“So.”
“So?”
Mal’s not sure where she’s going with this. Normally she doesn’t stutter or stumble or otherwise falter around Evie, but recently it’s been… different. And she’s not sure why.
It’s not like Evie’s changed. She’s still the blue-haired, castle-schooled, somewhat naïve girl Mal had formally met not even a year ago. And she’s looking at Mal, her attention rapt, her lips quirked in a small grin, and the sunlight glints off her hair—
Oh. That’s how it’s been different.
Mal realizes she’s staring. She looks away, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious in a way that’s completely unfamiliar. She’s always examined her own behavior (is she cruel enough? Mean enough? Just—enough?) but not like this. Never to wonder if her posture is too stiff, if she looks too uncomfortable, if Evie can notice how nervous she is. And the feelings that accompany it—ones she can’t name because what if her mother somehow finds out?—are too new to feel normal. She doesn’t know what this means for her.
“Mal?” she hears Evie say, and she risks a glance to see concern on her face, her eyebrows knitted together. And even now, just looking into Evie’s eyes is enough to make her feel lightheaded.
She ignores this. Says, “What? I’m fine. I just wanted to ask if you wanted to go down to the lake or something.” And it’s a relief when Evie smiles and nods.