DITCH

Episode 19, Pt. 2

Pops holds up his hand, slinging his other arm around my shoulders. "Uh-puh-pup, it's Pops."

I inaudibly make a gagging face.

"And, don't"— he lowers his arm and clamps my neck with the crook of his elbow, knuckling the top of my head with his free hand—"let this callous foul-mouthed pretty face fool you. Our Avalon here has been teaching beginners' classes for the gym."

Ciaran blinks at me, a passing glint of curiosity loosens the hard set of his jaw almost similar to shock. Almost. "Avalon? "

I arch a brow. Of all the things Pops just said, that one was what caught his attention?

As if something suddenly clicked, a brief shadow passed over his face. It was so fast to the point it was unnoticeable to the casual eye. The subtle tightness around his jaw, the rigid line between his lips, and the glacial hue of his eyes remind me of the frost that gathers on window panes in a wintry day.

SMACK! I slap Pops's noogie-ing* hand away and cross my arms, my clenched fists hidden. "No, Pops just lives* to fabricate new names and confuse other people. Apparently, that's the new trend in people with midlife crises. I call it senility, but what do I know? "

"Wow"— Pops whistles — "I just went from a 60-year-old man to a man in his early 40s,* are you trying to compliment me or insult me with kindness?"

Ugh, of all the things I said that's what he picked up?

Both these guys deserve each other — not. Call me a selfish and spoiled brat, but Pops was mine (and Dax's and Deck's).

I shrug, raising both of my hands. "You know me, Pops. Just feeling a bit charitable to the elderly. Make y'all feel young despite your old age. I think it cancels the chances of dementia?"

"Ynys Witrin," Ciaran mumbles to himself.

My birth name must've been so incredibly unreal, he obviously missed the sarcastic gold I'm serving Pops.

I grin and do a slow clap.* "History of the Kings of Britain by Geoffrey of Monmouth. Congratulations, you can read. You're not a certified airhead."

He mimics my smile with his own dazzling version, still cutting nonetheless. "What eludes me is for everyone to mistake you for an Avalon."

"Wh"— Pops slaps a hand over his mouth and makes coughing noises, masking a fit of old-man giggles.

It wasn't my fault 'Average' didn't pass my mother's unrealistic name standards for her daughter.

I bend my neck with a CRACK-ing sound, my eyes pointing towards the temporary name tag clipped to his sweat-stained shirt.

I pretend to lean and squint my eyes at the name scrawled in permanent marker. "Fuck off if I'm wrong, it's She-ah-ran, isn't it?"

"It's Kee-ah-rawn," he clarifies, the corner of his mouth hardening. Ooh did I hit a nerve?

I nod with wide patronizing eyes. "Strange, you don't look like a Themysciran.* So I guess we're both stuck with incongruous names."

His lips twitch. "Agreed. You've got too much fire to be an Avalon"— his crystalline blue eyes glitter — "you'd incinerate everyone too quickly."

"If I were, you wouldn't be alive right now," I say with my lips half-curved into a scathing sneer

Out of nowhere, two hands grab my cheeks from behind. "Don't worry," Pops, who had been happily slinking in the background, pops back in the conversation. "She's people-trained. Sometimes, she even smiles on her own!"