katrinaloveslauratool.
She kissed her.
And later, when they drove to the beach for the first time together, Katrina borrowed Laura’s pen and wrote on her own palm: lauraloveskatrina
“What’s that?” Katrina asked once, pointing to the faint letters bleeding into the page. katrinaloveslauratool
By senior year, Laura had stopped writing it. The phrase felt too heavy, too raw. She’d accepted that some loves were meant to stay on the underside of desks—invisible, permanent, but never touched. Katrina had started dating a boy named Mike who played lacrosse and didn’t know how to spell “algebra.” katrinaloveslauratool. She kissed her. And later
“What are you doing here?” Laura asked.
“I’m sorry.”