Rose

It twirled, 'round, and 'round, and 'round in her pale fingers, light green-gray eyes locked on the center, heart thudding in her chest gently.

'Why?'

"I dunno... I just wanted to."

'Why did she send me that text?' her eyes moved away from the object in her hand. 'And why did she...' they travelled back. 'Give me this?' the motions of her fingers stopped, veiwing the pink petals as they seemed to shine against the lamp light. A rose. A pink rose. But not just any rose. A rose given to her by her-ex tormentor? She wasn't really sure yet-technical neigbor, Massie Bloc. What made it even more odd and intriguing, was that it had been a week, and the rose was still fine, perfect, and delicate as the day it had been given.

Closing her eyes, the blonde, Clair Lyon, remembered with clarity, the embarrased, though sincere look on Massie's face as she looked away, holding out the rose to her.

"And... this is for you." their fingers had brushed when she took the rose, and it left her with a giddy feeling in the pit of her stomach, a smile coming to her lips as she watched the girl walk away with that bouncy, yet graceful rhytm in her step, the 'I :heart: Chris Abley' shirt riding up on her already exposed back and torso, ruffled lilac skirt sashaying in time with her movement, hair swishing against her back in an alluring manner.

Claire blinked, her brows furrowing as she felt her cheeks. They were warm.

'What does this mean?' she asked herself, before she looked back to the rose. 'I've never felt like this before...' she laid back on her bed, or, was going to, if something hard hadn't made her sit bolt upright. Snapping her head to seek out the offending object, she instantly relaxed at the sight of her camera. Picking it up, she fell back against her bed again, turning it on and staring at the awkward, nervous feature on Massie's dolled up face.

After a moment, she shut off the camera and rolled to face her side-table, slipping the rose back into the small vase. Rolling back to stare at the ceiling, she hummed over the conundrum that was her predicament. For some reason, ever since the auction, Massie hasn't been speaking to her. Which wasn't new. But, it was the way she didn't speak to her. As in, not saying anything to her, not ever smirking or glaring or sneering in the least bit. And whenever they did make eye contact, Massie's eyes would widen and she would quickly look away, her cheeks darkening as she seemed to throw herself back into her conversation with her friends.

Puzzling indeed.

'But she really looks nice with a natural blush on her face.' she thought, closing her eyes and sighing in frustration. Really, this was all so weird. She wish she knew what was going on with Massie- and herself. Like, why hadn't she given her little brother the picture? And, why did she sometimes wish that her and Massie's fingers, perhaps their palms, and, maybe even their whole hands, could touch again?

Perhaps it was like the phenominon of the rose lasting for so long. Unsolvable.