You adjusted your legs awkwardly in the cramped backseat, pleated cheer skirt brushing against the sticky vinyl. Somewhere, Jake was off with his merry band of idiots, gallantly retrieving your misplaced rosary—or so he claimed. Probably off flirting with yet another clueless victim.

“Man, your boyfriend knows how to pack a punch.”

“He was trying, Nat,” you defended, already regretting it.

Nat scoffed, that infuriating half-smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, sure. Trying to completely miss the fuckin’ bag.”

The corner of your mouth twitched. No. No way were you laughing at that. Jake was your boyfriend. But, the memory of Jake winding up like a something out of a fuckin’ Looney Tunes episode, only to stumble forward as his fist whiffed the air. Poof! Before long, the two of you were doubled over, the car shaking with your muffled fits of laughter. When the hilarity finally died down, you leaned back against the seat, chest heaving as you wiped the corner of your eye.

Nat tilted her head back, looking out the rear window toward the fair. “’M starving,” she muttered, gaze flicking toward the carnival food stands like they might teleport closer if she stared long enough.

You nudged her lightly, suddenly shy. “Here.” You held up your wrist, the candy bracelet dangling in the dim light. The pastel beads gleamed faintly, a little sticky from earlier.

Nat quirked a brow. “Nutritious,” she deadpanned, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Typical Nat. She didn’t even take the bracelet off your wrist. No, that would’ve been too normal. Instead, she lifted your wrist to her lips and bit into one of the candy beads.

It was so dumb, so small, but your brain decided to run with it, conjuring up images you’d never let yourself think about before.

God was watching. He had to be. His eyes piercing straight right into your awful, little soul. It was obscene, borderline heretical, and you immediately yanked your wrist back like you’d been burned.