His heart leapt at the sound of her voice, nearly pulling a muscle in his neck with the energy put into his sudden turn. The hold on him she had should be studied. In his brother's shoes, the man didn't have much trouble finding someone to date . . . but he didn't want to date someone. He didn't quite get it, himself ; was he only drawn to her because she didn't seem interested, or because he could see something in her, something every other person he'd met was lacking? No matter the reason, he would drop everything for a moment with her.

she smiles that half-toothed grin of hers, mouth bent the way it did when isla wasn't sure how much of herself to give. the wind moves strange through trees, whistles a hollow tune that blows the unbound strays of her hair northward. isla stepped closer, she'll tell herself it was because the sun had been too loud from where she had been standing. chipped polish made slight collision with the face of his palm as she deposited the coin there, there had remained a smudge on her denim shorts from where she tried to wipe it cleaner. " will you? " there's a coy matter of disbelief, forever was a mightly long time to cherish something so very forgettable. maybe it only mattered because it was her—them. " i'll trade you, " the leaf was prematurely brown and bitten away at the edges, like something with teeth had gotten to it first and crafted it into a sublimely odd shape. it was warm, as if the foliate had remembered his touch. " it's ugly. i like it. " he looked softer out here, all on his lonesome—peeled down to someone smaller. the quiet made people more honest. isla almost liked him more for it. she tilts her head and her mouth in absent consideration, " you out here all by yourself? "

"nope." popping the 'P' on the word, they're rocking from heel to toe, a certain giddiness that always came with playing games— being childish, really. every guess is met with a quick shake to their head, lips pressed together in a smile tightly as if to conceal something. that is, until her next suggestion, and they fall open "maybe i'm just a generous grader....." a beat, and soft laughter is tumbling out as the insinuation dawns on them. for a while, they can only point to confirm, nodding, but when they do speak, it's between a series of snickers "like a fuckin' lady finger banana." in their laughter, they lightly grasp the back of the fur coat she wears, coaxing her backwards, away from the edge "i think you can see sinclair better from back here... i say five. is that too much?"

it's hard to tell if she's cold or playing coy. too drunk too care, naked enough for it to relinquish consequence. as we all know, bad things rarely ever happened to beautiful girls standing on ledges. isla is reeled in by her fur — kitten hung from her nape — before she can chance the leap. this was precisely why isla had allowed milo into her bubble, they shared the same bandwidth for trouble, always towing the line with enough weight of morale to never cross it. not in her good shoes, at least. even between breaths, she's still laughing. it's probably the most she's spoken without wearing a cherry-stained apron with two xanex in the left pocket in a week. " if five is too much, then i'm indecent. " she can't face them under the admission. luke sinclair was like any other waspy little frat boy strung up from the collar of his country club polo, but she wasn't blind. only just drunk. " i say seven and three quarters ... with his mouth shut. "

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 : closed for @g0dcountry 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 : alpha delta phi fraternity house, on the outskirts of a makeshift dance floor

she's a doll holding herself together by her frays: missing everything she'd come with by the time they had found each other. or rather, by the time avoidance had become a luxury. " you invited me. " and it's less to convince him than herself. as her interactions of the night withstood, she was invited but not expected. it's like leaving the door open and not expecting company. all the unwanted things happen to tumble in along with them — the expectation. and the immediate negation of falacy, that one could in fact be proven wrong. fate is a college boy turned on his side on the dewed grass, wheezing half between drunkeness & the sheer delirium of festivity. it's the kind of thing she diverts her sights from, destiny held no card in her deck. still, the night has informed her that isla enjoys being unexpected, having others bend and meld to accomodate her. she could almost get used to the control. she's not particularly happy to see reeve. remember, she'd expected him. the only revelation had between them was a blood hound set onto the yard with no malice caught between his teeth. instead, he's already showing her all his favorite tricks. what a good boy. " an hour and a half .. i dunno' maybe four? " words shrug around the question, hanging unsurely like damp cotton billowing in a gust of wind. strung tight & teetering upon the brink of untethering from the pretending they do. she's not playing nice tonight though, isla swore it the moment she'd left the apartment that night. all out in the cold. she would only be as stark as the strays of winter huffing over washington. " it was the right thing to do, you being so kind as to invite me and all. " because she certainly could have better spent her time in the concave of her bedroom, with only the haze of her computer screen illuminating her. instead, the doll does not play house. let whim take hold of her and walk her right into one pocket of doom into the next. no, here, in the dark looking almost indirectly at the other — maybe looking within him — isla wields her own agency. all of which commands her to call him into question, though her tone isn't particularly scolding, only inquisitive. collecting information, perhaps to wager. " are you runnin' an illegal gambling ring or something on the side, reeve? "

The bathroom was their sanctuary, there was no other way to describe it. The two had come to the party together, separated for some amount of time Kody had lost track of ( could have been thirty minutes, could have been three hours ), and now that they'd found each other again, she wasn't ready to give it up. "You kissed someone??" She practically shouted, giddy with excitement as she shuffled over to Isla, catching her own reflection in the mirror and wondering who that gorgeous, glittery creature was. "You know, kisses can be casual, they don't have to mean anything if you don't want them to...but why would liking the kiss be worse? It's a good thing." And then inspiration struck. "Oh! Wait, I have eyeliner. Gimme your arm. I'm gonna write 'Isla kissed a girl and liked it' on your arm and then you'll remember in the morning. Or!! I could write it on my arm, unless you don't want people to see it, in which case, I could write it - "she paused, looking around her mostly bare body before pointing to her inner thigh. "No one would see it there, except Thomas but he's not going to tell anyone if you don't want him to. I'll swear him to secrecy."

if you are reading this, let this be a lesson in girlhood: the undying terror. may this be an ode to fated girls, terminally doomed girls, girls drenched in glitter & in love with their reflections. that is what this togetherness means to isla, being a girl again. just for the night, since no one besides her mother got to witness this development in real time. the lengthening of limbs, suddenly too tall for cotton dresses & bare feet in the mud. in this bathroom, flogged with ruminations of marijuana & febreeze, isla is suddenly too young for her body. too much of a girl to be a woman. yet, a woman still. she doesn't tell kody no when she offers the inscription, but there's no blatant concurring either. she turns on her side, lets the jut of her bare hip rest against the lip of the sink counter, " the problem is i'm not casual about anything. " and it's not that this revelation had been some grand secret that could not be unveiled upon the world—it was something isla wanted to keep from herself. come the end of the night, she had already determined that there should be no evidence that she had ever been as unfettered as she was in this moment. that perhaps in punishment, she would never be allowed from her mindcage again. " —people, especially. "

𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 — 𝘪𝘴𝘭𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 — 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦

barefoot in the grass,   isla walks like she’s forgotten what it feels like to stand.   she carries her heels in her hands,   the coolness of the ground pressing up into her,   but she doesn't feel it.   she’s not connected to anything except the idea of movement,   like if she keeps moving,   the buzz can’t catch up.   then there’s thomas,   standing against the house,   like he’s carved from the same shadows that stretch out from the porch light.   he’s not here for the party.   he’s not even here for himself.   he’s just here.