Using only the corner of her mouth, she fires back, “Stop staring at what you can’t have.” I lift a piece of turkey to my mouth. “I wasn’t.” “You were.” This voice belongs to the girl beside my cousin, her sheet of black hair swaying as she leans over the table to meet my stare. I don’t know the Crawler well, but I recognize her as Andy’s friend from the ball. Though, with a quick glance beneath the table at their interlaced fingers, it seems safe to assume that their relationship has progressed further.
