Page 165 of While You Were Trending

Declan bites his lower lip as he watches her, concentrating, not paying attention to the fact that his own clay is still spinning.

Or that Flow has risen and is crossing over to sniff it.

Verona notices.

I’m positive she notices, because she’s talking far more than necessary to explain to him what she’s doing, but her eyes keep flickering at me, and there’s a mischief in her expression that I feel in my soul.

It speaks to my inner voices telling me to throw clay and mix the glazes and cause destruction.

But Verona—her mischief is harmless.

Channeled.

She can make a mess and cause havoc here because it’s her space.

And clay—clay can be cleaned up.

And when Flow noses Declan’s spinning clay tower and makes it start to bend from the middle, the clay tilting and spinning and wobbling precariously at the top, she stops mid-word and chokes on a laugh.

Declan squints at her, then at me, and then?—

Then the spinning wilted dick slaps him in the arm.

Once.

Twice.

“Oh, shit,” he says, grabbing for the flaccid clay without taking his foot off the pedal.

It spins faster, hitting him harder, and I laugh so hard I snort.

“Stop!Stop!” Declan says.

Flow grumps at him.

And the clay—the clay has had enough.

It can’t hang on any longer.

It snaps off at the bend and goes flying, straight at the camera.

I shriek and dive out of the way as the tripod tilts and topples back toward me, landing on my clay creation and sending the tripod legs spinning too as my wheel draws to a stop.

The stand wobbles on my crushed bowl, then, to the soundtrack of Flow whining, it slides off and clatters to the ground, camera facing Declan.

I clap my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing audibly again, but my hands are covered in wet clay, and now my face is too.

Verona is laughing so hard she’s crying, but unlike me, she’s using the back of her clean forearm to wipe her eyes.

Declan stares at me.

I stare back, laughing and snorting and spitting the taste of clay out of my mouth.

He looks down at his creation, then back at me.

I sink onto the stool at the wheel beside mine, absolutely wheezing.

Declan looks at Verona.