No rain
It’s a slow day.
Overcast. Warm for fall. The quad is damp and smells like wet leaves and cigarette ash. Someone’s playing Bush from a portable speaker near the benches.
The team’s clustered at their usual spot, cafeteria trays balanced on knees, cleats still muddy from the morning jog.
Van’s holding court, telling some story about the time she got stuck in a dryer at a sleepover in sixth grade.
“I swear to God,” she says, biting into a limp grilled cheese. “My mom had to call the fire department. The fire department. And I was in a Looney Tunes nightgown.”
Tai laughs so hard she almost chokes on her Coke. “That explains so much.”
Shauna smirks into her apple.
Jackie barely reacts.
She’s sitting on the edge of the bench, picking at her fries, ponytail pulled too tight. She’s wearing lip gloss she hasn’t reapplied and a hoodie that smells like home.
Across from her, Lottie’s lounging like she owns the sun, hair twisted into a loose braid, her shirt just barely dipping over the bruise Shauna left last night. No one mentions it.
But Jackie sees it. Of course she sees it.
She pops a fry in her mouth and stares out at nothing.
⸻
There’s a lull in conversation.
Tai breaks it. “Alright. Weird question.”
Everyone looks up.
“If you had to die in any kind of freak accident, what would it be?”
Van: “Torn apart by wolves.”
Lottie: “Electrocuted during sex. Duh.”
Shauna: “Falling into a volcano. Instant. Clean.”
Tai: “That’s not how volcanoes work.”
Shauna: “Then I’ll take wolves too.”
Jackie doesn’t answer.
She just takes a long sip of her water and watches Lottie reach across Shauna for a napkin, arm brushing Shauna’s thigh like it’s nothing.
Shauna doesn’t react.
Jackie does.
Internally.
⸻
Later, they have study hall.
Lottie draws tiny daisies on the edge of her folder.
Van hums the chorus to “No Rain.”
Shauna dozes off on her elbow, pen still in hand.
And Jackie stares at the back of her neck like it might give her a reason to explode.
But it doesn’t.
Not yet.