Page 11 of Fighting Spirit

The moment settles, Ruth’s face relaxing into a soft smile.

“I really am sorry about all this,” I say.

“Don’t be, it isn’t your fault.” She shrugs. I look at her and see that some of her fury has melted. She’s no longer spitting venom at me, and it’s like one of those walls has edged down just a little.

“I still feel bad.”

“You shouldn’t. Their idiocy isn’t your responsibility.” The looks she gives me tells me that she knows exactly what she’s saying. It’s almost a relief she’s got me figured out so fast. I don’t have to bother trying to hide anything because there’s no point.

“Obviously don’t take that too literally,” she continues, “you are still fully responsible for getting me home.”

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving you here.” I say it like a joke, but we both know I’m serious. I’m not about to leave those chuckle-fucks in charge of her safety.

“You might have to. I think I’ve become one with this couch.”

“It’s just that spot. All the springs are broken from when Jed tried to use it as a trampoline.” It had been one of his all-time bad ideas and resulted in not just a broken couch but the destruction of several decorative plant pots they’d never gotten around to replacing.

“Those assholes put me here on purpose,” she hisses to herself.

“I think you’re giving them too much credit. This doesn’t exactly scream ‘highly planned operation.’”

“I dunno, it all seemed pretty nefarious to me.”

“Yeah, I bet there was a lot of mustache-twirling when they grabbed a human woman in a toad suit instead of a fuckin’ reptile.”

“Amphibian.”

I clasp a hand over my heart. “Oh, you must forgive me.”

“It’s a very important distinction.”

“I bet.”

“I take my character very seriously!”

“And I’m sure you’re doing a lot of character work in that thing.” I smirk.

“All the time!”

“A lot of soul-searching, I bet.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.”

“I’m sure I would.” I lean back into the couch, rolling my head to face her, our positions mirroring one another. The seconds stretch between us, a comfortable silence descending.

She draws in a long breath, crossing her arms and scooting down further in her seat. The costume puffs up around her and her head almost disappears as she settles.

“Do you want something change into? That can’t be comfortable,” I ask, realizing I probably should have offered this an hour ago.

“I’m good. It’s basically all sponge, I could probably sleep in it if I wanted to.”

“How do you do backflips and shit in that thing?” I’ve been curious for a while. Anyone who’s spent any time in the college football scene has seen videos of the Allbreck Toad pulling out gymnastics during the halftime shows. A couple have gone pretty viral, and I think she was even on ESPN once.

“Want me to spill some tricks of the trade?” she says with a smirk, glancing pointedly at the Beaufort banner that’s hung across the fireplace.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you then.” She shifts a little to face me more. “I’ll take my secrets to the grave.”

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