Languish by Alyxandra Harvey

used her artist because he was scrupulously clean and talented. I’d grown up calling him Uncle Art, even though he wasn’t my uncle and his name wasn’t even Art. He’d given me a Tinkerbell “tattoo” with a marker when I was four, and I’d fallen in love with his art on the spot. And now I worked at his shop part-time when his receptionist needed a break.
    â€œWell, you dress like a slutty hillbilly,” Bianca added. “Just like your mother.”
    â€œIt’s
rockabilly
, idiot.” My throat was dry and aching, stuffed with other jagged words I couldn’t quite form. She thought I was afraid of her, that I wilted under any kind of assault. The truth was, I had a secret and dark temper. The kind that would be like a hurricane, when you expected a breeze. “And shut up about my mom.”
    I moved to step around them, but one of them shoved me back. They usually bullied me in public, where the weight of so many eyes crippled me. And I put up with a certain amount of bullying because it was easier to ignore it. People assumed I was fragile because I was so quiet.
    Quiet and fragile are two very different things.
    â€œBack off,” I said clearly. My heart was still beating fast, but I didn’t feel cornered like a wild animal ready to chew its own paw off to get free of a trap anymore. The laughter and the music of the party were muffled.
    â€œOr what?” Bianca asked. “What are you going to do, white trash?” She was close enough that I could see where her eyeliner had smudged at the corners.
    A hawk plunged out of a tree, flying suddenly between us and so close that his feathers fanned the hot air over my cheeks.
    I jumped, throwing my hands up to protect my eyes. Bianca shrieked and stumbled back. The hawk landed in another tree, powerful claws digging into the bark. His eyes glittered over his beak. Did hawks attack people? Weren’t they supposed to be asleep in a nest somewhere? I swallowed and edged back. He gave a piercing, whistling cry that shivered around us.
    â€œPlease don’t eat me,” I muttered.
    He lifted off the branch and then dove for Bianca. She shrieked again and knocked her friends aside as she took off at a dead run. They scrambled after her, also screaming. The hawk circled over my head once and then lifted farther into the dark sky until he disappeared.
    I stepped off the path into the wilting ferns and hazel bushes, letting them hide me from view. I had definitely had enough of people today. When I found Jo, we were going home. I didn’t care how hot the rock star guy might be.
    I stayed parallel to the path so I wouldn’t get lost, heading toward the caves, where people usually went to make out at these parties. I could see the candles burning between the trees. They were in tall glass containers, usually with pictures of saints on them. They were the cheapest ones the convenience stores in town sold. The smell of smoke tickled my nostrils.
    Before I could climb over the huge moss-covered boulders tossed around the caves, an old woman crossed my path. She stopped to dig in the dirt, pulling out pale roots and dropping them into a basket full of acorns. She looked like something from a fairy tale. Her hair was white, her eyes were like black raisins, and she was smoking a corncob pipe. She wore layers of ratty old gray shawls. She stopped foraging to stare at me.
    You know, for the woods in the middle of the night, it was getting awfully crowded.
    I tried to smile. “Um, hi.” She looked like someone’s grandmother, but she was probably homeless. I didn’t know what to do. Did I ignore her? Did I give her change from my pocket? Was that an insult?
    She solved my internal dilemma.
    By screaming.
    A lot.
    I lifted my hands, palms out, as if she had a gun. Her hoarse scream bounced off the trees, off the rocks and the nearby stream. It made my teeth hurt.
    â€œI’m not going to hurt