“Ya know, it’s always cargo pants with you everyday rain or shine.” Stu says his eyes squinting at me.

I flop down on the threadbare lawn chair next to him and toss him back a middle finger. Since Stu turned away, the baseball that he was. keeping in air flung back down to a kid desperately waving for him to give it back.

“Hey don’t be a jerk he’s just a kid.” Yasmine says from her spot on a treestump a foot away from us. She then goes back to melting the small metal rods into cage shapes around a set of amethyst necklaces, using only her index finger. Though it was less flashy then inane telekinesis , I had always admired Yasmine’s spell binding much more than Stu’s. Stu only admired that she made a profit from her binding . And that she was a girl, up until Dallas Pamdel asked her out to the Spring Fling.

Since then the two were at odds. The only time they talked to each other was to argue about if they were even actually dating at all, and on how noncomital Stu is/was. That’s why since April I’ve carried Advil in my cargo pants pockets. Among other things. Simply just ‘insurance items’ I liked to call them.

“So do you want to start orrrrr should I?” Stu asks unenthusiasticly. Yasmine shrugs and mouths something to him.

Wait. Why am I even here? Summer is peak Yasmine busy season. And it was for Stu too. His schedule mostly comprising of harassing beach goers. Interspersed with his random ‘Good Deeds’ . Like helping an overworked mom load her groceries or get a kite out of a tree. His syrupy smarmy smile at the end always warrented me punching him in the side.

“Start what?” I ask sitting up straight in the old lawn chair, my hands suddenly clammy.

“Relax… Relax…” Yasmine whisper shouts. Putting down her metal rods. “We’re just concerned about your… uhm…. binding” Yasmine finishes her words attempt at sensativity but still hit hard like a sharpened sword.

“Or lack there of…” Stu says snickering into his ‘Sprite’ can.

Yasmine swats her hand at his thigh. Landing a light singe on his shorts.

I stutter, fumbling to come up with an excuse. Or to be more accurate on that I haven’t used already.

For some stupid reason my tween self had chosen water as binding. It was easy to prove to people at first. Bringing water to a boil: carry lithium around in small amounts, Predict rainfall:

Stupidly simple, followed some lesser known wives tales and tricks from pre industrial science, Bend water in the pool around you: saw a trick once where you put your fingers a certain way and spin to move it. But eventually my two bit tricks would lose their charm, and soon after their beliviblity.

I copped out and produced a strangled sounding “Why?”. The lithium and notepad felt heavier in my pant pocket. Some insurance.

“Well for one, you barely use it, like casually you know?” Stu says leaning back further in the lawn chair.

“Well would you rather I spill some puddle gunk on a random kid?” I shoot back defensively.

“I mean kinda, in a less Stu way, you have to market yourself, ya know network. Scouts are everywhere. They aren’t gonna wait for you to do it once in a blue moon.” Yasmine responds, her voice still attempting a sensitive tone.

Easy for her to say. It’s LITERALLY business as usual for her, even more casual for Stu the wunderkind.

I let out a long sigh and weigh my options, if my closest friends are telling me this now, how obvious was it for everyone else?

I have some other tricks saved up for insurance. I wanted to keep them to tell off random freaks and my family, but sooner now than never.

I adjust my “new bracelet” further into my hoodie sleeve. I watch the two of them carefully, making sure they don’t look at my wrist. I attach it’s long tube ending to a small plastic bladder I keep inside some of my hoodies. I pray there is some water left and lift my hand dramatically toward the center of our small circle. The bracelet and bladder thankfully don’t move and are still holding under the sleeve.

Water springs out from my hand. Looking absolutely magical. Just as intended.

I close my fist and get up to leave.

“So screw you all.” I say in an apathetic tone. While internally I’m a mix of anxiety and fear.

In a sea of my own lies I am uninsured and unsure.