#sspc

The yeah, no shit goes seen but not heard when Claudia rolls her eyes. “Mom will be pissed if they maim themselves. I’ll be impressed if that’s the worst of it.”

They kissed last week. Ray and Claudia. The surprise of it knocked Ray off-center. Hasn’t been right since. Ray never learned to stop picking at scabs and there’s a metaphor in there for her relationship with Claudia, if she’s willing to dig deep enough. Though Claudia’s as adept at evasive maneuvers as Ray is at prying.

They’re here in neutral territory. Beni’s backyard. A place they spent their summers when falling in love was fun and complications were simpler. Ray doesn’t think she’s allowed to feel nostalgic, but Claudia glows ethereal under a golden sky and Ray has never followed the rules. She looks and she wants and she looks away still wanting.

Beni emerges from the house with a glass of wine. “Tom’s home. I am off-duty and yours for the night.”

Neutral territory. Built-in fail-safe.

The fireworks burst and crackle long before the sun sets. They continue long after. Ray thinks of her tingling lips when Claudia pulled away and how easy it felt to reel her back in. She lies and says she’s fine when Beni asks. She does her best to smile when she catches Claudia’s eye.

Juniper is a minefield of memories and temptation. Ray has lost herself in little explosions since coming home. Claudia will be the worst of them but hell if she won’t go out as the most dazzling spectacle this town’s ever seen.

She makes her peace with impending doom. When she smiles again, it’s painless.

“I wonder how many combined limbs your brothers have after tonight.”

“More than combined brain cells.”

The next time he wakes, Dakota is turned on his side watching a movie. The volume is low, Dakota’s pulled his limbs back to center and his tablet is propped up in the empty space. 

The bed, the blankets, and Ryan himself are all sun-warm. Lazy days are rare for him. It’s tempting to bury his face in his pillow and steal another few hours. It’s more tempting to bury his nose in Dakota’s hair and squeeze him round the middle. So he does. 

“Good morning.”

Ryan bends to reach a shoulder, pressing a muffled echo of Dakota’s greeting into bare skin. 

They lounge deep into the afternoon, finally ordering lunch following a fruitless kitchen excursion. Hales returns from her classes in time to answer the door seconds after closing it behind her. She tosses the delivery bags onto the bed, kicks off her shoes, and climbs in with them. 

It’s working finally. The three of them like this. 

Hales takes the sandwich out of Dakota’s hand, trading him the greasy paper bag filled with fries while launching into a story about her day. 

The returning pull of sleep has Ryan nestled back under his blankets. His yawns spark a trend. Hales quickly clears the bed of rubbish and leftovers, then changes into pajamas.

It’s quiet. It’s warm. It’s working.

Ryan’s on tour, filling in with his friend’s band. It took two trains and a bus to get this far, but it’s the closest he’ll be for another two weeks. Once he comes home, there won’t be much time before he hops a flight across the country for his sister’s wedding, then a music festival, and then god knows what. Sometimes Ryan is a bird that only knows flight. He always circles back, but it’s better sometimes to track him down.

“It’s not a road trip.” Dakota drapes himself over Hales’s back. She jabs him with tickling fingers until he lets go. “And every time you lie, a dog goes unpetted. So quit calling me boring.”

The argument drags on all the way to the venue. 

Hales is bad at keeping secrets, but this one she’s held close. When Ryan sees them, he beams and takes turns sweeping them into big hugs. A second set. And then a third. He’s never found the same fun in poking the bear as Dakota and Hales, but he listens to their back and forth about planning the surprise and the winding tale of today’s adventure. 

“Now wouldn’t you call that a road trip?” Hales asks Ryan.

Ryan opens his mouth to answer, but Dakota cuts him off. “Say no.”

“No?”

“Wrong answer, buddy.” Hales points an accusing finger at Ryan, then turns it on Dakota. Same finger, same point. Somehow more accusing. “Boring gets no say.”

“Think of all the sad dogs, Hales.”

Charlotte can disappear. Just drift through the world like an apparition. There and then gone and then back again. An enviable gift.

And she can take people with her. Objects, animals, whatever she’s touching, whatever she can carry or can move on its own. She takes Easy’s hand and they run, laughter the only hint to their trail.

Easy has never skipped a class. Never even thought to deviate from the course her parents set. “It’s not her fault,” she insists when her parents’ stern faces turn up on school grounds. It causes a frenzy among students and staff. Easy never brags, never brings them up. People forget the kind of stock she comes from. The caliber of hero she can’t ever live up to, though it’s her apparent fate to die trying.

Charlotte disappears. Easy doesn’t ask where she’s gone or who made it happen. Doesn’t need to be told. Whatever Charlotte’s ambitions, they’ve been rerouted. It takes connections or a crazy amount of potential to even be invited onto this campus. Charlotte would’ve made it, gone A-list on skill alone. Big leagues. Now she’ll be lucky to make it locally. All because Easy had never tried soft serve.

Easy writes her a letter. Crumples it up. Writes ten more. Burns them all in the palm of her hand.

It isn’t fair to keep intruding.

She should’ve known better. She did know better, and chose not to care. That’s the cost of making her own choices. Never again, she promises. Next time I fall, no one is coming with me.

She keeps the promise for so long, she forget it was made until she breaks it.

“One more year,” Kit says later. She sounds more like herself. Less shaky.

“One more year,” Jack echoes.

The future, for Jack, is a world of unknowns too scary to ponder. For Kit, it’s endless possibilities. The scariest unknown is whether Kit will come back once she’s tasted an escape. It’d be hard to blame her.

They stay until their bodies are all goosebumps and shivering. Jack would stay past her curfew if Kit needed it, but it’s only 10:30 when she pulls into Kit’s driveway.

“Next summer,” she starts as Kit is stepping out. Kit pulls her leg back in and looks over. “Next summer, we should leave town.”

“I am leaving town, bud.” There’s an apology buried between the lines. “We’ll still be–”

“No. That’s not–” Jack tugs at her sweatshirt, unsure of herself. “Before college. Like. I don’t know.” A shrug. “You and me, somewhere not here. A vacation.”

“Anywhere?”

“Anywhere affordable,” Jack stresses, but she’s smiling. “Dream small.”

Kit leans forward, folds her arms on the dash and rests her head on them. She’s quiet. Thinking, thinking, thinking. And then she turns with a bright grin. “We should go on a road trip.”