If Paula's anything, it's persistent. It's a good thing when you want that expensive Christmas gift Dad scoffed at or permission to disappear midway through the annual family barbeque to spend time with your boyfriend, not so much when you're trying to avoid thinking about anything bar working on your tan, terrible television and Nutella filled cookies. But then I'm the idiot who told her about the whole Spencer Penelope fiasco, so I guess I only have myself to blame.

The moment she found out, she convinced herself I was in desperate need of cheering up. In the grand scheme of things, her desire to make me smile wouldn't have mattered so much if I actually needed it. But, as you've probably guessed, I don't—need cheering up, that is.

After spending an entire day bawling, torturing myself with a cringy photo slideshow I made for his birthday, I realised that nothing I do is going to change the fact that I'm here, alone, and they're out there, together.

My silent acknowledgement of the truth was hard enough, but Paula's constant desire to psychoanalyse is making it worse.

All I want—no, all I need—is for us to have a normal, non-Spencer related conversation. I'd kill for it at this point. Probably her, but can you blame me? She really is like a dung beetle; I'm the shit—a down-trodden, misunderstood piece of shit.

A shit who, despite flinging herself onto a lime green inflatable to hide from the beetle, now finds herself beside it.

"Stop being a martyr," Paula says, her foot brushing against mine. "I only want what's best for you."

"Then leave me alone."

"I don't think that's for the best."

"How convenient."

"I'm serious, Lizzie," she says, somehow paddling closer. "I just want you to be happy."

"And I will be the moment you stop going on about this."

She sighs, paddling away, and I relax.

Kicking through the water, I push myself further away from her until I'm under the bustling branches. Thin, delicate leaves twirl through the air, falling onto the shaded patio. The ones that cling to the branch are a brilliant green, made brighter by the piercing sunbeams that twirl through them and cast an imposing, earthy shadow across the terracotta slabs surrounding the pool.

Back when the itch was a constant in my life, I'd be desperate for featherlight strokes of a pencil against a textured cream page or the swipe of a sopping brush against a fresh canvas. Now it's gone, I turn away before the artache settles in. I can only regret one thing at a time.

But in turning away, I have to face Paula. Her eyes latch onto mine. There's an air of determination which intermingles with her concern. It's dangerous, too dangerous to ignore.

"What now?" I ask, a groan hiding beneath my words as I wriggle up and stare.

"Let's go clubbing!" She clasps her hands tight and nods like a bobblehead gone rogue.

"No way," I snort. It twirls and twirls until it's a laugh.

"What do you mean, no way?" she asks, entirely ignoring the bemused smile painted onto my face.

"I mean no, fucking, way." My smile drops.

"But you love clubbing," she insists, kicking my inflatable until it turns.

"No, you love clubbing."

"Come off it, Lizzie, you love clubbing."

"Who loves clubbing?" Henry interrupts, and I jump six feet into the air. My inflatable bobbles on the water as I clutch at my chest and glare at him.

"Bloody hell, Henry," I mutter, shooting him a dirty look. "Give a girl a heart attack, why don't you."

"Who loves clubbing?" he asks again, flipping me off slyly as he and Isaac sit on the edge of the pool. Their long legs dangle into the impossibly blue water, and Isaac slips off his shirt. The thin, faded cotton drags over his muscled arms, revealing an even more muscular abdomen that glistens under the sun's attention.

I feel myself swallow. It's mechanical, unavoidable. Then he catches my gaze and winks. It's slow, purposeful, and leaves an awful taste in my mouth and a scowl on my face.

"Lizzie loves clubbing," Paula says. She's rather matter-of-fact, which is odd considering her words are a bald-faced lie.

"No, Paula," Henry laughs. "You do."

She huffs. The sound drifts into the cloudless sky. I watch its ascent, how it curves and skips and shoots away. That is, I watch it until Paula throws herself off her inflatable. She crashes against the water, sending a tidal wave washing over me. Her body sinks until she propels herself upwards, and her head pops out. For a moment, she looks like a drowned rat. Even more so when her arms and legs flail.

"I think a little clubbing would be a good idea for Lizzie," she says, shooting Henry a pointed look. "You know, a way for her to let off some steam and have a good time."

"I don't need to let off steam," I groan, eyes squeezed shut again. "I need to be left alone. And stop talking about me like I'm not here."

"Breakups are hard, Lizzie," Paula says. "Especially when your ex is a lying, two-timing, ratbag cheat."

"Paula has a point." I almost snap my neck turning to look at Isaac. His voice sends ripples across the water, worsening my whiplash.

Since when did he think he had a right to speak? I mean, yeah, it's nice to know he's a loser too, but yesterday changed nothing. Right?

Oh, what am I talking about? He's still public enemy number one. Not even our lame-ass commiserative pity party is going to make him any less of an arsehole.

"Yeah," Henry agrees. "I think Paula does have a point." He's enemy number two. No, three, after Isaac and Paula.

"So what?" I snort. "One night of clubbing, and I'll be fixed?"

"Yes." Their voices mesh, and it's my turn to jump off my inflatable.

The water embraces me as I curl into a ball and sink to the bottom of the pool. I tilt my head back and stare up at the surface. The sun filters through until an augmented version of Paula interrupts the rays and her muffled shouts float down with me. Sighing, I push myself back up and gasp for air once I return to the living.

"What was that about?" Paula shoves me.

"Nothing." I push her back and wipe my face. A cocktail of hair products drips off my drenched curls. My eyes burn, the unwanted droplets leaving a scorching path in their wake.

I'm still rubbing my eyes when Henry ditches Isaac and cannonballs into the pool. His splash soaks us all, and Paula and I squeal. We glance at one another, waiting for his buzzed head to reappear. The moment it does, we swim over and dunk him back down again. He flails about beneath us and gasps as he breaks the surface, cutting our laughter short the moment he shoves water towards us. A tsunami level wave breaks against our shivering bodies. It's war.

At some point, Isaac joins the fray. His throaty laugh catches my attention every now and then. It's deeper than any of ours. It sounds older, wiser, somehow. Which doesn't make sense seeing as he definitely lacks the Yoda gene. Anyway, he's managing Paula while Henry wrestles with me. It's a long battle, exhausting too, and it's not until our parents return that the cacophony of yelps fades away and the cicada's song returns.

"Children." Mum's voice booms across the patio until it collapses between us. Her arms are crossed, Mrs Harris' too, and their eyes flit from the water-stained slabs of stone to us and back again. "Can we please calm down?" she asks. "You're not five anymore."

"Sorry, Mum." I struggle to hold back my laughter as I haul myself out of the water. "We got a bit carried away."

"I'll say." She offers me a fluffy white towel. "Now dry off and get ready for dinner. It's at six."

We're silent until Mum and Mrs Harris disappear. I'd rather keep it that way, but Paula, in true Paula fashion, bursts through the peace.

"What do you say, Lizzie?" she asks, wriggling her perfectly groomed brows. "Clubbing?"

Henry flings an arm over my shoulder. He crushes the right side of my body against his and squeezes until I feel like I'm about to burst. "Come on," he goads as I shrug him off. "Don't be a spoilsport."

"Yeah, Lizzie." Isaac's teasing voice is once again an unexpected addition, but with it, I know I've lost the battle. "It'll help get your mind of everything," he says, ignoring my death stare. "Trust me, I should know."

"Who even said you're invited," I mutter, throwing myself back against the sun lounger.

He clutches at his all too prominent pectoral muscles, and his full lips scrunch into a pout. "What do you mean I'm not invited?" he asks, laughter bubbling behind his words.

"It's about cheering me up, Isaac, not bumming me out."

"What about yest—"

"Fine," I shout. My cheeks warm. "You're invited. We're going. There, is everyone happy?

"Yes, but."

I cut Paula off with a curt shake of the head. "No buts," I groan. "You've got what you wanted. Now can one of you guys please tell the parents about the plan because I know I'm certainly not, and can all of you get off my back?"

Henry laughs and settles on the sun lounger beside mine. "Fucking hell Lizzie, you'd think we're holding you hostage."

The funny thing is that's exactly what this feels like.

~*~

Dinner tonight is next door. Four days ago, I would've thrown a fit and refused. It would've been loud and wildly embarrassing, and maybe, just maybe, if Mum gave me the look, I'd regret it the following day. But, as I step out of the shower, the thought of spending an evening in Isaac's vicinity doesn't make me want to gouge my eyes out.

I guess we're making progress. It's not that yesterday changed everything, but he's tolerable now—tolerable-esque at least.

Paula's picked up on the change. Like a dog with a bone, she picks up on everything. It's another infuriating skill of hers. But with the last of my concealer clinging to the sides of the tube, I'm left with no choice but to face the music.

"What happened yesterday?" Paula asks the moment I slip into her room.

"Yesterday? A lot happened. You'll have to be more specific."

"With Isaac," she says. "What happened yesterday with Isaac?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." I swipe her least favourite concealer from her overfilled makeup bag and take a step towards the mirror. The product is thin. It trickles off my finger and splashes against the floor.

"Don't play dumb, Lizzie," she says, grabbing a makeup wipe. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Do I?"

"I'm serious," she insists, sounding more and more like a petulant child with each passing second.

And they say I throw tantrums.

"What's going on with you two?" she asks.

I shrug and take a step away from the mirror. "Maybe you're imagining things."

Her mouth opens and closes like a goldfish, but her puckered lips never give way to actual words. It's not until Mum pops in that she can string a viable sentence together, but by then, it's too late, and I'm saved.

"Me and Lizzie will come later," Paula blurts out, her hand wrapping around my wrist.

"No." I yank it back and sidle over to Mum. "I'm too hungry to wait."

"Are you serious?"

"Of course. I don't joke about food."

"Are you coming or not?" Mum asks. She's halfway to the front door.

"I am." I run to catch up. Paula shuffles behind us.

Dad and Henry are already out by the pool when we arrive next door. Mum deposits Paula and me beside Isaac, a whispered warning to behave brushing against my ear, before she joins Dad and Henry by the open French doors. Mr and Mrs Harris must be inside.

I perch on the edge of a sun lounger, expecting Paula to do the same, but Mr Harris emerges from the house calls her over, leaving Isaac and me alone. I expect him to wander off too. You know, leaving me in peace, but he settles further in his seat and shoots me an all too delighted grin.

"What do you want?" I groan. I shoot Paula a pleading stare, but she's too engrossed in her conversation to notice us.

No, not us.

Me.

Well, me and Isaac. Isaac and me.

No us.

"Are you excited about tomorrow?" he asks, settling back against a sun lounger.

"There isn't anything to be excited about." I keep my voice level, cool, detached, and refuse to meet his gaze.

"You really don't like clubbing, do you?"

"Why would I? It's clubbing's fault I'm single."

He chuckles, and I narrow my eyes. "What's so funny?" I ask.

"Nothing."

"You were laughing. That suggests something was funny. What was it?"

He only grins and jumps to his feet. Mrs Harris' voice floats from inside the villa, everyone begins to filter inside. He does the same. I can't blame him for leaving, not really, but I also can't help but shout after him. Can't help but insist he tells me what was so damn funny. But he ignores me, like usual, and leaves me to shout like a banshee until I struggle to my feet and shuffle inside too.

Fuck tolerable-esque. He brings it upon himself, really. Here I was, willing to put something behind me, behind us, but it's impossible when he's so bloody annoying. Honestly, he leaves me with no choice but to hate him. Okay, maybe not hate. But can you blame a girl for a strong dislike? 

***

And here I thought Lizzie and Isaac were about to be friends.

Maybe next chapter.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. If you did, please remember to share, comment and vote.

xxx