The Flesh is Strong
Mireya hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the couch. The ceiling fan traced slow circles above her, pushing cool air from the vent that hummed low and steady. Morning light cut through the blinds in narrow stripes. Camila lay across her lap, knees pulled up, her small hand clutching the hem of Mireya’s T-shirt. Her skin carried the faint warmth of sleep and that baby-sweet smell that never seemed to fade.
The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the AC and the soft tick of the thermostat. The air held a mix of laundry detergent and last night’s coconut oil—clean, familiar, hers. Mireya’s body ached from hours in heels, her shoulders tight from the work, but she didn’t move. She kept her hand on Camila’s back, feeling the rhythm of her breathing, the small weight that kept her anchored.
Sleep had been thin. Three hours, maybe less. Enough to blur the edges but not to rest. Her mind still flickered with the lights from the club—the stretch of sound, the bills folded crisp and damp, the kind of tired that lived in bone instead of muscle.
Her eyes drifted to the window, where the blinds shook faintly from the AC. She thought of what she’d done to keep this life upright, what she was willing to do again. Every decision felt measured: what she could stomach, what Camila would never see. Work didn’t scare her. What scared her was what waited if she stopped. Tonight would be another shift, another night of pretending. But she’d walk in like she always did—chin up, eyes steady, ready to make money.
The thought of her mother tried to slip in, that familiar sting of comparison and blame. Maria’s voice, sharp enough to cut through years, calling her ungrateful, reckless, anything that might land hard. Mireya caught it early and pushed it out. There was no space for that here. Not with Camila warm against her, breathing in peace her mother never knew how to make.
The AC cycled again. A beam of sunlight climbed the wall. Mireya adjusted the blanket over Camila’s legs, fingers smoothing over soft skin, until the girl stirred.
“Mommy,” Camila murmured, voice small and grainy.
“I’m right here,” Mireya said.
Camila blinked, sat up a little, curls wild. She rubbed her stomach, serious. “My tummy talkin’.”
Mireya smiled, exhaustion softening for the first time that morning. “What’s it saying?”
Camila thought for a beat, lips pursed, then grinned wide. “Pancakes.”
The word warmed the whole room. Mireya felt it ease something deep, turn the air light again. She kissed the top of her daughter’s head and whispered, “You got it, mi amor.”
~~~
The hallway light threw a warm stripe across Nicole’s door. Sara knocked once and heard the bolt slide back and the chain lift. Nicole opened with a quick grin and stepped aside. Cool air moved out into the hall. Lemon cleaner and something buttery from earlier in the day hung soft in the apartment.
“Come on,” Nicole said. “You took forever.”
“Thank you again,” Sara said as she stepped in, purse tucked in. “It get too loud over at ours. Too many bodies. Too much yelling.”
Nicole waved it away with her wrist. “Girl, please. I’m as much a fan of Caine as anybody.” She bumped the door shut with her hip and set the lock.
The TV already had the pre-game on. A panel of suits laughed at something that didn’t matter. Air moved easy in the room. Sara sat on the sofa and let the cushion catch her. A faint ring on the coffee table marked where a glass had been.
From the kitchen came the neat click of cabinets, a drawer sliding, the small metal sound of a corkscrew. Nicole returned with a dark bottle pinched in her hand and two short-stemmed glasses.
“We’re doing this right,” she said, mouth curving.
“You didn’t have to get all that,” Sara said.
“I was going to eat either way.” Nicole set the bottle down and pulled the cork with a clean pop. “Might as well share.” She slipped away and came back with a small board dressed like a picture: folded meat, bright cheese, grapes still on the vine, crackers stacked in little rows. She set it on the table, then dropped onto the sofa beside Sara, close enough their thighs brushed before Nicole settled back.
Sara shook her head, smiling. “You really didn’t.”
“Shh,” Nicole said, pouring. The wine caught the light and ran smooth into both glasses. She handed one to Sara and lifted her own. “To peace.”
“To peace,” Sara said, touching the rim. The sip warmed a line down her chest and eased her shoulders.
Nicole tucked one leg under her. “You didn’t tell me how you’ve been liking your trips to Statesboro.”
Sara’s laugh edged into a groan. “Lord. It’s so boring there I could cry.” She took a cracker and laid a thin slice of cheese on top, lining the edges like order could make boredom prettier.
“Mm.” Nicole’s mouth tilted. “Almost anywhere is boring when you’re coming from New Orleans.”
“You’re not wrong,” Sara said. “But he seems alright with it. And Mireya tolerates it enough to bring Camila. So, it’s fine for now.”
On the TV, the cameras cut to the stadium filling up. Students in colors. Band brass warming. Nicole sipped and watched, then said, light, “You have to convince him to transfer somewhere with a beach if he decides to leave. So, you can go lay out.”
Sara snorted. “Laying out on a beach is going to be the last thing I do.” She set her glass down and leaned back, letting the sofa hold her.
“I don’t know why,” Nicole said. She reached for a grape, knee brushing Sara’s. “You got the body for it though.”
Sara rolled her eyes and tried to wave it off. “I’d have to ask Mireya her workout routine. Get rid of this mom bod first.” Her hand landed at her waist and then left it, palm open for a slice of salami.
Nicole tapped her forearm with a playful slap, a small sting that warmed more than it hurt. “Girl, stop. You do not have a mom bod.” Her hand lingered a breath before she pressed the cork back into the bottle.
Sara laughed. It rose and fell, easy. On the screen, last week’s highlights ran under a stack of numbers. TV sound filled the small spaces between them. Somewhere down the hall a door closed and the quiet settled again.
“Eat,” Nicole said. “Before I end up eating the whole thing.”
“I’m eating,” Sara said, already chewing. They traded bites, the board thinning to crumbs and stems. The wine stayed warm in their chests without tipping them lazy.
A truck commercial rolled through and the pre-game hosts returned to talk the slate. Sara’s eyes tracked the crawl, then the faces, then nothing at all. The room felt held, not heavy. The TV lit their faces and let them dim again. She drew her heel up under her and settled deeper.
Nicole balanced her glass on her knee, steady. The apartment kept its calm. They let it.
~~~
Caine settled into his stance, the crowd growing deafening as the Eagles faced their first third down of the game. A run on first down getting stuffed in the backfield and the ensuing pass only picking up a couple.
He walked up to the line, shouting adjustments to them, voice lost in the din of tens of thousands of people overpowering him.
Stepping back, he got set and clapped his hands once then twice. The snap was clean. He dropped back two steps. Orange flashed in his periphery. He planted his feet and fired a pass in to Dylan on the drag, but he was brought down short of the line.
The referee signaled fourth down. Caine smacked his hands together, shaking his head.
…
“Big first drive from Georgia Southern’s defense if they can match here and force a punt. Jaylen Raynor settles into the shotgun, Haynes to his right. He’s already looked Bentancur’s way twice on this drive. Here’s the snap. Raynor looks to his left, fires, knocked down by Chance Gamble and the Tigers are going to have to punt.”
…
“Guerra in the shotgun, two by two for the Eagles on this second down. Guerra’s favorite target from last week’s performance, Josh Dallas, out to his left. Guerra calls for the snap and gets it out quickly to Ware on the drag. Ware makes a man miss and that’s going to be a first down.”
“That’s not going to show up in the highlight reel, but that was impressive from the true freshman. Read the defense pre-snap, trusted what he saw and put the ball in his receiver’s hands to go and make a play.”
…
“Check! Check! Check!” Caine shouted against hope, using his hands to signal to the receivers as the crowd noise seemed to ratchet up to a different level as soon as he began moving to make the audible. Another long third down ahead of them.
Josh threw his hands up, tapping the side of his helmet. Dylan didn’t look as if he was faring any better getting the call on the other side of the field. Caine glanced at the playclock, signaled once more then ran backwards to get set.
He clapped his hands and Chandler sent the ball to him. Caine dovetailed to his left, expecting Josh coming open on the slant, but his route was too deep–the exact thing Caine was changing from.
Caine felt the pressure and stepped up just as the edge rushers pushed the tackles back into the pocket. Seeing green in front of him, Caine brought the ball down and took off for the first down marker.
Two Clemson defenders crashed toward him. He lowered his shoulder, crashing against pads as their bodies collided. He fell to the turf with a grunt, attempting to edge the ball further forward as the referees sorted the pile.
He got to his knees and looked to the sideline, head dropping when he saw he was a yard short.
…
“Raynor under center for this third and three. Three split out wide, Gammon behind him. Snap is good, he fakes it to Gammon and rolls to his right, throws it across the middle. Knocked down by Anthony. This Georgia Southern defense is fired up after that play.”
“We might have an upset watch on our hands. The Eagles came to play and Dabo Swinney’s going to have to get his team’s mind right if they want to avoid getting embarrassed in their own stadium.”
…
Caine clapped his hands three times. The snap was a bit low. He pulled it up, eyes flashing to the edge rusher as he held the ball out in front of David.
The edge stayed put at the mesh point and Caine let David take it up the middle. The back bounced off the first tackle, spinning to the outside as Clemson’s defense crashed down around him.
Trey’Dez picked up the safety with a block and David was sprinting down the sideline. Caine ran behind them as the Eagles’ entire sideline surged forward as if lending their speed to David.
He was eventually dragged down inside Clemson’s 30, popping up and throwing his arm forward to signal the first down.
…
“Three consecutive big plays from the Tigers’ defensive line salvages that drive for them after a big run from Georgia Southern’s David Mbadinga but the Eagles are going to get the first points on the board here in the second quarter as Donald Dempsey’s 42 yard attempt is through the uprights.”
…
“Dabo Swinney is not happy down there on the sidelines as Haynes steps out of bounds to avoid a big hit but by doing so comes up a yard short of the line to gain. Clemson is sending out their punt unit and this offense just can’t seem to get it going.”
“We’re midway through the second quarter and you’d be forgiven for thinking Clemson was playing Georgia and not Georgia Southern. This is the number one team in the country in a dog fight with a Sun Belt team, folks.”
…
“Guerra throws that one out of bounds with no one getting open and the Eagles are going to have to punt it again with just two minutes remaining in the second quarter but Georgia Southern still has that three-point lead.”
…
Caine leaned forward on the sideline, watching as Clemson lined up deep in Eagles’ territory with the clock winding down. Raynor under center in the I. He called for the snap and flipped the ball out to his running back who bowled through Ayden at the edge and fell into the endzone.
The crowd burst into cheers with their team finally taking the lead in a game they were struggling in.
Caine dropped his head for a moment with the half-time adjustments and coaching already beginning on the sideline around him.
…
“Big stand for Georgia Southern coming out of the break as August Pendleton makes the stop in the backfield and Clemson is going to have to punt on their first drive of the second half.”
…
“Guerra in the shotgun here. The freshman quarterback has played extremely well so far considering the circumstances. Three receivers to his left, two out to his right. He drops back and the pocket is collapsing. Spins out of trouble and he’s going to take it himself. Gets the first down and more before getting down and protecting himself.”
“This young man is showing some poise out there. Big time moxie in one of the most hostile environments in college football.”
…
Caine dropped back, left hand patting the ball as he scanned the defense. Josh threw his hand up as he came out of his break on the out route.
He didn’t waste any time firing it out to him. He reached the ball forward as he was shoved out of bounds, hoping to get the benefit of the reach for the first down. The line judge took the ball and spotted it a yard shorter and signaled that he was fourth and one.
Coach Aplin shouted at him that the ball was spotted short, needing to get held back by a couple of players on the sideline.
The head ref came over and checked the spot, confirming the call with the chain right next to where Josh went out.
“That shit is a fucking first down!” Caine shouted, pointing to the ball.
“Watch it, 10,” one of the referees warned, hand reaching for the flag on his belt loop.
Caine shook his head, snapping his chin strap off and walking off the field as the punt team replaced them.
…
“Raynor hits Tyler Brown for 22 yards and that came out of nowhere, folks!”
…
“Bentancur rises up over Gamble and that’s going to be another 17!”
“Is this the drive that breaks Georgia Southern?!”
…
“Haynes isn’t going anywhere on that play and it’s going to be fourth down deep in Eagles territory. It looks like Swinney is going to take the points as he’s sending Nolan Hauser out to attempt the chip shot.”
…
“Mbadinga stuffed on third and one and Georgia Southern is going to punt it away here.”
…
“Hauser’s attempt is good and it’s now 13-3 Clemson here in the waning moments of the third quarter. This is definitely not the performance anyone was expecting from the Tigers when they looked at the schedule a few weeks ago.”
“This Georgia Southern defense has come to play and their offense is playing mistake-free football which is letting them play the field position game to give their defense long fields to work with.”
…
Caine wiped his hands on his jersey even though they were dry and got into his stance. A couple traded punts had started the fourth quarter and the Eagles needed something to spark them to life if they still wanted a shot at the upset.
He looked at the defense, linebackers creeping down into the box, the nickel set too far inside over Jeremiah. He waited until Jeremiah checked inside, nodding to him when the two of them locked eyes.
He clapped his hands, the deafening roar of the crowd still drowning out any attempts for verbal calls for the snap. David lifted his arms for the RPO, but Caine didn’t even look at the key and didn’t wait for David to reach the mesh point. He barely set his feet.
He just fired the ball out to Jeremiah on the bubble. Dylan chipped the corner as Jeremiah slipped behind him as Dylan ran up the field and blocked the safety coming down to make the play.
That sprung Jeremiah.
Caine’s eyes flew to the other side of the field and he knew as soon as he saw the other safety sprinting across the field, head back.
His hands shot up with Jeremiah at the 25.
By the time he got to the 15, Caine was sprinting down the field, arm pinwheeling.
And as he crossed the line, the Georgia Southern fans who had made the trip exploded into cheers that belied their number.
…
“Sixty-eight yard touchdown for the Eagles and it’s 13-9 pending the extra point.”
“This team just won’t go away!”
…
“Hauser’s kick is up and it’s good to make it 16-10.”
“Georgia Southern is still in this ball game. No one in orange and purple is heading for the exits yet and for good reason because they’re too busy in their seats biting the nails off their fingers AND toes.”
…
“Georgia Southern has to punt here.”
…
“Big time sack from Hanne. Raynor held on to it for too long and Clemson’s letting the Eagles stay in this game for far too long. Dabo Swinney is beside himself with the former Arkansas State quarterback.”
“You have to call a spade a spade here. Clemson got caught looking ahead against this team who came in here with nothing to lose and there is still a very real chance that they could lose this football game–a football game that they were favored to win by multiple touchdowns.”
…
“Green is brought down short of the line to gain and the Eagles are sending out the punt team with about five minutes remaining in the fourth quarter. Still 16-10 Clemson.”
…
“Clemson was able to run a good bit of clock on that drive but the Eagles are going to get the ball back with 1:55 and two of their timeouts. Plenty of time for the freshman Guerra to orchestrate a drive with not a lot of pressure.”
…
“Guerra in the shotgun. Third and three here. You have to think Ryan Aplin and offensive coordinator KAelo Fatu gave Guerra two plays for the third and fourth down here. Guerra gets the snap, drops back and throws a laser to Ware on the in and he’s brought down past the line to gain.”
“No need to rush here, just keep your head on the task with four more downs.”
…
“Clemson has Georgia Southern facing another third down. This one third and 10. Guerra’s going to want to break this into two medium gains instead of one long one. The snap is good and Guerra throws it almost immediately to Dallas for a pickup of seven.”
“They’re hurrying back to the line. Guerra must’ve seen something he liked for the fourth down attempt.”
“Georgia Southern gets set quickly. The Tigers are still a little off-kilter. Guerra snaps it and throws it right back to Dallas who gets another seven and this drive is still going! A minute and twenty remaining on the clock! 16-10 Clemson!”
…
“Guerra brings it down, taking it up the middle of this Clemson defense and he lowers his shoulder, dragging two Tigers defenders forward for the first down. The Eagles call their second timeout.”
“That was some gritty running by Caine Guerra. He’s not the biggest guy at just around 200 pounds but he just powered through on pure desire and want.”
…
“Guerra drops back, looking for a receiver. Bush has him wrapped up and spins hi–Oh no! Guerra is still on his feet, using his hand to stay up! He sprints out to his right. McCloud’s tracking him. Guerra points to Dallas and lofts it up to him. The redshirt senior is brought down at the 24 and the Eagles have it just outside of the redzone with forty seconds left!”
“Folks, we couldn’t even find Caine Guerra on a recruiting service before the game and this kid is 24 yards away from pulling off the impossible!”
…
“Guerra has to throw that one away to avoid the sack.”
“Smart play from the freshman. Keep the timeout in your back pocket, stop the clock and let your team reset.”
…
Caine broke the huddle and walked to his spot, heart beating wild in chest. Clemson’s defense prowled around on the field, attempting to disguise their look. Caine stepped up, shouting at his linemen over the din of the crowd, pointing out the MIKE, making adjustments to the protection.
Clemson’s band was the loudest it had been all afternoon and the crowd still managed to quiet it. The Tigers’ safety walked down into the box, signaling an adjustment to his teammates before jogging back to his original depth.
Caine yelled his cadence, eyes on the outside turned inward watching the ball.
Then he clapped his hands.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Chandler snapped the ball back to him. It was a little high but Caine managed to bring it down. He dropped back, scanning the field, going through his progressions. The nose tackle tore through into the backfield, flushing Caine from the pocket.
He rolled out, keeping his eyes down field. He pumped once, watching as defensive backs bracketed Trey’Dez.
Running out of real estate on the sideline, he stepped back, thought he saw Jeremiah open near the hashes in the middle of two zones. He pulled his arm back and ripped a pass in Jeremiah’s direction…
…but before the ball got there, a Clemson player jumped in front of it and picked it off.
Caine took off running behind him, but the play was on the opposite side of the field. And with the momentum the player had, there was no catching him. Caine could only watch as he stormed toward the endzone, the sound of the crowd becoming so loud that it felt as if it was pressing the life out of them.
Because it was.
“Fuck!” Caine shouted.
Caine walked to the sideline, head down. His teammates patted him on the back of the helmet, offering words of encouragement.
Coach Aplin met him as he crossed onto the sideline, one hand on his back and the other a fist beating on Caine’s chest pads as he spoke. “Hell of a fucking game, son. Hold your head up. We wouldn’t even have been in a position to win the game without you.”
Caine only nodded.
Aplin slapped him on the back of his helmet and let him go to the bench.
…
When the game ended, Caine walked onto the field to shake the Clemson players’ hands, towel over his head. There were a few “good games” and promises of “we’ll get y’all next time.”
Coach Swinney finished up with Coach Aplin and saw Caine walking across the field and headed in his direction. He shook Caine’s hand, one of those grips from someone who’d been told all their life that a firm handshake was the most important trait a man could have.
“You played a great game out there. Don’t know where you came from but I don’t think this is the last we’re going to hear about you. Keep on playing that way, keep your head down and keep God first and you’ll do big things,” the coach said.
Caine nodded. “Appreciate it, coach.”
Caine dapped up a few more Clemson players after that, Jaylen Raynor sharing similar levels of praise.
Then he headed for the locker room.
…
Coach Aplin sat in the middle of the media table after the game, Jeremiah to his right and Caine to his left. Caine leaned back in his chair, still pissed off about the pick six to end the game. The SIDs had told them before the game to expect only a handful of reporters in the room for the post-game press conference.
The room was filled.
“I just want to congratulate my team on a hard fought game. They played their hearts out and no one can ever take from us the afternoon we came to Death Valley and went toe-to-toe, eye-to-eye with the number one ranked team in the country,” Aplin said. “I don’t believe in morale victories, but if there are any, this is one. I hope these young men are as proud of themselves as I am of them.”
Aplin answered a handful of questions before a reporter called for Caine.
“Caine, you played almost perfectly until that last play. Can you walk us through what happened there? Was it a case of the crowd finally get to you?”
Caine shook his head and leaned forward, clearing his throat. “I ain’t see him and I shouldn’t have been throwing across my body anyway. I was trying to make a play. Picked the wrong one. That’s on me. We came here to win. We could’ve. I lost it. I’m gonna get it back for my guys.”
Coach Aplin patted Caine on the shoulder and nodded. The questions shifted back to him after that one.
…
Hours later, the team was back on the bus, cutting through the foothills of the Blue Ridge mountains on their way back to Statesboro. Caine sat near the back, his head leaning against the window with a hoodie used as a pillow.
His phone sat in his hand, permanently illuminated from the steady stream of notifications that he’d been getting since he turned it back on.
~~~
They came up a short flight of stairs with bass leaking under the door and the hallway warm even at night. When it opened, cool air and beer breath spilled over them. Twenty or so white boys were already loud, shirts stuck under the arms, voices climbing over one another, that Kenner energy that turned talk into holler after the third case.
Alejandra didn’t pause. She cut straight through, eyes steady, and found the best man by the kitchen pass, loud and red at the neck. The men made space without being told.
“Gringo,” she said. “Money first.”
A sunburned guy with a crooked smile lifted his chin. He looked her over, then the rest, and dragged a roll from his pocket. “We counting all night or y’all gonna start?”
Alejandra took the cash and started thumbing bills. She didn’t look at him. Every flick was the same speed. The room leaned in a little, then the speaker jumped to the next track and the floor buzzed under it. Bianca laughed low at something one of them said and Jaslene rolled a shoulder, hair brushing her collarbone. Mireya drew a breath and let Luna rise to the surface, her smile set steady.
“Hey,” the best man said, impatience bleeding through. “Come on, baby. We good.”
Alejandra finished the stack, straightened the edges, and wrapped the rubber band on it slow. Only then did she cut him a look. “It’s all there.”
A cheer popped. “Hell yeah,” somebody yelled. “Turn it up.” Phones flashed out and then tucked away when Bianca tapped a wrist and shook her head.
They were guided to the living room where somebody had slid the couch back and shoved the coffee table to the wall. Wings sat congealing on a tray. Empty cans made a neat line until they didn’t. The speaker pushed a bass line that hit the windows and came back.
On the move past, Jaslene leaned to Mireya’s ear, breath warm. “Don’t leave here without getting your money’s worth, bebe.”
Mireya’s mouth curved.
…
Hours later the room had gone louder and slower at once. Sweat lived in the air. The speaker stayed in its lane, heavy drums with voices riding the beat. Bianca worked a corner near the sliding door, hips steady, hair stuck to her shoulders, her laugh keeping the men loud and generous. Jaslene moved through her own circle across the room, catching bills as they fell, body loose and shining under the light. Mireya stayed with her group by the couch, heels anchored to the beat, body rolling in time, eyes sliding from face to face as she kept them reaching for rolls of money.
Alejandra and Hayley had drifted down the hall ten minutes back with the best man and the groom. The door at the end shut with a soft click and the music got louder to make up for it.
A bathroom door swung open by the hall and a tall man came out wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Where the white one at?” he asked, scanning the room. His words dragged together, beer-wet.
“Fucking Craig,” another man said from the kitchen doorway, grinning like he’d told on a friend.
The bathroom guy leaned against the wall, then pointed toward Mireya, who was rolling her hips over a red-bearded man’s lap. “Hey,” he called over the music. “All y’all willing to fuck?”
Sound dipped a notch. Eyes shifted to her.
Bianca turned her head, smile sharp and easy. “This pussy talks dollars, euros, yen, what you got?”
The room cracked into laughter and whoops. Bathroom guy lifted his hands like he was innocent, smiling wide. “Shit, American dollars.”
One of the men in Mireya’s group touched her wrist, looking up at her. “Hold up. You said your name was Luna, right?”
She turned her face to him and kept moving, voice warm. “Si, papi.”
He jerked his chin toward Jaslene, the light sitting on the gloss of her mouth. “Ain’t she Sol? Like sun and moon? Y’all lesbians or somethin’?”
Jaslene looked over her shoulder, slow, lips parted on a grin that said she was listening even when the music was louder than the room. “I’m anything for the right amount of money,” she said.
It hit. The man pulled a fat pinch of cash and fanned it with one thumb. “Well, I’m tryin’ to see the sun and the moon together.”
“Hell yes,” his buddy said, already digging into his pocket. The current ran fast. Wallets popped. Crumpled tens got smoothed across thighs. Twenties when nobody wanted to be the cheap friend.
Bianca tapped her man’s arm with the back of her hand, eyes still on center. “Put in,” she said. “I’m tryin’ to see that too.”
“Say less,” he said, peeling bills and passing them forward. The little pile on the coffee table turned sloppy and high, edges curling, rubber band gone.
Mireya kept moving through it, staying in the work. She didn’t let the pitch change her pace. She dropped a look to Jaslene and lifted her chin just enough. Jaslene got up. The music thumped, low enough to punch under their feet.
Jaslene came in close and wrapped one arm around Mireya’s waist, palm firm at the curve. Her other hand rose to the side of Mireya’s neck, thumb warm at the hinge. Up close the room tightened to a ring of heat, sweat, perfume, beer.
Mireya met Jaslene’s eyes. Jaslene’s grip at her neck steadied her. The circle drew in. Someone shushed nothing. Someone else said, “God damn.”
They closed the space. As soon as their mouths touched, the room went off.
We'll have to find out.
