DIVINE ▼ ginny & georgia

chapter 2: conversion

It's greener as we go.

Trees line the road, blurs of movement in my peripheral, as I shimmy a little farther down in the back seat of the convertible and push my foot farther forward on the center console so momma can get a better angle at my toenails. It Wasn't Me keeps pace, Austin and mom singing back and forth as I catch Ginny's disapproving eye in the rearview mirror, my own face pulled into a cartoonishly sardonic frown. Austin doesn't pause in singing, not even when I roll my eyes at Ginny's look and shove my hand over his mouth. It's not until Ginny flips the radio off that he goes quiet.

"Hey!"

A swipe of cool polish against the top of my foot makes me jerk.

"Momma!"

"Oh! Sorry guppy. I got it."

The spot leaves behind a green tinge that shimmers in the light as I move my foot back and forth, momma grabbing at me to keep me still so she can spit on the tissue and try again. I can't help the huff of laughter as she tickles at the arch of my foot while she has the chance.

"Sorry, do you think that song's appropriate for a nine-year-old?" Ginny asks, incredulous and so sure. She's not wrong, but what had we been listening to in the car at his age? Probably the same damn thing.

I can hear the eyeroll in mom's tone as she goes back to painting my toenails. "Please, he doesn't understand any of it. Austin, what's this song about?"

"Doing it on the bathroom floor, getting caught, and lying so you don't get in trouble."

There's no hesitation in his answer, and I find myself laughing in an instant as momma accidentally swipes more polish over my skin. She can't hold in her laughter either. Even Ginny smiles, tucked behind the wheel, eyes forward. Our family has always been a little haphazard, a little disjointed, but it's the moments like these that solidify in me how much I love them all. Ginny and her responsibility. Momma and her playfulness. Austin and his honest, genuine, childlike joy. I wish I could capture it all, bottle it up for the days when sitting together feels hard, when our boxes are too battered by another move to take much more abuse at each other's hands. For now, I'll just soak it in while we're all still able to laugh.

"Go back to your Harry Potter game," momma tells Austin with a soft grin, the apples of her cheeks bumping against the bottom of her Ray Bans. He does so without a question, his own private smile lighting up his face as he looks back down at the phone in his hands. "And guppy, you're all finished."

I pull my foot back, scooting back up the seat and tucking my heel up onto the edge to press against my thigh. My toes curl, flexing and making the shimmer in the polish shine as I admire it with a pleased hum. In the front seat, mom starts in on her own toes.

"What are you wearing?"

With a quick blink at Ginny's reflection, I look down at myself, brow furrowed. It's not anything out of the ordinary. A pair of white shorts and a loose tangerine quarter sleeve top. My mouth pops open to respond, but Ginny presses on and it's clear she hadn't been talking to me despite how our eyes had caught in the mirror.

"You look like Vanessa Hudgens at Rydell High."

Austin glances over at me as I make an exaggerated gagging face, his attention caught as he giggles and lowers his game again.

"The fact that your Rizzo is Vanessa and not Stockard is literally everything that's wrong with your generation," momma drawls, head turning to glance out the side of the car.

"I'm your Rizzo," I say theatrically, raising both arms up and tilting my chin to the air, high drama in jean shorts. Austin's giggling grows, his head thrown back against the seat.