Page 12 of Orc Me, Maybe

And just like that, we go quiet again.

I glance over at the camp box nearby—one of those big plastic totes labeled "EVENING PROGRAM MATERIALS." Inside, there’s a bag of marshmallows, a chocolate bar half-melted in the sun, and a suspiciously smooshed sleeve of graham crackers.

“You ever made s’mores?” I ask.

She lights up like a lantern. “Real ones? Not microwave ones?”

“Girl, I don’t evenowna microwave.”

“That’s a crime.”

“Probably,” I grin. “You got any fire magic in that little backpack of yours?”

She jumps up. “We’ve got a spark charm!”

“Is that legal?”

She shrugs. “It’seffective.”

Fifteen minutes later, we’ve got a little fire going—contained, safe, and monitored, I’d like to note for insurance purposes. Lillian’s squatted on one side, I’m on the other, and we’re both holding sticks like we’re performing a culinary ceremony.

“Mine’s on fire,” I say, staring at the marshmallow torch I’ve accidentally created.

“Blow it out! Quick!”

I do, flinging bits of charred sugar across my lap.

Lillian cracks up. “You’re terrible at this.”

“I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in Marshmallow Theory.”

“What class was that?”

“I made it up.”

We toast a few more, layering them onto crackers and chocolate like gourmet chefs. The first bite is molten bliss, and I let out a noise that probably isn’t safe for polite company.

“Worth it,” I mumble.

Lillian nods, already smeared with chocolate. “Ten out of ten.”

She flops back on the grass, mouth full, eyes aimed at the dusky sky. Stars are just starting to poke out—shy and flickering.

“You think she can see me?” she asks.

I glance over. “Your mom?”

She nods.

I follow her gaze, the sky stretched wide and endless above us.

“Yeah,” I say. “I think she sees you. Especially when you do stuff like this. I think she’d love the moon circle. And the marshmallows.”

“And the fairy stories?”

“Especially the fairy stories.”

She’s quiet for a second, then turns toward me. “You should make a wish too.”

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