Page 109 of The Oath We Give

“Then why?”

“Dude,” Sage sighs, as if it’s obvious. “You’re our fourth.”

I furrow my brow. “Fourth what?”

“You’ve never watchedThe Craft? 1996 cult classic?”

I shake my head, which makes her jaw drop, like I’ve just told her I’ve committed a crime.

“Movie night is in the books for this weekend. I can’t in good conscience let you walk further into this world without watching Fairuza Balk dominate,” she orders. “But for now, just know you’re our fourth. If it takes you some time to warm up to that idea, so be it.”

“You’re a part of the Loner Society now,” Lyra says. “The forgotten ones. Those who never fit into the hierarchy of Ponderosa Springs. You can still be alone; we’ll just be alone together.”

Old dogs can’t learn tricks in a day, but there’s a part of me that craves what they’re offering.

A sense of belonging.

A knowing that there are people out there that care and would miss you if you died. Knowing that you aren’t alone and you fit in somewhere, no matter how small the space.

Just like the night of hide-and-seek, that sparkle of hope ignites in my chest.

So, I offer an olive branch.

“Which one of you knows how to hang a banner?”

* * *

Several hours later, people fill the inside of my fully decorated studio. Hedi and Light’s other board members had already given short speeches, and bidding on the girls’ paintings had started.

It was a nice turnout, one I think I have to thank Zoe Hawthorne for. She’d walked in with a small army of women and men with deep pockets looking to clear their conscience with some charity.

I didn’t care who they were; all that mattered was the money going into survivors’ pockets. Money some of them desperately need to get the resources they deserve to heal.

“Miss Whittaker!”

I turn my gaze to Faye, who is bulldozing her way through people to reach me. Her tattered shorts and pink hair stand out like a sore thumb among the wealthy.

But she doesn’t care. The smile on her face can’t be dimmed by snotty people. Not today.

“Hi, Faye.” I return her warm grin.

She’s winded when she stops in front of me. “Should I call you Mrs. Hawthorne now that you’re married?”

I choke on my own spit, coughing out my reply. “Coraline is fine.”

“You’ll never believe what just happened. Someone bought my painting! The synthetic cubism you helped me with? It just sold!”

“Congratulations, Faye.”

My smile is genuine. Pure happiness, untouched by darkness. A stream of joy on a stormy night. No one is more deserving of this than her. She has her entire life ahead of her; this joy she is experiencing, this is only a small moment in what I hope is a long life.

Faye takes me by surprise, throwing her arms around me and crushing me to her body.

She’s hugging me.

I know how to hug, but being caught off guard makes me awkward as I tentatively hug her back.

“Thank you,” she breathes, tightening her grip. “Thank you. I wish those words were big enough to express what you’ve done for me.”

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