Summer of Salt

Moods like tides, temper like a hungry shark.

“Georgina, you’re going to be fine. You’re the smartest person in our class, everyone loves you, and there are bound to be more girls who like girls over there than there are here. It’s a simple numbers game.”

signs warning of frequent shark attacks. The signs, while a blatant lie designed to keep the Beach tourist-free, were incredibly effective; they featured sunblock-nosed stick figures in bathing suits missing arms or legs or huge chunks of their torsos.

Me, I could never see waves again and be perfectly fine with that.

I was going to argue with her, clarify that it had actually been Mary who’d stolen the whiskey, but I decided against it. She who giveth could easily taketh away, and besides, I was used to being blamed for the trouble my sister got herself into. It was just sort of the way of the world. Mary did something rash

“There’s one for each of us,” she hissed,

Wishful thinking, maybe, but I almost swore that Prue met my eye for just the tiniest fraction of a second and smiled just the tiniest fraction of a smile.

“Ugh. That sounds exhausting. They should assign you friends like they assign you a roommate.

course it’s a fucking man. Men are always killing things. Okay. Where was Mary

I knew that he would use that gun, because that is what small, scared men did: they used things more powerful than themselves to make up the difference. They hid behind weapons of mass destruction: big guns and bigger bombs.