Water Pressure

Chapter 2: Finding Traction

"Dad! Er, Mr., um..." Oh heck, this again? Why did they never plan ahead?

"Hey, Schtoo-ball. You coming down with something?"

"No, Dad, this isn't—" Just breathe. There are two of you in there. You can figure this out. "This isn't Steven. Not, well, not entirely."

"Don't follow you, bud."

"It's Stevonnie. Steven and Connie? I'm, I need to talk."

"Oh, uh." Greg's voice began to crack. "Right. I, uh. Hi. I remember when you... that's, uh, is, is this a Gem thing? You know, I don't—"

"No, Mr.—Dad, it's more practical than that. But it's kind of awkward."

"Oh, you don't say." Greg's dry laugh bought him a moment to collect himself. "Hoo boy. Well, you'd better start from the beginning. What can your old... um, what's, up? You?"

"I don't actually have any clothes."

Stevonnie could hear Greg's sweat through the speaker. "This doesn't sound like the beginning."

"I mean. Steven has his... shirts, and Connie has her own stuff at home, but we've got nothing that fits, er, me. Stevonnie is way bigger than them, and I'm not... them."

"So, when you say you don't have any clothes..." Greg was still at the starting gate.

"Yeah, that's why it's kind of awkward." Stevonnie paused. "Well, part of it."

"Okay, hold that thought. Let's get you cleared up first. Then we can talk about what else is bugging you. You're at the house, right? Just stick around. I can back the van up, and let you take whatever you need."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Hey, what am I here for?"

*       *       *

It had grown chilly again. Delmarva's spring was long, but it was a fraught, grumpy season. Better for the crabs than the folks who came to eat up their space. And their flesh.

Stevonnie watched a pair of stars pierce the murk of the beach as they rounded the cliff in the middle distance. How much of that van remained, anyway? It was older than either of them. Both of them. Older than Stevonnie would be, if they were... um.

The carapace had to be original. For all the beating it took, Steven didn't remember the van ever needing a repaint. That logo must have been his dad's most solid investment, wherever he got it done. But everything else about the car... was a van a car? Was a car a van?

"It depends on the wheelbase," Stevonnie said.

"I don't know what that means."

"Should your dad really be driving it on the beach like that?"

The van's headlights had stalled about two-thirds of the way from the cliff. The sound of an over-taxed motor carried over the hollow of approaching dawn, waking the surf of a yawning tide.

"Not like that, no." They sighed. "I guess we'd better go help him." In a motion, Stevonnie slid from Steven's upper level and through the screen door of his house. The twist in the front steps was a puzzle they navigated like so many others, subconsciously. Three bounds, footholds selected more for convenience than form or purpose, and their feet met the still-damp sand a story and a half below.

Greg continued to gun the ignition, grinding the ruts at his rear axle all the smoother and deeper. "Oh, hey, kids. You'd think I'd have the hang of this by now." He switched off the motor, and ran a palm across the back of his scalp, where he could still feel the hair. "I guess I'll have to wait for Garnet again."