The family gathering

The cigarette dangling from shark’s lips had burned down to the filter, its ash scattering across her hoodie as the wind whipped through the rolled-down window. She didn’t care. The stale nicotine was the only thing keeping her from clawing her mother’s eyes out.

“You’re gonna stink up the whole car, sweetheart” shark mom's, Elaine murmured, , her manicured fingers flipping pages with practiced disinterest.

“whatever,” shark muttered, flicking the butt out the window. It spiraled into the dust-choked air behind them, lost in the endless stretch of highway bleeding into the horizon.

The ranch. Aunt Margot’s ranch. Just the thought made shark's skin crawl. A whole weekend trapped with a bunch of wrinkled old hicks who still thought doing animal noises was a valid form of conversation and she wouldn't even have her Pokémon with her. Her fingers dug into the fabric of her shorts, the frayed edges of her hoodie sleeves scratching at her wrists.

“Could’ve at least let me stay home,” shark grumbled, slouching deeper into the seat.

Elaine sighed, the sound as polished and rehearsed as the rest of her. “Margot would’ve have erupted, if you'd didn't bring you to the family gathering again.”

Shark scoffed. “Oh, right. Because not obeying the wims of the stupid witch is such a crime.”

Her mother’s lips twitched, barely hiding the smirk. “were almost there.”

“it's not too late to turn back”

“it'll be over in just a few hours .”

Shark rolled her eyes so hard her glasses nearly slid off her nose. “hours that feel like ages"

Elaine just hummed with her eyes on the road

The ranch wasn’t a ranch so much as a crumbling monument to old money and older grudges. The wooden porch sagged under the weight of decades, the screen door screeching like a dying animal when Elaine pushed it open.

Shark lingered behind, kicking at the dirt with her sneakers, her hoodie pulled tight around her despite the oppressive heat. The air smelled like hay and something distinctly farm—manure, probably. She wrinkled her nose.

Then she appeared.

Margot stood in the doorway like a bad omen, her granny perm stiff with hairspray, her floral dress straining over her broad hips. Her beady eyes locked onto Emma with the precision of a hawk spotting a mouse.

“Well,” Margot drawled, her voice thick with that countryside twang that made shark's teeth ache. “If it ain’t the little hellion herself.”

Shark's jaw tightened. “Auntie,” she bit out, the word dripping with venom.

Margot’s grin was all yellowed teeth and malice. “Still got that smart mouth, I see.” She stepped forward, her gaze raking over shark's outfit—the hoodie, the shorts, the audacity of her existence. “You best mind your tongue, girl. This ain’t the city.”

Shark’s fingers curled into fists. “Yeah? And what’re you gonna do about it?”

Margot’s laugh was a dry, rattling thing. “Oh, darlin’. You’ll find out soon enough.”

Elaine, ever the diplomat, yawned into her hand. “Margot, dear, do you have any tea? I’m exhausted from the drive.”

Margot’s attention snapped away, but not before shooting shark one last, knowing look.

Shark swallowed hard.

This was gonna suck.