by Jon Fotch
We hiked up the hill. Bailey was ahead, looking for what she called arrow points.
“Think of it like destiny,” Rebecca said.
She huffed next to me the whole way up. Too close. Her breath a mix of old pennies and sourdough. I watched Bailey disappear up the trail. Todd right behind her. Like a puppy. Or a predator.
“She could do better,” I said.
“Oh yeah? Like you?”
I watched my feet.