Despite telling myself I wouldn't go back to training, I found myself waking up at five every morning for my run, getting barked at by Dean, and returning home feeling like I could die. I had fallen into routine within the week and although all the work during summer was questionable, I didn't make the situation problematic. Instead, I pushed aside any doubtful thoughts and trained my ass off.

And hoped to return to school completely buff.

It was mid-afternoon when I finally came out from my room and sculled half of a litre bottle of juice. Once again, the sun was at its peak, threatening to kill all human beings with its heat and the cool, sweetened liquid felt amazing against my dry throat. When I finally lowered the rim from my lips and took a sharp intake of breath, the doorbell rang.

Deciding to take the bottle with me, I headed towards the door and opened it. There, standing barefoot, with paint splattered overalls was Flo. She smiled up at me nervously, tugging a dark curl behind her ear, causing a petal from her crown of white daisies to fall loose and fall onto her shoulder. I had an urge to reach over and brush it off, but instead, I kept my feet planted to the ground and returned the smile.

"Hey," she greeted.

"Hi," I answered. "How are you feeling? Last time we met, you were half naked."

Of all the lines to say to a girl, mentioning her lack of clothes during your last encounter was definitely not something to repeat. Instantly, I regret it, not just because it was sexually suggestive, but also because she had almost died. But rather than seeming offended or embarrassed, she laughed. 

Flo Jefferson's laugh was one of the utter most amazing sounds you could ever hear. 

When she sobered, she explained.

"Yeah," she said. "Now you're the half-naked one."

Any guy would have taken this opportunity to use a smooth pick up line and a suggestive smirk, but I wasn't any guy. Instead, I looked down at my lack of clothing and felt heat creep up my neck.

"I guess you're right," I agreed, keeping my head down.

Flo slid her hands into her pockets and rocked back on her heels. "So, I wanted to thank you about the other day."

"Don't mention it," I answered, and truly meant it.

Most people take pride in the fact that they had done a heroic deed, whether it be helping old ladies cross the road or saving a baby in a fire. But I didn't want to repeat the incident, even if it were in narrative form in a casual conversation. It was a fluke.

"No," Flo interjected, "seriously. Thank you."

I caved in, staring at her faded green eyes. "You're welcome."

"And," she continued, "I wanted to apologise for acting so bratty afterwards." She crinkled her nose. "I was really embarrassed, I guess. I mean, who's ever heard of a sixteen-year-old who can't swim?"

I grinned. "Don't sweat about it. We all learn things at different ages. I wasn't properly toilet trained until I started Kindergarten. I remember turning up wearing glow-in-the-dark pull ups on my first day, getting pantsed and spending the rest of the day throwing tantrums and demanding my teacher to call home."

A grin crept its way across Flo's face, an expression so utterly powerful that it made me smile wider. She nervously looked down at her bare feet and when she tilted her gaze back up she said, "Hey, do you want hang out?"

I answered without hesitation. "Sure."

"I've only been here for just over a week, but I've been exploring," Flo explained as we walked on the footpath she had discovered behind her house. "And I found this place."

As we continued to walk, she pointed towards a little clearing off to the side. At first, all I saw were trees and shrubs clustered around the area, but as we neared, I noticed a shed camouflaged within the green. My first thought was she-brought-me-here-to-this-quiet-shady-place-to-make-out, then followed by I-should-have-gurgled-double-the-Listerine. But as she pushed back a branch and circled the shed, we reached a window and out of bloody nowhere, this dude with a mass of curly hair popped up. He seemed pretty young too; nineteen at the very least.

All thoughts of making out completely disappeared.

"Hey, Joe," she greeted, leaning against the window of the shed.

As I peered through the large cut out window in the metal, I noticed a variety of packeted foods like chips and lollies, a few magazines and some home-made creations like dream catchers and colourful bags. It was a little canteen in the middle of nowhere.

"Flo," Joe said, grinning. "How've you been, girl?"

"Good," she answered. "Hey, I want you to meet someone. This is Holden."

"Holden," he welcomed, acknowledging me by grabbing my hand and pulling me in for a slap on the back. I tried extremely hard not to cough as his palm smacked the air out of my chest but I managed to keep it to a grunt and return the friendly gesture.

Joe didn't look like the kind of bloke who could slap the hell out of you with oblivious awareness. I mean, he wasn't a complete buff whose arms couldn't touch his sides because he was that bulky. Instead, he seemed pretty average, if not a little taller than a normal guy.

"How's business?" Flo asked, causing Joe to redirect his attention to her.

"Kind of slow," he admitted. "It's really hard to attract customers here. Usually it's the odd exercise-addicted person, or someone walking their dog, but whenever I try to advertise, they think I'm some kind of drug dealer. So judgemental, man."

"Mhm," Flo mumbled in agreement, nodding her head for emphasis. "Despicable."

"That's what I said!" Joe said, lighting up like a freaking firefly at the discovery of sharing a similar philosophy. "Damn, girl. You and I are like two peanuts in a shell."

"Why did you start your business here, then?" I couldn't help but question.

"Money. It's tight and way too expensive to pay rent for a place down town," he answered, sighing. "And most of my earnings is spent on Mum's treatment."

Oh. Crap.

"I'm sorry," I choked out.

But Joe just dismissed it with a slap on my shoulder with his incredibly large and tan hand. "Nah, man. It's cool. Most people feel sympathetic, but I'm proud. She's a fighter, you know? Besides, helping her out is a distraction and it's great knowing I'm helping her get one step closer to recovery."

I felt really weird knowing this entire guy's life story within ten minutes of meeting him, but he seemed easy going and Flo seemed to like him, so I went along with the small talk and appreciative mumbles that she had been doing throughout the discussion. My nonchalance seemed to be working though, because Joe paused and announced his liking towards me.

"You're a cool dude," he said.

"Cheers, mate."

Flo decided it was time to close up the conversation and she straightened. "Hey, Joe, do you think I could I please get double the usual today? I'm gonna show Holden The Point."

Joe gave her a knowing smile and turned, gathering up some things. From the back, you could see his sun streaked hair had matted, clustering in dreadlocks. I watched as he opened an Esky, plunged his hand into the ice and rummaged around for something. When he turned, he had everything wrapped up in two brown paper bags and handed them over. I took them while Flo pulled out some money and gave it to Joe.

"Keep the change," she said. "We'll catch up sometime later this week, yeah?"

"It's a date, girl."

And with that, Flo was leading me away. She didn't say anything, which left me alone with my own thoughts of [a] Did Flo and Joe have a thing? [b] Why did I find it incredibly funny that their names rhymed and [c] How come I had been living here my entire life and I've never heard of "The Point"?

It turned out that to get to The Point, we had to do a lot of walking uphill through an abundance of closely grown trees. Although it was nothing like training every morning, it still gave that burning sensation in my already-flaming legs. Flo kept a steady pace, knowing exactly how to push away branches and where to step to keep her balance, while I managed to struggle like a contestant on Survivor.

When we finally broke through the freaking rainforest, we came to a road. Flo quickly scanned both ends, ran across, and disappeared into another lot of green. I groaned internally and followed, but when I pushed through the branches, I found myself breaking through towards a clearing. 

We were at the top of a hill that overlooked the other side of town. 

It mostly consisted of houses with different coloured roofs that looked like a cluster of Lego blocks. Our town wasn't famous for huge city lights or celebrity sightings. It was more on the rural side of things where instead of people being attracted to the blinding, bright luminosities of skyscrapers and billboards, attention was drawn to the uncontaminated sky, where sunsets were vibrant and stars shone brighter than man-made lights.

The late summer afternoon wind was wild from how high we were, causing Flo's dark curls to fly back as she admired the scenery. When she turned, she grinned at me as I stared speechless at The Point. Before I could form a coherent sentence about how bloody legit this was, she came over, grabbed the two paper bags from my hands and settled under a tree.

As I dropped down beside her, she rummaged through her paper bag. When she took her hand out, she was holding a bottle of blue, fizzy liquid. It wasn't one of those cheap plastic bottles either. It was a classic glass bottle, the kind that moulded perfectly into my hand. 

Flo unscrewed the metal cap, held the bottle by the neck and took a long, generous swig of the blue, bubbling substance. When she lowered the sweating bottle, her lips were tinted cobalt. I watched as her tongue swiped across her top lip, catching a few stray drops.

"Blue Lemonade," she explained. "The only beverage absolutely perfect when refrigerated."

Noticing that she hadn't heated her bottle, nor shoved half her flower crown into its contents, I asked, "Why do you do that, anyways?"

"Do what?" she asked, distractedly, stretching out on the grass.

"Drink warm fizzy," I said, then added, "with petals."

She didn't look at me when she answered. "Because we're all so obsessed with perfection; with the crazy idea of what defines beauty. What people don't understand is that, we all are, utterly beautiful the way we are. It sounds a lot more philosophical spoken out loud, sounds a lot more heroic. But really, it's simple: I'm just being myself without worrying what others think of me."

I looked at her, lying there, sipping her lemonade and looking up at the canopy of leaves that arched above us. She seemed oblivious to how completely deep our conversation had gotten. I had expected a completely different answer that consisted of a maximum of five words, not a Grammy Award Winning speech. It shocked me knowing that she had such a comprehensive understanding of the world.

She turned and caught me staring, giving me a small smile with her blue stained lips. "I know," she said, "I think I was born in the wrong time too."

 Flo placed her half-empty bottle between us and didn't say anything more. Instead, she concentrated on looking up. While she was busy studying the sky, I opened my bottle and let the liquid slide down my throat. It was sweeter than normal lemonade and the fizz was strong, burning the back of my throat and exciting my taste buds. It definitely dominated Kirks.

"You're extremely different, Flo," I said after a moment of silence.

"Thank you," she answered, sounding genuinely pleased. "You're the third person in this town who has given me that compliment."

I backtracked. Third person? I don't know why, but that made me incredibly pissed. "Who were the other two?"

"Your step-sister. And Joe."

Joe. I suddenly really hated the guy. I kept my eyes away from hers and looked up at the blinding slivers of light breaking through the cracks within the leaves, letting the sight burn my eyes until I saw black ink spots. Tipping the bottle back and taking another swig of the blue lemonade, I heard Flo shift, leaves crunching beneath her.

"Joe's a cool guy," she said, avoiding my gaze as much as I was avoiding hers.

"Are you into him?" It wasn't meant to sound so accusing and instantly, I regretted the tone of voice I had used. Biting my tongue, I keep my eyes up and away from Flo.

"No." She laughed; melodic and hypnotic.

I lowered my gaze back to hers and met her green eyes. Although she was pale, she seemed to illuminate in the late afternoon sunlight, her faintly tinted emerald irises seemed to be brighter. Her blue stained mouth was parted, a thin tendril of dark hair glued to her bottom lip. I wanted to reach over and brush it off her face, to lean in and kiss her; taste the lemonade on her lips.

Dude, you don't even know her, my conscious kindly interrupted. Stop being so creepy.

I tore my eyes away from her and downed the rest of my drink. As I looked up at the sky, I watched the clouds slowly drift past. The late afternoon sunlight caused them to glow in a rim of gold, making them look thick and heavy.

 "There's a bonfire tonight down at the lake," I said, sparking up another conversation.

Next to me, Flo shifted, crossing one foot across the other. It was the first time I had seen her wear shoes. They were worn out, purple canvas shoes, with holes patched up with duct tape, but nevertheless, she had something covering her feet. She tilted her head to look at me again.

"Is there sand?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Oh. I hate sand."

Well, then. My attempt to invite her just died.

But, then again, it probably wasn't appropriate to invite her to a place where there was water. From there, conversations stayed light and we avoided meaning-to-life discussions. Flo did most of the talking, while I captured every word that she spoke through her blue tinted lips.