Sister Spelled

Fire at the Sticks

Gin stole a glance at her wristwatch again, the little diamonds flashing against her caramel skin in the firelight. Almost eleven. She would need to leave soon to make it to the Orphanage in time to set up. The smell of smoke clung to her skin, she caught a whiff as she turned to take in the others. Someone had started a bonfire, the wood crackling against the roar of ocean waves. It wouldn't be long until the rain started again and smothered out the tall flames, but they crowded around while it lasted. Gin had gotten the same text as the rest, fire at the sticks, and when she had got here with Liz there was already a crowd spread out on the sand, a myriad of colored blankets spread out beneath them like a flag of rebellion. 

The sticks referred to the old shack set back from the beach. No one had lived there for as long as any of them could remember, but it was like the old structure had been forgotten. No one ever tore it down or built it back up, even as the boards fell away. Which made it the perfect place for a group teenagers with flasks full of stolen liquor and couples that wanted a moment of privacy from the watchful eyes of their guardians. 

"Gin, are you thinking about taking someone in the sticks?" Liz had caught her staring in the direction of the shack, misreading her intentions, "I think you're the only one of our entire grade that hasn't been in yet."

"Only because I think there are better places to get acquainted with someone." Gin's smile was brittle, as if it would break on her face, but she wanted so bad to pretend this was just a normal night. 

Liz moved from Mick's side to sit next to Gin on the blanket, and Gin felt a small tendril of cold uncoil in her chest. She was going to ask. Gin sucked in a breath, the air thick and soupy from humidity. 

"Gin, what happened earlier?" Liz had never been able to properly whisper, but Gin could tell she was trying to be discreet, "At the Noir? You were-"

"Nothing." Gin hissed, harsher than she meant. She could feel Henry and Mick's eyes turning their way, like tiny lasers burning into her skin. They can't know. 

Liz's brows furrowed in confusion, "But you were crying and you said-"

"I've just been tired Lizzy. I haven't been sleeping too well since my parents have been out of town and I don't know, it just caught up with me." Gin avoided Liz's eyes and the hurt she could sense in the other girl's tone, choosing instead to straighten the skirt of the short red dress she had changed into. She smoothed her hands down the silky material, inwardly begging Liz to stop asking. 

"But-"

"Give it a rest Liz." Mick's words were usually sharp enough to cut, but tonight the slight slur of his words took away any of the edge he may have had, "She just told you she was tired."

Liz sighed in response, placing her chin on her knees as she looked towards the water, "It just seemed like something else is all."

Gin tried to smile but was pretty sure it only served to bare her teeth. Liz needed to drop it, and Gin lowered her tone so that only Liz could hear the warning, "It's been too long of a day Liz.. Just drop it."

The other girl didn't answer, but Gin saw the way her fingers dug into her chin.

"Gin?" 

Henry's tone was soft, the words almost swallowed whole by the sound of waves. Honestly, she would have forgotten he was there if she wasn't so accustomed to it being the four of them. He didnt look like her Henry though. Not the self-assured King of Wildwood. No, he was like a ghost sitting at the end of their small square of blanket. His sleeves were rolled up, feet buried in the sand in front of him. His pale skin had an ethereal look, accented by his light hair hanging in his face when it was usually combed so neatly back. When he turned to look at her the light from the flames danced across his face, caught in the golden tips of his hair as if he could hold the fire. He tipped the flask her way again, the liquid seemingly endless tonight. She doubted anyone's parents would be looking too closely at the liquor cabinets tomorrow morning. Who would dare to deny them their small relief from losing one of their peers? Although judging from Mick's scowl cutting lines in his face and Liz's deflated bubbliness, Gin would say it wasn't much of a relief at all.