Marisol was the furthest thing from what most people would call a “lippy kid.” As a daughter, she was usually well-behaved and followed her mother’s rules without protest. Growing up, she was given some freedom, hence the transition into performing arts school, but there were rules. Jayda always said it was her job to ensure Mari had a better life than her mother, which involved a balance of freedom and boundaries. Going to a house party at seventeen was likely a breach of those boundaries.

Speaking back was a product of alcohol-loosened lips and a panicked inexperience with being in trouble. Skye kept her close, boosting her resolve, but in this instance, Marisol quickly realized how much wiser silence would have been.

Jorge was not having her excuse making. Marisol was too busy rambling to miss his muttering, but there was no missing his definitive response. Hearing her uncle curse at her froze Marisol in place, and she felt like a baby bunny who had stupidly hopped into the den of a lion demanding attention.

Safe in the car, it was easy to forget how close she was to spending the night in police custody. The imagery evoked when Jorge mentioned a cell reminded her of how fortunate she even was to be in her current position. Her uncle was reminding her of that consequence, but he was also forcing her to face the many consequences that could have come from her night out. What if she had drank too much? What if the wrong person approached her? That last thought made her skin crawl. She wanted to say Skye was there with her, but she had learned the cost of arguing back. Beyond that, in Marisol’s field, Skye was another petite young woman, and if they were both drunk and distracted, was it out of the realm of possibility that something ended up in their drinks?

There were many ways the night could have gone wrong, and Marisol was not going to deny that. She could hear it in her uncle’s voice; other girls had been in position and were not so lucky. He pleaded for her silence, and she complied after one last, soft, ”Sorry, Tío…” She kept a hold on Skye’s hand, because she did not want her friend thinking this was her fault; Marisol made her choice to come out. She had her fun, but she had to be responsible for herself and recognize that it was on her to take her own safety into account; going out drinking with strangers with no one knowing where she was? That was a choice she would hesitate to make again.

Skye Sinclaire was very much what one would call a 'lippy kid,' but she wasn't living up to that tonight. The atmosphere, the tone Jorge was using, along with his words, on top of the situation just made her clam up, wishing she could melt into the back of the seat. But she didn't, that unfortunately wasn't her mutation. And even if it was, she was holding hands with someone who made that null and void.

She closed her eyes as she took a breath. She wished she wasn't here. Maybe she and Mari should have just played videogames in her room or something. Though that may not have led to her...feelings coming to light like this.

Her thumb stroked the back of Mari's hand, not making eye contact as she sort of slumped in the back seat. Finally, she looked over at Mari as the silence set in. Her heart was racing as her eyes lowered a bit and she gave her friend a weak smile, as if to say "It'll be okay."

He was angry. He was disappointed. He was sad. To see Marisol make such a mistake, to be so cavalier, it had terrified him. It put him into a state of being that he never wanted to be again. Marisol was a smart girl, he had always believed that, but tonight had painted her in a totally other light. Everyone else would tell him that she was only human and she was bound to make mistakes. At some point Jorge would realize that. But right now he was too shaken to be able to understand that.

>> ”Sorry, Tío…”

The soft mew escaped from his niece’s lips. Jorge didn’t say anything to acknowledge it but instead just kept his eyes on the road ahead. He needed to not converse, to not engage. He would spend the evening angry. In the morning, when he was less raw about the ordeal, he would contact Jayda. As much as he wanted to be the good guy, he couldn’t in good conscious not let his sister know about Mari’s shenanigans. It would have been irresponsible. In the end he was her uncle and her mother needed to know.

Normally the sounds of classic rock would fill the inside of his vehicle as he drove through the darkened streets. It was a status that Mari would have probably not thought twice about. But right now, the only sound that filled the car was the steady, perfect hum of the engine and the crunch of gravel under the tires. First stop would be the mansion to drop Skye off. Next would be Mari’s school but only for the night. He would decide in the morning if it would be more feasible to have to live under the same roof as him.

But that was a discussion for the morning. Right now, Jorge just breathed a sigh as trying to expel the last of his disappointment, flicked the turn signal, and moved into the next street. He was ready to put this night behind him.