thirteen (warning: het smut *gasp*)

She was too stunned, the angle was too awkward - he had a good seven or eight inches on her - and they were both too drunk for it to be a good kiss, but when they separated, Sadie still laughing a little, this time in surprise, it hung between them. She found herself remembering the photo hanging inside Gigi's closet again.

And then Victor splashed into the fountain, accidentally elbowing Sadie out of the way, and the spell broke.

Soon they were all standing in the fountain, kicking and splashing and laughing and stumbling into each other. Sadie couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much fun, at least not since the night Carroll drove them out to the beach and they went swimming in their underwear. All her best nights revolved around water, didn't they. What were they going to do when winter finally arrived?

Go out into the snow, obviously.

( The sky was starting to lighten )

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fourteen

And so time passed. Sadie dutifully rode the subway to Brooklyn and back every day, hanging from a strap or accepting a seat like every other commuter. She hemmed pants and altered suit jackets and took in dresses and added panels so pregnant girls wouldn't have to buy new clothes. She sketched her own outfits and designed decorative patterns for fabric she didn't have, and she slowly collected ribbons and beads and buttons and hook-and-eye closures and zippers and bolts of fabric bought at cost. She found someone to teach her how to bead - through Mr Roskoff's cousin Irene, of all people - and managed to sell some of her dress patterns to customers at Mr Tartikoff's shop. She baked bread and cakes and made chicken soup and kneidlach like her grandmother had taught her, and when Carroll brought her and Gigi seven pounds of apples she cored them, cut them into pieces, and baked them down into applesauce.

( The High Holy Days came and went )

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