Of course, all this is going down as I lose my footing at the edge of the pool and plummet, quite ungracefully, into the chilly water. I can still hear her laughing as my face and chest crack the surface with a splash.
“Are you crazy?” I shout, sputtering a mouthful of chlorine.
“Yes!” she croaks between chuckles.
“Oh, you think you’re funny, don’t you?” I ask, dropping my voice an octave. I can feel my face heating.
“Yes!” She’s still laughing, still oblivious to my murderous expression.
I move towards her. “You think you’re going to get away with this shit, too, huh?” That catches her attention, and her eyes widen, the orbs looking more blue than green against the backdrop of the pool.
“It was just a joke. I’m sorry if I-” she stammers.
Closer now. Only a few feet separating me from her small, fragile body. “Just a joke. You think you’re so fucking funny. You think you can just do whatever the hell you want.”
“No, no, I don’t,” she says, shaking her head. She goes to move toward the ladder, but I block her advances with my body.
“You just do whatever you want, to whomever you want without consequence. Don’t you, Allison? You have no regard for anyone else. The world revolves around you, doesn’t it?”
“No, I didn’t mean that. You have it all wrong about-” Her words get caught in her throat as I move in as close as possible, my chest brushing hers. I can feel her nipples pebble with the chill, the cold, wet fabric clinging to her goose-pimpled skin.
My gaze lowers to her trembling lip, its usual pink color darkening to dusky mauve. “No, Allison. I think I have it all right about you.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but the wind is stolen from her chest as I pick her up and sling her over my shoulder. She only has sense enough to shriek, as I quickly make my way to the deeper end of the pool, a devilish smile on my lips. Then, sliding her body down to face mine, chest to chest, I scoop her up and toss her like a rag doll. She screams, arms flailing, red hair whipping water around like a sprinkler. Then, shoulders shaking, I let out a roar of laughter that surprises even me.
“What the hell? Oh, you are so dead!” she shouts, brushing her drenched locks from her eyes and mouth. Once she can see, she tries to wade over to catch me, and I quickly move away, still laughing hysterically. We’re in a slow motion ballet, running in liquid quicksand, trying to predict the other’s plan of attack. Animated eyes lit with delight, Ally goes right just as I jump out of her path. She jukes left, and I catch her around the waist in a spin move, placing my front to her back. Then my fingers are sliding over her ribs sheathed only by thin, wet cotton.
So many opportunities. So many alternatives. But I go with Option A. The only option that I truly deserve to have.
I tickle her.
I tickle Ally until she begs for mercy, until tears sprout at her eyes and her throat grows hoarse. I tickle her just to hear the sound of her laughter and the endearing little snorting sounds she makes between gulps of air.
I tickle her just have her in my arms.
“No fair! You’re a much better swimmer than me! Off me, Ryan Lochte! Or I’ll pull down your banana hammock!”
“Do you surrender?” I ask, going for the ticklish spot under her arms. She screams and thrashes like a beautiful, wounded animal.
“Never!”
“Fine by me.” I really let her have it, and she throws her head back on my shoulder in hysteric exhaustion. “Give it up, Ally. I win! Just admit defeat, and I’ll stop!”
“No! I’ll just pee down your leg!”
I shake my head at her crudeness and move down to tickle her stomach. I’m a sick puppy. The prospect of this girl pissing on me from laughing so hard isn’t totally revolting. It’s funny as hell.
“Ok, ok! Not there! I give up! Uncle!” she screeches. We’re both out of breath and panting. A sheen of sweat covers my forehead.
“Ah, so you’re the most ticklish on your stomach. That’s your kryptonite.”
“Don’t you dare tell anyone. Or use it against me!”
I’ve stopped tickling her, but I haven’t let her go. She looks down, and I know what she sees: my arms wrapped tightly around her torso. I release her and take a step back.
“You’re scary when you’re mad.” She turns around and a soft, thoughtful smile kisses her lips. “Well, when you’re pretending to be mad.”
I run a hand through my wet hair, sending droplets flying. “Yeah. My mom made me take drama one semester in high school. She always wanted me to be a movie star. Said I had the look.”