Page 10 of Faun Over Me

“Get out of here,” Cricket yelled in a whisper.

“Is that you?” Two tennis shoes stepped into view, scuffed with dirt and grass stains that matched the hem of her skirt. “Are you … are you in the bush?”

“Seriously, you need to leave.”

“What are you doing in there?” She crouched low, blue eyes searching the thorns and shadows for Cricket.

“I like it,” she deadpanned. “What do you think I’m doing in here?”

She blinked, and a flicker of surprised amusement raised her eyebrows. “You like … the bush?”

“This one.”

“You are so difficult.” She dropped onto her knees, placed her hands on the ground, and peered into the thornbush, eyes going directly to where she had heard Cricket’s voice. “If I asked if you were stuck, would you tell me the truth?”

Cricket scowled and wriggled forward, careful of her ankle, and stopped almost immediately. Thorns scraped her arms, her scalp pinched from her curls tangling in the branches, and even without putting weight on her leg, the pain had her seeing stars. Begrudgingly, she sighed and met the girl’s totally-not-judgmental gaze. “Maybe.”

“‘Maybe’ you’re stuck, or ‘maybe’ you’ll tell me the truth?”

Cricket shrank into herself, biting her lower lip before muttering, “Both.”

“What was that?”

“I said both,” she raised her voice, and something about that made the girl smile. It struck Cricket momentarily dumb, that smile. Every time she had seen the girl, she seemed so somber. So sad and uncertain. Like she thought she’d made a mistake or wanted to be anywhere but in this incredible camp. But that smile … it rounded the apples of her cheeks, spreading lovely pink lips to put a mouth full of pearly white teeth on display. Even worse, it made her blue eyes sparkle, and that Cricket could not deal with.

“Are you going to help me out of here or not?”

The smile fled, and with it, all sorts of super confusing flutters in Cricket’s belly. “Right.”

She hopped to her feet and walked away. Cricket’s ears perked, catching the sound of her footsteps just out of sight, the rustle of something being picked up, and then she was back with two pieces of crutch in her hands. “You dropped this.” Cricket stared at her. “It broke.”

“I can see that.”

The girl huffed and shoved the crutch pad into the thorns, grunting as she used it to pull branches aside. “Can you get through?”

Clenching her jaw, Cricket struggled forward, wincing again as more thorns scraped across her arms and back, tearing her leggings. The flannel caught on the thicker thorns closest to the trunk of the thicket, and she paused. “Hold on a sec.”

“I need to let this go.”

“Alright, just—” Cricket glanced at the crutch and the bush. “Um, carefully, okay?”

“Okay.” She eased the branches back, sighing with relief when she set the crutch down. Cricket took note of that, tugging the knot in the flannel undone and balling it as tightly as she could. Finding a fist-sized gap in the thorns, she pushed it through. “Can you grab that?” The flannel was whisked away, and the crutch again worked through the branches.

“On three?”

“Sure.” She closed her eyes, willing herself to ignore how the throb in her ankle had risen to a constant scream of pain. The girl must have heard it in her voice because she held for a moment, giving Cricket more time before starting her count.

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“One.” Cricket clenched her teeth. “Two.” Told herself this was going to hurt, but only for a moment, and then it would be over. “Three.” And shoved forward. At the same time, the other half of the crutch was shoved through the gap in the bush. “Grab on,” the girl demanded, her voice dropping and becoming surprisingly authoritative.

Cricket did as she was bid, grabbing the rubber knob and bleating in surprise when she was hauled forward by deceptive strength. In one tug, she was halfway out of the bush. The girl grunted, sweat beading on her brow, and then tugged again until Cricket cried out with pain.

“Sorry!” She dropped the crutch and grabbed onto the other half, pulling the thorn bush further aside with both hands. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’ve got it,” Cricket gasped, army crawling forward on her forearms and one leg. “I think.”

---