Shattering Crystals

"It's too hot outside!" Lorraine complains.

"Like me!" I yell wearily, not in the least expecting anyone to laugh.

"We need to find somewhere to stay already!" she says.

"Yeah, but we can't just check into a hotel, even if there was one around," Dean says. "And if we go inside anywhere for too long, we'll get recognized!"

"How are you not dying from this heat?" Lorraine asks.

Dean shrugs. "I'm used to it, with the clothes my parents force me to wear." He gestures to his dress shirt. It’s the only kind of clothing he owns.

"Ugh!" Lorraine abruptly sits down on the sidewalk, though it’s probably really hot. "I wish that I learned that spell for coldness or whatever."

"Well, we can learn it now..." I say, holding out my hand to her. She grabs it and pulls herself up sluggishly. We had traveled all over this town, as Marigold had said there was someone here. Someone we need. It irritates me how I can't sense the magic myself...

We had been everywhere today - the park, the library, and various restaurants, trying to blend in. But the main thing is a place to stay. How are we going to live?

"We're gonna die!" Lorraine shouts dramatically. "We didn't think this through."

"We didn't have time to think this through. Don't you remember?" I point to my changing face. I have not carefully analyzed my face recently, but I do know that it is different.

"It's not so different, not yet."

"Well, let's just keep walking. We'll find a place to stay," I say uncertainly.

"Yeah," Dean says, "on a park bench."

I ignore him and continue walking. They trudge along behind me, like their magically lightweight bags weigh a ton. We walk aimlessly around a quiet neighborhood. Up ahead, there is an unusual amount of cars parked on the street. Smoke rises from the backyard of a light green house. A cookout, I realize, knowing that it’s going to be a long time before I ever go to one of those again. We walk by, trying to be inconspicuous as we hear some people talking to each other.

"...too bad the folks in forty-two can't come," says a short, stocky man. He looks in our direction and I panic for a moment, until I realize that he is just looking at the houses.

"On vacation until school starts up again. Lucky," replies a blond teenager. His floppy hair and brown eyes remind me of a yellow lab. We walk on past the party, not speaking.

“Do either of you know how to pick locks?” Dean asks, once we are out of earshot.

“No, why?”

"Because that old guy at the party said something about house number forty-two. And the other guy said they would be gone until school starts again."

"And this is important because..." I say.

"We can break in and stay there. You can use some magic to stop freeze alarms and stuff."

"We can't break into someone's house!" I say, horrified at the thought of getting caught, yet somewhat relieved that we may actually have a place to stay. "It's illegal."

"Running away is illegal too," Dean points out.

"It's not the same..."

"Whatever you say, Dana," Lorraine says. "Let's go check out that house. It might be our last choice. I want to just sleep in a bed tonight. I don't care if it's someone else's. My back still hurts from that twelve-hour bus ride.”

----

"I can't do it!" I whisper to Dean. "How does a pin unlock a door anyways?"

"I'll do it," Lorraine says, impatiently yanking the thin metal from my grasp.

I sit down next to Dean on the front steps of the house, staring up at the shiny brass 42 stuck to the tan wooden paneling. It shines softly in the moonlight.

"This is impossible!" Lorraine says after a few minutes of silence. She throws the hair pin across the yard. "Why don't we just get out our sleeping bags and camp out in the backyard?"

"Because we'd get caught!" I yell, forgetting to whisper. A light flickers on in the house next door.

"Nice going, Dana," Dean says. He picks up his bag and sprints awkwardly across the lawn. "Run!”

Lorraine and I automatically copy his actions. About a block away, we started to get tired and slow our pace. We walk around, not sure where to go.

"Well, we can always go to the park and sleep on the benches like hobos," Lorraine says, gritting her teeth. I know she was really looking forward to sleeping in an actual bed.

"Better than nothing," Dean says, leading the way.

“I wasn’t serious…” she says, but he keeps walking.

After walking for about twenty tiring minutes, we arrive at the park, completely devoid of people. We bid each other good night, unpack our sleeping bags, and unshrink them.

I spread my sleeping bag onto the wooden seat and carefully get inside it. The night is warm enough to sleep on top of it, but I feel so exposed - vulnerable. And I hate it, even though a layer of fabric really isn’t going to protect me from anything.

I try hard not to feel the hard boards of the bench pressing into my back. The fabric between the bench and me does little to cushion anything. Yet, exhausted, I drift off into a world where my cold, lonely bed at home welcomes me.