Page 19 of Wind with a Chance of Wolfsbane

“Drama queen,” she blurted.

I mumbled something that wasn’t so nice to her, and she laughed.

“Dude, say it again, but like with a mean face or something. You know, really embrace your inner anger,” she said with a smile. “And remember, I saw the underwear you’re in. It’s hard to be scary when you’re wearing Superman panties.”

I jutted out my chin defiantly. “Not that I need to justify my panty choices, but I’d argue the opposite. Superman kicks butt.”

She snorted. “And is currently covering yours.”

I groaned.

She laughed. “You didn’t seem so proud of them when England had his hands on them.”

“Do you have to bringhimup again?” I asked. While she’d been good about keeping it all from our aunt and Lester, she talked my ear off about the incident in Detroit, trying her best to get me to admit I had the hots for the guy, while also pointing out how old he was.

“Don’t be mad at me,” she said with a grunt. “I’m not the one who has the hots for a guy old enough to have fathered us.”

“That’s gross,” I shot back. “And I don’t have the hots for him.”

“Really? So that writing pad you found here isn’t full of entries about his voice? Not to mention his smell.”

“Ever heard of boundaries and privacy?” I crossed my arms under my chest. “What I write is private.”

She rolled her eyes. “We shared a womb. Privacy doesn’t exist between us. Just admit you liked him.”

“I saw him for five seconds, and most of that was minus glasses,” I returned, keeping the fact that I’d been dreaming about him to myself. “And he saved our lives.”

“Pfft, hardly, we could have taken those guys,” she countered. “Easily.”

“You’re seriously twisted,” I supplied.

She laughed. “I know. So, about England.”

“Can you stop calling him that?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Okay, but you said I couldn’t call him Nice-Ass anymore.”

“England works,” I said with a defeated sigh. “Can I go back to bed now?”

“No. We’re going hunting. You owe me,” she said. “I didn’t tell Helen about what happened in Detroit.”

I grunted but nodded.

“And this will help keep your mind off things,” she said.

By things, I knew she meant the fact that when we were mid-flight, I realized my necklace wasn’t in my book or my backpack and that, on top of losing the single most important thing I owned, I’d also lost my journal. I wrote in it every day, being sure to be mindful of my words should anyone other than Mina ever read it. Even so, it held an account of my life. One I wanted back, not in the gutter on a busy Detroit city street.

When Mina had realized I’d lost my necklace, she’d tried again to give me hers. I’d refused to accept it. She’d then prepared to deal with my tears for the duration of the flight, but oddly, none had come.

While my necklace and my journal had been missing from my backpack, a new item appeared. A gold watch with a short, broken chain. The watch was beautiful and obviously old and heavily used.

Mina had noticed it and had gone to comment on it while we’d been on the plane, only to have me shush her, wanting to keep the watch a secret from my aunt and others though I wasn’t entirely sure why. From the moment I’d realized I’d had it, the item had made me think of White-Shirt Guy.

It was currently inside, tucked safely into my backpack, which was on my bed, where I should be right now.

I stood with my arms crossed, clutching the book to my chest, giving my twin sister a death glare for having yanked me out of bed and dragged me outside in the middle of the night.

“You’re glowering,” said Mina with a humph.

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