Beach Day

36: The Un-Matt Plan

When she reunites with Drew, she makes him drive. She doesn't want to do it. It's probably better if she doesn't, anyway.

She yawns into her fist in time with the song on the radio. It's a little too chipper for how she's feeling— resolved, angry, exhausted. She takes a drink from the can in her other hand around another stifled yawn, grateful for her panic purchases from days ago. It tastes like flat apple soda, but it's better than nothing.

"Are we waiting for Matt?" Drew asks over lyrics about living in the big machine.

"No," she scowls. "Fuck Matt."

"Strong words. What happened?"

She recalls her promise to not tell Drew about the whole 'witch hunting' thing (not that he would care if he knew. He doesn't believe in any of this). "He just... isn't a great guy. I don't think it's a good idea to be around him. I'm not going to tell him that. I'm just going to avoid him."

"I think you and I both know that isn't a good idea. You have to communicate with people, dumbass."

"Not in this case! It's an easy way to start some shit for no good reason, and I don't want to be the reason someone is upset and yelling and shit." She cracks a joke and a grin around the lip of the can. "That's my job!"

"Fine," he grumbles, hands tense on the wheel. "We'll go without Matt."

"Thank you." She means it genuinely, even if it comes out like the last wish of a disgruntled corpse. She hopes he knows that.

"I didn't bring a weapon," Drew admits, after a moment of quiet. "Was I supposed to bring a weapon?"

"Yeah, probably." She thinks about it, thinks on her feet. "If I'm using Aunt Esther's sword, then you can use the one I took from Uncle Mike's garage."

"I don't know anything about swords, though."

"It hasn't stopped thousands of teenage chosen ones. I know neither of us are that thing, but it's fine. The logic is consistent."

"How flattering," he deadpans. "I'm not taking the sword."

"That's your loss." She shrugs, climbs out of the car. There's cocky asshole Tiff, she realizes. It was so easy to unlock that part of herself again. She just had to learn a shocking truth about her family, take on a new responsibility that weighs like the world on her shoulders, and then not sleep. It's like she's sixteen again— beginning a new journey.

Walking through the woods, Tiff takes another swig of the energy drink. She even carries herself like an asshole, like she could bend in any direction, less overzealous seeker of knowledge than angry teenage girl, more Eliza than Betty. Maybe she exists as the midpoint of some spectrum in supernatural teen personality.

"I'm just saying," she mutters, more to herself than to anyone else, "I refuse to work with him."

"I get it," Drew sighs. "You don't need to keep repeating that you don't want to work with Matt anymore."

"I don't even want to see him."

"Listen, I'm glad you're putting your foot down about not wanting to be around someone and then following through on it. I know that's a big step for you. But you don't have to keep repeating yourself."

"Ad nauseum, ad inifinitum, I will repeat-um."

"Don't speak Latin at me." Drew rolls his eyes. When she sticks her tongue out at him, he slugs her in the shoulder gently.

Normal once more, the two of them continue on into the woods, under bright green leaves and gray winter clouds. By the time they get to the hole and past it, Tiff can tell that the death is back. Whatever the hell this mystery woman and the maybe-associated bone creature are doing, it's killing these plants and (as she can see in the hollows of trees and under pushed-aside fronds) the animals in the area.