Archive of Our Own ^beta

Gideon became a lifeguard at Canaan Beach because of two things: hot babes, and looking sexy as hell. Objectively, she should have known that her entire job was to actually save people from drowning, which… yeah, they covered that during training—but she thought, though foolishly, that she would get like a week of being sexy before having to do the actual saving part.

It was the second day when she saw someone drowning. Actually drowning, that is. The day before, she picked up a little toddler who had gotten her foot stuck in some sand, knowing she looked like Pamela Andereson while she did it. That same day, a beach-goer in the tiniest little bikini Gideon had ever seen cut her finger open on a sand dollar and Gideon so valiantly volunteered to take her to the med-tent. It was good. It was great—until the drowning.

She was only a few minutes away from her mandatory break when it happened. It was never like the movies made you believe, with the flailing and the screaming and the sobbing. Her trainer emphasized that, most of the time, the victim was drowning and then they were not—because they died, that is. But Gideon felt pretty good. A few minutes prior, a middle-aged mother had nearly face-planted in the sand with a toddler in her arms all because Gideon winked at her. It was awesome. She had her sunglasses atop her head to push away her red, beach-wave bangs, some very, very tight booty shorts, and her red swim top with the word LIFEGUARD plastered across it in applique.

But then she saw it: a little black blob getting pulled away from the shore by a riptide. The swimmer didn’t call out in duress or scream or anything. Honestly, they just looked at peace with it all, features softening as they went under.

This all happened rather quickly, and for Gideon’s part, she got to the ocean in record time. Someone was vaguely screaming—it could have been her, she didn’t know, but she didn't have time to question whose vocal chords were whose before she pummeled through a kid’s sandcastle and ripped through the current. The chill of the ocean didn’t register through her haze of panic. She dove where she saw the person last, almost immediately slamming into a bony body. Gideon had a half-second where she thought that she just barrelled straight into a skeleton, but she managed to reason with herself that it was probably the person who had just drowned.

She grabbed a fistful of their swimsuit, forgetting all of her training she learned just last week, and attempted to yank them up above the water. When that didn’t work, she managed to wedge her red lifeguard tube under her own armpits and, with a face full of seawater, shoved her elbows under the swimmer’s armpits.

They were at least above water, but the swimmer—who was a woman, Gideon’s useless brain noticed unhelpfully—was unconscious, her head lolling back into Gideon’s chest. That was not good. That was not good. She flipped around to the shore, paddling like a madwoman, and yelled, “Fucking fuck!!! Someone call an ambulance!!” which was peak professionalism on her part.

She got to the shore eventually, not without an ample amount of swearing and screaming and groaning. A crowd gathered, staring at poor Gideon and the even poorer unconscious lady in her arms. Gideon dragged her onto the shore and flipped her over, popping an ear to her mouth just as someone screamed, “She’s not breathing!!!” and no, she was not breathing. Another second at her pulse point and—well, Gideon wouldn’t say she was surprised.

She didn’t have time to admire the drownee’s face before she started the chest compressions. She hummed Another One Bites the Dust under her breath just as she was taught, cursing the god who made her and also Queen for making such a macabre song with the perfect amount of beats per second for chest compressions.

She resigned herself to the next part as she approached thirty chest compressions, ignoring the agonized screams of the bystanders surrounding them. She placed a hand against the swimmer’s forehead and another hand on her chin, tilted that sharp face up against the sand, pulled open her mouth, tilted her own head, plugged the swimmer’s nose, and forced a breath into her mouth. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the swimmer’s chest forcefully expand as Gideon breathed into her lungs. She forced another breath. No dice.

Another round of chest compressions and—crack—oh, that was not good, it was during the second round of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation when the lady’s eyes flew open. Gideon barely managed to lean back before the lady flopped over to the side, hot sea water spewing out of her mouth and nostrils. The crowd cheered. Before Gideon could even attempt to crawl over and see if this poor woman was all right, someone zipped past her and slammed herself straight into the swimmer's arms.

“Harrow!!!” a girl cried, trembling in, who Gideon assumed, Harrow’s arms. “I thought you died!!” The one in Harrow’s arm was wearing a Hello Kitty bikini, Gideon noticed, while the one that must have been Harrow wore swim trunks and a rash guard like a twelve year old. What the hell.

“Nons, ouch, ouch, my ribs—” Harrow said, attempting and failing to shove her assailant off her. Her voice cracked, raspy and raw.

Gideon managed to get some sense into her, remembering that she was the professional and she shouldn’t let any random person attack her drowned victim. She pushed herself up, wiping away sand and salt water from her forehead, pretty certain she lost her sunglasses in the ocean. “Did anyone call the med team?”

“I don’t need—” the swimmer started to say but was cut off by her own disgusting hacking, doubling over into the sand to cough up some spittle and blood.

Gideon immediately fell forward and gently tugged away Hello Kitty Bikini Girl, flipping Harrow over to assess her properly. She had short, curly, and black hair, predictably wet and sandy. Little tear streaks marked her sunburned face, freckles cropped up around her nose and cheeks. Red and blotchy eyes stared up at Gideon, the iris such a dark brown, it was nearly black against her pupil. A sharp face and a sharp nose—ferrety almost. Perfect bow lips with the most immaculate philtrum connecting her plump upper lip to her straight nose. Gideon realized, with a horrible kind of realization, that the woman she just rescued was very fucking attractive. Harrow stared up at her with a shocked little face. A deep, bright red blush started inching its way up her neck.

All of these realizations were cut short with the sound of the med alarm with actual medical professionals shuffling out of the beach ambulance to take over. Someone pulled Gideon away before she could say another word. A bystander clapped her on the back and said, “Good job, kid,” and then a paramedic on the med team pulled her away to ask her questions. Later that day, her boss told her, “Good job not letting someone drown,” and that was the extent of that.

The very next day, Gideon saved another kid from drowning. There wasn’t as much fanfare because, honestly, the kid wasn’t drowning and just got scared because he convinced himself he saw a shark.

A month in, Gideon figured she had a pretty good thing going. There was a dinky little amusement park five minutes from lifeguard tower eleven, her main haunt, and she managed to make a few friends there. Her fellow lifeguard introduced her to them because she had a friend working one of the rides for the summer and everyone there was nice even if they did kick her out once she overstayed her welcome. During her hour lunch, she would walk down to the amusement park with Camilla, order herself a triple shot espresso and a corndog (same booth—weird little place), and bug the amusement park employees until her lunch concluded.

The corndog espresso place, called the Corndog Espresso Place, was always her first stop. “Hey Dulcie,” Gideon said, zipping up her LIFEGUARD hoodie, shoving her fingers into the pilling pockets. “Triple shot and a corndog, please.”

“Triple shot and a corndog for Miss Gideon,” Dulcinea agreed, whipping around the booth with a concerning amount of speed. Gideon paid while Dulcinea ambled around the small space, pulling shots for Gideon’s drink, vaguely warming up the corndog in a toaster oven. While the corndog heated, Dulcinea handed the triple shot over and Gideon took it gratefully, leaning up against the booth with practiced ease. Dulcinea had rebuffed Gideon’s advances during their first meeting, but the two of them enjoyed simple flirting with no strings attached.

“What’s new in Dulcinea’s world?” Gideon asked, pretending like she enjoyed the hot bitter tang of Dulcinea’s burnt shots. She was not very good at the espresso part, and the corndogs were pre-made, but Gideon liked to think she was a good actress.

Dulcinea fanned at her face with a lacy little white fan, looking like a fragile sickly Victorian heiress even in her yellow work T-shirt and red and yellow baseball cap with the words Corndog Espresso Place patched on sloppily. “You saw me yesterday, silly,” she said.

“Didn’t you have your doctor’s appointment after work yesterday? How’d that go?”

“Oh, fine,” she said dismissively, waving her hand. “There is a new park employee, though. Where’s Cam?”

“She came in late so Aiglamene is sending her out on her lunch late. New park employee?”

“Oh, yes. It was such a fuss this morning,” she said, a little bead of sweat cropping up just under the rim of her cap. Gideon followed the little drop with her eyes until it disappeared under her shirt. “The new park employee is very—um, off putting,” she said, which in Dulcinea-speak meant she thought she was a bitch. “She runs the Green Dragon ride with Ianthe. Interviewed last week and seemed fine. Came in this morning and was yelling at Palamedes for a reason he wouldn’t say. Both of them were late. Maybe that’s why Cam was late, too?”

“When’s her lunch?” Gideon asked.

Dulcinea saw right through her and wiped at her forehead with a frown. “Gideon, you can’t try to flirt with every new park employee. It’s gauche.”

“Maybe I can tame her,” Gideon said with a sly little smile. Dulcinea did not take the bait and rolled her eyes.

“I’m not sure why you think your attempts at flirting would work on anyone, really,” she said, though her tone was playful. The toaster oven dinged and Dulcinea distracted herself by grabbing the corndog with a pair of tongs. She placed it on a crumbled little serving tray along with a packet of mustard, a packet of ketchup, and a singular napkin. She served it up to Gideon and said, “Boss says we’re losing money so he’s cutting back on the napkins.”

“Can’t you give me an exception? I’m a messy eater.”

Dulcinea wrinkled her nose and turned away with a huff. “I’m especially not giving you an extra napkin after that comment!”

“I didn’t mean it in that way!” Gideon protested, though she admittedly filed away that comment for another time. Someone cleared their throat behind Gideon and she seized up, feeling caught. It only turned out to be another customer, so she decided to stop harassing Dulcinea and find another victim. Her next target was Palamedes, but that was because his ride, the Ride o’ Love, was the closest to the Corndog and Espresso Place.

It was early afternoon so only a few people were ambling about, though that would likely change in an hour. Palamedes was at the Ride o’ Love helping an elderly woman and her husband into their boat seats, strapping them in when their hands shook too much, and wishing them good luck on their “adventure of love”. For his part, he actually sounded thrilled while he said it. Palamedes tended to be sappy and romantic.

Gideon chewed around her corndog and waited for the line to thin out before approaching the ride. Palamedes didn’t make any effort to acknowledge her encroachment while she ambled up to inspect an empty boat. She swiped a tongue across her teeth. “Is that upchuck?” she asked, pointing to a suspicious looking puddle coagulating in boat number six.

“Don’t mention the throw-up or I’ll be obligated to clean it up,” he said. He took off his glasses for plausible deniability and leaned down for an inspection. “Looks like muddy water to me.”

“I’m reporting you to Gauis,” said Gideon.

“I’ll have Cam report you to Aiglamene and then we’ll see who’s really laughing,” he said, popping his glasses up against his nose, leaning back to rest his backside against the ride operating machine.

Though Palamedes mostly liked his job, he had seen better days. His hair was disheveled and unkempt—not an uncommon sight, but Cam usually managed to run a brush through it once or twice—with little licks of curls stuck to his sweat-soaked face. He wore a rumpled Canaan Park work shirt with patchy bleach stains around the armpits. His glasses had a branched crack on the right lens, and there was a circle of dried blood under his nostrils.

“Did someone fucking pummel you when you came into work? Jesus fucking Christ.” Gideon took one last painful sip of her espresso and then crushed the little paper cup in her hand, shoving it into her LIFEGUARD jacket pocket.

“Don’t even get me fucking started,” Palamedes said, reaching a long finger under his left lens to rub his eye tiredly. “Have you met the new park employee? She’s probably murdering Ianthe at the Green Dragon and telling customers to throw themselves in a ditch for something that wasn’t even their fault!!” He swiveled slightly to welcome in two more customers with a charming smile. “Welcome to the Ride o’ Love,” he said, ushering them in the boat with the vomit. Something squelched under a customer’s shoe. “Tighten your seatbelts—no you have to—oh good,” he said, and then, without much preamble, slapped the button on the operating machine and sent the two teenagers flying down the ride. The boy—hair so bleach-burned that Gideon internally cringed at the split-ends—squeaked in surprise and threw himself into the arms of his companion.

“What the fuck happened with this new park employee?” Gideon asked, chewing around the hard bits of the corndog on the stick. Once she was done with that, she shoved it into her pocket next to the crumpled espresso cup.

“Let me tell you what happened with this wretched, incorrigible, absolutely despicable and rotten new park employee—welcome to the Ride o’ Love!” he cut himself off quickly, offering the customers a dazzling smile while he ushered them into boat seven. Once they were situated, he turned back to Gideon with a scowl.

“That bad, Sex Pal?”

“I was already having a rough morning, I mean look at the shirt I’m wearing. The washing machine at our apartment basically self-imploded last night and I didn’t have time to clean my dirty work shirts unless—and I mean, Cam suggested this—I labored over the bathtub like a hunger stricken pioneer, so I pulled this out of the depths of my closet and prayed for the best. But that was just the beginning.”

He paused for dramatic effect and Gideon raised her eyebrows, only slightly enthralled.

“My alarm didn’t go off this morning, which is fucking hilarious by the way—” he paused here to help another customer onto the ride, “—because I vividly remember Cam telling me to set an alarm for her because she needed to go in early. Anyway, it didn’t go off so we were running behind as it was. Didn’t get to have breakfast or anything—by the way I’m starving so fuck you for the corndog and tell Dulcie to make me one.”

“I’m not telling Dulcie to make you one, I was literally just there.”

“So I’m driving, right, because Camilla says it’s my punishment for not setting an alarm—I did—and the traffic is pretty bad, but it’s fine because I texted Gaius that I was going to be a few minutes late and Cam texted Aiglamene, it was fine. And then some fucker of a kid—he must have been a toddler, I’m not good with ages—runs across the road right as I’m turning left, and damn, I’m not going to kill a toddler because I have places to be, so I swerve right, dodging the kid, but I pummel straight into another car. It was this dinky little thing—looked like it was nearly going to explode, not worth a dime if you’re asking me—and without an estimate or anything, I can immediately tell it’s totaled. The airbags go off right into my face, cracking my glasses and the—you can see, the bloody nose,” he waved a hand around his face.

“What the hell does this have to do with the new park employee?”

Palamedes helped a few more people onto the ride before answering, slapping the button with a type of ferocity that Gideon had never seen from him before. “The person I hit is the new park employee. It’s this wretched little goblin—she comes barreling out of the car like I just killed her mother, completely ignoring the fact I just avoided pancaking a toddler. And then what does the toddler’s father do? Just grabs the fucking child and runs for it—literally one of its shoes flies off from the speed that motherfucker was going. And the new park employee, all of five-foot-nothing by the way, starts yelling at me! Says I should have pancaked the damn kid, tells me I should fall into a ditch and crawl my way to hell, says I wouldn’t be able to find my way out of a paper bag—”

“Holy hell,” Gideon interrupted before Palamedes scared off the customers. “And you still came to work?”

“Her car was towed away and ours got taken to a dealership for repairs, but Cam said she was saving her sick days for some lesbian retreat—I don’t know what that means and I don’t want to know—so she said she was going to work anyway, and I mean, we were right there so I went. Come to find the new park employee following us—I didn’t know she was the new park employee at the time—I thought she was going to throw a knife into my eyeball, but turns out she just got hired as the Green Dragon operator.” He paused for a breath here, waving at the growing crowd of restless customers that wanted to go on the Ride o’ Love. “Just a second! There are some malfunctions!” He huffed a breath and turned back to Gideon. “And that was my morning.”

Gideon didn’t want to assume that this goblin park employee was even attracted to women in the first place, but there was something titillating about hearing all about her secondhand, especially because it was only her first day and she had already gained such a reputation.

At the creeping smile on Gideon’s face, Palamedes said, “Do not fuck the new park employee. Gaius still hasn’t filled in the vacancy at the Cannibal ride from Kymberleigh’s abrupt departure.”

“Her name was Kymberleigh, Sextus. Don’t act like I wasn’t doing you all a favor when she couldn’t deal with her lesbian awakening.”

“She is going to bite and you are not going to like it.”

“Who says I don’t like biting?”

“Why are you like this?” he sighed. “No really, why?”

“Don’t act like I’m not your greatest entertainment every day.” She stepped off to the side while Palamedes helped some people on the boat. “I should probably leave you to the angry masses,” Gideon said, eying the growing crowd of angry customers who had to absolutely get on the Ride o’ Love. “I’ll tell Dulcinea to start heating up your corndog.”

“Thank you,” Palamedes said sincerely. “And tell her to add an extra minute to the timer. They always come out cold in the middle.”

Gideon did as directed, and once she was sure Dulcinea added an extra minute, she wandered toward the Green Dragon ride.

The Green Dragon ride required two operators. One to strap people in and start the ride, the other to help people out and toward the trashcan or infirmary. The rollercoaster was treacherous: gaudy and big, somehow always looming menacingly in the background. The ride reached over seventy miles an hour, had three different loops, and there was an over one-hundred foot drop-off in the center. At least that’s what it said on the ride information placard. It was by far the most popular ride at Canaan Park.

Gideon was also a scaredy-cat when it came to rollercoasters. She could dive into the dangerous ocean and save a drowning babe with ease, but even just the thought of stepping a foot onto the Green Dragon—or even just the Ride o’ Love!—was horrible and excruciating, a fear she had never gotten quite over as a child. Thank god she had never been asked to try any of the rides by her park employee friends.

She already had several excuses geared up just in case they did. Can’t afford the ticket was always the first one. If that didn’t work and they (god forbid) offered her to ride for free, for the men, she’d say: I’m on my period. That always worked for them because they didn’t understand periods. For the women, she’d say: I just ate a corndog from the Corndog Espresso Place, which would earn her a sympathetic nod. Now, if the person who offered her the ride was Ianthe, then she wouldn’t say anything at all and simply just make a run for it.

A line was already starting to form around the Green Dragon, a line that Gideon did not want to wait in, especially because she wouldn’t dare ride the ride, and especially especially because she did not want to interact with Ianthe. So, she hung around the entrance like a creep, trying to get an eye into the operating area to catch a glimpse of this alleged goblin employee.

She did not see the goblin employee but instead a swish of pallid blonde hair. Ianthe droned on over the speaker, warning all of the passengers about the deadly adventure they were about to embark on. “Welcome to the Green Dragon,” she said, her voice as warm as honey—honey frozen solid and then chucked into the deepest part of the ocean. “Keep your toes, fingers, and other appendages in the ride at all times. That includes your penis—yes, you! Put it away!” After some scuffles and shouts, Ianthe continued. “Let an attendant know if you are pregnant, have a heart condition, are over the age of thirty-one, have coughed in the last day, have a history of psoriatic arthritis—we don’t care if you have rheumatoid arthritis, join the club—or have been within fifty feet of a cancer patient.”

“Like, fifty feet in the past day? Or forever?” a passenger asked.

“Um,” a different passenger interjected. “I’m thirty-two.”

Another passenger said, “My mom has cancer!”

“Well that’s too damn bad. Should have said something earlier,” she said. With a smack, she sent the passengers of the Green Dragon down the tracks. Their screeches of terror flew past Gideon as they barrelled down the ride.

“Next passengers, please enter the ride—we’ve got a runner!!” she yelled into the microphone. An alarm blared through the Green Dragon area beeping, Runner! Runner! Runner! Gideon stood on her tiptoes to see what was happening. Ianthe and some other employee—Gideon couldn’t see her face, but she assumed it was the goblin one—dragged a poor teenage boy back onto the ride before he could run away.

“Jeanne!!!” the boy yelled wetly, little bubbles of snot making gross lines under his nose to his lips as they dragged him back to the ride. The goblin employee forcefully strapped him in. “Save me!!”

“Stop being so dramatic! You’re embarrassing me!” a teenaged girl said, covering her face as they dragged him in next to her. “You signed the waiver!”

“How was I supposed to know they were going to force me to ride it?!”

“It’s in the fine print,” the goblin employee said. Gideon craned her neck to catch a better look. All she could see was a sunburnt neck and a crop of black hair.

Ianthe cleared her voice and said, “Welcome to the Green Dragon. Keep your toes, fingers, and other appendages in the ride at all times—”

The line wasn’t easing up despite all of the commotion. Gideon huffed and, though she knew she wasn’t allowed to, entered the employee area. As long as Gaius wasn’t looking and the new employee wasn’t a snitch, it’d be fine.

She ducked under the metal bar with a sign that read Employees Only!, side-stepped an annoyed employee taking a smoke break, and beelined it for the employee entrance area. She’d been there a couple of times with Coronabeth, who could always cajole Gideon to do things she never wanted to do in the first place, so she knew her way around.

“Apologies to all Green Dragon hopefuls, the ride has to undergo some maintenance because some kid missed the trashcan and barfed in the carriage,” Ianthe said over the speaker. Everyone collectively groaned and shouted.

“Isaac!!” someone squeaked. “You’re so embarrassing!!”

She found her way to the ride area, peaking a head through the window that separated the employee pathway to the operating controls. Frustratingly, the goblin employee’s back was turned while she shooed people away from the front of the line. At least with the ride maintenance, Gideon could properly woo her before she had to go back to her shift. Gideon caught Ianthe’s eye and winked.

“I am going to call the security crew on you for infringing on employee duties!” Ianthe shouted, ushering the poor kid who threw up—Isaac—out of the ride area. “Don’t tell me you’re here to harass my newest protegé. That’s my job.”

“Call me your protegé one more time and I’ll stick your face into that kid’s throw-up,” the new employee threatened, turning around once she got the last passenger out of the line. “I’m not cleaning it up.”

“You’re the new employee. Yes, you’re cleaning it up,” Ianthe said to the new employee, rolling her eyes. She turned back to Gideon. “Isn’t she just lovely?”

This new employee was lovely, actually—she had a sweet, sunburned face and a crop of freckles across her sharp nose, with a philtrum connecting her nose to her plump upper lip, and—oh for fuck sake, this was the lady Gideon saved from drowning on her second day.

There was a long pause before anyone said anything. Ianthe crossed her arms and looked between the two of them, trying to suss out why their reactions were so strange, most definitely judging them.

The first one to say something was the new employee, who just pointed at Gideon accusatively and yelled, “You!” and then turned one-eighty and high-tailed it out of there through the ride entrance.

Gideon floundered. “Was it something I said?”

“You didn’t even say anything, Gonad. Must have been your face that was so off putting.” Ianthe sighed loudly. “D’you think she’ll come back to clean the vomit or what?”

Gideon hovered around the Green Dragon for a few more minutes, hoping that this employee—Ianthe said her name was Harry, but that didn’t sound right—would come back and entertain Gideon with an explanation of her strange behavior. When that didn’t happen, and when Ianthe threatened to call the security goons, Gideon resigned herself to trudging her way back to lifeguard tower eleven.

Gideon couldn’t wrap her head around the new employee being the girl she saved a month ago. She figured that this lady she saved from certain death was probably a tourist who never learned how to swim. The fact that she turned up a month later, same spatter of freckles and sunburned cheeks, as an amusement park employee was beyond bizarre. Her reaction to seeing Gideon was even stranger. Not to mention, Palamedes and Camilla had totalled her poor car, even if it was to save an undeserving child.

Gideon thought about this while she chewed the inside of her cheek, picking up a few pieces of litter on her way back and shoving them in her jacket pockets. A beachgoer’s neck craned as she walked past and she threw her a flirtatious little wink, but her heart wasn’t really in it.

Back at the lifeguard employee building, Gideon put her jacket away, grabbed her equipment, and clocked back in. Camilla was just getting ready to leave for her lunch so Gideon flagged her on her way out. “Cam. Do you know the name of the new park employee?”

Camilla raised an eyebrow as she shrugged her jacket on. “The one Palamedes hit this morning?”

“Yeah…”

“Her license said Harrowhark Nonagesimus. Grab a paper. That’s N-O-N-A-G-E-S-I-M-U-S. No, you added an extra N there, it’s N-O-N-A. Yeah, there you go.”

“Cam, have I ever told you that I love it when you don’t ask questions?” Gideon said, scribbling down the name on a piece of littered receipt paper and a pen she found on the floor.

“I don’t need to ask questions when I already know the answer.” Camilla didn’t leave her time to defend or explain herself—not that she had a good defense or explanation, anyway—before she said, “Aiglamene wants you to shrink the swim line at lifeguard tower eleven,” and beelined it to the door to make her trek to the Corndog Espresso Place. Gideon folded up the receipt paper and tucked it in her locker.

She shrunk the swim line and then relieved her fellow lifeguard of their duty, plopping a pair of sunglasses on her eyes and leaning back into her chair. “Swimmers!” she said with her megaphone, scaring a flock of seagulls absolutely obliterating some sandwich crumbs. “Please stay to the right of the flag, there’s a riptide.”

Gideon’s extensive search that night, which included Google and Instagram, amounted to all of nothing. There was no such thing as a Harrowhark Nonagesimus, at least as far as the internet was concerned.

///

Because Harrow was given to a church instead of a state-approved adoption agency, the nuns separated her and her twin sister at birth. She hadn’t even known she had a twin sister until a little kid bounded up to Harrowhark, shitty drawing in hand, and said, “Nona, Nona! Why weren’t you at school today?” This happened in a grocery store where she was spending all of her two dollars and seventeen cents on two packs of ramen. The kid must have run away from his mother.

At this point in time, Harrowhark was probably eighteen (she didn’t know her exact date of birth then), out of high school for several months, spit out of the foster system, and dreading her lot in life. She had a tiny basement studio apartment in a sketchy part of town and could not afford college in the slightest. One of her counselors at Drearburh High had floated the idea of federal student aid, but when she approached the nuns and her current foster placement with all the paperwork she needed, Sister Lachrimorta said, “We lost your birth certificate ages ago.” And when Harrow asked how to get a new one, Sister Aisamorta said, “I don’t know. Call someone.”

Harrow did not have a phone, nor consistent access to the internet, and when she asked her counselor for guidance, her counselor said, “I dunno. I’ve never been asked that.”

So when a little kid asked why she hadn’t been at school today, Harrow said, “I’m not Nona,” and then she imagined kicking this kid straight in the ribs and punting him off into the sunset. She hadn’t been doing so well back then.

“Nona, why’d you cut your hair?” the idiot little kid asked, even though Harrowhark had just explicitly told him that she was not this Nona fellow.

“I just said I’m not fucking Nona,” she said. And then the little kid burst into tears and Harrowhark walked away.

The next day, when Harrow found two crumpled bills under her couch cushions and convinced herself it was probably worth it to buy an orange to stave off scurvy for another month, Harrow heard a sweet voice in the fruit aisle say, “I just had a cold. I’ll be back tomorrow.” When Harrow turned to find the source of this sweet voice, she saw her clone.

The little kid this clone was talking to met Harrow’s eyes and said, “That’s the mean lady that swore at me yesterday!” That was how she met her long lost twin in a grocery store because of some dumbass kid named Kevin.

How and when they exchanged numbers and started talking didn’t matter—what did matter was that, soon after, Harrow knew what day she was born. She could order a new certificate and get into college with student aid.

Four years after The Incident, at twenty-two, Harrow was a lot more stable than she had ever been and was working on applying to medical school. To celebrate, Nona declared that they must go to the beach. Of course, Nona’s intentions were all selfish, but she loved to pass it off as something they had to do to celebrate Harrowhark graduating from undergrad.

This was the start of the fall.

Honestly, it was all rather embarrassing how it went down. For the record, Harrow knew how to swim—just not very well, but she knew the general… motions of it. When she and Nona first started hanging out regularly, Nona took her to her community pool and showed her how to do all of those funny looking strokes. Harrow was pretty good at the doggy paddle and pretty all right at the front crawl. And Nona said that the ocean wasn’t all that scary, especially if Harrow wore swim floaties like she did.

Harrow kindly declined the swim floaties. Nona said they were in vogue. Harrow did not believe her.

Harrow likely would have been fine, at least she thought so, but she was—she was distracted, okay—compromised, even. The two of them were situated near lifeguard tower eleven, Harrow had the money in her bag for the bus ride back to Pyrrha’s place if she got overwhelmed, and she had put on copious amounts of sunscreen and wore a rash guard to prevent any further burning. It was going to be okay, even if Harrow had only said yes to this beach trip to make Nona happy.

Nona cajoled her into the ocean after some pleading and pouting and then said, “My hair tie broke!” When Harrow said she brought extra (she always brought extra for Nona), Nona said, “Okay, I will be right back. Stay in the ocean and splash, thanks.”

While Nona was gone, Harrow waded around awkwardly in the ocean, stumbling over jagged seashells and getting wrapped around tentacles of seaweed. And then she saw the redheaded lifeguard perched on lifeguard tower eleven and that was where it all fell apart.

Harrow once fell in love with her third grade English teacher, tall and blonde and so beautiful it was honestly startling, but other than that one-off, it’d be easy to assume she had a type.

Sister Dianne who spanked her for misbehaving. Redheaded. She had a crush on her classmate named Joanna when she was twelve. Redheaded. When she was fourteen, she was placed with a foster family for a few days before they sent her to the next place. Their youngest daughter’s name was Amelia and Harrow had thought she was the most beautiful person alive for those few days. Redheaded. When Harrow was seventeen, her first girlfriend’s name was Jordan. Redheaded. When Harrow was twenty, she briefly dated a girl named Mina. Redheaded.

She was tall and long and dark and smooth and built so deliciously well that it seemed like God Himself had come down and crafted her with His own hands. Harrow imagined a bead of sweat cropping up on her neck and making its way down to her swimsuit top, nestling itself nicely in between her breasts. Harrow imagined running her hands up and down her biceps, measuring them with her skinny fingers, their bodies so close together that their warmth became one. Harrow imagined pushing her onto her bed, the smell of sand and salt and sweat overwhelming her nose, and pulling down those tiny little shorts and diving in like those seagulls Nona pointed out.

This was mortifying, especially because this lifeguard was so attractive that Harrow did not realize that a riptide was pulling her away until it was too late.

She wasn’t a very strong swimmer as it was, so she couldn’t wave her arms around and scream for help like the movies would make you believe. What she could do was accept her fate, and at least that was some sort of comfort. She internally apologized to Nona for likely ruining her day. She wondered if Nona and Pyrrha would pay for her cremation, or they’d just let her rot on the ocean floor. Then it all went black.

Harrow remembered, or she might have hallucinated, a deep, dark abyss. It yawned in front of her, beneath her, around her, and she knew that this would be her final resting place. It seemed apropos that it was likely the pit to hell.

And then life was crudely shoved back into her body and her eyes flew open, face-to-face with a startling amber. The owner of said amber eyes managed to lean back before Harrow threw up all in her mouth. She found the meager strength it took to twist her body onto her side and then hacked up hot sea water out of her mouth and nostrils, distant cheers rattling around in her skull. She wasn’t even given a moment of reprieve before Nona barrelled into her, jostling Harrow’s poor ribs—and, ouch, okay, they were definitely broken.

“—my ribs,” Harrow had said, trying and failing to get Nona to ease up on her poor midsection.

She was then vaguely distracted by a smooth voice saying, “Did anyone call the med team?”

Harrow did not need a med team or medical attention and she said, “I don’t need—” before she cut herself off with the vile need to throw up her stomach lining. She doubled over into the sand and coughed up sea water, spit, and blood.

The arms around Harrow loosened and somebody started to manhandle her. And then she saw it: the redheaded lifeguard, the reason she fucking drowned in the first place, staring down at her with a face etched deep with concern. Holy hell, she was even more attractive up this close. Tousled red hair that swayed gently in the beach breeze, streaks of sand speckling her strong jaw, startling amber eyes, and an almost-out-of-place but honestly perfectly plump set of pink-brown lips. A deep, bright-red blush started from her toes and inched its way up to her neck.

And then she was whisked away to the hospital.

She stayed there for a total of two days before she had to threaten a nurse to let her leave. They brought in doctors and nurses and techs and told her that she needed to take it easy for six weeks, that the iron in her blood seemed dangerously low, that she should be taking vitamin C tablets, and here’s a prescription for some low-level pain medication that probably didn’t work as well as Ibuprofen. After all was said and done, she ended up with around $15,000 in medical bills that she could not afford. Worst of all, she missed her med school application deadline by a day because the nurses wouldn’t let her have a laptop as a punishment for threatening to kill herself if they didn’t let her leave. Even though it was her fault she had intended to submit the application on the last possible day, she wanted to make sure it was absolutely perfect, and so she thought it was a good idea to delay its departure from her hands.

After crying for a week straight, and then taking another week to recover, Harrow could only stew in her self-pity for so long before she went crazy. She decided she needed a job and she needed one yesterday. She had quit her old job to study for the MCAT full time, and had saved up some money to get her through it.

Well, now she was Pyrrha and Nona’s newest roommate and all of that money she put toward her medical bills. She was now $8,000 in debt with no job and no future for the next twelve months. Because Pyrrha and Nona lived more inland than she did, she needed a car. That car was $1000 on a good day and older than herself and smelled like cigarettes and moldy cheese, but the car could get her to and from places. The first place she applied to was Canaan Park, which paid only slightly above California minimum wage. Canaan Park was also the only place that replied back within a week, and so Harrow took her chances and interviewed.

Of course she got the job right on the spot because they were desperate. She started the following week. And then some twink in a minivan totaled her car on her first day. To make matters infinitely worse, she had her mother’s urn in her car at the time which crashed against the dashboard and broke. Now her mother was embedded into her moldy cheese carpet and found a home inside a scrap yard.

She was already reaching her breaking point when she saw the redheaded lifeguard, the catalyst of all her problems, breaching containment from her head. Now here she was, as beautiful as the day she saw her for the first time, and here Harrow was, wearing a work shirt too large that had the name Kymberleigh embroidered on it. Not her most normal reaction, but she thought she did a pretty good job all things considered.

After apologizing to Gaius for her abrupt departure from the Green Dragon the day before, he placed her on the Cannibal ride instead and told her to take a breather. Both Canaan Park and Harrowhark were desperate, so it all worked out in the end. She went through the dull motions of informing people about the risk of the ride, strapping people in, and ignoring the growls of her poor stomach. Nona said she would visit her in between classes if she could, but if she saw her beautiful and bubbly sister while Harrow drowned in a borrowed work shirt, she would die, so Harrow staunchly told her that it was okay and maybe another day.

When Palamedes came up to her right before her mandatory break, Harrow scanned the Cannibal ride for an escape. He had her cornered, though, and the replacement ride operator was already ushering her out of the area. Palamedes grabbed her arm and took her to the employee-only area with no words exchanged between the two of them until he said, “You should apologize.”

“To you?!” She pointed an accusatory finger. “You’re the one who hit me, you useless piece of—”

“Not to me! Jesus,” he said. He looked marginally better than the day before. He wore a rumply shirt with no bleach stains and the crusted blood under his nose had been wiped away. His right lens was still cracked, though. “To Gideon.”

Gideon? Harrow did not know a Gideon. She made it a point to not know men. “I don’t know who Gideon is, and I don’t want to meet him,” she bit out. “If it’s convenient for you, I’d like to get some fucking food now.”

“You mean you don’t want to meet her,” Palamedes corrected.

“Huh?”

“Gideon. She’s the—” he made a vague motion with his hands, which could probably be interpreted as bulging biceps, “—you know, the redhead. Annoying as all hell. Very sweet. The lifeguard down at Canaan Beach.”

Harrow wondered if God hated her. There was no other explanation for why these types of things happened to her. Harrow groaned and covered her ever-reddening face with her bony hands, mortification dropping to the pit of her stomach. “An apology,” she reiterated through her fingers. “For what?”

“I know you had a rough day yesterday,” rough life, Harrow thought, “but telling Gideon that you hope she drops off the face of the earth seems a little harsh, especially because she didn’t even do anything.”

“I didn’t tell her that!” Harrow yelled, dropping her hands. What!

“Cam said that Gideon said—you know what,” he said, waving a hand, “she does tend to have a flair for the dramatics. Doesn’t matter, though. She interpreted it that way, and I do like Gideon. I’d hate if she stopped coming around Canaan Park because some—well, because you scared her off.”

Scared her off. Laughable. Foolish, even! It wasn’t Harrow’s fault that Gideon had her own interpretation of things. It wasn’t Harrow’s fault that her car was totaled on her first day. It wasn’t Harrow’s fault that her mother and father punted her into the care of two sickly nuns. This all wasn’t Harrow’s fault, she mused, and honestly, she deserved a pat on the back for dealing with it as well as she had been.

“What is your fucking issue?” Palamedes said at Harrow’s silence.

Harrow rubbed a thumb over her knuckles and said, “Do not even get me fucking started,” instead of explaining. Palamedes didn’t deserve an explanation. No one did. She hoped they all died. “Goodbye, and fuck you. I hope you learn how to drive.” She stomped away extra loud just to annoy him.

At home, Harrow listened to Nona babble about her favorite summer school students. Nona said that she didn’t have favorite students, claiming that she was an impartial teacher aid and that all students deserved her attention despite the fact that she talked about four of them more than any of the others. Nona did not like when Harrow pointed this out, so Harrow did not point it out.

After regaling a story about the class pet eating the teacher’s shoes during their lunch break, Nona asked, “How was your second day?”

There was no point in lying to Nona. She had a sixth sense about these types of things, so Harrow said, “It went about as well as the first day.”

“Did you see the hot butch again? Tell me what she looks like again. Please and thank you,” she added as an afterthought.

“I’m not telling you what she looks like again, you twerp. And no, I did not see her. One of the park employees said I should apologize to her.” Nona frowned thoughtfully, so Harrow said, “No! Fuck her, fuck him, fuck this stupid—fuck—she’s the reason I missed my fucking deadline and I had to take this stupid fucking job.”

“I know you don’t really think that,” Nona said, perched on Harrow’s twin size bed while Harrow hid under the covers. “She saved your life. Would you rather miss your deadline or be dead?”

“Dead.”

“You know I don’t find that funny,” said Nona.

“I’m sorry,” Harrow said immediately. “I just—” she took a deep, rattling breath. She knew she was being unreasonable. She knew she was being unfair. Harrow was very self aware, she knew how mean she could be, how she pushed people away. But this was the only way she had ever known how to deal with it all. It was unfair to everyone, and Harrow knew better, but she couldn’t stop the self-destruction. She was also far too proud to apologize (Nona didn’t count).

“You’re being a big, mean baby,” said Nona decisively, reaching over to flick Harrow on the forehead. “And you know you are. You owe the twink an apology.” Harrow remembered she had never given Nona Palamedes’s actual name. “You owe the butch an apology. And you owe me dinner.”

Nona had a way of burrowing into Harrow’s psyche. Maybe it was the twin bond, she didn’t know. “Okay,” Harrow murmured, feeling alright for the first time that day. “What would you like to eat?”

“Pyrrha bought stuff for jollof rice. We should make her food before she comes home.”

“We?” Harrow laughed. She let Nona pull her up. “I think you mean me!”

Harrow knew that Gideon’s shift started a little bit earlier than hers. She thought it would be good to walk to the beach, apologize so she could tell Nona she did, and then walk back right before her shift started. She had it all planned out in her head: what she would say, how she would say it, and how Gideon should react. She figured out when Gideon’s first break started, which was right before she needed to go in for work, so it was perfect. This was perfect. She would apologize to Gideon and then put her in the past and trudge her way through this horrible job until she found something better.

Of course, nothing ever went to plan. She entered the lifeguard employee building, muttering her apology under her breath, and the first thing she saw was Gideon bench pressing a fellow lifeguard.

Gideon straddled a metal bench, her back against hard steel, her right hand splayed across a milky thigh, her left hand splayed around a tight little swimsuit top. The girl she bench pressed was bigger than Harrow, taller, more muscular. That was embarrassing because that meant Gideon could bench press Harrow, and Harrow loathed herself for even thinking it.

Gideon grunted in concentration, beads of sweat nestling in between her flexing muscles, her lip gripped tightly between her teeth—but even then, it still seemed so easy to her, bouncing the girl up and down in her arms as her fellow lifeguards cheered around her, asking to be bench pressed next. The lifeguard Gideon bench pressed seemed giddy with delight, laughing even as she held her stiff posture in Gideon’s hands.

This was who she was apologizing to? This—this idiot?!

After a few more presses, Gideon put the girl down with ease and her coworkers laughed and cheered. She stood up with a smile on her face. Harrow stood in the entrance like a fucking idiot. Their eye contact was brief before Harrow turned and made a run for it, right back down the boardwalk. She might have imagined the pure terror across her face.

The last thing she heard was, “Harrowhark!!! Come back!!!”

“I feel like,” someone said behind her at the Corndog Espresso Place line, “we got off to a bad start.”

Harrow seized up, feeling caught, and refused to turn around. She was at the front of the line anyway. “U—um,” she stammered, “is there a menu?”

“We just sell corndogs and espresso,” the worker said.

“Corndog,” Harrow said stupidly, even though she really didn’t like corndogs. “No espresso.” Harrow fumbled for her wallet.

“I’ll pay,” Gideon said behind her. A broad hand found a place against the small of her back and gently pushed her away. “A corndog for her, a corndog for me, and a triple espresso. Please and thank you, Dulcie.” Gideon paid without much commotion, and then she stood next to Harrow at the side, the silence between them horribly awkward.

“Harrowhark, is it?” Gideon asked after a painful pause.

“Just Harrow,” she said tersely, looking at the ground.

“Okay, Just Harrow,” she said. “I’m Just Gideon.” Another awkward pause ensued before she tried again. “Did you know I saved you from drowning on my second day?”

Harrow looked up at that. Her second day? From the way Gideon reacted so quickly, Harrow would have figured she was a seasoned lifeguard. Her life was in the hands of someone’s second day on the job? “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Gideon said, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of her LIFEGUARD jacket. “I should thank you, by the way. Everything else has been easy in comparison.”

That forced a laugh from Harrow’s throat. “Wh—huh?!”

“I’m pretty sure I fractured a couple of ribs,” she said. “How are those doing, by the way? It hasn’t been six weeks since then, has it?”

It most definitely had not been six weeks since then, and the car crash did her no favors in the healing department, but Harrow had a feeling that was the wrong thing to say. So she said, “Let’s cut the theatrics of it all. You’ve come to me for an apology in which you are owed. Here it is: I’m sorry. Is there anything else you need?” which was probably a lot worse than just saying it hadn’t been six weeks yet.

“You are so off putting. Do you know that? Are you trying to be off putting? Harrow,” Gideon said slowly, a smile inching its way across her face, “have you ever had a friend before?”

“I do not appreciate the way you framed that question!”

“I notice you haven’t answered it.”

“Of course I’ve had a friend before,” Harrow said immediately, though she wasn’t sure if that was a lie. A lot of the children at the church stayed away from Harrow before they put her on the right cocktail of medications and people at Drearburh High also steered clear in case she infected them with dyke. Did Nona count as a friend even if she was her twin sister? They had met each other later in life and chose to form a bond. Harrow thought that counted as a friend.

“Mom’s don’t count.”

“My mom is dead, you insensitive sack of shit,” though Harrow didn’t really care, “and embedded in my fucking carpet!”

Gideon choked on her spit, only managing to say after a minute, “What am I even supposed to say to that? Why is she embedded in your carpet?”

This discussion was rapidly going in a direction she did not enjoy, and when Dulcinea informed them that their food was ready, Harrow grabbed one of the corndogs and said in between gritted teeth, “I’ll send you a check.”

“Who are you? Who still has checks?” And, “I don’t want you to pay me back.”

“Why? So you can lord something over me?”

“Harrow, I’m beginning to think that you have never interacted with another person normally,” Gideon said, grabbing her corndog and triple espresso from Dulcinea’s waiting hands. “Friends buy things for each other. Look it up in the dictionary or something, I don’t know.” Gideon tossed her a wink and thanked Dulcinea for the food.

She then left Harrow standing there, corndog in hand, her figure retreating back to the beach, only for Harrow to mutter far too late, “Who said we were friends?!”

///

You’d think saving someone’s life would give you some brownie points, but Gideon quickly learned that Harrow reacted in the exact opposite way a normal person would react. It went like this:

SCENARIO ONE:

Gideon: Here, I bought you a corndog!

Normal Person: Oh, thank you. I’ll get you next time.

Harrow: I will curse you and your entire bloodline a thousand times over.

SCENARIO TWO:

Gideon: I saved your life!

Normal Person: Wow, thank you!! You’re amazing and deserve a substantial raise!

Harrow: My plans to shed my mortal coil have been foiled.

SCENARIO THREE:

Gideon: Have you ever had a friend before? Mom’s don’t count.

Normal Person: Gideon, you’re such a jokester! Please undo my bra clasp and start sucking my nipples.

Harrow: My mother is embedded in my carpet.

What did she mean by embedded in her carpet? Gideon mulled it over all that day and the rest of that night before returning to work the following morning. As she clocked in, she said to Camilla, “What does it mean when someone’s mother is embedded in their carpet?”

“Excuse me?”

“Is it a euphemism for something?”

“The only euphemism for carpet I can think of is pubic hair,” Camilla said.

Gideon cringed and shook her head violently. “I don’t think she means it in that way.”

“Who is she? And why is her mother in her carpet?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Gideon put a large glob of sunscreen in her hands, rubbing her face as she said, “Hey, I’m going to take my lunch alone again, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” said Camilla, shrugging on her jacket. Her answers were always succinct and never ran-on or dawdled. Maybe this was another case of Camilla not asking questions because she already knew the answer. This unnerved Gideon, because even she didn’t know the answers to Camilla’s unasked questions, or what those questions might be. This line of thought hurt Gideon’s head, so she dropped it. The smell of sunscreen coated Gideon’s nose and she thought of Harrow's sunburned neck.

Armed with two corndogs and a triple espresso, Gideon ducked under the Employees Only! sign that blocked off the Green Dragon. She already tried the Cannibal ride which ended up having its usual operator. They told her that Harrow was placed back at the Green Dragon, and so there Gideon went with two floppy corndogs.

At the front, Ianthe droned on about the dangers of the Green Dragon ride in her dullest voice. Harrow dutifully strapped people in, her fingers deft and nimble as if she had worked there for years instead of a few days. It was dull and listless work, but Harrow executed everything perfectly as if it were the most important job she might ever have. Gideon didn’t believe that was really the case, but maybe Harrow was the type of person to give all of herself to a project or activity, even if it was something as horrible as being a ride operator.

Gideon pretty much had the entire park figured out, so she knew Harrow was due for a break. She couldn’t help but break out in a smile when Harrow turned around and startled at Gideon waiting there for her with two corndogs in her hand. Harrow rolled her eyes and grumbled, stalking away to strap another passenger in while Gideon sipped her burnt espresso with a laugh, some of it dripping down her chin.

Ianthe and Harrow sent a few more rides down before Harrow grumbled and said something like, “I guess it’s my fucking lunch now,” and Ianthe said something like, “I guess so, you moody bitch.” Harrow shucked on her jacket and Gideon noticed she wore a better-fitted work shirt, one without the name Kymberleigh embroidered on it but instead Harrrowhark. Gideon laughed and choked on her espresso.

Harrow grabbed the flaccid corndog from Gideon’s fingers and took a depressed little bite out of it.

“Thanks for asking if I wanted one!” Ianthe shouted, slapping the operating button and sending a screaming gaggle of adults down the tracks.

“You told me it makes you break out!”

“And it does. I’d throw it away if you ever brought me one. But the gesture would be sweet, don’t you think, Gonad?”

Gideon heard a short, sharp laugh come from Harrow. She might have imagined it. “I can never win,” Gideon said, and then turned around to leave. She only hoped Harrow would follow her, and she did, chewing morosely around her food.

At the Employees Only! sign, Harrow said, “Gonad.” Not a question, just a statement.

“Oh, that’s a story,” Gideon said around a bite of corndog.

“Finish chewing and then swallow before you speak! And you say I have no manners!”

Gideon smiled at her a smile full of corndog bits and Harrow squeaked and shoved her away.

She finished chewing, swallowing before she spoke. “Back before I got my lifeguard gig, I worked back of house at this dive bar,” she started. Harrow made a face and Gideon shrugged. “One time, I left the griddle on and told the dishie to watch it while I took a piss. The dishie was coked out of his mind, and I think he watched Fight Club the night before—you know the scene with the pissing in the soup.”

Harrow nodded slowly. Gideon immediately knew that she had never seen Fight Club. “Well, I come back from my piss to see the dishie fucking pissing on the griddle.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Gideon laughed. She finished her bite and swallowed. Harrow looked away sharply. “Balls and cock out—the whole thing. Anyway, I’m like, ‘Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you??’ and he goes, ‘I thought girls took forever to piss’ and I’m like, what the fuck is going on, right? So I lunge for him, just trying to get him to stop pissing all over my paninis, but I accidentally push him into the griddle and I sear one of his gonads.”

A sharp laugh escaped Harrow’s throat, and this time Gideon knew she hadn’t imagined it. Gideon smiled widely. She liked that sound. “Excuse me?!”

“Yep. Gonad meets griddle. We had to take him to the hospital and then the health department got called and the place closed down for obvious reasons. That story killed Ianthe when I told her. She’s called me Gonad ever since.”

“Gonad seems unfair,” Harrow said, snapping her corndog stick in half and making a fist around it. “Wouldn’t Griddle be more appropriate?”

“I like it a lot more than Gonad, I’ll tell you that,” Gideon said.

She held out her hand for Harrow to deposit her trash in so she could make one trip and throw both away, but Harrow said petulantly, “I am more than capable of throwing away my own trash.”

“See, Harrow, this is another thing friends do. Favors for each other. I’m saving you a trip from the trash can simply because it’s nice of me to do so.”

“And what do you expect in return?!”

“That’s another thing!” Gideon said, and then wrestled the trash out of her hand before she could say another insane thing. “Friends just do things for each other with no expectation of you doing anything back!”

“Say, if we’re friends—and I’m not saying we are—well, what if I wanted to throw away the trash? Why won’t you let me do it?”

“I offered first!” Gideon said defensively, though she didn’t know why they were fighting over trash. She clutched the trash to her breast like Harrow would steal it from her. From what she knew of Harrow, she might. “You need to come up with something different.” Gideon ran for the trash can and threw it away before Harrow could. Satisfied with that, she wiped her hands on her thighs and turned back to a scowling Harrow. “Why are you so mad?!”

“I’m not mad,” she said immediately. “I’m thinking.”

Harrow’s thinking face looked like it would curdle milk. Gideon asked, “What are you thinking about?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” Harrow said. “I’m telling you this next part in confidence.” She stretched the bottom of her work shirt with her fingers and looked at the cracked pavement. “I’ve never had a friend before—at least, in the way you make it out to be.”

Was Gideon supposed to be surprised? She was of the impression that they both knew that already… Gideon said, “Oh!” because that seemed like something a surprised person might say.

“Yeah, well. I’ve just had—a rough upbringing, is all. I didn’t have the opportunity to foster connections between people.” That seemed pretty obvious too, but Gideon said nothing. “But—but I don’t want that to be an excuse anymore.” She rubbed the rough stitching on the hem of her work shirt. Gideon watched her lick her pink lips. “You’ve been persistently kind when I’ve been an asshole. So I’m asking you because I don’t think you’ll be mean or laugh.”

“What… are you asking me?”

“I need someone to teach me how to make friends!” she said hotly, her face turning a wonderful shade of cherry red, her voice breaking under her petulance. She covered her red face. “I’m twenty-two and I’m asking you how to make friends like it’s my first day of school!”

Gideon very badly wanted to laugh, not at her but just because of the absurdity of the situation, but she managed to contain it with a cough. But here was a perfect opportunity to get an answer to a question that had been bugging her so she took it. She was also very afraid that if she turned down Harrow, Harrow might never speak to her again, and that was a risk she was not willing to take. “I’ll help you,” Gideon said, tucking her hands in her LIFEGUARD jacket, her thumbs rubbing against the worn cotton. “Under one condition.”

“I thought friendship didn’t have conditions,” Harrow said.

“Okay, that’s right—I’m setting a bad example,” Gideon immediately backtracked. “I just—what did you mean by your mother is embedded in your carpet? I’m trying to imagine—”

Harrow’s laugh, not a sharp one but a sweet and unexpected one, cut Gideon off. “Did that keep you up all night?” she asked.

“I mean, yes? Here’s your first lesson—telling someone your mother is embedded in your carpet is not normal unless you’re a murderer. And I mean, I’m just assuming here, but you’re not a murderer, are you?”

“I had her urn in my car, you idiot,” she said. “Why I had her urn in my car is an entirely different story, but when Sextus crashed into me, the urn broke, and now she’s found a nice home inside the carpet of my car. Not that it matters, though, because my car is totaled and I don’t fancy myself picking out her remains.”

That was absolutely not one of the strange and fantastical stories Gideon came up with in her head. “Holy shit, dude,” she said, suddenly very embarrassed. “I am so sorry. That’s horrible.”

“Oh, don’t pity me now. She was a cunt. I think that her being embedded inside the moldy carpet of my car is a very fitting end for her.” Harrow said this all very plainly, like she was commenting on the weather. “So,” she continued, “are you going to help me?”

Gideon had forgotten the condition in the first place, and so she said, “Oh, yes. Yes, I’ll help you.” Gideon tapped her chin, making a whole show of it. She decided, when Harrow laughed at this, and then covered her mouth, that she wanted to make Harrow laugh some more. A dangerous thought to have, but she had it nonetheless. “Let’s see, let’s see… What shall be lesson number two? Harrow, have you ever said thank you before?”

Harrow guffawed at this, and they fought about it for a while, long enough that Gideon’s lunch came to a rapid end. “I gotta go.” When Harrow smiled with relief at this information, Gideon said, “Stop smiling about it!”

“You’ve given me a headache, so why shouldn’t I be happy that my ailments will be leaving me soon?”

“Why do you speak like that? You know what, nevermind.” Gideon stood on the other side of the Employees Only! sign, leaning over it to talk to Harrow. “What should we call these—lesson plans?”

“Does it need to have a name?”

“Yes, that gives it validity,” Gideon made up on the spot. “That’s lesson number three, my dear pupil.”

“Okay, you’re stupid and making stuff up.”

“You’re so rude to your teacher! If I had a board, I’d spank you.”

“The Work,” Harrow said, ignoring Gideon’s remark. “Let’s call the lesson plans The Work. If someone asks, we don’t have to explain. It’ll be easier that way. Also,” she said, her voice pitching up half-an-octave. Gideon delighted in how quickly and easily Harrow became embarrassed. “This entire—thing,” she waved her hands, “is embarrassing and mortifying. You won’t tell anyone?” Gideon smiled at her. “You won’t?” she repeated.

“I won’t,” Gideon said, “my gloom mistress.” Harrow opened her mouth to protest her childish nickname, but Gideon already started saying, “Now that we’re friends, I’m allowed to call you whatever I want.”

“You’re making stuff up again!”

LESSON NUMBER ONE: STOP SAYING WEIRD THINGS WITHOUT CONTEXT

Gideon came by during Harrow’s lunches for the rest of that week. Harrow hadn’t said anything, but Gideon was pretty good at figuring people out, so it became apparent to her that Harrow actually did not like corndogs at all. She was awful at hiding it. Whenever Gideon gave her a corndog, Harrow would grimace and then take a tepid little bite out of it. Gideon was going to say something about it, coming up with some random friendship lesson to teach her, but she decided against it and simply just stopped bringing her corndogs.

What she did instead was far worse. When Harrow wouldn’t tell Gideon what she actually liked to eat, Gideon put it upon herself to figure it out. She responded well to sour candy, like sour patch kids or those strange tropical worms that Gideon hated, but not well to sour food. She liked spicy food but not spicy sweets, like Mexican hot chocolate. Breaded items made her sick, like corndogs, which she had neglected to tell Gideon but that was fine. She tolerated fruit but enjoyed all vegetables minus celery, which she absolutely hated.

Gideon figured this out within a week.

When Gideon brought her another pack of sour patch kids during her lunch, Harrow said in between bites, “Are you trying to court me with food?”

“That’s a great segue into our first lesson,” Gideon said after dealing with the mortification of getting caught. It wasn’t a great segue at all, but Gideon couldn’t come up with a better way to shift the conversation. “Remember what I said about your mom?”

The two of them sat on a bench near the Ride o’ Love, packs of people milling about as they went to each ride in Canaan Park. Harrow wiped her sour-sugar covered fingers on her pants. “I shouldn’t tell people that my mother is embedded in my carpet.”

“Well, yes, but—well, no. I mean, it’s a part of my lesson,” she said, outstretching her hands like she had a great idea, which she did not. She was flying by the seat of her pants. “Lesson number one is: Stop Saying Weird Things Without Context.” Gideon thought herself clever for this one.

“Huh?” Harrow said, wiping away some sugar from her lip with a pink tongue. Gideon couldn’t help herself but look. “What does this have to do with friendship?”

“I mean, and I don’t mean this in a mean way—” Harrow puzzled at her choice of words, but Gideon soldiered on, “—you can be off putting. If I heard someone say to me that their mother was embedded in their carpet without context, I would not want to be their friend.”

“You’re really hung up on this mother thing,” Harrow said, bringing a knee to her chest to rest her chin there. She fiddled with her shoe lace. “It’s not like I’m saying that to everyone.”

“But it’s not just the mother thing. That’s just an example. Your apologizing needs some work too. That should be an entirely separate lesson, I think—what would that be? Number five?”

“You’ve got the attention span of a peanut!” Harrow said. “Where is this sentence going?”

“You know what I think lesson number one needs to be? You being nice for a change!”

LESSON NUMBER ONE: STOP SAYING WEIRD THINGS WITHOUT CONTEXT

LESSON NUMBER ONE: BE NICE

“People won’t want to be your friend if you aren’t nice. That’s the most important lesson of them all.”

“I am nice.”

“You are not!” Harrow sighed and turned her face. Gideon noticed a little freckle under her eye. “This is a basic tenant of human decency. Who raised you?”

“A bunch of sickly nuns,” Harrow said, which brought Gideon back to Stop Saying Weird Things Without Context, but she decided to drop it all together in order to prevent a headache.

“Instead of telling someone they couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag, why don’t you try something else?” Gideon suggested. “If you met me just now, what would you say that would make me want to be friends with you?”

Harrow seemed to think on this seriously for a minute or two, little divots on her lips from where she worried her teeth. “I don’t know,” Harrow said. “I really don’t know. Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me? What would you say to me? I need examples.”

“I dunno,” Gideon said with a shrug. “Harrow, I think you’re really funny. That’s what I would say.”

“Wh—huh?” Harrow squeaked. “Is that true?”

“It has an inkling of truth to it,” Gideon teased. “I think you’re a little funny,” she said, squeezing her index and thumb together, making a whole show of it.

Harrow shouted and shoved Gideon away, but she smiled all the same.

LESSON NUMBER ONE: THE PRACTICE

Gideon had Harrow name off all the people she wanted to be friends with at Canaan Park. When Harrow could not think of a single person, Gideon asked what the point was, and Harrow said for future reference. This did not fly with Gideon, who had a great many friends at Canaan Park, and could not imagine not wanting to be friends with them.

“Let me name a few people off. Palamedes?”

“He hit my fucking car!”

“Fair. Ianthe?”

“Fuck no.”

“Dulcinea?”

“I don’t like corndogs.”

“Well, Dulcinea isn’t a fucking corndog, she’s just a person who makes the corndogs.” When Harrow didn’t say anything besides huff in annoyance and turn away, Gideon clapped her hands together in delight, scaring off a pigeon eating a fry on the pavement. “That’s perfect! Dulcinea will be the first friend you make besides me.”

“And,” Harrow said, eyes darting to the carnival games that were in front of the bench they were sitting at, “you expect me to make this friend by saying something nice?”

“Yes. There’s plenty of nice things to say about Dulcie. You’ll notice she’s wearing a knitted bag. She knit it herself. Compliment the bag, say it looks nice. It’s that easy.”

“But what if it doesn’t look nice? What if she did a shit job knitting it?”

“That was just an example, you idiot,” Gideon groaned, putting her head in her hands exasperatedly. She felt she was out of her depth. “If you don’t like her bag, find something else.”

“Fine,” Harrow bit out, running a hand over her face. “Also, fuck you.”

Harrow and Gideon hovered around the corndog stand like a couple of irritating gnats while they waited for Dulcinea to go on her break. They fought a little bit, Gideon saying stupid things, Harrow also saying stupid things. Dulcinea shot them an irritated look once or twice, tutting under her breath and shaking her head as they scared off customers.

When her break hit and her relief came, Dulcinea zipped up her jacket and opened the backdoor, only to be greeted by Harrow shouting, “Wow, I like your knit bag!” Gideon stood behind her like a doofus, giving her a thumbs up.

“My knit bag?” Dulcinea wondered, feeling for it, and then remembering she left it in her car. “I left it in my car.” Harrow’s face blanched and she turned on her heel to make a run for it, but Dulcinea also said, “It’s sweet of you to remember! Do you knit?”

“No, I think it’s a waste of—”

“Don’t say that!” Gideon whispered loud enough for Dulcinea to hear. She pretended not to.

“—I mean,” Harrow amended, her hands fiddling nervously in front of her, “I mean to say that I don’t know how, but I’d love to learn.”

When Dulcinea smiled, Harrow smiled too, looking like she might not shit her pants for the first time during their entire conversation. Dulcinea said, “I’ll have to teach you, then. Do you have a pen? Let me give you my number.”

LESSON NUMBER TWO: SAYING THANK YOU

“Saying thank you,” Gideon said between licks of her creamsicle, “is imperative for a friend to feel like they are appreciated.”

“I’m imagining you’re wanting me to say thank you to you,” Harrow said, hands tucked under her thighs while Gideon devoured her popsicle. They were sitting at the beach now, Harrow had come to Gideon during her break claiming that the Canaan Park air was giving her a headache. It had been four days since Dulcinea and Harrow exchanged numbers, and in two days they were supposed to hang out and knit. Harrow moaned about how she really didn’t want to learn how to knit, but she seemed excited, anyway.

“Of course I’m talking about me!” she said, leaning back on her beach towel, some sand getting on her creamsicle. Harrow brought it to her half-melted saying she stole it from the employee freezer. Gideon knew she was lying to save face because two days before, Gideon told Harrow that she would kill for a popsicle during her break, and then Harrow mysteriously appeared with one two days later.

She colored at the thought of Harrow going home with that little tidbit of information, intentionally going to the store to get her a creamsicle, debating over the flavors she might like, bringing it home and putting it in the freezer, lugging it all the way to work and putting it in the employee freezer, remembering to bring it to her on her break, and handing it to her.

LESSON NUMBER TWO: THE PRACTICE

When Harrow turned to Gideon without a fuss and said a simple, “Thank you, Griddle,” Gideon blamed the red of her skin on the blistering sun, which had been covered by a cloud for the better part of an hour.

///

There were a few things that went into Harrow asking Gideon for help. Yes, Nona had a part in it. Yes, this was a way for her to get Nona off her back. Yes, this was a way for Harrow to hang around Gideon with a valid excuse. But mostly, she did want friends and she was sick of not having them.

Harrow really did not want to learn how to knit, thought it was a waste of time when she could be studying or sleeping or reading or anything else, really. But the light on Dulcinea’s face when she asked if Harrow knew how to knit, and the encouraging doofus behind her, was what egged Harrow on to say yes to this stupid endeavor.

At Dulcinea’s house, when Dulcinea showed her how to hold the needles and wrap the yarn, how to hold her hands so they wouldn’t cramp, how to count stitches, all of that—Harrow found she was very, very bad at knitting. It was a lot harder than Harrow gave her credit for, and she became so frustrated that she threatened to stab her eyeballs with the knitting needles several times.

Dulcinea did not take her seriously, which was a good thing because Nona would have, and laughed at Harrow’s dramatic antics, and then told her to slow down and take a breather and try that stitch again.

The minutes passed into hours, and when Harrow got a text from her sister asking her when she’d be home, Harrow said while gathering up her items, “I’m sorry I misjudged knitting. Only God’s strongest soldiers may do it successfully.”

“Harrow,” Dulcinea said in between laughs, “has anyone ever told you that you’re awfully funny?”

LESSON NUMBER THREE: GIVE AND TAKE

Harrow ending up at the beach outside of work was beyond her control. Gideon and Harrow had a day off that aligned, and though they never hung out besides the context of seeing each other on their breaks, Gideon texted and convinced Harrow to spend her day off at the beach with her. So here Harrow was at Canaan Beach: rashguard, swim trunks, and floppy hat protecting her baby skin. The ocean looked as treacherous as ever.

Gideon put up the umbrella and laid out the beach towels for them, looking like a doofus while she did it. She was distracting Harrow again, though Harrow told herself she wouldn’t dare go in the water ever again with Gideon around. She wore long, red swim shorts that went to her knees and a red bandeau around her breasts. She wore nothing else at all, tormenting Harrow’s eyes with her chiseled abs, her perfectly sculpted biceps, her amber eyes that glittered when she made fun of Harrow. Harrow should kill her, really, but mostly she should kill herself, because she had agreed to come to the beach knowing that Gideon looked like this.

When Gideon situated everything to her liking, Harrow took shelter under the umbrella and lathered sunscreen on her face and hands and legs and other miscellaneous areas that weren’t covered by her rash guard. Because Gideon was obnoxious and had to ruin Harrow’s life, she said, “Will you help me put some sunscreen on?”

“No, fuck you,” Harrow said, but squirted a glob of sunscreen in her hands anyway, and then closed her eyes when she made contact with the broadness of Gideon’s back. She thought that if she couldn’t see what she was doing that it’d be better, but it was the same amount of agony. Gideon wiggled and shivered at the cold sunscreen against her warm back, and Harrow ignored the way her fingers tingled as they spanned that back, rubbing it into sore muscles and tendons and warm, brown skin. What made it all the worse was the fact that Gideon didn’t say any stupid comment while she did this, just kept silent, and so Harrow couldn’t distract herself by being mean to her.

After that torment was over, Harrow averted her eyes when Gideon lathered up the sunscreen on her biceps and legs and abs herself. Once Gideon cleared her throat and declared she was done, Harrow said, “Now what.”

“Have you ever gone surfing, my sweet?”

“No. And I haven’t gotten back in the water since I drowned.” Harrow flicked some sand away from her bag and ignored the way her body reddened at Gideon’s stupid my sweet. She would blame it on the sun if cornered.

Gideon made a surprised little face, like she had forgotten the happenstance of their meeting, and said, “Well, that’s fair. But you have your own personal lifeguard now. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” She said this and then squatted down, leaning on her heels, elbows on her knees, as she looked at Harrow hiding under her sun hat. A hand reached out and wiped away the stray hairs on Harrow’s forehead. “Lesson number three: giving and taking.” Harrow didn’t know what she meant, would have normally asked, but she was struck dumb and silent by the feeling of warm fingers against her forehead. “If you go surfing with me, I’ll do something you want to do. And you don’t have to worry about the water, I’ll be your strong lifeguard.”

Harrow knew that if she said no, Gideon would relent and go surfing by herself. But then Harrow would be subject to the sight of Gideon surfing, sea water trickling down her skin and into her bandeau, broad hands waving at her from the ocean, and Harrow did not know if she could bear it, so she said, “Fine,” and when that felt too vulnerable, she amended it to, “Fine.”

LESSON NUMBER THREE: THE PRACTICE

Gideon was not a very good instructor, but Harrow did not know whose fault that was. They stood on wet sand, Gideon describing some matter or another that related to surfing, surfboard gripped casually in her hand, and Harrow could not pay attention. She noticed the little freckle under Gideon’s mouth, a freckle she had never noticed before, and understood little of what Gideon instructed her to do. Gideon laid the surfboard on the sand and said, “Okay. Now do what I just told you to do.”

Harrow said, “Huh?”

“You have a listening problem,” Gideon said, and then strong hands picked her up around her waist like she weighed nothing and plopped her on the surfboard. This was Gideon’s greatest mistake of them all, because now all that Gideon said went in one ear and out the other while Harrow thought about those long fingers gripping her flesh, pinching her, twisting her, marking her, opening her up. “—and the size of the wave matters, too,” Gideon was saying, “it’s hard to tell—when did you put on sunscreen last? Did you get burned? You’re so red.”

Harrow put on sunscreen all of five minutes ago. She said, “I must have forgotten to do it this morning.”

This lie obviously did not hold its weight in water, but Gideon nodded her head and accepted it anyway. “Pay attention to this next part.”

When they actually got to the practical part of it, Harrow might have been the world’s worst surfer. Gideon was patient when she fell numerous times, but she also grabbed and picked up Harrow like she was putty, pulling her away from the waves and bringing her back to the shore to try again. Harrow felt those hands grab at her from the front, from the back, around her chest, around her thighs.

After her thirtieth failed attempt, Harrow said, “I’m done with this,” and coughed up some sea water. She pulled a piece of seaweed that wrapped around her leg away and chucked it into the ocean with her feeble strength. Gideon laughed at her, grabbed the board, found a sufficient wave, and then surfed it first try.

She seemed satisfied with this, and came back to the towels and umbrella dripping wet. Harrow tore her eyes away and said, “It’s my turn to choose an activity.”

“And what do you have in mind, Miss World Class Surfer?”

Harrow reached in her bag, which was almost as large as her, and pulled out two dinky plastic buckets and shovels. “In fifth grade, I was a champion sandcastle builder and went to the State of California Sandcastle Building Tournament and ended up in third place.”

“That’s a thing?”

“Oh, it’s a thing,” Harrow said, standing up to wipe wet sand off her swimsuit. “And prepared to be absolutely fucking decimated by my sandcastle building prowess.”

To say that Gideon was absolutely fucking decimated by Harrow’s sandcastle building prowess was an understatement. They were given an hour each to build a structure or sculpture, it didn’t matter what as long as it was obvious what it was. Gideon sculpted a shitty sword. She first attempted to have it standing on its hilt, but the sword obviously crumpled at the slightest fart, so she ended up lying it down. In her entire hour, she managed to make something resemble a blade and hilt, but really could only be considered a sword if you stood twenty feet back and squinted.

Meanwhile, Harrow used her hour to sculpt an anatomically correct skeleton. She started from the skull and went down from there, pointing out to Gideon the parietal bone, frontal bone, sphenoid bone, mandible, and other bones when asked. She managed to finish the torso and up, including the fingers, hands, and arms. While Harrow sculpted the wrist bones, she mumbled to herself, “Some lovers try positions that they cannot handle,” to herself.

“What the hell does that mean?” Gideon yelled, attempting to fix the falling wall of her sword.

“Scaphoid, lunate, triquetrum, pisiform, trapezium, trapezoid, capitate, hamate,” she said like that explained it all pretty well, nimble fingers sculpting out the shape of each bone. It made sense to Harrow, and that was what mattered to her.

“Pisiform,” Gideon said under her breath with a giggle, because she had the humor of a ten-year-old.

Once the hour was up, the two of them judged their competing sand sculptures. “I think you should get points taken away because you didn’t finish,” Gideon said.

“Look at yours,” Harrow said after a gentle breeze. The hilt had fallen over into a sad, wet sand pile. When Harrow tilted her head to look at Gideon, she realized that Gideon had a dimple on her right cheek when she smiled.

LESSON NUMBER FOUR: APOLOGIZING

Gideon offered Harrow a bag of sour patch kids during her lunch. This was suspicious, because she usually only offered her food when she wanted something from Harrow. But Harrow took the sour patch kids anyway and sat next to Gideon on the bench across from the Ride o’ Love. “Lesson number four,” said Gideon dubiously, “is learning how to apologize.”

Harrow swallowed a sour patch kid and frowned, slapping the bag against Gideon’s chest. “I don’t like where this is going. Are you bribing me with treats?”

“Is it working?”

“It doesn’t work if I figure it out!”

Gideon sighed and said, “Harrow.” When Harrow didn’t respond because she was busy being petulant, Gideon said, “At least hear me out.”

“If this is an attempt to get me to apologize to Sextus, I hate that you tried to disguise it behind a lesson,” she said. And then, “I am giving you fifteen seconds to plead your case starting now.”

Gideon took a great, big breath and said, “Sex Pal is my friend, and you’re my friend, and it’d be so awesome and cool if you were both friends. But that won’t happen unless you apologize to Palamedes and he apologizes to you—and he’s tried, but every time he comes in your general vicinity, you make this scared little face and run in the opposite direction. It’s not subtle at all, by the way—”

“That’s it,” Harrow said, fifteen seconds elapsing according to her watch. “Now give me fifteen seconds to think.” Gideon raised an eyebrow, but she let Harrow have her fifteen seconds to think about what she said.

When fifteen seconds turned into twenty turned into thirty, Gideon said softly, “Even if my motivations are selfish, I still think this is an appropriate lesson in friendship.” Harrow shifted uncomfortably and tucked her hands under her thighs. She was not used to apologizing, but that was because she was used to being right. Yeah, Palamedes hit her car and totaled it and broke her mother’s urn in the process, but he had swerved to save a(n undeserving) child’s life. She definitely said some heated things in the moment that he might not have deserved. “I make stupid mistakes all the time,” Gideon continued. “It’s a part of life. Just last week, Cam left her lifeguard hoodie at my apartment and I washed it for her. She explicitly told me not to put it in the drier, but I forgot. It came out looking like it was made for a doll. It was a mistake, but it was still my fault, so I apologized and got her a new one.”

Harrow ignored the irritating feeling of jealousy that crept up through her bones and said, “I don’t know what to say. Just an I’m sorry will do?”

“I think that’s the most people want,” Gideon said. She leaned back and stretched her arm across the bench, her soft, warm skin barely grazing Harrow’s neck as she did it. Harrow leaned forward and groaned into her knees.

“Griddle,” Harrow said in between gritted teeth, “you are going to be the death of me.”

LESSON NUMBER FOUR: THE PRACTICE

“Palamedes Sextus,” Harrow said, cornering Palamedes like a dog the moment he went on his break, her shift having just ended, “I owe you an apology. However, I am only going to say it once, so if you miss it, that is your fault and it cannot be held against me.”

“Huh?!”

“Though your poor driving skills are the reason my car was totaled—if you were paying attention, you would have seen the child at the stoplight and perhaps been more cautious—I do apologize for all of the names I called you in the aftermath,” Harrow said in one, big breath, her hands fiddling with the rough hem of her work shirt. “It would have been a horrible sight for everyone to see a toddler killed in broad daylight. I think the course of action you took was best given the circumstances. After some self-reflection, I realize that it was inappropriate for me to say that you’re all legs and no brains, that Lucifer himself will greet you at the gates of Hell, and—”

“Harrow,” Palamedes interrupted, rubbing his temple, “this is probably the worst apology I’ve ever received.”

“It’s not my fault if you don’t like it!” she barked back immediately, hands curled into fists, scaring away a few birds hanging around the employee area. “You’re so ungrateful, you should be thankful I’m even apologizing at all—”

“Apology accepted,” he said, waving his hand. “Listen, I’m also sorry. I’ve tried to apologize multiple times now, but you run away every time I approach you. I am sorry for totaling your car and breaking your mother’s urn. But that’s why we have car insurance, right? No harm no foul.” Harrow felt like there was plenty of harm and plenty of foul, but she didn’t voice this.

“Insurance is a scourge on this earth,” Harrow said very seriously.

“Gideon, you can stop hiding behind the pole,” Palamedes called out. “Half of your body is visible.”

Harrow turned around to see her doofus stepping out from behind the pole, which very obviously did not hide her. “I was just watching!” Gideon claimed.

“Did she put you up to this?”

“Yes,” Harrow admitted. “But I wouldn’t apologize if I didn’t want to.”

Harrow saw the corner of Palamedes’s lip upturn ever-so-slightly. She didn’t know what to make of Palamedes’s smile, or of Palamedes in general, who seemed like the scheming type. “You know what would make it up to me?” He spread his hands like he had some great idea. “Harrow, have you ever been on the Ride o’ Love?”

“Oh, no,” Gideon cried, walking up to them and pawing at Harrow’s shirt to get her to walk away. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.”

Harrow had never been on any of the rides, including the Green Dragon at which she worked, but that had more to do with convenience and time rather than fear. “If it’s a mutual apology, I also get something in return,” said Harrow, not one to waste an opportunity.

“Harrow, say no,” Gideon said.

“I didn’t invite you to the Ride o’ Love,” Palamedes pointed out.

“Oh, good.”

“But it is a two person ride,” he continued, “and the name Ride o’ Love implies an act of love with another person. It’d be a waste for Harrow to go alone. Don’t you think? Harrow, what can I do to make it up to you?”

“I’ve checked the schedule,” Harrow said quickly before Gideon could protest her inclusion, “and you’re not working July twenty-third. That’s my twin sister’s and my birthday and she’d kill me if I missed it for anything. Let’s say I’ll forgive you if you can cover my shift at the Green Dragon.”

“With Ianthe?” Palamedes bemoaned. “Fine. Only if you ride the Ride o’ Love with Gideon, and then it’s even.”

“Palamedes, don’t you have a break?” Gideon asked, pulling at Harrow’s work shirt. Harrow slapped her hands away and Gideon groaned and hid behind her hands.

“I can take it a little later,” he said, waving his hands and motioning for the two of them to follow him through the Employees Only! area.

“I can’t afford the—wait, no, I’m on my period,” Gideon said, one finger looped around Harrow’s back belt loop as she begrudgingly followed the two of them.

“And that prevents you from riding the Ride o’ Love how, exactly?” Palamedes asked.

“You told me you got off your period three days ago,” Harrow said.

“I just ate a corndog,” Gideon tried again, tripping over a crumpled can.

“You eat a corndog every day,” said Palamedes.

“Griddle,” Harrow said slowly, realization dawning on her, “are you afraid of rollercoasters?” Gideon couldn’t see because she trailed behind, but Harrow smiled like the cheshire cat, delighted with this random tidbit of information. Gideon, afraid of rollercoasters? She saved her from drowning. How could she be afraid of something so silly?

“No, I am not,” Gideon lied. “I just—the water’s gross, and I started new medicine that interacts poorly with water—”

“With water???” Palamedes echoed

“—and Sex Pal doesn’t do a very good job of cleaning the rides, speaking from experience—”

“Fuck you!”

“—and the humidity is bad for my skin, and—”

“Griddle,” Harrow said, stopping at the entrance area to turn around and face Gideon. She was red red, embarrassed and mortified and reluctant. “You don’t have to go on the ride.” To really seal the deal, she turned to Palamedes and said, “Back off, Sextus.”

Gideon squawked and said, “Fuck no! I’m not afraid,” though her voice tremored. “I’ll go on the fucking ride, fuck you and your dead mother, fuck you Palamedes and fuck Camilla—not really, don’t tell her I said that—”

“Gideon, really—” Palamedes started, but Gideon interrupted him by storming through the entrance area and plopping herself in one of the boats, strapping herself in with a type of ferocity Harrow had never seen before. Palamedes spared a look at Harrow and shrugged and Harrow shrugged back, entering the entrance area and sitting down next to Gideon, shoes soaking in the murky water. When Harrow took too long to strap herself in, Gideon groaned and did it for her, strong hands fumbling around Harrow’s waist, pulling at the seatbelt. She pulled extra tight. Harrow heaved at the pressure.

“You’re so skinny. You’re going to fly out the boat at high speeds and I won’t save you.”

“You’ll save me from drowning in the ocean but not from drowning in a disgusting park ride?”

“Don’t call my ride disgusting,” Palamedes said into the speaker, jolting Harrow out of her argument with Gideon. “Welcome to the Ride o’ Love. Please keep all of your appendages, including toes and other various parts, in the ride at all times. Do not touch the water. Canaan Park absolves all responsibility for any bloodborne pathogens in the water, considering we have aptly warned you of its dangers.”

“Bloodborne pathogens?” Gideon squeaked, throwing her arms around Harrow and hiding her face in the neck.

“The ride hasn’t even started, you dumbass.”

“I’m a sensitive soul,” Gideon mumbled in Harrow’s neck, her lips briefly touching the warm skin there. Harrow jumped in her seat, but Gideon was so preoccupied with being a cry baby that she didn’t notice.

“The Ride o’ Love is a titillating adventure, only available for those brave of heart. You will be boating through the Tunnel of Love and around the treacherous Valentine Island. You will also pass through the unruly Cupid’s River, the dangerous Lustful Lake, and other harrowing sights.”

“I feel like he’s going off script,” Gideon murmured.

Palamedes came around to check their seatbelts, told Gideon that it really was going to be okay, and then walked back to the operation area so he could give them one final goodbye. “Good luck, my brave warriors,” he said in the mic, and then slapped the go button and sent them careening down the ride.

The first part of the ride was admittedly rough while the boat found its rhythm, the waves of the water nauseatingly pushing and pulling. Gideon whimpered, attached to Harrow like a leech, her eyes closed shut. Once they got through the entrance area, the ride became laughably gentle and serene, but Gideon refused to let go of Harrow, claiming that if she did, she’d throw up an entire month’s worth of corndogs.

They first passed through the Tunnel of Love, an eclectic and bright tunnel that flashed disorienting, neon colors. “Welcome to the ride of a lifetime,” a sultry voice mused over the speakers. Sloshing river water and the strobe lights gave Harrow a headache. “If you are here with a loved one, we welcome you to look deeply in each other’s eyes during this flash sequence.”

Can’t Take My Eyes Off You by Frankie Valli played over the speakers, a shitty recording that cut off and began at random points, disorienting static confusing Harrow’s poor ears. The screen above them crackled as it turned into an array of hearts and cupids holding bows, flashing at them like a shitty powerpoint. “This is horrible,” Harrow said.

“Should I open my eyes so we can stare at each other deeply?”

“It might make you sick, so I’m gonna go with no,” Harrow said, also closing her eyes.

They eventually passed through the Tunnel of Love and the boat led them to Valentine Island, a prop made with cardboard boxes and sand-colored paint. Harrow opened her eyes only to see an animatronic scarecrow standing in the center of the island, waving at the two of them. “Why, don’t you two look cuddly?” the scarecrow must have said, because its animatronic jaw loosely moved while it said it. “Welcome to Valentine Island, home of Saint Valentine. Saint Valentine founded Canaan Park and built his home on this island here.”

“That is just not true,” Harrow said. “Saint Valentine was a Roman saint born in the third century.”

“I don’t think Gaius went for accuracy,” Gideon whimpered against Harrow’s pulse point.

“As you pass this island,” the scarecrow continued, “think of your favorite memories with your loved one, and hold on to each other tightly as you ride through the gentle Cupid’s River.”

The boat made a wide berth around the sand-colored cardboard boxes and deposited them into a gentle river, pushing them along at a snail's pace. There seemed to be a pair of dentures floating in the water along Harrow’s side.

There was no creepy voice that blared over the speakers, but a gentle tune that swayed through the air and into Harrow’s ears. The boat rocked comfortingly and Gideon’s hands loosened around Harrow. She pulled away slightly, her eyes still shut tightly. “D’you think it’s safe to open my eyes?”

“Yes,” Harrow murmured, “it’s actually pretty nice over here.” Gentle and soft lights illuminated Gideon’s tanned skin like her atoms were made of supernovas. When Gideon opened her eyes, Harrow startled by how beautiful Gideon was. She always knew this, was aware of it, but sometimes she was thrown off by the severity of it. She wondered how she managed not to throw herself at her feet every time she saw her.

“This is making me kinda sea-sick,” Gideon admitted, but her eyes never strayed from Harrow’s own. Harrow shifted in her seat, not sure what emotion she was feeling and not very familiar with it. She looked away after a moment, staring at the water in front of her.

Harrow didn’t feel very sea-sick, but she said, “Me too,” anyway.

They said nothing else through Cupid’s River, letting the music fill the air. At one point, Gideon leaned over and laid her head on Harrow’s shoulder. The angle must have been awkward, considering how much taller she was than Harrow, but Harrow let her, only stiffening for a second before she relaxed against her reassuring weight.

When a hand snuck itself against hers and laced their fingers together, Harrow let that happen, too.

The ride passed through in much the same manner: the two of them silent and warm against each other, listening to the speaker say strange things, Harrow’s pulse beating so rapidly it felt like it might beat straight out of her body. The Lustful Lake had the same amount of work put into it as did everything else, meaning that it was vaguely a pond with a dead animatronic that only spoke in vague crackles.

The boat rocked the two of them through other sights: Affection Area, Smitten Street, and Pleasure Boulevard. The only noises between the two of them were giggles and their breathing, though Harrow swore Gideon could hear her heartbeat.

As the ride reached its end, the sultry voice from the beginning said over the speakers, “Thank you lovebirds for partaking in this adventure of love. Please write a review for the Ride o’ Love on our Canaan Park app. You will be deposited in the gift shop.”

An attendant, not Palamedes thankfully, helped the two of them out of the boat, their legs shaking. Their hands did not separate as they walked through the dark hallway to the gift shop. When the gift shop came into view, the LED lights nearly blinded them. They laughed at each other and pulled themselves through the throng of people, depositing themselves outside back to the ride entrance area.

“What the hell,” was the first thing Gideon said, and then broke out into funny little giggles that made Harrow break out into funnier little giggles. Gideon’s giggles stopped very suddenly, and she turned to Harrow with a serious face. She pulled her hand away and said, “I’ve been a bad friend and example.”

“Hm?” Harrow asked, wiping away a sweaty piece of hair away from her face.

“I am going to say something, and you can punch me for it and it’s fine, and I can get over it and that’s also fine, but—my intentions with you have not been clear.”

“Intentions…?” Harrow repeated slowly, pulling Gideon so she could tuck the two of them in a secluded little corner. Harrow did not like the way this was going and her heart dropped out of her ass.

“Harrow, I think it’s really nice that you want to make friends, and I think it’s really good that I was your first friend, and I want to help you do that, but—” she paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts, running a hand over her face. “I don’t want to be friends with you.”

“Ex—excuse me?!” Harrow squeaked, absolutely mortified by this information. “Fuck you! Did you just become friends with me because of pity?”

“Wait—no!” Gideon backtracked, waving her hands around, grabbing Harrow’s bicep to stop her from escaping. “I didn’t mean it in that way! That came out really wrong. I mean—I don’t want to be just friends. I want to be more than friends. I—you—Harrow, fuck—”

Harrow did not understand where this was going—or maybe she did, and she just could not believe what she was hearing. She literally drowned because of Gideon, thought that she was so attractive that she was pulled away by the riptide and nearly died, so the fact that Gideon was—Gideon said—

“Don’t look at me like that,” Gideon said, “it’s not like it wasn’t obvious from the beginning.”

“Not to me!!” Harrow said suddenly, and then grabbed Gideon’s neck and pulled her down for a kiss.

Gideon said a surprised little, “Wah!” in her mouth, but the surprise quickly faded and Gideon’s strong hands turned grabby, holding her by the waist, pulling her impossibly closer, deepening their kiss, slotting their lips together over and over.

Gideon pulled away for a moment and said, “Thank god we’re on the same page.”

Harrow pulled away further and said, “Where do you live?”

“Wow, I figured you were more of a second-date type of girl,” Gideon said with a little laugh under her breath, but then said much more seriously, “It’s within walking distance. Like ten minutes if we’re power walking.”

“I’m power walking,” Harrow declared, grabbing Gideon’s hand and pulling her away from the secluded corner they were hidden in. Gideon led the way, and the power walking turned into running which turned into sprinting at a certain point, though Harrow had to stop and take several breaks. It probably would have been faster had they walked.

They made their way to a sweet little bungalow-looking type house. Gideon shoved her key in the keyhole, missing it several times before eventually getting it right, swinging the door so hard that it nearly flew off its hinges. Harrow didn’t have time to admire Gideon’s interior decorating skills before Gideon pulled her in by her fist by gripping Harrow’s work shirt, slamming the door behind her.

They came together like a car crash, Gideon leaning forward to grab Harrow’s lips against her own, her hands scrabbling to find purchase on Harrow’s shirt. Harrow crashed forward, their movements so chaotic and sudden that their teeth banged against each other. Gideon hissed and leaned back but Harrow followed her movement, and the pain was soon forgotten as Harrow attacked her lips like a barracuda.

A foreign object—very much not Gideon’s tongue—entered Gideon’s mouth and she squeaked in surprise, clamping down on the writhing muscle with her teeth. Harrow shrieked and reeled back. “You just fucking bit my tongue, you menace!”

Gideon didn’t seem that sorry, and pulled Harrow back to try again, the two of them kissing each other with an amount of intensity that they had never felt before. She pulled at Harrow’s work shirt again and Harrow got the hint, pulling away an inch to rip it over her head. The offending material whacked Gideon right in the eye as it flew off. Gideon didn’t have much time to complain before Harrow said, “Oops,” blandly, grabbing her cheeks to pull her down.

Gideon did not expect this, and the momentum made her stumble for a moment, but she thankfully managed to stay upright and pull Harrow back up before they tumbled to the floor. Gideon grabbed Harrow again, shoving her against the door but missing, basically thrusting her lower back into the doorknob. Harrow yelped in Gideon’s mouth, not leaving Gideon time to feel bad, because she bit her lips in retaliation, the tang of copper on her tongue.

Gideon reeled back and said, “You’re making me bleed! You’re demented!” Harrow shrugged and pulled Gideon down to wipe away the blood with her tongue. “You’re demented,” Gideon repeated in her mouth, “but also this is strangely hot.” Harrow laughed in her mouth while Gideon adjusted her so the doorknob didn’t dig into her back, and then they were back attacking each other’s faces. Gideon held her cheeks in her hands, tilting her face for a better angle, propping a knee between Harrow’s legs.

“Get this off,” Harrow said, pawing at Gideon’s LIFEGUARD zip-up hoodie, “right now.” Gideon took direction well, leaning back far enough so it wouldn’t hit her eye like Harrow’s shirt did, and pulled it off in one fell swoop, leaning forward and down to drop languid kisses on Harrow’s neck, wet and uncoordinated. Each warm kiss made Harrow jolt against Gideon’s strong leg, the pressure against her clit just so, her arms tingling.

“I am willing to fuck you against this door,” Gideon said against her neck, Harrow grinding against her thigh like a virgin teenager. “Unless you want to move to my bedroom?”

“I need your fingers inside me right now,” Harrow said, reaching a hand behind herself in an attempt to unclasp her bra before Gideon slapped her hand away and did it for her. “Bedroom later. I’m planning on staying here for a while.”

“Yes chef,” Gideon responded like an idiot, and then pulled Harrow’s bra away, putting her lips against one of Harrow’s nipples immediately.

Harrow made noises she didn’t mean to: soft moans, catches of her breath. There was a point where she tried to stifle them, but Gideon then lifted her head, one of Harrow’s nipples escaping their warm heaven, and said, “Do not stifle your moans or I will stop.” The idea of Gideon stopping was too great of a risk that Harrow could not take, so she did not stifle her moans from there on out.

All of their posturing was for naught, because after Gideon made quick work of Harrow’s other nipple, she grabbed her by the waist and dragged her to the couch so they at least had some semblance of a bed. Harrow’s back was to the couch, Gideon hovering over her, hands wandering around her waist, cupping her breasts, taking deep breaths with her nose while they kissed. Gideon kissed with purpose and skill, licking into her, pulling her lips with her teeth, lips soft and plush against Harrow’s own.

“I want this off,” Harrow said against Gideon’s mouth, pulling at her LIFEGUARD swim top. When Gideon made no move to take it off, Harrow attempted to do the hard work herself, all the while still kissing Gideon, which ended up in a predictable disaster, with Gideon’s lips stuck in one of the holes.

“Good lord,” Gideon said at Harrow’s haste and aggressiveness, but helped her pull it off all the way. Harrow grabbed it from Gideon’s hands and threw it over her head, smacking something and making it crash to the ground with a clang. They both ignored this and Gideon leaned back down, working on the button of Harrow’s pants while Harrow grabbed her breasts with no shame.

Gideon entertained her for only a moment before she pulled away, Harrow’s hands dropping to her side. This let Harrow admire Gideon’s breasts, which were small but perky and muscled, her brown nipples pulled painfully erect. Harrow’s mouth salivated, desperate to get one of those nipples in her mouth, but she was soon distracted by Gideon successfully pulling her pants and underwear off in one fell swoop, leaving Harrow entirely naked on the couch.

Gideon didn’t leave time for Harrow to feel embarrassed about this state of undress, because she immediately shuffled back awkwardly, bumping the lamp on the side table and making it fall to the floor, and put her lips against Harrow’s clit.

Harrow’s hips jumped at the sudden pressure and pleasure, and Gideon swung her thighs around her shoulders and said, “Mm mm mmm!” The vibrations of her idiotic phrase went straight to her clit and Harrow moaned something low and reedy.

She left her post at her clit for the moment, broad tongue lapping at her dripping folds. The sounds of Gideon enjoying herself made Harrow feel like a pervert by how turned on it made her. Gideon knew exactly what she was doing, seemed to be an expert, her hands wandering from the top of her thighs, to her inner thighs where Harrow was slick and trembling, thumbs rubbing where her legs met her core. Harrow’s nipples pulled painfully tight, and she slammed her eyes shut, putting two trembling hands in that awful red hair, pulling her closer, closer, closer.

Gideon did not mind at all, seemed to enjoy it even, and took the hint, placing her lips against her clitoris and lapping against it gently with the broad of her tongue. Her left hand pushed against Harrow’s left thigh, opening her up slightly, and her right hand snuck below her lips, the pressure of a single finger poking around her entrance making Harrow’s legs jolt.

She didn’t leave her wondering for long, a single finger crooking inside Harrow, opening her up, the pressure from every part of Gideon touching her made her feel like she was hallucinating. Gideon’s finger soon had a companion, and then another, three fingers pistoning Harrow open while Gideon lapped at her clitoris. When Gideon herself moaned against Harrow’s core, Harrow saw white and stars and slammed her eyes shut, grinding her cunt into Gideon’s face, holding onto one of the cushions for stability. It was the most intense orgasm she’d ever had, Gideon not letting up, dragging it out and making it all the more intense. Little prickles of tears escaped her eyes and Gideon slowed down her assault on her swollen clitoris, pulling her lips away to lick and clean her up around her thighs and labia.

“Uhhhbbbawuahhh,” Harrow said intelligently. She took deep heavy breaths while Gideon kissed her way back up to Harrow’s navel, up her chest, around her breasts, sweet little kisses around her neck and chin, and then a final, succinct kiss on her lips.

“Are you ready for a second round?” Gideon asked immediately upon pulling away.

Harrow figured she might combust if Gideon made her come like that again, but she said, “Yes. Take your tiny little booty shorts off and spread eagle on your fucking bed.”

“It’s cute that you think I’m done with you,” said Gideon, pulling Harrow up by the waist to throw her over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Harrow squeaked in indignation, uselessly pummeling her fists into Gideon’s lower back while she swung like a ragdoll. Gideon just laughed and navigated her way through her house, eventually opening up what Harrow assumed was her bedroom door. Gideon kept the lights off, the sun lighting up her room sufficiently, and plopped Harrow on her bed. Harrow bounced for a second, miffed, but found herself pleased with the development of Gideon slipping out of her ridiculously tiny LIFEGUARD swim shorts.

Completely naked Gideon was a sight to behold, exactly as Harrow imagined and more. A small, red-orange happy trail that Harrow had never noticed before led to a groomed crop of russet curls. Gideon fell forward on the bed and hovered over Harrow. Harrow reached and grabbed her abs, thumbs tracing the faint ridges. Gideon breathed heavily while Harrow’s hands wandered, from her belly to her breasts, around her shoulders, down the thick muscle of her back, and back up to her shoulders to pull her down for a wet kiss. Gideon was pliant and willing, her mouth opening immediately at the movement, the taste of Harrow on Gideon’s tongue.

While Gideon thumbed at Harrow’s nipples, her hands cupping Harrow’s breasts perfectly, she found herself ready for round number two. Harrow bracketed her thighs around Gideon’s waist and said against her lips, “Flip. I want to be on top.” Gideon started to protest but Harrow pinched the top of her shoulder lightly and said, “Now,” so Gideon acquiesced and did as she was told, grabbing Harrow by the waist and flipping them in one smooth movement.

“Mm,” Harrow murmured, eyelids heavy while she opened them slightly to see what Gideon looked like while she kissed. Harrow closed her eyes again, pleased with Gideon’s look of concentration, and ran her hands across Gideon’s shoulders and up her neck to land at her jaw, thumbs caressing her cheeks, tilting her head for a better angle. She hadn’t even noticed, but her hips canted and rutted on Gideon’s abs, leaving a wet trail on the hard muscle there.

Gideon did notice and grabbed her ass, helping her grind out her relief on her stomach. Harrow moaned something obscene at this sudden change, Gideon pushing her sticky clitoris on the ridges of her abs. Their tits bounced against each other, Harrow dropping, “Haah, haah, ahh,” in Gideon’s open mouth. When a broad, thick finger prodded at Harrow’s entrance, Harrow pulled away to say, “I need you to fuck me right now,” still grinding on Gideon’s abs.

“Top or bottom?” Gideon asked immediately, swinging a hand out to her bedside table and knocking something to the floor. She opened the drawer and shuffled her hand through there, pulling out a strap-on.

“I want to be on top. Wash that before you put it in me.”

Gideon grumbled and made a scene, but she peeled Harrow off her, leaving Harrow’s clit bruised and sore, rushing to the bathroom to clean it. Harrow laid there like a starfish, trembling and taking heavy breaths while she tried not to touch her clitoris. She was afraid she might come immediately, and she wanted Gideon’s fingers on her when she did.

Gideon returned with the cleaned and dried strap-on. She already strapped herself in, her russet curls pressed down by the strap, and laid down on the bed once Harrow moved to give her room. The two of them attempted and failed to clip the dildo in, so Gideon eventually had to shove Harrow’s hands away and just do it herself. Once they got it lubed up, Harrow crawled back on to Gideon’s stomach, slipping in her own slick slightly, and leaned down to capture her in another kiss. The head of the dildo bobbed at her entrance while Harrow grinded on Gideon’s abs again, unable to help herself. Gideon grabbed the base of the dildo with her left hand, cupping Harrow’s ass cheek with her right, and helped guide it in.

Harrow was so wet and open and turned on that the strap-on slid in with no resistance. Gideon moaned brokenly, her thumb grazing against one of Harrow’s folds, bumping against the base of the dildo there.

“Holy shit,” Gideon said, “you are so fucking hot.”

“Hah,” Harrow replied intelligently, dropping her head to Gideon’s chest. Harrow moved tentatively at first by grinding gentle circles on the dildo, but soon that wasn’t enough for her, so she put two hands on Gideon's shoulders, pushing herself up, and picked her waist up to slam herself down again.

Gideon seemed dumbfounded at first, distracted by Harrow’s tits bouncing in her face and the sight of Harrow taking her own pleasure on Gideon’s strap, but she found some sense and snuck two fingers against Harrow’s clit. Harrow jolted at the sudden pressure, her moan loud and perfunctory, falling back down to hide her face in Gideon’s chest while she bounced her hips on Gideon’s dick. Gideon’s fingers were precise and rough, the motions perking up Harrow’s nipples painfully tight.

“G—Guh,” Harrow started to say, cutting herself off with her own moan as she rode Gideon. Gideon’s other hand snuck around Harrow’s ass and fell down, slipping in Harrow’s messy cunt, a finger rubbing where they were connected. Harrow couldn’t even moan at this point, just letting out a painful, squeaky breath while Gideon lined up her finger and pushed herself in next to the dildo. “I—my thighs—” Harrow managed to say, her entire body trembling. “Gideon, I can’t—I need—”

Gideon understood what she needed implicitly, slipping the finger out that was inside of Harrow and taking away her fingers from her clit. She grabbed her by the waist to flip them, leaving Gideon on top and Harrow on the bottom, her head near the base of the bed. “Th—thank you…” Harrow moaned, the force of Gideon’s thrusts thwacking against the wall. Gideon pistoned her hips meanly, grabbing Harrow by the waist to drag her down to meet her halfway, her thighs jiggling around Gideon’s waist.

Gideon said, “Harrow, I only have two hands. Touch yourself.”

“It’s so—you’re so—” Harrow hiccuped, the sounds of their fucking so loud in their ears, wet and raw. Harrow’s arm trembled as she found her clitoris, the roughness not nearly as nice as Gideon’s, but she had plenty of practice so she knew exactly what to do. The rough cotton of the strap nudged itself against Harrow’s fingers, adding to the pressure against her sensitive cunt. It was only a few short circling movements of her clitoris later when the pit of Harrow’s orgasm exploded through her entire body, already sensitive from the first one, her fingers pulling away while her body unwound its pleasure, Gideon slowing down her movements to fuck her softly through it all.

Gideon gave her time to work through this one which seemed like it might never end. Harrow cried, her hips canting weakly into the pressure. When the seconds passed into minutes, Gideon eventually pulled the strap-on out of Harrow and threw it to the side. They kissed each other softly for a while, lapping each other up dazedly, when Harrow dropped her hand to Gideon’s sorely ignored and swollen clit, “I hope you’re ready for round three.”

LESSON NUMBER FIVE: GETTING TO KNOW YOUR FRIEND

After several orgasms, a short nap, and several more orgasms, Gideon and Harrow laid on Gideon’s bed, Gideon the big spoon, Harrow the little spoon. The smell and sweat and feel of them permeated the room, and Gideon said that they should take a shower with a wink. Harrow’s clitoris was sore and hot, but she sighed and wriggled a little bit into Gideon.

Gideon laughed, her breath hot against Harrow’s skin, and placed a languid kiss at the junction between her shoulder and neck.

“So,” Gideon started, “are you ever going to tell me why you had your mother’s urn in your car?”

“You’re bad at pillow talk,” Harrow murmured, tilting her head back into Gideon’s chest.

“Lesson number five: getting to know your friend. I’m getting to know you. Isn’t that great pillow talk?”

LESSON NUMBER FIVE: THE PRACTICE

“I’ve been asked worse things,” Harrow admitted. She sighed deeply, Gideon’s hands wandered slowly, gentle but strong fingers caressing her skin. “My parents were not ready for kids, especially two. After having us, they dropped us off at their church and then fucking high-tailed it out of there. Nona got sent to another church because they didn’t want to care for two of us, and she got adopted later. I stayed at the church and was cared for by sickly nuns. I was sent from foster family to foster family. I never knew I had a twin sister until a few years ago.”

“Been there,” Gideon said against her neck, a thumb caressing Harrow’s navel. “Not the sister part,” she clarified.

Harrow laughed and then said, “I was never adopted. I had… behavioral issues, they said. I hallucinated sounds and people. It freaked the foster families out. Because I was mostly cared for by religious cuckoos, they thought the devil possessed me. Whenever I hallucinated, they’d send me back to the church to get exorcized.”

“Did you…” Gideon trailed off.

“Did they ever exorcize me? Yes,” Harrow said, the memories still locked deep in the recesses of her brain. “It obviously never worked. I still had schizophrenia. I started hallucinating that an angel would come and save me. She never had a name, I think I just called her The Body, because she would float over me while I was getting exorcized and tell me it was going to be okay.”

“This is taking a horrible turn I was not expecting,” Gideon said.

“It’s okay,” Harrow reassured. She rubbed a hand against one of Gideon’s biceps and then squeezed. “Long time ago. Anyway, one of my foster fathers had a sister who was a doctor. I don’t know what she saw in me. Maybe she knew that if I stayed in this type of situation for any longer, I’d probably kill myself. She got me to go to a doctor and a psychiatrist and a therapist. It took a while, but we eventually got me on the right cocktail of medication and I stopped hallucinating. Her name was Doctor Pent. She still sends me Christmas cards every year.”

“That’s nice.”

“Once I was out of the foster system, I had a rough year or so,” Harrow continued. “Then I met Nona, and she helped me get my life together. I went to college. I had a professor named Magnus Quinn. He happened to be Doctor Pent’s husband. When he met me, he said he could help me find my parents if I wanted. I said yes because I wanted to punch them.”

“That’s fair.”

“We had no luck finding my dad. My mom we found quickly, because she died a few years back. Some random church across the state held her urn. No one claimed her, not even my dad. Nona and I took a road trip and picked up her urn. She sat on my mantle for a while. I didn’t know what to do with her. One of the only things I learned about my mom from the nuns was that she hated the ocean. When I drowned and missed the med school deadline, I decided that I needed to do something to release my anger. This is crazy, but I was going to throw my mom’s ashes in the ocean.”

“This is quite the story.”

“Well,” Harrow said. “That’s why I had her ashes in my car. She was going to be thrown in the ocean because she hated the ocean. Honestly, I’m glad she’s caked in the carpet of that shitty car. It’s a much better fate than my original plan.”

“Well,” Gideon said, dropping a wet kiss to Harrow’s cheek. “My dad is Gaius.”

Harrow wriggled in Gideon’s arms, turning around to face her. “My boss?!”

“The one and only,” Gideon said with a dazzling smile. “My mom never told Gaius about me and died while giving birth. He found me thirteen years later in foster care. Picked me up and dropped me off in the care of Aiglamene, who he paid to take care of me.”

“Your boss?!”

“Yep. Tough as nails. A huge bitch. Love her. Gaius never wanted a kid, but he felt like he shouldn’t leave me in foster care if he could help it because he might not go to heaven otherwise, his words, so he did the next worst thing, which was to abandon me with his old nanny and pay her a ridiculous sum.”

“Aiglamene as a nanny?!” Harrow said, awed at the idea. She had met her once or twice, and she did not seem the nanny type. More like the type to line up a baby on a tee and swing her down the green.

“Yup,” Gideon confirmed. “She wouldn’t let me become a lifeguard until this summer because she claimed I was a shit swimmer. I wasn’t, but whatever.”

“Well,” Harrow said, and then forward to deposit a kiss on those sweet lips. “Life fucking sucks, but it led me here, so I’m glad things happened the way it did.”

“Even the exorcism?” Gideon asked, not one to use tact.

“Even the exorcism,” Harrow confirmed, and when Gideon laughed against her lips and her hands dipped down to rub her clitoris, Harrow jolted and said, “Get the shower running. I’ve had more orgasms than you tonight and that’s just not fair.”