Page 14 of Sweet Surrender
Barra flicked the thoughts away like a crumb and watched Hazel cross the space to Vivian in six easy strides. When Hazel stuck her hand into the bag, Barra held her breath.
Orange.
Fuck!
Chapter Eight
Allie didn’t usually regret things. Her life’s motto was simple: move on. That was why she hadn’t bothered to find Barra after that night at Big Sur and demand that she pay for dry cleaning, why she’d accepted Barra’s obnoxious rudeness with a pinch of salt at the airport, and why she hadn’t pushed her for an apology last night in the jungle.
But once again she was regretting every decision that had led her to this beach. She was bent over at the shoreline, her fingers slipping against wet clay as she dragged the urn through the surf until it filled with water.
If only she hadn’t shown up to the book club’s fifth meeting at Alcove Café in Silver Lake. If only she hadn’t brought up the topic ofOutlast Herand mentioned that she was thinking of doing it. If only she hadn’t introduced herself to Barra. In fact, she wished Kiara had seated her on the opposite side of that long table, so far away that Barra was a mere head amongst a sea of heads.
Allie wanted none of this.
Instead, she wanted to be sprawled across her comfy Lovesac, wearing her blush silk Olivia von Halle pajamas, scrolling through art catalogues, and ordering an irresponsible amount of sushi from that place down the street. Because why the hell had she thought she could do this?
“Fuck,” she muttered breathlessly. The urn dug into the soft part of her forearms as she staggered back up from the tide line. The platform felt miles away. Even further considering howviolently the seawater sloshed inside the urn, and then straight out of it.
Whoever invented this game was an asshole above all other assholes. Each urn had holes. Holes. As if it wasn’t heavy enough already, a steady stream of water not only poured down her thighs and soaked her already burning calves, but it also turned the sand beneath her feet into a sucking trap.
Ahead of her, Barra’s incredibly long legs were eating up the sand. She’d already dumped twice the amount of water Allie had. Hazel was a blur, too. And Sutton. Every time Sutton passed Allie, which felt like constantly, she yelled, “FASTER. FASTER. You’re losing too much water.”
Which wasn’t good. Allie worked well under pressure if the pressure involved deadlines and nervous artists threatening to pull out of exhibitions. She could handle emails and texts, but she couldn’t handle shouting. It took her straight back to ninth grade at St. Agnes when she’d been hauled out of Natural Science class and marched across the quad to the cluster corridor by Sister Bernadette, who had discovered the mural she’d painted. “You have desecrated school property,” Sister Bernadette had thundered so loudly that the classroom doors had opened and students and teachers alike had popped their heads out to watch Allie’s humiliation. “This is vandalism, Allie.” Which was technically correct. “This is not art. This is vanity. And I will have you expelled from this school faster than you can say mural.”
Allie had cried hard, huge, shameful tears that had run down her cheeks, and from that day onward she had been triggered by any scenario involving public scolding. Which included Sutton yelling into her ear like a drill sergeant.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” Sutton shouted when Allie finally reached the tank. Her arms were too exhausted to lift it up over the edge. She dropped it at the baseand leaned her head against the tank’s hard edge while she got her breath back.
“WE’RE GOING TO LOSE IF YOU DON’T HURRY UP!” Sutton added.
Allie couldn’t see the two other teams because her eyes were stinging from sweat. Or maybe it was tears. Yes, it appeared she was crying.
“You need to tilt it,” Barra said, stepping in beside Allie. “Come, let me help you.”
Before Allie could protest, Barra grabbed the other side of the urn, and together they lifted it up from the sand and tipped the remaining water into the tank.
The flagpole didn’t move. Not even a twitch. Allie let out a strangled croak, but then Barra’s hand was on her shoulder, patting awkwardly at her shoulder blade. “It’s fine,” she said, even more gently. “I can help you. We can work together. But we need to get moving.”
Get moving? Allie’s legs were vibrating, and her chest felt like it had been lined with sandpaper. She couldn’t do another round, let alone five. But if they lost this challenge, they would absolutely blame her. She was, as it appeared, the weakest link. Allie wouldn’t put it past Sutton to convince everyone to vote for them just so they could go to The Sending. Her gameplay was violent. She was a shark in chum-filled waters, and Allie was the cute little seal who wasn’t fast or strong enough to withstand her bite. Yet the thought somehow sent adrenaline surging through her veins. Or maybe it was Barra’s touch.
Allie swallowed hard, wiped at her face with the back of her wrist, and bent to grab the empty urn from the sand. She was Allie fucking Chen. She ate urns for breakfast!
“FASTER!” Sutton called, already halfway up the slope, moving so fast that water barely had time to leak out of the urn. “The blue team nearly has their flag up.”
This was a gross exaggeration, because the blue team’s flag was still lopsided on the ground, but it somehow sent fire under Allie’s feet. She moved. Sand flew behind her heels. She wasn’t that far behind Barra. A moment later, they reached the tide together.
“You take mine,” Barra said, dunking her urn under a crashing wave.
Allie handed Barra her empty urn and took the filled one. Without the effort of having to battle the waves to fill the damn thing, the run back up to the platform felt considerably easier. And when Allie got to the platform, Barra was already there with one hand on her urn, helping her tilt it over into the tank. The next minute, the two of them fell into some sort of rhythm. Allie was too exhausted to think too deeply about the whole thing and too grateful Sutton had stopped shouting. She didn’t want to get her hopes up, but they were back in the running. Their flag had begun to move.
“I think one more round will do it,” Barra said, smiling when they dumped the next lot of water into the tank. Sutton reached them and snapped her head toward the green team. “Their flag is almost up.”
“Yes,” Hazel said, tipping her urn over the wooden edge. “But Margaret just lost her entire urn. She has to go back for more.”
They still had hope.
Allie and Barra shot back to the water like missiles. Allie’s legs were screaming, and her arms honestly felt like lead, but the thought of winning, well, adrenaline was a funny thing. When they got back to the platform, Sutton and Hazel were already tipping their urns into the tank without spilling a drop. Allie and Barra added theirs, and then the flagpole jerked. HELL YES! It rose higher and higher until the orange flag snapped open.
