I frisbee the flattest rock into the water. The ocean roars, but you are silent, arms folded, looking away from me. Sullen because you hate the beach. I hold my breath and wait to see if the rock will skip. If it does, I stay. If it doesn’t, I leave.

Candace Webb (she/her) writes from Belmont, MA on the traditional territory of the Pawtucket people and the Massachusetts tribal nation, where she lives with her partner, two children, and two cats. Her human companions are tame; her cats are not. You can find her work in Five on the Fifth, Emerge Literary Journal, and Defenestration. Her work was nominated for the Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize anthologies in 2022, and she was a finalist in Room Magazine’s 2022 Short Forms Contest. She is a reader for Flash Fiction Magazine.