“You can’t kill a god.”

“I can.”

“No, you can’t.”

“I can so. A god’s an idea. Ideas can die…”

“A god is not just an idea…” Daven’s last sentence was mumbled into his sleeve. He had tucked himself into a ball, back to the old wooden fence. What paint was left on the fence was peeling, and little white flakes of it were coming off onto the dark denim of his coat. Hollie leaned over and brushed the flakes from his shoulders. When he looked up into her eyes, a wide smile spread across her freckled face. Somehow, the smile reminded him of a dagger. Daven shivered.

“Looks like you have a dandruff problem,” Hollie said. The same slightly arrogant tone in her inflection was there. Always was. And though she didn’t grow up anywhere that would have caused it, her voice had a slight twang. He never thought about it much. It was just part of Hollie. The most unique person the world would ever know. Daven knew that.

Hollie punched him lightly in the arm.

“C’mon,” she said, dangerous and soft, “I wanna go away.”