Free Touched by Cyn Balog

ran away crying. But I was a local. I could handle it. Rrrrrvvvvv , went the gears in my mind. Meanwhile, an insect feasted on my skin and drew blood on my forearm. Pressing one finger into my temple, I swatted the fly away with my other hand. The nasty thing came back to my foot. Once a fly found its target, the only thing that could tear it away was death. I swatted it again, watching an old lady down the hill applying Skin So Soft, and remembering how Nan used to slather me in that stuff when I was a kid. It smelled like old lady, but it kept the flies away. When the persistent little bugger landed on my knee, I smacked it, and its crushed body tumbled to the sand. The victory was short-lived; when I flicked its little corpse away, two more flies appeared in its place.
You will start getting bored, so you will stand up, fold up your towel, and put on your T-shirt .
    Actually, I told myself, I’m not really that bored. I could hang a few more minutes. I need to think.
    Rrrrrvvvvv , went my mind.
You will be annoyed by the children playing tag nearby, kicking sand on your legs. You will stand up, fold up your towel, and put on your T-shirt .
    No, I can handle those kids. I’ll just hang out here a little while longer … and think.…
Rrrrrvvvvv …
You will think about standing up and leaving but you will not. A Frisbee will hit you in the head .
    What? I scrambled to my feet and tried to get over the cycling that had my mind whirring and my head pounding. More nonsensical images flashed through my brain, which might or might not have become part of my future: pine needles, goopy black tar, a pink smiley face, brown craft paper.
    Then, clunk. The Frisbee bounced off my shins. I screamed, unfortunately like a girl, in front of two hot chicks in bikinis. They laughed at me mildly, like I was a bad entertainer planted there for their amusement, and rolled over onto their stomachs.
    That was it. Thinking was barely possible on script. How could I expect to analyze the situation with all those possible options whirring in my head like chain saws? Yes, there were bad things in my future, things I somehow couldn’t change or prevent, but maybe I just wasn’t meant to. After all, that was what the future was like for most people.
    But Nan …
    Finally I trudged through the sand toward the street, noticing the girl in the yellow bathing suit with the pink smiley face on her round tummy. She was probably Emma’s age.
    Crap. Step one: I needed to get away from the beach. From everything that reminded me of that little girl.
    Nan used to have a boyfriend who would take me fishing off the pier at Fifth Avenue. That would always calm my mind, kind of like the ocean once had. I needed calm. I didn’t want to go home and listen to my mom’s moans of pain from the cycling. My head ached like there were a thousand needles in my scalp, and I knew she was feeling just as bad. Probably worse.
    Almost without thinking about it, I found myself at the bait shop, getting minnows. I must have stopped by the garage to pick up the net, bucket, and poles, but I couldn’t remember doing it. I held them in my hands, so tight I knew I’d probably get blisters, and they smelled like brine and old seaweed. The guy at the register gave me a careful smile as he handed over the roll of bait wrapped in brown craft paper: a smile because he’d known Nan for fifty years; careful because every local on the island had heard the Crazy Cross stories.
    I was so deep in the thought that I didn’t realize how quiet my mind had become until I heard a sweet voice whisper, “What did you get?”
    I turned and saw Taryn. Not two hours after her grandmother gave me the tongue-lashing of my life, not two hours after I promised myself I’d never see her again. She was smiling as if that conversation never happened, as if she hadn’t called me one of the despicable “them.”
    I should have been able to say something tough, something to show her that she’d