6. Dannica
DANNICA
LOCAL WOMAN SURROUNDED BY SUGAR, CHAOS, AND POOR DECISIONS
If anyone asked me an hour ago what my plans were for tonight, I would’ve said something responsible like drinking tea while staring at a blinking cursor and dissolving under the crushing weight of everything I’m supposed to be doing and somehow not doing.
Or, if I was being honest, I might’ve called it “living” and spent the evening writing practice articles no one’s ever going to read.
Instead, I’m standing in the middle of the Boudica Springs Harvest Festival, dressed like a haunted ice witch with a drink in my hand and glitter in places I’m pretty sure glitter should never be.
LOCAL WOMAN AMBUSHED BY GLITTER, ACCEPTS IT AS PERMANENT PERSONALITY TRAIT.
I should’ve known better than to assume I’d get a quiet night doing the things I love, especially with Quadri and Shelly in my life.
I love them, I really do, but they have a deeply ingrained belief that if I’m not neck-deep in people and questionable alcohol choices, then I must be in desperate need of rescuing.
Just to be clear, I’m not. I’ve told them that.
Repeatedly. They just choose not to hear it.
I tried to argue the logistics by telling her I didn’t have a costume, which was a mistake because Quadri is nothing if not resourceful.
The woman could probably fix a hot air balloon with a hair tie and a piece of bubble gum, then she’d judge you for doubting her.
She disappeared into her closet and came back with a pale blue prom dress like she’d been waiting for this exact moment.
The skirt was soft and flowing, which was good because while we’re about the same size up top, that cannot be said for the bottom half of me.
And the last thing I wanted to do was fight a zipper on festival night.
I expected to feel ridiculous when I put it on, but it didn’t. That alone should have rung some warning bells, but did I tell them that? Hell no.
To complete the outfit, she dug through what felt like a hundred hat boxes before producing a skull mask covered in rhinestones that catches the light with every movement.
Instead of covering the top half of my face like a mask usually would, this one sat low, curving over my mouth and cheekbones.
It was bold, and made me feel like I was hiding and still being seen at the same time.
I didn’t have time to unpack that, though, because Shelly had already decided my face was her next project.
“Do not move,” she’d said, which is never a comforting instruction when someone is holding multiple brushes.
I considered arguing. Spoiler alert, I did not. There are battles you pick in life, and Shelly with access to makeup is not one of them.
By the time she was done, I barely recognized myself.
She’d turned my face pale and icy, without making me look like I’d just lost a fight with a ghost. My hair was pulled up into something soft and elegant, with just enough loose strands to make it look intentional instead of forced.
Add in the costume jewelry, and suddenly the whole thing came together in a way that was annoyingly effective.
I stared at my reflection, waiting for that little voice in my head to point out what doesn’t work, what needs fixing, what could be better.
It didn’t. And that was new.
Shelly, of course, took full credit. Quadri agreed with the kind of quiet satisfaction that suggested she’d known exactly how this would turn out all along, and I found myself not even arguing, which was probably the clearest sign that something strange was happening.
Because the truth is… I kind of loved it.
LOCAL WOMAN ENJOYS HERSELF, AUTHORITIES INVESTIGATING
For a split second, I wonder if he’s here.
The guy from the diner. It’s the kind of event that pulls people in, right?
Out-of-towners, festival crowds, locals.
Everyone ends up at these events. I don’t even know why that thought shows up like it has a right to be there.
He was just passing through. I shake it off before it can settle into anything resembling expectation.
“This was a good decision,” Shelly declares, her plastic cup of questionable neon liquid already half empty.
“It’s been ten minutes,” I say, because accuracy matters, even when no one appreciates it.
“And you haven’t complained once,” Quadri adds, eyeing me like she’s waiting for the exact moment when I realize where I am and start protesting on principle.
I might. It’s early.
“I complained when you made me wear this dress,” I point out, tugging lightly at the fabric as if it might suddenly revert to something unremarkable.
“You said, and I quote, ‘this is uncompromisingly out of my comfort zone.’”
“I stand by that,” I mutter, even as my fingers smooth over the skirt again. It does feel good. Which is annoying.
Shelly grins into her drink. “And yet, here you are. Not complaining. Not hiding. Suspicious behavior, honestly.”
“I am absolutely complaining,” I say. “Internally. With great intensity.”
Quadri hums. “We’ll give it another five minutes.”
“That’s generous of you.”
Shelly leans into me, stage-whispering, “If you start having fun, just blink twice and we’ll pretend we didn’t see it.”
I snort before I can stop myself. Unfortunately, that proves their point.
Quadri’s mouth twitches. “There it is.”
“Don’t,” I warn, already feeling the shift—that subtle, dangerous loosening of something I usually keep on a very tight leash.
“Too late,” Shelly says, delighted. “You’re enjoying yourself.”
“I am tolerating the situation,” I correct.
“Same thing.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“Give it time,” Quadri says calmly, like she’s watching a science experiment unfold in real time.
I open my mouth to argue, but then someone nearby lets out a loud, unrestrained laugh. The music swells, the lights catch on the rhinestones of my mask, and for a second, I forget to be annoyed.
“I look like I died beautifully in a snowstorm.” I’m lying, obviously, but I’ve got to give them something or they’ll get suspicious.
Shelly beams like I’ve just validated her entire life. “Exactly the vibe we were going for.”
I glance between them, still not entirely convinced this didn’t all come together a little too easily. “Where did you even get all this stuff?”
They don’t hesitate.
“Drama club,” they say in unison.
Mary giggles beside us, her red cloak swishing around her knees, wolf ears perched neatly in her hair. The half-mask gives her this strange, storybook edge, like Little Red took one look at the wolf and decided she’d be the problem instead.
“You look nice,” she says softly.
I blink at her, caught off guard by how sincere she sounds. “You’re the only one I trust right now.”
“Rude,” Shelly says, linking her arm through mine. “Come on. We’re starting with games.”
We start at the ring toss booth—an optimistic choice given my general lack of coordination and the fact that anything requiring aim and follow-through has historically betrayed me.
The guy dressed as a bear hands me a ring. I crouch slightly, narrowing my focus on one of the bottles like this is a high-stakes moment and not, in fact, a game I will absolutely lose.
Okay. This is it.
I toss.
It doesn’t just miss, it commits to missing, sailing wide and landing somewhere near the candy floss stand like it had somewhere better to be.
A small girl dressed as a dalmatian trots over to retrieve it, her ears flopping slightly as she moves, and hands it back to me with a grin that reveals a very enthusiastic lack of front teeth.
“Good try,” she says.
I smile despite myself. “Thank you.”
Behind me, Mary laughs. “Yeah, good try, Dannica.”
“Woohoo. You’ll have the next one in the bag,” Shelly adds, with the kind of unwavering confidence that suggests she has never witnessed me attempt anything athletic before. She’s a good actor.
I glance between them. “I feel like you’re both lying to me.”
“Supportively,” Shelly says.
“Strategically,” Quadri adds.
That tracks.
“All right, here I go.” I jog lightly from foot to foot like I’m about to step into a ring with the number one boxing champion of… hell, I don’t know. Honestly, I have no idea. Sports aren’t my thing.
I crouch again, tongue poking out in concentration because apparently that’s who I am as a person now, and toss.
The ring veers off course and smacks straight into a clown’s dog-shaped balloon, popping it with a sharp bang.
“Well,” I say slowly. “That felt targeted.”
“Bet you couldn’t do that twice,” Quadri murmurs.
“Not if I was tied to a post and set on fire for missing,” I shoot back.
She laughs, clearly delighted by this turn of events. “Okay, new strategy. Raise the stakes. Pretend you’re tied to a burning post and the only way to save yourself is to land that ring and release the giant bucket of water hanging over your head.”
“Jesus, Quadri, that’s dark,” Shelly says around a bite of her candy apple.
“She started it.” Quadri shrugs. “I’m just building on her plotline.”
“Okay,” I say, rolling my shoulders like I’ve suddenly developed a pre-game ritual. “I’m done messing around. This is the one.”
I crack my neck, immediately regret it, and force myself to focus. Being hypothetically set on fire isn’t helping my aim, so I narrow my eyes instead, blocking everything else out.
I am a Viking, and this is my axe. I can do this.
“Okay, no, that was rigged,” I say as my third ring bounces uselessly off a bottle that absolutely moved.
“It didn’t move,” Quadri says.
“It leaned.”
“It’s a bottle, Chester.”
“It leaned with intent.”
Shelly snorts and tosses hers, landing it on the first try.
“I hate you,” I tell her.
“You love me.”
“I tolerate you.”
“Same thing.”
When Quadri wins the next round with minimal effort and zero celebration, she hands me the tiny plastic prize like she’s presenting me with a medal.
“It’s a keychain,” I say.
“It’s victory,” she replies.
“I lost.”
“You participated.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “I don’t like this version of encouragement.”