She pushed the memory aside and ate her marshmallows. To her relief, though everyone seemed to be watching her closely, waiting for her to say or do something interesting, no one mentioned the reaping or asked her about her family. And after a few minutes, the conversation carried on without her.
For a while, everything seemed good. Almost normal. Then...
“Oh my God.” Sara Cooper’s second hot dog dipped low into the flame, forgotten. “I can’t believe they actually came.”
Rebecca followed her gaze to a large window looking into the Coopers’ den from the backyard. Framed in the window were a man and woman, each standing with one protective hand on their small daughter’s shoulders.
All three had small white flowers blooming from woody stems growing in their hair.
Rebecca recognized them as the Galanis family, the dryads who lived across the street from her grandparents. Their daughter, Delphina, was four years old, and she often waved to Becca as she sat in her front yard, playing with a doll while she fed from the nutrients in the soil.
The cheerleader shrugged, her gaze glued to the window. “The party flyers did say ‘everyone welcome.’”
“We meant everyonehuman,” Sara snapped. “We didn’t think we’d have to spell that out, considering that cryptids are practically under house arrest.”
Yet there the Galanises were, at a neighborhood Christmas party, as if they had nothing to fear, even though people didn’t trust cryptids much lately.
“I heard they marched on the state capital,” the blue-eyed boy said. “They were there with nearly a thousand other cryptids, carrying signs and chanting about how unfair the curfew is, whenthey’rethe ones responsible for...what happened.” He shot Rebecca an apologetic look.
“I heard they took their daughter to the march,” a blond girl across the fire pit added. “My mom said they were there when the cops started shooting, and their daughter actually got sprayed with blood.”
“Shh, here they come!” the redhead hissed, turning to face the fire again just as the back door opened behind him.
Mrs. Galanis stepped out first, holding her daughter’s hand, and Rebecca wasn’t sure whether to feel sorry for them or admire their courage. She was an outsider because everyone knew that her family were victims of the reaping.
The Galanises were outsiders because they were cryptid, and everyone knew that cryptids wereresponsiblefor the reaping.
“Look, s’mores!” Delphina pointed at the platter of chocolate and graham crackers. “Can I make one?”
“Sure.” Mrs. Galanis’s smile looked stiff, but she led her daughter toward the fire pit, her husband following closely behind. His gaze flickered all over the yard. He seemed to Rebecca to be searching for threats.
She couldn’t blame him, after the curfew and the march on the capital.
The kids around the fire pit went quiet as the Galanises approached, and though Delphina had been eager moments before, she hid behind her mother’s leg when they got close enough for her to take one of the straightened hangers. Rebecca felt the tension as if a fog had settled over the Coopers’ backyard, obscuring not just faces but intentions. Dividing neighbors into islands of mistrust.
“May we join you?” Mrs. Galanis asked.
Everyone turned to Sara Cooper, and though she’d sounded hostile toward her cryptid neighbors moments earlier, her expression softened when she came face-to-face with the little girl. “Um...sure.” Sara handed the child a hanger, then knelt to reach for the bag of marshmallows.
The back door squealed open, and a man stepped out of the house carrying a glass of eggnog, his focus fixed on the Galanises. “You need to go home.” Even in the inadequate glow from the fire, Rebecca could see anger shining in his eyes. Or maybe that was...fear.
Mr. Galanis stepped in front of his family. “We don’t want any trouble, Steve. We were invited, just like the rest of the neighborhood.”
“It’s okay, Mr. Lawrence,” Sara said. “She just wants a marshmallow.”
“They shouldn’t be here,” Steve Lawrence insisted, his grip on the glass white-knuckled. “For all we know, they’re surrogates.”
The child’s chin began to tremble, her eyes wide and scared, and Rebecca’s heart ached for her. “She’s just a kid.”
“The little ones are the most dangerous,” Lawrence snapped as the adults gathered near the fence began to make their way over. “You should know that better than anyone.”
Rebecca’s face flamed. She glanced at the child again, but where before she’d seen cute pigtails with little snow-puff ponytail charms, she now saw a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Erica was a kid, too. She’d been cute. Apparently harmless. Until she’d made their parents kill John and Laura.
“We’re not surrogates.” Mr. Galanis tugged his daughter closer.
“How are we supposed to believe that?” Lawrence demanded.
