Page 30 of Pushing Daisy
Tension fills Daisy’s chest, and magic sizzles at her fingertips. She doesn’t even know why she started this. Why did it matter that Sloan was offering her the scarf? Could she not have simply taken it and said thank you? Apparently not. Instead, here she is, picking a fight for no reason. “We don’t need to be friends. You don’t need to be nice to me. I’m not even sure you know how to be nice to people.”
Sloan guffaws. “Are you serious?”
“As a hex.”
Sloan rolls her eyes and turns away. She takes a couple of steps before turning around to face Daisy again. “I have been nothing but kind to you since we got here. I’ve done everything I can to try and appease you, to be reassuring, and I’ve been putting up with your hot and cold mood swings the entire time. I think you don’t know what to do when someone is kind to you. You’ve spent so much of your life thinking everyone is shitting on you all the time that you fail to think someone could do anything else but that.”
Her words land like a slap, hitting her insecurity and picking up on the words she tells herself all the time. “How dare you. You have no right to say any of that to me. You. Of all witches. Have no fucking right,” Daisy responds, raising her voice as violet sparks dance on her fingertips.
“Why is that, Daisy?”
Daisy looks around, noticing the passersby on the street, some glancing their way. Great, they are causing a scene. “You know why. We have a history, Sloan. You spent years doing anything that you could to make my already shitty life shittier,” she says, despite the realization that Sloan was more bystander than an active participant in her pain, “and a few kind moments now that we are forced to work together like a crappy group project won’t make up for that. I don’t want to trust you.”
“Well, thank you for finally being honest with me.”
“You’re welcome?”
“I know we have a history. I would love to take all that back, but I can’t. I would also like to think I am not the same person I was as a teenager. Fuck, it’s been like fifteen years. You know nothing about the person I am today. I can wholeheartedly say that I am sorry for the pain I caused you when we were younger. I was dumb and couldn’t risk being someone other than I was. But I’ve changed, and I’d like the chance to show you that you can trust me. However, I can’t do that if you are unwilling to see past our history and give me that chance.”
Daisy crosses her arms, looking down at the ground as she swirls the tip of her black ankle boot around in the dirt, creating interlocking circles. “I don’t know if I can. You and your friends nearly destroyed me. That’s a lot to forgive.”
“Former friends,” Sloan corrects.
Daisy looks up, her eyes finding Sloan’s. She’s met with pools of chocolate—warm, welcoming eyes that could consume her if she let them. “Sorry?”
“Former friends,” Sloan repeats. “I actually just ended my friendship with Francesca and Gwen this morning. Simply put, I realized I had moved on from them long ago, and it was time to free myself from them.”
Her anger dissipates, softening her edges. “Oh,” Daisy responds, looking away.
“Yeah. Oh.”
“They were so dumb anyway. It’s likely for the best. It was only a matter of time before they accidentally poisoned you.” It’s a dumb joke, and Daisy knows it, but it lightens the mood between them and earns her the smallest quirk of a smile from Sloan.
“Thank you for your understanding,” Sloan deadpans.
“Anytime.”
“Not that I want to ruin this moment, but the council wants us to work together on this project. I have connections, and you clearly have a talent for event planning, as you’ve got us here,” she says, motioning to the general area around them. “Do you think you can work with me? Like, actually work with me. See me as a partner or collaborator in this project?”
Daisy looks back at Sloan, hesitating. She wants to say yes; she wants to be able to move past everything between them. She knows she needs to trust Sloan, or at least give her a chance, but it’s going to take more than cutting some twat waffles out of her life.
“Looks like our chariot is coming,” Sloan says, pointing to the bright red coach bus at the other end of the street. “You might want to at least pretend to answer before it gets here,” she teases.
“Will an ‘I’ll try’ suffice for now?”
The bus pulls up in front of them, its brakes squealing, and a small cloud of dirt surrounds it. The doors squeak open, and the driver smiles, waving them on. “Welcome to the Happy Harvest Hayride shuttle!” the driver says. At the same time, Sloan replies softly, “That’s all I can ask for,” as she steps up and into the bus ahead of Daisy.
The ride to Dee-lightful Farms, where the hayride apparently takes place, feels like it takes forever, but according to the driver, it is only a short ten-minute ride. Daisy and Sloan sit together, with Sloan stepping aside and letting Daisy take the window seat. Instead of risking more awkward conversation, Daisy rests her head on the window, watching the town pass by as they head into the more rural outskirts of Leeside.
As she watches colorful houses and people pass, she senses Sloan shifting beside her. Sparing a glance out of the corner of her eye, Daisy sees Sloan has tipped her head back onto the headrest and closed her eyes. Her hands lay gently in her lap as the bus sways her gently back and forth. If she were to look more carefully, she’d be certain that there was a soft, knowing smile on Sloan’s delicate lips. But she’s not looking that closely, so Daisy can’t be sure.
Sloan has a point that they need to find a way to work through or at least around their history. And a part of her wants to be able to do that. But a bigger part—a very scared part—is afraid to let Sloan into her shell. She’s spent years honing it and trying to avoid the twisted trio. Can she really let it all go because the council asks her to?
Her mind is still reeling, causing her stomach to do the same, when the bus pulls up to the farm. As they step onto the grass, Daisy is surprised by what she sees. She’s not sure why, but she was expecting a more rundown and vacant type of establishment. Instead, as she turns this way and that, she sees a farm bursting with energy. Human and supernatural children chase each other around a maze, families mingle and laugh together, and a huge dog runs up to them and jumps at Daisy, placing its large paws on her thighs, nearly knocking her over. Sloan’s hands find her just in time, steadying her before she falls.
Daisy brushes the dirt off her legs and reaches out to the friendly furry giant, ruffling her hand through the fur on the top of its head as it wags its tail vigorously. “Hello, fluffy friend. Who are you?” Daisy asks, her voice taking on a higher pitch, usually reserved for babies and animals.
“Ah. I see you’ve met our super thorough security team. I’m Barker,” a bear-like man says to Daisy, offering his hand for a handshake, “and this is Stanley.” Daisy takes his hand and feels a spark meet with hers. She jumps back in surprise, brushing her hand off on her hip. “Nice to meet you both.”
