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"See? It's exactly like that." You pity Gil's middling education. "They probably just used the cheap powder. But I really wouldn't expect anything else from a bunch of blood-freaks."
"Yeah..." He hasn't stopped looking at you. "Um... I-I only taste it in this mouth. By the way. The lemonade. But i-i-it's not really different from how I taste, um, anything else..."
"Oh. Really?" There is nobody to explain this phenomena to you. There's something hard in your throat. "That's interesting."
"I-I-I guess so? I-I think it's just— I don't know how to— it's not like there's nothing different about me. Um. Obviously. But there's a lot of things I-I-I thought was about being beetles that was really just about being, um—" He takes a short breath. "Trapped and stuff. And now that I-I'm out of there, it's really clear it doesn't make much of a difference at all? Like, i-i-it's... it's still <span class="mu-i">me.</span> Inside. Exactly the same. I-It's just the outside that's... what I-I-I'm trying to say is that I think I could dunk myself in the cup of lemonade instead and I'd taste it the same as..."
You're not listening. You are staring listlessly into the distance. Gil swivels his empty cup. "Lottie?"
"Huh?"
"Can you at least tell me i-if something happened with Richard? You don't have to explain..."
There is nobody to tell you how unsubtle you are. Not that you need to be told. You nod imperceptibly.
"That sucks," he says. He swivels the cup some more. He looks down into it, then crumples it up, then tosses it roughly into the crowds. "Somebody needs to give that guy an ass-kicking."
You giggle high-pitched and uncontrollably. Gil falters. "Because he... he shouldn't... um, I-I-I know he's your dead dad, but I still think..."
You giggle harder. Your throat hurts. Your chest hurts.
"Okay, um, maybe I-I-I don't know anything. I-I just think it sucks. Um, sorry. And- and I-I'm sorry about the beach, that sucks too..."
What he means is the past 15 minutes: lemonades in hand, you had forged out toward the ocean (an obvious and suitable location for which to rehydrate your best worm Annie). You never reached it. The short stretch of sand only got wider the more you walked on it, and the water more distant, and the hated sun hotter and brighter, all the way until you took one pause and it all snapped instantaneously back into place. You decided about then to aim for Plan B.
You take a deep breath to quell the giggling— any longer and it's going to turn into a whole unladylike spectacle. "It's— that wasn't <span class="mu-i">you.</span> It's the dumb manse, or whatever. And I think we're almost there anyways, so—"
"Oh shit!" Gil snaps to attention. "Oh, I-I guess we— I guess I—"
(2/4)
