[*this chapter has a companion chapter... see author's note at end for details.]
"Fox, you shouldn't have pushed Jackson today."
"He said something mean about you."
"What he say?"
"Don't worry about it.
"But you're in trouble."
"Don't care."
"Fox, please just—."
"I. Don't. Care."
"..."
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
c h r i s
May in the forest feels like an exhale. The sky is slipping into dusk, the air cool and soft, carrying the smell of pine needles on the damp ground.
Camila's builings a loghouse of sticks and newspaper. She lights her fire. Charlie grabs a stick and runs over, resettling by the flames.
My head's a little light, the world gently tilting. It's one of my off days, where the edges of things blur. But I want to have fun anyway.
Noah's making the firepit, setting rocks in a circle, wearing, yet again, something he might choose for a presentation on ancient Greek poets—button-down, slacks, etc.
Fox stands on the outskirts, a beer bottle dangling loosely from his fingers, watching but not quite part of it.
The breeze picks up, carrying a soft shiver through me. I pull my cardigan tighter around my body—Dad's old creation, the pink yarn fuzzy and worn in all the right places.
I turn at the sound of another voice.
Whitney's stepping down from Walker's pick-up, bell-bottom jeans clinging to her curves, a flowy white blouse on her frame and her hair—oh, her hair. It's woven into two long Dutch braids, catching the last light of the day.
Walker's out next, shutting his door. He's all denim and flannel, baseball cap pulled low. I walk over.
"Hey Chris," Walker says, holding a six-pack of beer cans.
I grab Whit's hand, pulling her toward where Fox is still lingering on the edge. It's strange, this moment. My childhood best friend, the one who used to chase me through summers and winters, meeting Whitney, the girl who helped me survive all the sick nights after.
"Whitney, Fox," I say. "Fox, Whitney."
Fox nods, but his eyes flicker, sizing her up, a quiet assessment. Whitney's doing the same.
Walker steps up behind Whit. "I'm Walker," he says, reaching out to Fox. "Whitney's boyfriend." Fox nods, shaking his hand.
"Cam!" Whitney says, running over to say hi.
Walker leaves us next, finding a seat around the fire, cracking a blue can of beer, speaking a few words to Noah, looks like. I can't hear.
"Isn't it nice?" I whisper, watching everyone. When Fox doesn't answer, I turn. "You know, everyone together. Like a little family."
His eyes are so tired, but his mouth quirks up. "No tears, yeah? Let's go sit."
I smile and let him lead me over. He settles in one of the folding chairs, the beer bottle still dangling from his hand. I sit on the ground instead, my back against a log. Charlie plunks down near my feet, chewing on wood.
YOU ARE READING
Beside
Storie d'amore''Tell me how it feels,'' he whispers. "Good," I gasp, my entire body trembling. Deeper. Harder. Perfect. Like we've been doing this for years. His hand finds my jaw, fingers firm as he tilts my head up, making me look at him. And that's it. Waves...
