouldn’t jump into a giant vat of liquid since I was in a two-day coma less than a week ago, but the lump on my head is gone now, and I admitted to Aaron during the drive here that I haven’t had any issues with balance, vision, or dizziness. Besides, part of me trusts that he won’t let anything happen to me.

“One,” he says, toes dangling off the edge, that boyish smile stretching across his handsome face. “Two…”

I shouldn’t. It’ll make me just as bad as him. But I’m too petty to fight the abrupt thirst for revenge, so before he can get the final number out, I shove Aaron to teach him a lesson. Then I remember something crucial, and the triumph evaporates from my body.

When I push, he pulls.

He shouldn’t have the time, but somehow, he manages to pivot on his heel and snatch my wrist. I shriek in protest as he drags me down with him, and the last thing I hear is mirthful laughter as I’m being swallowed by water.

Frigidity hits me like a brick wall, seizing my limbs. The warmth of Aaron’s touch dissolves in the pool. I kick upward and break the surface, coughing as I drag myself away from him. “You suck!” I snarl when his face emerges, but I’m not sure he hears me, because he’s laughing again.

“Predictable. You’re so predictable. I love you.”

“Shut up!” I say shrilly, grabbing the pool railing and trembling forcefully as my body readjusts to the change in temperature. “Stop saying that so carelessly. We’re teenagers, so we don’t have the maturity to fall in lo— What are you doing?”

“Swimming,” he answers, butterfly-stroking toward me.

“Stop approaching me so ominously.”

He switches to a breaststroke, like that’s not worse.

“Stop approaching me in general,” I say, but he’s already on me, standing flat where I’m treading water, his onyx locks slicked back. He has a widow’s peak. I’ve never noticed.

“Your hair gets darker when it’s wet,” he notes, though I’m already distracted by his abdomen—now sparkling more intensely under the sheen of fluorescent blue water—being a foot from mine. “How was your day?”

I’m not sure why the question startles me, but it does. I wait for the punch line, but he’s merely watching me with genuine curiosity, the lighting making his irises glow. “Fine,” I say, too preoccupied with the sight of him to offer anything substantial. “Why?”

Aaron reaches out, then hesitates, his fingers hovering near my forehead. When I don’t protest, he plucks strands of sopping wet hair off my face. “Because this is a date, so I want to ask you things about yourself,” he says. “Maybe you haven’t heard, but I have a pretty big crush on you, sunshine.”

The pool’s iciness is melting away the longer Aaron stands beside me. “Then…how was your day?” I ask awkwardly.

“Fine,” he says with a playful wink, before shifting his hand through the water and tapping the back of my palm—a request, I think. When I don’t pull away, he carefully threads our fingers. “I was outside all day—you should’ve seen me before I showered. I was more grass stain and grease than human being.”

Aaron heaves a weary breath and tries slumping against my shoulder, but I float backward, causing him to face-plant the water. He picks it up and continues like I didn’t just dodge him.

“I spent hours chopping up yard debris, which didn’t do my back any favors.” He shrugs those less-narrow-than-I-thought shoulders, which still shimmer with water droplets. “I tore down a shed with Pops, which was fun. My mom rescheduled lunch with me, but that’s normal. I mostly wanted the day to end so I could see you.”

His sheer earnestness makes me swallow a lump of guilt. He’s giving me information in such a cozy, familiar way, it’s almost overwhelming. “Sounds busy,” I say weakly, because I’m not sure how to respond. He seems tired but also fulfilled—he’s not complaining so much as he’s just talking about what he did. I can tell he enjoys his job. “I didn’t know…um. That you were in contact with your mom. Do you have a good relationship?”

A look of raw dismay flickers across his face. It leaves as quickly as it comes, but it only heightens my shame at not remembering. “It’s complicated,” he admits. “Not something we need to talk about right now.”

My lips furl down. I guess I won’t push it. His thumbnail works the lines of my palm, like he’s sketching them into his mind. His eyes wander to my neck, where an ugly yellowish tinge lingers, then lower, where a persistent purple splotch spans my elbow. The joy disintegrates in his smile.

“They don’t hurt,” I say, though I don’t know why I care to tell him.

Aaron’s palm slips away from mine so he can smooth his thumb along my cheekbone. He seems despondent suddenly, so I allow him. “How much pain are you in?” he asks.

“I just told you—”

“Come on, Riley,” he pleads.

I’m fine. The words are fully formed in my mouth, but he’s watching me so insistently that I can’t push them out. “It’s not that bad,” I say, steering my attention to the water lapping against my collarbone. I wish we weren’t alone in this massive room, where every sound reverberates noisily against the high ceilings and tiles. The air leaving my mouth is ice-cold, and I’m glad for the mint, otherwise I’d be preoccupied with thoughts about how I smell like pesto.

“Has it been keeping you up?” he asks softly.

I should feel annoyed that he’s persisting, but his eyes are still glittering like silver sequins under moonlight, and I don’t have the fortitude to focus elsewhere. “I’ve been sleeping,” I claim.