Chapter 4
I knew they were planning something the second I heard them whispering in the hallway. Jack’s voice was low. Fitz’s laugh was even lower. The sound of metal flicking confused me; I couldn’t quite place it. But I knew they were up to something—which meant I wanted in.
I padded out of my room barefoot and followed them downstairs. I swiped a lemon cookie from the rack where I had just finished baking with my mom—the counter still dusted in flour, the mixing bowl soaking in the sink, late afternoon sunlight slanting through the kitchen windows.
I took a warm, gooey bite, the powdered sugar no doubt frosting my lips, but I didn’t have any time to waste. Jack and Fitz were already halfway to the front door, walking fast and whispering even faster.
I approached them just before they opened the door. Jack had his favorite striped beach towel slung over his shoulder like he always did, and Fitz was stuffing something into the back pocket of his khaki shorts.
They froze when they saw me. “Where are you going?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
“Out,” Jack said too quickly.
“Beach,” Fitz added, voice flat. “Alone.”
I frowned. “I can come. I love the beach at sunset.”
Jack laughed like I told a joke. Fitz didn’t laugh at all. “Nope,” he said, already turning the knob. “No kids allowed.”
“I’m not a little kid,” I snapped, planting myself in front of the door.
Jack rolled his eyes. “Char, seriously. Go make a pie or whatever.”
“That’s sexist.”
“And accurate,” Fitz muttered.
I glared at both of them. “If you don’t let me come, I’ll tell Mom.”
That got Fitz’s attention.
He turned to me slowly, like a villain in a movie, and before I could step back, he grabbed me by the waist, lifted me like I weighed nothing, carried me into the living room and tossed me straight onto the living room sofa.
I hit the cushions with an “oof,” my cookie landing sugar-side-down on the armrest.
“Now you’ve got something to tattle about, goblin,” Fitz said, already halfway out the door.
Jack barked out a laugh and followed him, towel flapping behind him like a cape.
The screen slammed, the latch clicked, and I was alone again, with half a lemon cookie and a face full of humiliation.
One day, I told myself. One day they’d want me around.
One day they’d come back from whatever stupid secret thing they were doing and find me too busy, too cool, too grown-up to care.
But that day was not today. I sat there—arms crossed, lips sugar-sticky, trying not to feel stupid with the imprint of Fitz’s hand still hot on my waist. I picked up my crumbled cookie and I ate it anyway. Mostly out of spite.
The front door creaked again. “Hey, sweetheart,” my dad said, setting down his newspaper and blinking like he was surprised to find me collapsed in a pile of crumbs and betrayal. “Why the pout?”
“Jack and Fitz wouldn’t let me go with them,” I sighed.
He looked around. “Where’d they go?”
“The beach.”
“Hm.” He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push. “Well. I was thinking about heading down to toss the frisbee around. I could use a ringer.”
I glanced up, eyes hopeful. “Really?”
“Really. If you’re not too busy sulking and sugar-coating the furniture.”
That made me smile, just a little. He offered a hand, and I took it.
The sand felt cool under my feet, the wind pulling loose strands of hair from my braid, as I walked down the sandy path with my dad.
I spotted them halfway down the shore, huddled behind the dunes like the worst secret agents in the world.
Fitz had something cupped in his hand. Jack leaned in, blocking the wind.
Fitz flicked his thumb against metal. Again.
And again. A tiny flame flared, then died in the breeze.
I squinted. “What are they—” I started.
My dad made a noise low in his throat. “Ah,” he said, and picked up his pace.
We reached them just as Fitz finally got the lighter to catch and touched it to the end of a very crumpled cigarette.
“Hand it over,” my dad said, voice low but sharp.
Jack jumped like he’d been electrocuted. Fitz flinched, too, but tried to play it cool, holding the cigarette behind his back like it hadn’t already been seen.
“Mr. Winslow—” Fitz started.
“Don’t.” My dad held out his hand. “Now.”
Fitz surrendered it. The lighter, too. My dad looked between the two of them like he was deciding whether to kill them now or later. “There will be hell to pay later—for both of you.”
Jack had the sense to look ashamed. Fitz didn’t quite meet my eyes.
“Back to the house. Now. Sit on the porch and wait for me. I’m going to play some frisbee with Charlie and enjoy the sunset—since you two couldn’t be bothered.” They didn’t argue; they just turned and trudged through the sand, muttering under their breath.
I stood there, stunned, watching their backs retreat. My dad bent, picked up the frisbee from where it lay half-buried, and turned to me with a small, wry smile. “You ready, cupcake?”
I beamed. “Yeah.”
“Good. Let’s show them what they’re missing.”
And we did.