21. Chapter 21
twenty-one
Skye
I’m learning very quickly that children are like squirrels injected with copious amounts of caffeine—maybe sugar. Same thing.
Also? They’re sticky. Like toxic sludge kind of sticky. No idea why.
I never had siblings growing up. No cousins, either. Just my friends and the blissful ability to retreat to my quiet bedroom whenever I’d reached my human interaction limit.
This?
This is sensory warfare. Sight, smell, sound, touch, and yes, even taste, as I learned when I picked up what I thought was my cup of water and it turned out to be some overly sweet electrolyte drink that contained not one, but two gummy worms I missed before taking a way-too-large gulp.
It’ll be weeks before I trust a cup of water again.
“Skye! Watch this!”
A tiny blur in light blue shorts cartwheels across the gym floor directly in front of me, almost taking out another child in the process.
“Oh my god, Cassie,” I gasp, clutching my roll of black trash bags against my chest like it’s riot gear. “You almost died.”
Cassie giggles. “No I didn’t.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “Don’t you fear injury?”
She shakes her head, then does some kind of cartwheel-flip-over thingy that, for a fraction of a second, has me convinced she’s going to crack her skull open.
It’s my third time at Riverfront—my second official shift since starting my summer “job” at my mom’s non-profit on Monday, and Cassie and I have become fast friends.
In fact, thirty seconds after arriving for my first shift on Tuesday, armed only with Jessica’s trusty clipboard and some vague instructions from my mom about making sure the kids are signed out and confirming with Valentina—Harbor Project’s version of me—that they’re handling the transportation for the field trip to the zoo in two weeks, Bronx rushed me and insisted I immediately meet his sister Cassie.
I didn’t tell him I’d met Cassie long before that. Back when she was still a baby.
I thought maybe she’d be shy, but boy was I wrong.
She abandoned her still-wet paper mache project and Velcro’d herself to me.
Doesn’t bother me. She’s great company. But I do feel bad that she’s watching me do boring admin things rather than playing with the other kids or doing crafts which—she’s told me twice now—is her favorite thing ever.
“Can you please not do that again?” I ask Cassie, whose ponytail is coming loose from all her wheeling and flipping. “It scares the shit out of me.”
She gasps. “Boss says saying bad words is rude.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure Boss ate three brownies during snack time, so I’m not sure he’s the authority on proper behavior.”
I glance toward the court where Boston stands near a goal line, loudly cheering on a screaming bunch of kids competing in a tight potato sack race—except that the potato sacks are actually trash bags.
There’s his whistle resting against his chest, his dark hair curling slightly at the ends from the heat in the building, and—
Nope. Absolutely not.
I drag my attention back to the table I’m supposed to be cleaning. Ugh, so sticky.
“Skye?”
Cassie steps up to the table.
“Yes, ma’am?”
She laughs at that. “Did you know it’s my birthday next week?”
I blink. “My birthday’s next week, too. When’s yours?”
“Wednesday.” She leans against the folding table while I stack paper cups. “Boss said he’s getting me an ice cream cake from Sweet Dreams.”
“My birthday is on Friday, and I’m so jealous you’re getting a cake from Sweet Dreams.”
Her eyes widen. “We’re almost birthday twins. How old are you going to be? I’m turning ni—”
“Cassie!” Boston’s voice booms across the gym. I jerk my head up to find him staring at us from the court.
“What?” Cassie yells back.
Boston points at Bronx and the other kids, all of whom have discarded their trash bags—uh, potato sacks—and are lining up again with… their legs tied together?
“Come race!”
“You’re bossy,” she shouts, but skips toward him anyway.
I hear him laugh, and the warmth spreading through my insides, though unexpected, isn’t unwelcome.
“You, too, Skye,” he says, grinning, his eyes pinned to me.
“What? No. I’m cleaning,” I say, pointing at the table.
“Aww, come on, Skye!” Cassie yells over her shoulder. Her plea is echoed by Bronx and the dozen other kids already standing at the starting line.
“Wow, peer pressure much?” I mutter and drop my trash bag, then reluctantly make my way over.
The kids are all talking over each other, arguing over who’s going to be tied to whom, and how tightly the string should be tied. Then Boston blows his whistle and, would you look at that, like a tiny, chaotic military unit, every kid snaps back into formation.
It’s impressive. Mildly terrifying. And also kind of hot.
Boston goes about pairing off kids. It’s clearly strategic, clearly trying to keep one team from steamrolling the others. Then he ties them together with—what is that, kitchen twine?
“Alright, Bronx, you’re with me,” Boston finally announces. “Cass, let’s get you tied to Skye.”
“No fair!” Bronx cries. “Skye’s tall,” he adds lamely.
Boston blinks at him. “Skye’s like five feet tall, dude. And what am I, a garden gnome?”
Far from. Boston’s probably three inches taller than Archer, who’s 6’1”.
“I promise, Bronx, you have nothing to worry about,” I assuage him. “Unless I’m on horseback, I suck at sports.”
“See, we’re going to kick their butts,” Boston says.
Now it’s Cassie’s turn to protest. “Hey!”
Boston laughs again. Really laughs, and the sound finds its way directly into my heart.
He was always on the quieter side while we were growing up.
Especially once his dad died. Observant, responsible.
And as far as I can tell, that hasn’t changed.
He’s still serious, protective, and hard working.
And seeing him laugh like this, his eyes bright, face alive, is a thing of beauty.
It makes me want to find ways to bring that side out of him more often.
He starts to crouch down in front of Cassie and me, like he’s about to tie our legs together himself, but then seems to reconsider. He holds the piece of string out to me sheepishly. “Why don’t you tie this around your and Cassie’s legs.”
“Yes, sir.” I salute him, earning me a grin, before he binds himself to Bronx. His fingers move quickly as he ties the knot.
A minute later everyone’s lined up shoulder-to-shoulder. Cassie and I wobble a little as we test our tied legs.
“This already feels unsafe,” I mutter.
Cassie beams up at me. “We’re gonna win.”
“Your confidence is inspiring, considering I have the athletic ability of an overcooked noodle.”
Across from us, Boston adjusts the knot around his and Bronx’s legs one last time before straightening to his full height.
Bronx points at us dramatically. “We’re crushing you guys.”
“You’re literally nine,” I deadpan.
“I’m eight.”
“Even worse.”
Boston laughs under his breath, then lifts the whistle hanging around his neck.
“Alright, everyone,” he calls out. “Ready…”
The gym stills almost instantly.
“Set…”
Cassie grips my hand tighter.
“Go!”
The whistle shrieks.
Chaos erupts.
Kids stumble forward in every direction, half of them immediately collapsing into laughing piles on the gym floor. One pair somehow veers sideways instead of forward. Another kid loses a shoe.
Cassie and I actually start surprisingly strong.
“Oh my god,” I gasp as we hobble forward in sync. “Wait. We’re kind of good at this.”
“I told you!” Cassie squeals.
To my horror, Boston and Bronx are right beside us. And annoyingly coordinated.
Boston’s long legs should make this impossible, but he’s somehow matching Bronx’s smaller strides perfectly, one arm hooked around his little brother’s shoulders to steady him.
“Come on, dude,” Boston laughs. “Keep up.”
“I am keeping up!” Bronx croaks.
I glance over and narrow my eyes.
There’s no way I’m losing to Boston Rawlings and a third grader.
“Skye!” Cassie yelps as we nearly topple sideways.
“Sorry. Sorry.” I steady us, then look back toward Boston and Bronx.
God, Boston is unfairly tall. He could totally just pick up Bronx and…
I have an idea—terrible and awesome at the same time. “Cassie,” I say urgently.
“What?”
“I’m going to need you to trust me.”
Before she can question it, I bend, hook an arm around her, and hoist her up against my hip.
Cassie screams. Not so much in fear as delight.
The entire gym erupts.
“Hey!” Bronx shouts furiously behind us. “That’s cheating!”
“Stormy!” Boston barks through obvious laughter. “That is not how this works!”
But I’m already running. Well, running-ish.
It’s more like a deranged hop-sprint while dragging one tied leg and carrying an almost-nine-year-old who’s shrieking like she’s on a roller coaster.
“Faster, Skye. We’re winning!” Cassie screams.
“We’re absolutely winning!”
I risk a glance behind me just in time to see Boston double over laughing so hard he almost takes Bronx down with him.
Bronx looks personally betrayed.
“Boss!” he yells, trying to yank his much bigger brother onward. “Run!”
“I can’t,” Boston chokes out between laughs.
I revel in the sight of it, the tears streaming down his face, his hand pressed to his stomach. It’s glorious.
Cassie and I stumble across the finish line first, collapsing into a heap of tangled limbs and laughter while the kids shout around us.
“She cheated!”
“That doesn’t count!”
“It totally counts!”
Cassie points dramatically at Bronx. “Losers!”
Bronx throws his hands in the air. “This is so rigged!”
Boston finally makes it across the line a few seconds later, still grinning as he tries—and fails—to catch his breath.
“You,” he says, pointing at me with an attempt at accusation in his voice, “are banned from all future athletic competitions at Riverfront.”
I press a hand to my chest and bat my eyes at him. “Oh no, Boss, whatever will I do without another three-legged race in my life?”
His laugh is as disarming as before.
I smirk, give Cassie a well-deserved high-five, then finally return to cleaning up while the kids continue arguing over whether my victory should count.