crispin wedgwood . d10 . fin

I'm in a wrestling match with the garden hose as she's saying something about how it's okay since her nose isn't broken. I turn to look at her with concern stitched in my brows and horror hidden behind a soft chuckle. It may not be broken, but it did look just a few pounds of pressure short of making her cross-eyed. All to call some drunk guy ugly. There was nothing quite like being best friends with Ceres Chase.

"Yeah, sure," I tease, righting the wedding arrangements I'd knocked over during my struggle. "Says the girl who looks like she let a horse kick her in the face," I don't hesitate as I continue, fully expecting a boot in the ribs or a handful of potting soil tossed in my direction. "Even you couldn't get a date with all-" I pause, smile still enduring as I gesture at my own bruiseless face. "That."

The silence speaks volumes. I realize my mistake too late, shoulders slouching as I let out an audible sigh and let my head fall back before giving her a sidelong glance. And—sure as the sun rises over Mama's wheat fields and sets over the Rosewood oil rigs—she's wearing a look that says something like- was that a challenge? and you'll never beat me. -all wrapped into one.

"Noooo, no way, uh uh, nope," I say, trying hard now to hide the smile so my resolve might look more convincing. I even throw a bag of mulch over my shoulder for good measure, moving away from her as I list off all the things I promised her aunt I'd do before the weekend was over. She imitates me as soon as I start saying, "Seriously, I have to work." Apparently I say it a lot.

I sigh again, though admittedly with far more excitement and far less exasperation than the last time. I'm fully aware of my own rookie mistake getting me here—and the fact that she was just going to get bored of pestering me and do something crazy on her own if I wasn't there to stop her. The proof was pretty obvious in the blacks and blues of her not broken nose.

"Okay- alright, alright!" I make a swipe at her face with spirits high and smile wide. She steps easily out of reach. I can only shake my head and laugh. "Fine," I agree as I toss a pair of gloves in her direction. "But after we do this."

The time passed quickly as our conversations bounced between weighing the pros and cons of shanking ugly people—("Con. Hiding bodies is a lot of work- which you're doing none. of. right. now.")—and the mysterious girl that I saw again running along the edges of the Rosewood property just after sunset—("I saw her again- no, but I'm for sure now, she's definitely not a figment of my 'overworked, horny, boy brain.'")

And, yes, Ceres may have tricked me into believing that hallucinating was a part of a delirium brought on by too much horniness when I was younger, but that's clearly irrelevant to this argument and is a story I infuriatingly, uncontrollably blushed during each time Mama decided to tell it to a new friend of mine—or the same friend named Ceres twenty different times. Their laughter always makes me laugh, too, even as the embarrassment slowly kills me.

"Humor me, then," I say, deliberately coy, prodding the beast in the hope she can't resist even the smallest hint of a challenge. "We walk the edge of the Rosewood property- just until we get to the District's edge," I'm drawing the path we'll take on my palm as I kiss Mama on the cheek and promise to be home before she starts worrying, spewing my endless thanks for doing my chores—only for her to shush me and thank Ceres for taking me out.

I clap my hands together as I finish my palm map. "And then you can prove me wrong and get a date- and you'll be 2 for 2 today!" Or she could be walking a bunch of extra steps and wasting a bunch of extra time just to be wrong, but I don't voice those aspirations aloud. "Besides," I shrug, hand moving idly to the wooden charm at my neck.

"I like looking out there."

Silence. I sigh, amusement making the corners of my mouth twitch.

"Annnnd, obviouslyyy," I say, shuffling backwards so I can give her my best puppy dog eyes to go with the favor I'm offering up. "I'd owe you."

Glad I wore my good boots.