Chapter 6 – ELLIE
ELLIE
Age Fifteen
The cupcakes look like a unicorn threw up on them, which is exactly the aesthetic I was going for. Blues and greens and a couple of pinks thrown in for me, too. Frosting swirls in aggressive peaks, rainbow sprinkles scattered chaotically.
Fifteen years old and I'm throwing a welcome home party like we're suburban housewives instead of small-time criminals.
"That's an obscene amount of sugar," Cyrus observes from his perch on the counter, legs swinging like he owns the place. His glasses flash in the afternoon light streaming through Mom's lace curtains, the nice ones she insisted on hanging even though they look ridiculous in a decaying trailer.
"Good." I pipe another aggressive swirl onto cupcake number twelve. "Tank's got four months of shitty juvie food to make up for."
“Pretty sure he's not gonna make up for it by eating pure diabetes.” Cyrus reaches for the frosting bowl and Jinx's hand shoots out, smacking him away with a wooden spoon.
"Touch it and die, four-eyes."
“Four-eyes? Really? Are we eight again?”
"You're certainly acting like it," Jinx retorts, brandishing the spoon like a sword. "This is for the cupcakes, not your face hole."
"My face hole?" Cyrus adjusts his glasses with mock offense. "That's what you're going with?"
"Would you prefer pie hole? Cake hole? Your gaping maw of—"
"You two sound like an old married couple," I interrupt, grabbing the sprinkles before Jinx can weaponize those too.
Jinx's face goes nuclear red so fast I'm worried he might actually combust. The spoon clatters onto the counter as he fumbles for a response that never comes, just opens and closes his mouth like a fish drowning in air.
Interesting.
I study him with new eyes as he aggressively focuses on hanging the banner we made, which is black construction paper letters taped together to spell out WELCOME HOME ASSHOLES because we're nothing if not classy.
Is that why Jinx gets weird when girls flirt with him? Not because he likes boys in general, but because he likes one specific boy who happens to be completely oblivious.
Holy shit. Jinx has a crush on Cyrus.
Suddenly a dozen little moments make sense. The way Jinx always picks Cyrus's side in arguments. How he laughs too loud at Cy's terrible jokes. The fact that he once spent three hours helping Cyrus debug code even though he barely knows how to turn on a computer without breaking it.
A van rumbles outside, cutting through my secondhand sexuality crisis revelation, and my heart rockets into my throat.
"They're here!" I shriek, nearly dropping the entire tray of cupcakes in my sprint to the door.
"Ellie, wait—" Jinx starts, but I'm already yanking the door open, nearly ripping it off its hinges.
The van looks like shit. Rust eating through the paint, one headlight held on with duct tape, exhaust pipe dragging. But the door opens and Kade steps out, and suddenly I can't breathe.
Four months shouldn't change someone this much.
But he's broader now, muscle packed onto his taller frame in a way that makes his thrifted jeans and black t-shirt look cool as fuck, somehow.
His tattoos have multiplied, black flames crawling up his forearms like they're trying to consume him.
His hair's shorter, darker, and his gray eyes—
Fuck. His eyes look so much harder. Like he's seen shit that can't be unseen.
"Hey, Princess," he says, and his voice is rougher too, like he's been smoking more. "Miss me?"
I launch myself at him before my brain can form words, and he catches me easily, spinning me around like we're in some cheesy movie instead of a trailer park.
"Fucking finally," I breathe into his neck, and his arms tighten around me.
"Language, Princess. What would your mother think?"
"My mother's working a double at the diner and couldn't give less of a shit."
Then Tank emerges from the van's shadows, and my chest does this weird fluttery thing. He's fucking enormous. I mean, he was always big, but now he's... Jesus. Six feet plus of pure muscle wrapped in a black hoodie that does nothing to hide it. His eyes soften above his bandana when he sees me.
"Tank!" I detach from Kade to throw myself at my gentle giant, and he catches me even more easily, lifting me off the ground in a hug that's somehow both crushing and incredibly careful. Like he’s still afraid he’ll break me. Maybe even more than before.
When he sets me down, he signs, Missed you.
"Missed you too,” I say with a smile that probably looks half-deranged spreading across my face.
We pile into the trailer, and suddenly it feels too small with all five of us. Like we've outgrown it somehow in the months Tank and Kade were gone. Kade's eyes scan the decorations—the banner, the cupcakes, the streamers—and his face softens.
"You did all this?"
"Jinx helped," I say, suddenly self-conscious. "And Cyrus... hindered."
"I was quality control," Cyrus protests, already reaching for a cupcake.
Kade’s eyes land on my desk through the open door where my two wrapped packages still sit, collecting dust. His mouth quirks into that smirk that means trouble.
"So," he drawls, "gonna open your presents now? Or are they decorative?"
"I can't open presents at your welcome home party," I protest. "That's fucking weird."
"Bullshit." He's already moving toward them when Jinx darts past him, snatching both packages with the speed of someone who's been waiting for this moment.
"Got 'em!" He waves them above his head like trophies.
"Jinx, what the fuck?" I ask.
"What? The suspense has been killing me." He shoves them into my hands with zero ceremony. "Open Kade's first. He's been talking about it for months."
Kade’s face twists in an embarrassed grimace in the moment it takes for him to direct murder eyes at Jinx. "I haven't been talking about it."
"You literally asked me twelve times if I thought she'd like it."
"Shut the fuck up, Jinx."
My hands shake slightly as I unwrap the first package. The paper falls away to reveal a small box, and inside—
"Holy shit," I breathe.
It's a bracelet. But not just any bracelet.
This thing is gorgeous. Five beautiful, perfect small charms dangle from a delicate silver chain.
A silver flame that flickers in the dusty light.
An anatomically accurate heart. A delicate feather.
A tiny pair of glasses that actually have miniature lenses.
And a crown, perfect in its miniature majesty.
"Kade, this is..." I can't find words.
"Made it in the metal shop," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets like he doesn't know what to do with them. "It's not a big deal."
There's a note tucked in the box. My fingers tremble as I unfold it.
"Every fire needs something to burn for," Cyrus reads over my shoulder, because privacy is a foreign concept to these assholes. "Damn, Kade. That's almost poetic."
Every fire needs something to burn for.
The words feel like a truck slamming into my chest. Since when is Kade a fucking poet?
No, since when does Kade write poetry for me?
"Fuck off," Kade growls, his face going red. "I didn't think she'd be reading it in front of everyone."
But I'm already throwing my arms around him, bracelet clutched in my fist like someone might try to take it from me. "I love it. It's literally my favorite piece of jewelry ever."
"Yeah?" His voice is soft against my hair.
"Yeah."
"Good." He pulls back, that dangerous smirk returning. "Because I got so much shit for making that in metal shop. Apparently real men don't make jewelry."
"Real men do whatever the fuck they want," I say, fastening it around my wrist. The charms tinkle softly, and I realize each one represents us.
The flame for Kade, obviously. The heart must be for Jinx, all emotion and chaos.
The feather for Tank—the bird he saved. The glasses for Cyrus. And the crown...
"Open Tank's next!" Jinx says, practically vibrating.
"Maybe Cy was right. No more sugar for you," I say flatly.
Tank's hands move quickly, almost frantic. You don't have to.
"Don't be silly." I'm already tearing into the second package, and then I stop. Just stop.
It's a bird. Carved from wood with such incredible detail I can see individual feathers, the curve of its beak, the suggestion of life in its wooden eyes. It's beautiful and perfect and—
The tears come before I can stop them, streaming down my face as I stare at this piece of art that Tank made just for me.
Tank panics, his signs rapid and apologetic. Sorry. Don't like it? I can—
"You really don't know shit about girls, do you?" Cyrus mutters. “She's happy, dumbass.”
“I’m not just—” I hiccup through the tears. "I'm thrilled. Tank, this is incredible. You made this?"
He nods, still looking uncertain.
"It's perfect." I clutch the bird to my chest, then throw myself at him for the second time today. I can't even get my arms all the way around his chest. "Absolutely perfect."
His arms encircle me easily enough, always so unnecessarily careful with me.
I imagine him in juvie, those massive scarred hands carefully carving each detail, turning a block of wood into something beautiful.
Something that represents what brought us all back together, even if it was also what separated us.
"I wish you could have seen it fly," I whisper against his chest.
He pulls back just enough to sign. You made it fly. That's enough.
The rest of the night passes in a blur of sugar and laughter. Cyrus gets frosting in his hair courtesy of Jinx, and Kade threatens to set things on fire no less than six times. It feels like before, but also different. We're different. Older, maybe. More aware of how fragile this all is.
At some point, Tank slips away. Not dramatically—he never does anything dramatically—just quietly disappears while the rest of us are laughing about how the white frosting that somehow ends up in Cyrus's hair makes him look like a skunk.
I notice, of course. I always notice when one of them is missing.
But I don't follow. I learned years ago not to follow when Tank needs to eat or drink.
He won't take the bandana off in front of anyone—even us, even me—and making a big deal out of it only makes him feel worse.
So I keep my eyes on the argument, laugh at Jinx's increasingly unhinged skunk impressions that make Cyrus turn purple as he tries to scrub the frosting out of his hair with a wet napkin, and pretend my chest doesn't ache knowing Tank has to hide just to enjoy the cupcakes I made him.
He comes back about ten minutes later, and I pretend not to notice the wet stain spreading across the front of his hoodie, darkening the black fabric around his neck.
Pretend not to see how he tugs it away from his skin self-consciously, or how he positions himself slightly behind Kade like he's hoping no one will notice him.
I catch his eye and smile. He holds my gaze for a moment, dark eyes softening, then looks away.
We end up on the front porch as the sun sets.
Kade grabs beers from Mom's not-so-secret stash, and I snag a soda because I tapped out after half a beer months ago and they never give me shit for it.
The evening air is thick with humidity and the distant sound of someone's rock music playing too loud three trailers over.
Tank settles onto the porch railing, arms crossed, watching the rest of us crack open our drinks. He doesn't reach for one.
"So what'd we miss?" Kade asks, sprawled across the steps like he owns them. "Besides Ellie's tragic decorating skills."
"Fuck you, those cupcakes were art."
"Abstract art, maybe. Why'd mine have a dick on it?"
"That wasn't a dick!" I shriek, lobbing an empty can at him. "It was the number four, as in four months without you two."
"Always knew you were a dickhead," Cyrus sneers.
"Fuck off, specs."
Jinx ignores the bickering as he launches into a dramatic retelling of local drama.
Who was dating who by the start of summer, how the gym teacher got fired for stuffing a student in a dumpster, the great cafeteria food poisoning incident.
I stay quiet, letting his voice wash over me, basking in the golden light from the setting sun.
The way it hits those tin roofs is still something, even after all these years.
"Oh, and Eli Hoffberger got arrested for dealing," Jinx adds casually. "Cyrus may have had something to do with an anonymous tip."
"Snitch," Kade says, but there's approval in it.
"He was selling to middle schoolers," Cyrus defends. "That's fucked up even by our standards."
"We have standards?" I ask hopefully.
"Very low ones," Cyrus confirms. "But still. Standards."
Then Jinx's phone buzzes and the change is instant. His whole body goes rigid, the laughter dying in his throat as he reads whatever's on the screen. We don't need to ask. We all know that look.
Kyle.
"I gotta go," he says, already standing.
"Jinx—" I start, but he's already moving, pausing just long enough to press a kiss to my cheek.
"Night, Princess. See the rest of you assholes at school tomorrow." And then he's gone, jogging toward the trailer he shares with Kyle and their alcoholic mother.
"So I guess that hasn't changed," Kade mutters once Jinx is out of earshot.
"No," Cyrus says, and there's something bitter in his voice that makes me wonder if my earlier revelation isn’t totally one sided. "If anything, it's gotten worse."
"We've gotta get out of here," Kade says suddenly, fierce and determined. "All of us. Before this place eats us alive."
"I'll drink to that." I raise my soda can in a mock toast.
Cyrus lifts his beer, then Kade. Tank raises his fist. Three cans clink together in the dying light, Tank's knuckles bumping against them a beat later. A promise and a prayer rolled into one.
"To getting the fuck out," Kade says.
"To staying together," I add, and Tank nods.
"To not ending up like our parents," Cyrus contributes.
The beers and soda are warm and flat, but we drink them anyway, watching the sun disappear behind the rusted roofs of Creekside Estates.
Tank watches too, arms crossed, part of us even when he can't participate in exactly the same way.
Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks, making him flinch.
A baby cries. A couple fights loud enough for the whole park to hear.
This is our kingdom of broken things and abandoned dreams. But we're going to get out.
We have to.