Under surveillance by a child who’s clearlynotimpressed.
Across from us, it’s even more chaotic. Noah is teaching a group of girls how to fist bump, except they misunderstood the assignment and now they’re just smacking his hands over and over while he yells "ow!" and pretends to die dramatically.
Lorenzo is lying flat on his back while a boy tries to stack Pringles on his forehead. He’s not moving. Daisy, meanwhile, is getting her fourth braid and has officially entered her queen of the kingdom era. I glance at the girl next to me again. Still staring. I clear my throat.
"Uh…hey," I say.
She blinks.
"Nice…clips?" I offer. Nothing.
She squints. "Why are you so grumpy?" I almost die. "I’m not grumpy," I say, and it comes out grumpy, obviously.
"You are. You have grumpy eyebrows," she informs me, very seriously. "And your arms are all crossed."
I uncross my arms on instinct. She nods approvingly.
Okay. One point for me.
I look at Rava. He’s laughing at something the kid just told him. The boy is now resting his head on his shoulder. And for a moment, watching that, I forget to panic. I forget about sand, and glitter, and the terrifying child next to me. Because I’m watching Rava be soft and kind and perfect.
And I feel something tug in my chest. The glitter goblin is still eyeing me, when her gaze drops to my arms. "Why do you have so many tattoos?"
I glance down. Most of them are visible. The dragon, the lettering, the smoke on my wrist. I shrug. "Because I didn’t want to look boring."
She tilts her head. "You look like someone scribbled on you with marker." I almost laugh. "Coolest marker ever, though."
She narrows her eyes. "Are they real?"
"No, I put these on with stickers this morning."
She gasps. I roll my eyes. "Kidding. They’re real.Foreverreal." She stares harder. "Do they hurt?"
"Sometimes," I say. "But you get used to it."
She keeps looking at me. I try again.
"So, uh…do you like…sand?"
What the fuck, Gio.
She blinks once. "No. Sand is for babies. But I do make good sandcastles. I bet you don’t know how to build a sandcastle."
"What?"
"You just look like someone who doesn’t."
"What does that even mean?"
She shrugs. "You’re tall and angry. People like that don’t build castles. Theystompon them."
"Oh, really?" I lean forward. "You think I can’t build a little castle?"
"A little one? No. You probably can’t even make one of the baby ones with the tiny bucket."
My ego. My entire fucking ego takes psychic damage. I stand up. Take my shirt off.
"Where are you going?" Rava asks, eyebrows raised. "I’ve been challenged," I say, pointing down at the tiny glitter assassin. "She thinks I can’t build a sandcastle."
