cardigan

She let her head rest on my shoulder. For a few moments, the world swayed. It felt like we were still in the water, jumping through water that hadn't been there before, and floating back down as the wave passed. Even the music faltered a little, dipping with the jitter of my heart, but I could only blame that on the sound quality and coincidence. It had been warping itself all night as we watched the flashing pictures together.

I thought back to that morning. I ate toast for breakfast. I wore a purple cardigan. I put my hair in pigtails. The entire time I was looking in the mirror, though, I was thinking of what Serena would like best. Yesterday, she'd worn an olive green cardigan that slid over her waist and stomach like water -- it fit her well. I pulled mine in from the sides so it would bunch over my stomach. It pulled back away and strained at the buttons again in the time it took to walk downstairs.

I thought back to that afternoon. We had English class together. During the ten minute break between hours, she'd come and push me off half of my desk chair, press her thigh against mine, and draw circles and shells on my notebook paper.
"I hate reading, Lexi, I really do. What is the point of it?" Her voice was dreamy. The tips of her wavy, blonde hair touched my desk every once in a while when her head dipped low in a doze. Once, she almost fell off the chair. I reached my arm around to save her, just an instinct, and I felt her ribs through her t-shirt, through a small layer of tender skin. My thumb was brushing in places I knew it wasn't welcome. I let go as soon as she was balanced. She didn't notice, but my face burned.

I thought back to that evening. We ate alfredo together, straight from the pot. We hovered over the stove together and twisted noodles around real silver forks.
Sometimes, stray pasta would hang down into the warming air, and I'd watch her lift the fork above her head and lower it into her mouth rather than suck it up and risk a mess. Still, her efforts were in vain. A little bit of cream sauce got left on her chin. She didn't notice it. I reached forward and wiped it off in one stroke of my thumb.
I willed her to feel my secret through my fingertip, but she acted as if it were normal. I guess it was normal. But I wanted more.

"Serena," I said. She hummed. I slid my hand down behind her back and wrapped my fingers around her waist again. She hummed again and pushed a little towards me to make herself comfortable. It was normal, and it was platonic to her, but I could feel myself blushing, and I wished she could see how awkward it made me feel. I wanted her to know without telling her.
I felt if she looked into my eyes just once, she'd know. I felt like all the blood rushing to my cheeks would have some effect on the way my irises gleamed in the light from the TV. But she was breathing slowly and evenly now. At least I had her asleep in my arms.