Casually chatting with Claire, it was a little past lunch when Grayson walked into the living room and both of us paused. His outfit was so horrendous, that soon laughing, I couldn't even remember his mother's and I's latest conversation. Baggy orange shorts passing his knees, he wore a black t-shirt over a grey long sleeve, complimented by a pair of red high-tops and a backwards baseball cap. Much to my dismay, in spite of his choice of clothing, he somehow managed to remain attractive.

     Sides aching with laughter, all amusement died the moment he handed me a matching outfit.

     "No."

     "Oh, yes." He smiled, delicately placing an identical cap on my head. Lifting my chin forward as though to admire his work, I nearly stopped breathing. Did he always have to stand so close?

     "We're going skating," he added enthusiastically. "Everything's already outside—"

     Further scrutinizing the outfit in my hands, I interrupted him. "I refuse to believe we were ever this dumb."

     Grayson cringed. "Not our proudest moment," he admitted. "Nevertheless, it happened, and it is happening again."

     Lips parting in protest, Grayson rolled his eyes.

     "You know how this ends, Adams. Don't waste your breath," he advised, already walking towards the door. "Just go get dressed... please."

     My pair of orange shorts even longer than Grayson's, they were so long that they could barely be considered shorts. Always getting the short end of his absurdities, I looked a greater fool.

     Immune to shame, stood proud, Grayson waited for me on the sidewalk. Despite the chilly wind of the month of December, the sun was bright, and many neighbors were in their front lawns, enjoying the beautiful day. Wonderful. Many would get to witness me make a fool of myself. What's new?

     "Only one skateboard," I noted.

     "I was horrible at it. Got rid of my board very quickly."

     Finally discovering something of which he lacked talent, my lips twitched into a small smirk.

     "You'll be trying it again, today though?" I confirmed.

     I would not be made to look like a fool, alone.

     Reluctantly Grayson nodded. "I figured you wouldn't try if I didn't."

     "You assumed correctly."

     With a soft chuckle, Grayson prepared the board, nudging his head in its direction as a sign that I get on.

     "You first." I shook my head.

     "Of course." He rolled his eyes, placing an unsteady foot on the board. "Do try not to laugh too much."

     He was noticeably nervous, and I was suddenly enjoying myself. Placing his second foot on the board, he wobbled and instinctively reached for my arm in support.

     "Ow," I complained.

     "Sorry," he mumbled, grip softening, but large hand still encircling my forearm.

     One leg outstretched to push himself forward, still he held onto my arm.

     "You're going to have to let go if you want to move."

     "I'm bad," he reminded. "This is how we did it before."

     "But you can't—"

     "Just go with it," he said, strengthening his forward push, forcing me to move forward with him.

     Jogging by his side, he never noticed my look of displeasure, his own gaze fixed on the road before him. Speed steadily increasing as we reached a hill, he let go of my hand and instantly turned my way in accusation.

     "Help me!" he cried, arms flailing as he tried to keep his balance.

     "You let go of—"

     "I'm going to crash into the bin!"

     Despite his shrill cry of help and his obvious upcoming crash into a neighbor's garbage bin, I stayed put, watching him like the idiot I thought him to be.

     "Just jump off!" I shouted back.

     Stumbling more as he turned his head to shoot me a helpless gaze, I groaned loudly before chasing after him.

     Few feet short of the bin, I seized the back of his shirt. Body twisting so he could steady himself on any part of me he could grab, he was finally forced to jump off the board. Tumbling into me, he caught himself by grabbing a fistful of my shirt. Noses inches apart we both froze.

     "Hello," he greeted with a shit-eating grin.

     Snapping out of my stupor, I took a step backwards, slipping from his hold.

     "You are an idiot," I reproached, punching him in the shoulder. "Anyone with half a brain would know to step off the damn thing."

     Grayson shrugged. "But you were there to save me."

     Noting his nonchalance and satisfied smirk, my jaw tightened. "You did it by purpose!" I accused.

     He shrugged again. "Didn't quite go as plan," he said. "You're a lot sturdier than you were back then."

     "You wanted me to fall?"

     "Yes, those were my intentions" he admitted. "But I got distracted— Any chance you'll just let me throw myself over you?"

     "No."

     "That's what I thought," he said, retrieving the board. "Your turn."

     Confident that I could do better than Grayson, I did as he wished with much less reluctance than expected. It would be difficult to do any worse than he had.

     Already steadier on my feet, I made move to go forward, but a hand placed softly on the small of my back made me pause.

     "What are you doing?"

     "Helping." He spoke as though the answer was obvious.

     "Well, don't."

     "But—"

     "Fine!" I interrupted, already knowing what argument he would use. If I heard open mind one more time, I would lose my mind.

     Taking longer, quicker strides, I made sure staying by my side would be a challenge. Unfortunately, he didn't seem bothered by the need to sprint to keep up.

     As I expected, I was doing much better than he, but I was convinced I could do better if not for the distracting sound of his soft chuckles and the warmth of his hand on my hip and back.

     Nearly tumbling face first as a gust of wind raised the hem of my shirt, Grayson's hand slid across the skin of my lower rib cage, and I snapped. Complaining loudly and unashamedly that his lingering presence was a severe distraction, finally he stepped away, smirk never disappearing.

     "Alright," he gave in with a laugh. "Go for it."

     No attractive boy in my bubble, muscle-memory kicked in, and I found myself skating smoothly. Task taking no effort or thought, I was relaxed and enjoying myself until Grayson decided that I should try some jumps that I used to successfully complete. Attempting the tricks that he requested, my lack of talent was comparable to that he displayed earlier. I landed none of them.

     Catching my foot on the edge of the sidewalk during my latest jump, I rolled on the cement and decided it was time to quit whether Grayson liked it or not. I laid defeatedly on the pavement for many moments.

     "Are you alright?" Grayson asked, quick to kneel next to me.

     Before I could remark that it was just a small scratch, already he was making a fuss over the practically inexistent wound.

     "You're hurt," he noted, brushing the pebbles off my knee.

     Despite the fussing and nurturing act, his lips twitched upwards as though in satisfaction. My eyes narrowed thoughtfully before shooting open.

     "You planned this too!"

     Grayson smiled innocently and instantly I knew he was guilty.

     "I'm just happy you fell on your own."

     "As in you would have pushed me otherwise?"

     "I would have done what was necessary."

     Jaw slacked in surprise and in preparation of a complaint; Grayson's thumb gently returned my chin to its rightful location, shutting my agape mouth.

     "Let's not dwell on what ifs," he said. "You fell. You're hurt. And now I'll fix you."

     "It's hardly bleeding. It doesn't—"

     Gaze removed from my knee, his pleading eyes fell into mine, and suddenly my threat was too dry to speak. Damn him. Looking at me through his dark lashes, he knew by my expression that he had once again won me over.

     Large hands on my legs, he propped my knee to get a better view of the scratch. Much to my dismay, I paid little notice to the feeling of torn skin, mind instead focused on the tingling feeling that resulted from his skin on mine. I told myself the pounding heart in my chest was from the scare of the fall; it had nothing to do with the impeccable blue eyes staring into mine.

     "For three weeks in the second grade, I wanted to be a doctor," he explained. "I practiced a lot on you. Please stay put. I'll be back in five minutes."

     In my dishevelled state, I couldn't argue with him. A month ago, I wanted nothing more than to disappoint or annoy him, but now meeting his gaze, I wished only to please him. Damn his enticing eyes.

     Jogging away with a near skip in his step, I cursed myself for smiling at his retrieving figure. Center of my misery out of sight, I let my whole-body rest on the sidewalk, arm slung across my face as I groaned loudly. There would be no fluttering feelings in his presence. I reminded myself that most days he was insufferable. He must have put something in my bagel; it was the only logical explanation. The flutters and racing pulse were a mistake that had been imposed on me. I was not going down this path. At this point, I should still have struggled to consider him a friend.

     Loud stomping catching my attention, I turned my head his way, only to immediately hide it behind my hands. Many neighbors watching, Grayson dramatically ran my way, plastic, toy medical kit in hand.

     Dropping his things in a rush, again he kneeled in front of me, hand immediately thrown to my forehead.

     "Still doing alright?" he asked, forcing a plastic thermometer in my mouth.

     Protesting, I tried to back away.

     "Don't be stubborn," he scolded, playfully. "You might have a fever."

     "I wouldn't already have a fever."

     Briefly pausing his fumbling with the plastic medical supplies, he shot me a nasty look. "Why do you have to take the fun out of everything?"

      Rolling my eyes, I raised my arms in surrender, silent gesture indicating that I would no longer interrupt his nonsense. Pleased, he used just about every tool in his kit. Why he thought listening to my heart was necessary? I don't know but was I ever glad that he was using a toy. Had he been using a real stethoscope; he may have genuinely become worried. I didn't want to have to explain the reason for my racing heart.

     Poking me with a fake needle, finally he placed a Band-Aid over the scratch. Meeting my eyes, he kissed the neon green plaster. I blinked. Once and then twice. My frustration peaked. I was torn between pulling my hair or slapping him for being so oblivious to the torment he caused me.

     Slowly coming to a stand, his eyes caught and widened on my ankle. He knelt again, rolling the child crafted bracelet between his thumb and index finger, with furrowed brows.

     "This is the original," he noted, bewildered. "The one I made when we were 5."

      Feebly, I nodded. I never took it off. I should have known it would eventually come to bite me in the ass.

     "Where did you find it?" he asked, still gazing down at the beaded bracelet in awe. "Why didn't you tell me?"

     Chewing my lip nervously, I convinced myself that I had nothing to be embarrassed of. "At first I didn't want to give you the satisfaction of knowing I kept it, and then I just forgot to mention it."

     "You kept it?" he asked softly, eyes so full of hope that I forgot how to speak.

     Nodding, I forced my gaze to the ground.

     "When I woke up after the... accident, it was still on my wrist," I started lamely. "I didn't know where it came from, but it was the only piece of my past that I had... I never told anyone about it; never told my— the Collins. I was afraid that like everything else, it would be taken away."

     Grayson smiled sadly, but his eyes held a glimmer of hope. I reckoned this would only further motivate his recreation of memories; and motivation was not something he lacked.

     After a short, awkward silence, he smirked. "Told you the bracelet was magic."

     I didn't believe the piece of plastic to be magical, but I had certainly come to hold it dearly. I didn't envision myself taking it off anytime soon.