The Olympics were postponed due to rain and lightning, so Cleo and I didn't watch them tonight. Instead, I take her to the park nearby, where someone's set up an impromptu swap meet.

It's already dark outside, but, to my surprise, it feels good. Normally I freak out when I have to walk through darkness, but this time it feels comforting.

Cleo walks beside me, her hand resting on my farther shoulder. Her hand is warm, and I feel how gentle her touch is through the fabric of my shirt. It's reassuring, as though she's apologizing or reconciling.

I can see the dim lights of the swap meet up ahead, and it casts a warm glow on the park. As strange as it sounds, I can hear the wind whispering through the trees. The rush of people's feet as they patter by, hurrying to get to their cars and go home.

Cleo and I are in no such rush, however. We wander aimlessly from one end of the park to the other. I can feel the soft, fresh, clean grass brushing my toes as we walk. Cleo lets out a soft sigh, and I know she's feeling as content as I am right now.

I can vaguely hear the crickets and cicadas buzzing and chirping, the distant, soft flutter of bird wings as an owl hunts down prey, the far off sounds of people chatting at the swap meet. I reach out my hand, and I  can feel the rough bark of an oak tree beneath my palm. Reaching up, I feel the smooth, velvety texture of the leaf.

Rubbing it between my fingers, I bring it to my nose and inhale the sweet, earthy scent.

Cleo lifts her hand from my shoulder and begins to rub my hair, threading the deep red strands through her fingers quietly.

After a few moments, she stops and leans in close and whispers, "Sierra?" Her breath tickles against my hair, and I shiver involuntarily, feeling the goosebumps begin to raise on my skin.

"Yes?" I whisper back, a trifle breathless.

For a moment she doesn't say anything, and just leans in closer to me. I back into her arms so that we're doing a sort of hug thing. She wraps her arms around me, pulling me into her. I let her engulf me, relishing in her comforting touch.

We sit there for a minute. I listen to the even breathing of Cleo behind me, and the distant voices of the the swap meet members, and the nature sounds surrounding us.

Then, Cleo exhales. Not loudly, but loud enough to make me turn in her arms so that I'm facing her, waiting for her to speak.

She takes a deep breath, and says, "Sierra, what are you?" The question strikes me funny, and I laugh. "What do you mean, what am I? You sound like I'm a monster or something."

"No, not that," Cleo says slowly. "I mean, what are you into? Who do you date?" I take a breath. Then another. I knew this would happen. I knew she'd ask. "I'm straight, Cleo," I say, my heart hanging heavy. "Oh."

That's it. Just "oh". For some reason, her lack of reply makes me angry and I say, "What, aren't you going to try and convince I'm a lesbian or some shit?" She unfolds her arms from about me and holds me out at shoulder height. "Really, Sierra? You really think that's the kind of person I am?"

I find myself growing even angrier. "Yeah, I do, because you're the one who's always flirting with me and making me feel weird and sharing your secrets with me. Do you always do that, Cleo? Do you hit on every single woman you see? Because that's what it sounds like to me."

"Wow," she says when I'm finished ranting. "Wow." Then she pushes me away, shoving my shoulders with her hands. Reality begins to settle on me and I realize what I've said. I clap my hand over my mouth, shocked and upset that I said such a thing to the best friend I have right now.

"Wait, Cleo! I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way..." Cleo backs away from me, muttering to herself. Then, she says to me, her voice shrill, "Oh, really? What other way could you mean it?"

Her voice breaks on the last word and she starts to cry. My heart feels like it's been shattered into pieces, shot down by a machine gun. I feel tears gather behind my eyelids, but I angrily shove them back, refusing to let them fall in front of Cleo.

I hear a choking sound, and I realize it's Cleo, sobbing quietly on the log that adjourns the path. I walk over to her. I take her hands, rubbing them softly. I try to say "I'm sorry", but before I can utter a single syllable, Cleo tears her hands from mine and stands up definantly.

"Don't touch me," she whispers. "Please, just don't touch me." And she walks away.

Cleo's p.o.v.

I am angry at Sierra, but I'm more sad than mad. I don't mind the argument so much as finding out she is, indeed, straight. It's heartbreaking.

I don't feel like letting her apologize, and I certainly don't feel like continuing our walk, so I walk away. Just far enough so that I'm out of her peripheral vision.

Then I start to run, the sound of my feet making contact with the earth soothing me. When I get far enough away, I text Sylvia. Apparently she put her number in my phone while I was away from my camper. Normally I would be mad at someone for snooping through my camper, but in this case it's a good thing she did.

Me: Can u pick me up at the park?

S: Sure. You wanting sex I assume?

Me: yeah. Had a disappointment.

S: k b there in 5

Me: ok

I put my phone away, wondering if I'm making the right decision. Four words of Sierra's rant stick in my mind: Making me feel weird.

Don't get your hopes up, I tell myself. She told you she's straight, so she's straight.

Pushing the thought from my brain, I sit down on the curb to wait.

Sierra's p.o.v.

After Cleo disappears, I wander the park, tears flowing freely from my eyes. I don't bother to wipe them away, and they run into my mouth, the salty taste making me gag slightly.

Looking around the park, I can tell how big it really is. There's a forest just across this meadow, and I head for it. It's starting to rain, but I'm warm underneath my hooded jacket.

It's probably a bad decision to spend the night in a forest in a park, but whoever said I was smart? I'm certainly not going back home. Mom will get over it.

I approach the edge of the forest, smiling to myself. A park. A forest. A girl.

Infinite opportunities for losing yourself.