Twelve
I picture Val’s backyard, a small patch of ground with a swing set that broke years ago, and the faerie paths deposit us there moments later. Calla brushes her hand absentmindedly through the air, which causes the rain to divert itself around us. My gaze moves up to a window on the second floor before returning to Calla. “I’ll be up there.” I shrug free of the backpack and hand it to her. “Are you going to hide down here?”
“Yes. Wait, Em,” she says before I can move. “I know you’ve known this girl for a long time, so you’re probably going to be offended by this, but are you sure you can trust her? She isn’t going to … I don’t know, try to sell your story to the tabloids or something?”
A few weeks ago, that kind of statement about my best friend definitely would have offended me.
