I knew we’d find him. Eventually. But I only had two days left before this god power would no longer remain on hold. I had to find someone to give it to by tomorrow. After that, the power would tear Ordinary and all of its inhabitants apart.
“Okay. I think we need a plan B.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I need to be around as many people as possible. Maybe there’s someone else the power will respond to. But first I want clean clothes.”
~~~
THE RALLY was busy even though it was early evening by the time Myra and I made it to the festival. The weather was mild and clear, and the strings of lights hung off wooden arches and booths created a canopy of glowing color, lending an irresistible magic to the place.
Rides roared and hissed and burbled with music on the south end of the rally. We made our way slowly past those, in between the even-noisier carnival games where a few folks called out and waved to Myra and me.
I’d taken the time to shower at home and changed into comfortable jeans, Converse, and a sweater. I’d wasted a few extra minutes in my bedroom, staring at the blankets still messy from the night with Ryder, his cologne lingering on my sheets. The little origami Spud still rested on his pillow. I should’ve just thrown it away.
Instead, I’d picked up the tiny dog and tucked it into my purse.
Memories of the night flowed through me. Honesty in the darkness, need and release and pleasure. We had both wanted that. Wanted each other. How had the daylight turned it into lies? “Good a place as any. Let’s rest.” Myra’s voice pulled me out of my reverie. We had wandered past the food stalls, which were centrally located along the main pathway. Picnic tables, chairs, and benches gathered in the area.
“I’m not hurt that bad,” I grumbled.
She gave me a look and pointed at the bench. “I’ll believe that when you aren’t the color of paste.”
“Sparkly paste?” I eased down onto the bench, trying not to favor my side.
She snorted. “Want something to eat?”
I drummed my fingers on the table and grinned at her. “You always try to feed people to make them feel better.”
“Please.” She rolled her eyes.
“No, it’s kind of sweet. Mom used to do that.”
Her eyes drifted over my shoulder. “I remember that.”
Mom had been gone for fifteen years. Myra had been ten years old when she died. I’d been thirteen, and as the oldest, probably had the most memories of her. Still, as time went on, more and more details of her had faded and blurred.
“You remind me of her sometimes,” I said gently.
Myra finally shifted her gaze to me. “I miss her.” Her normally guarded eyes swam with emotion.
I nodded, not knowing what to say to make it better. I settled on the truth. “Me too.”
She swallowed, then pulled her composed, cool mask back on. I watched as her eyes reverted to their icy blue. It made me realize I hadn’t seen a lot of my sister—the sister behind the cool mask of her job and duty—lately. “She always made me think there was nothing I couldn’t tackle. She never gave up. On anything.”
I nodded.
“You remind me of her sometimes too,” she said quietly.
A crowd of teen boys barreled through the picnic area, arms over each other’s shoulders, pointing at the sky and chanting, “We’re number one!” then yelling the Barnacle cheer.
Myra and I both gave them a quick look. All noise, no real trouble. They climbed over and on top of a picnic table and starting arguing about who was going to buy the corn dogs and chili fries.
“Could be one of them,” Myra suggested.
I chuckled. “I hope not. I’d hate to ruin their lives.”
She finally sat next to me, her shoulder brushing mine. “Are you kidding? What teenager wouldn’t want to be a god?”
