Someone, two people, Bass couldn't tell, were restraining Frenchie. It looked difficult.
French shoved an elbow into Trumpet's upper arm, sure to leave a bruise. Trumpet took one finger and pushed on French's shoulder. French, unbalanced from her punch, fell backward into Bass' waiting arms. Bass caught her deftly.
Frenchie managed to rip free from whoever was holding him back and tried to punch Trumpet. Trumpet sidestepped and Frenchie fell over gloriously. French didn't notice, but Bass did. He kept quiet.
The crowd dissipated. Someone brought French and Frenchie a galss of water, which Bass made his job to make sure they both drank. Frenchie got up and announced that he was going home and made Bass swear to bring French home safely. Bass swore sincerely.
Bass picked French up and steadied her French thanked him. "No problem. Do you want to walk?" Bass asked nonchalantly. French nodded. "As long as we avoid Trumpet and his cronies."
The breeze whispered through the green, leafy trees. The wind swept over the emerald fields of grass, dotted by sapphire bluebonnets and ruby roses. Bass and French walked in a comfortable manner, chit-chatting about simple things, random things. The flowers. Spoons. How they might leave town. Ex-boyfriends, ex-girlfriends. The times before they lived in Band.
"Do you remember when we were ten?" Bass asked her. Bass remembered it. He remembered every detail. "Yeah, I do. I remember one day when it rained all day. It was you, me and Nate Soakreed stuck in that treehouse." French smiled. Bass remembered silently wishing Nate hadn't been there. Bass could've made a move when they were ten, but Nate was there.
"Yeah. Didn't we play Would You Rather?" Bass asked. He wondered if she remembered. Did she? "Yeah, but it evolved into Truth Or Dare." French answered. She talked like she was trying to remember a dream. Did she think of it as a dream or a memory?
"Oh, right." Bass said, pretending to feel like an idiot. He remembered when Nate had dared him to kiss French and he remembered how, and why, he refused. He didn't want Nate to know he loved French. He didn't want to ruin his friendship with French, either.
"Hey, Bass? I think it's going to rain." French's voice interrupted his thoughts. Bass looked up. The not-so-blue sky glared back at him. "Umm, yeah, let's go." Bass suggested. The walked quicker. Before they left the park, the clouds had opened up. "Quick! My house is closer!" Bass shouted. Bass led the way as they ran toward his house. Soaked and laughing, the two stumbled inside.
Naturally, Bass noticed French's wet shirt first. "You're soaked." He stated. "Let me get you a change of clothes." Bass offered. He went to his room and grabbed some small blue shorts and a small orange shirt. He jogged back to the living room, where he had left French. "Here. I'll get them back later." Bass offered. French accepted and excused herself to change.
Less than five minutes later, French reappeared and joined Bass on the couch. She was dry and the clothes fit her well, Bass noticed. "Thanks again, Bass." French smiled. Bass looked at her and smiled softly. "No problem."
His brown eyes locked with her blue ones. They were so close, both physically right now and as friends over the years, but Bass had never wanted to be just friends.
Bass touched his nose to her and said, "Tag." That was their old game. French smiled wide and tapped his elbow with hers. "Tag." She whispered. Bass knew where he was taking this.
Bass kissed her, touching their lips for a long time. She was kissing him back, too. That was the part Bass liked. He slipped his hand over her fingers.
When they finally broke apart, Bass whispered one word. "Tag."
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