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You Won't Catch Me 'Round Here by Pene (Friday Night Lights, Tyra/Lyla)
Title: You Won't Catch Me 'Round Here
Author: Pene
Recipient: k callmesandy
Fandom: Friday Night Lights
Pairing: Tyra/Lyla
Rating: PG-13. Maybe R. There's some sex.
Word count: 2536
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.
Notes: Oh my word did I run out of time. Luckily it's still the 12th where most of you are. But this story was sitting prettily in my head for weeks. Fortunately tangleofthorns was around for speedy de-Australianising beta and to hold my hand.
You won't catch me 'round here
*
The gas station's empty except for some attendant guy in a dirty yellow cap. Gas is cheapest at the edge of town. That's why Tyra always stops here.
Fluorescent lights hang over the gas pumps. Under them the station is bright and blank. Outside the square of light the road stretches away into night and the flat black fields.
As always it seems to take years to fill the pick-up's tank. Tyra avoids looking at the numbers spinning upwards on the gas pump. It's too depressing. She rests her hip against the warm body of the truck and looks out along the road. She figures you could go on forever from here - always in a straight line.
It's impossible to miss the girl walking back toward town - weird and stupid to see a girl out here at night. It's weirder to realise the stupid girl is Lyla Garrity. Even at a distance Tyra can see Lyla's forgotten her usual peppy bounce. Lyla doesn't look up as she passes. She doesn't see Tyra; maybe she doesn't even see the station at all.
Tyra takes her time over the gas. There's nothing for it, though. She can't just leave a girl alone in the street - not even Lyla. A minute down the road and she pulls over beside Lyla.
Lyla's surprised. Her face is blotchy from crying.
Tyra winds down her window. "You're a long way from home," she says.
Lyla looks sort of annoyed by Tyra's intrusion. Still, Tyra knows Lyla's way too polite not to answer.
"I'm okay," Lyla says.
"Doesn't look like it," observes Tyra and then, relenting, "You need a ride somewhere?"
"I'd rather walk," says Lyla. "Thank you." It's one of those meaningless thank yous that Lyla maybe can't stop herself from saying. She got it from her mother who got it from hers and now there's a whole town full of fake thank yous. Usually they’re delivered with a smile. The whole thing makes Tyra crazy. But Lyla can’t quite bring herself to smile.
"Come on," Tyra says gently. "It's dark out here. I'll take you wherever you want."
***
Even back in the second grade, Tyra was the tall one. She was taller than most of the boys and she towered over Lyla. But then, she was almost eight to Lyla's seven and a quarter.
They were best friends that year. They called one another Tyla and Lyra and giggled when people didn't notice the mix-up; they made cubby houses by stringing sheets between trees or sweeping out the space under Lyla's back porch.
"No boys allowed," said Tyra firmly. They were children, obviously, just dumb kids.
Lyla followed Tyra everywhere. Miss Penney, the second class teacher, looked worried. She said, "You be gentle with that little girl, Tyra Collette."
Tyra's mom bent to pat Lyla's shiny head. She turned to Tyra, "You won't get this little one in trouble, will you?"
It was kind of unfair. Sure, it was Tyra who decided whether they were gypsies in the circus or millionairesses on a yacht or radio announcers. But it was also Tyra who decided when it was getting late or when a tree was just that bit too high. "I can do it," said Lyla. She stretched her fingers up above her head and balanced on tiptoe. She bounced a couple of times. She was still a foot away from the bottom branch.
"It's okay, we're bored with climbing trees anyway," said Tyra.
They walked home through the school.
Back then there were no houses west of the school. You could see all the way to the Interstate, if you stood in the right spot. When Tyra looked across the football field and out over the flat expanse of fields it seemed to stretch so far. She saw everything she ever wanted. There were cities and airports and white sandy beaches. There were movie stars out there and businesswomen and models. When Tyra looked it was all so far away.
When Lyla looked she folded her hands over her heart and sighed with pleasure.
"It's so pretty here," Lyla said.
They were best friends, that year. But already Lyla was better at living in Dillon than Tyra would ever be.
***
Tyra pulls the truck over to the edge of the road and they prop themselves up in the tray, their backs against the cab. They're a few miles out of Dillon. You can't see the town from here, just some farmhouses in the distance.
Lyla's shoulders are shaking. She's poured out all this mess about Jason and how it's never going to work. Now she's onto Lyla's mom and fucking Buddy Garrity. Tyra clenches her fists into little balls and presses them against the bed of the truck.
"Look, could you stop-" Tyra starts.
Lyla looks her way and stops talking. There's some of the old sympathy in Lyla's eyes, like they're kids and best friends forever again.
"Oh fuck," she says quietly. "I'm sorry." Tyra's never heard Lyla Garrity swear. And she hasn't heard Lyla admit she's wrong for maybe seven years.
"It's okay," says Tyra. She meets Lyla's eyes for maybe the first time this evening. There's a long moment before either of them moves. It's like the fields take a slow breath.
Then Lyla pulls her knees toward her chin. Her legs are bare. Tyra thinks she could run her hand over Lyla's thigh but there's all the Jason business and Tyra's not about to do anything quite that stupid.
Lyla's looking off into the dark when she asks, quietly, "So you don't hate me any more then?"
"Nah," says Tyra. She doesn't add that it was never really hate.
Tyra turns the truck back to town and drives Lyla at home. They sit in the car for a few silent minutes before Lyla climbs out.
"I have to help with the kids," says Lyla, like she needs to explain. "So I'm going back. I'll see you at school?"
"Right on," says Tyra. She drives home with sweaty palms.
***
At thirteen, Lyla was the perfect example of a Dillon girl. She was gifted at having shiny hair and owning the cute outfits everyone wanted. She loved their town, their music, football. She was the best in the whole school at being tiny and smiling and perfect.
And Tyra was best in the school at hating everything.
Tyra wore mostly black that year - thick eyeliner and boots. She'd lean against the bricks behind the boys' toilet block. Some of the boys would slouch there with her - Tim Riggins and other boys every teacher had given up on. The boys would agree with pretty much everything Tyra said, as long as she didn't talk about football.
"I just wanna get out of here," she'd say as she lit up a Marlboro. "Go to Austin or maybe Los Angeles."
"Yeah," someone would mutter. "We need to fucking leave this hole." But no one wanted it like she did.
Sometimes Lyla would walk past. The boys would whistle and whisper. Tim seemed older even then. He'd say, "Get on over here, pretty thing." Lyla would blush and look away. Tyra would blush too, but she'd laugh and pretend she was going to put out her cigarette on Lyla's retreating back.
***
It's morning, which means Tyra's mom is crying about Buddy Garrity.
"You've got to get over it," says Tyra. "He's a fuckwit." She leaves her mom on the grubby couch with some Raisin Bran and a promise that she'll at least consider the jobs Tyra's circled in the paper.
At school Lyla stops Tyra and thanks her, twice. "I miss our friendship," she says, looking into Tyra's eyes. She looks sincere. Tyra watches as Lyla walks away.
Lyla's got this way of moving like she knows she's the most beautiful thing anyone's ever seen. It's some kind of small town magic, Tyra thinks. In a city like Austin she'd be nothing special.
Tyra looks back and meets the question mark of Julie's raised eyebrow.
"We had a chat last night," explains Tyra. "I dropped her home."
"Right," says Julie. She looks confused.
"This whole thing wasn't really about Lyla," says Tyra. "She's just as fucked as everyone else."
"You're probably right," says Julie, with a tiny smile. Julie's the sort of girl who's kind to everyone.
***
Tyra kind of loved Tim. Mostly she loved that he'd let her take him. She'd have his back pressed against a wall and his pants around his ankles. She'd straddle him and pin him to the bed. She'd bend him backwards over a table that creaked under his weight. Everyone said he was a great fullback - he's certainly big enough - and still he'd let her take him down. It made her head spin.
She wasn't oblivious. She knew he wanted Lyla. In the hallway he'd flick his eyes toward Lyla and back at Tyra. He'd say, "Come on girlie, where are your pom-poms? You know I'd love to see your ass in that tiny little skirt she's wearing."
"Loser," she'd say. "Can't come up with a better cliché?"
Secretly she'd considered it - thought about turning up for his birthday with a cheerleading skirt and no panties. But she knew she'd never look as perfect as the cheerleader in his brain.
Most days, Tyra figured, everyone in town wanted Lyla. Truth is, most days Tyra was okay with that.
***
Lyla's turned up in Tyra's dreams for the past few weeks. So Tyra's not really surprised when Lyla turns up at her bedroom window. It's midnight and the yard is moonlit. Tyra switches on her light and sticks her head out the window.
"Hey," she says.
"Jason and I broke up," Lyla says. "Properly."
Tyra's confused, partly because she just woke up and partly because Lyla has this firm tilt to her chin that Tyra can't place.
"I'm sorry," Tyra tries. Lyla looks predictably gorgeous. Tyra runs a hand through her hair to try and fend off any bed head.
"No, you don't need to be sorry. Everything's good," says Lyla confidently. "It wasn't going to work again this time."
"Okay," Tyra says. "Good."
"Right, well, I just came over to let you know," says Lyla. She looks doubtful for the first time since Tyra opened the window.
"You wanna go for a ride?" offers Tyra.
"Y'know, I'd like that," says Lyla with a beam.
The truck costs Tyra way too much to run, too much to insure, too much to get the shitty thing registered. She holds on to it because as long as she has it she knows she can leave town. She can pack up this Friday or next Tuesday or any day she chooses. She thinks she'll probably finish school first, though, and then drive to Austin, find herself a job as a PA. She'll wear suits with little skirts and keep some advertising executive organized. Maybe she'll get into marketing or something. She needs to sort it out.
Whatever she keeps the truck for, it's worth it tonight. Lyla climbs into the passenger seat and Tyra starts the car. She imagines Lyla saying, "Let's go - let's just keep on driving."
There's a pause. Tyra says, "Where to, princess?"
Lyla gives her a quick look but says, mildly, "They're your wheels, Ty."
An hour later they're dangling their legs off the dam wall at Lake Travis. They sit close enough that their shoulders and thighs brush together.
It's silent out here this late at night. It's the kind of place where words just get dragged away across the water and swallowed into all the empty space. They can talk about anything here.
"So," says Tyra.
"Yeah," says Lyla.
But they've known one another for more than ten years so they can't say nothing forever.
Lyla says, "Remember when we were kids?"
"You were such a pain in the ass," says Tyra.
"I wanted to be just like you," says Lyla with a smile. "I've wanted to be like you since I was seven years old."
Tyra remembers Lyla cheerleading while Tyra smoked at the back of the boy's toilets. Lyla could definitely have done a better job with that. But the rest of her brain has stopped making light of anything.
Maybe Lyla knows what she's thinking, because she says, "I'm not sure that was ever really what I wanted. I know it's not what I want anymore."
Tyra tilts her head, "What is it you want?" Her voice sounds different even to her.
"This?" says Lyla with a question at the end of the word. She reaches for Tyra's hand.
***
The first time they have sex they're in Tyra's room. Tyra's put clean sheets on her bed. She's even found some candles and has them burning on the window ledge.
Tyra knows she's good in bed. But Lyla is Lyla. She's the girl everyone wants. She's the girl Tyra wants more than she's wanted anybody - the girl Tyra wants almost as much as she wants to leave Dillon.
There's a few moments when Tyra's working out Lyla's body, brushing over Lyla's smooth brown thighs and shoulders. It seems like Lyla has all the moves arranged; she moans at just the right times. She arches her back like a kitten. But then she slows down and melts under Tyra's fingers and Tyra grins in the half light.
"Come on, baby, I've got you," Tyra says.
Lyla's eyes roll back, a bit, in her head.
"Oh my god," she says, over and over. Lyla's beautiful when she's perfect, when she knows she has everything together. She's even more beautiful when she lets it all go.
Afterwards Lyla looks up from the bed with huge eyes. "You're amazing," she says. And Tyra can't help but smirk a little.
"You know it, princess," she says and leans to kiss Lyla.
***
They keep it quiet. Julie knows and that's about it. This is Dillon and Tyra's not in the mood to face bigotry or dodge the boys' drooling. So they lock themselves away. They only kiss in private. They hold hands when they're miles out of town.
For the time being there's something sweet about having a secret. They run into one another in the halls at school and Lyla's private smile makes Tyra's stomach flip.
"You still want to get out of here," Lyla says one day. It's not a question.
"Yeah."
They're leaning against the truck, looking west across the yellow fields at the edge of town.
"You've got these big dreams," says Lyla. "And I'm always going to love it here."
Still, nothing seems impossible right now. Maybe Lyla will want to go to college one day, study psychology or something. Maybe she'll get tired of the secrecy. Tyra's always ready to leave but for now she doesn't mind it here.
***
the end
Author: Pene
Recipient: k callmesandy
Fandom: Friday Night Lights
Pairing: Tyra/Lyla
Rating: PG-13. Maybe R. There's some sex.
Word count: 2536
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.
Notes: Oh my word did I run out of time. Luckily it's still the 12th where most of you are. But this story was sitting prettily in my head for weeks. Fortunately tangleofthorns was around for speedy de-Australianising beta and to hold my hand.
You won't catch me 'round here
*
The gas station's empty except for some attendant guy in a dirty yellow cap. Gas is cheapest at the edge of town. That's why Tyra always stops here.
Fluorescent lights hang over the gas pumps. Under them the station is bright and blank. Outside the square of light the road stretches away into night and the flat black fields.
As always it seems to take years to fill the pick-up's tank. Tyra avoids looking at the numbers spinning upwards on the gas pump. It's too depressing. She rests her hip against the warm body of the truck and looks out along the road. She figures you could go on forever from here - always in a straight line.
It's impossible to miss the girl walking back toward town - weird and stupid to see a girl out here at night. It's weirder to realise the stupid girl is Lyla Garrity. Even at a distance Tyra can see Lyla's forgotten her usual peppy bounce. Lyla doesn't look up as she passes. She doesn't see Tyra; maybe she doesn't even see the station at all.
Tyra takes her time over the gas. There's nothing for it, though. She can't just leave a girl alone in the street - not even Lyla. A minute down the road and she pulls over beside Lyla.
Lyla's surprised. Her face is blotchy from crying.
Tyra winds down her window. "You're a long way from home," she says.
Lyla looks sort of annoyed by Tyra's intrusion. Still, Tyra knows Lyla's way too polite not to answer.
"I'm okay," Lyla says.
"Doesn't look like it," observes Tyra and then, relenting, "You need a ride somewhere?"
"I'd rather walk," says Lyla. "Thank you." It's one of those meaningless thank yous that Lyla maybe can't stop herself from saying. She got it from her mother who got it from hers and now there's a whole town full of fake thank yous. Usually they’re delivered with a smile. The whole thing makes Tyra crazy. But Lyla can’t quite bring herself to smile.
"Come on," Tyra says gently. "It's dark out here. I'll take you wherever you want."
***
Even back in the second grade, Tyra was the tall one. She was taller than most of the boys and she towered over Lyla. But then, she was almost eight to Lyla's seven and a quarter.
They were best friends that year. They called one another Tyla and Lyra and giggled when people didn't notice the mix-up; they made cubby houses by stringing sheets between trees or sweeping out the space under Lyla's back porch.
"No boys allowed," said Tyra firmly. They were children, obviously, just dumb kids.
Lyla followed Tyra everywhere. Miss Penney, the second class teacher, looked worried. She said, "You be gentle with that little girl, Tyra Collette."
Tyra's mom bent to pat Lyla's shiny head. She turned to Tyra, "You won't get this little one in trouble, will you?"
It was kind of unfair. Sure, it was Tyra who decided whether they were gypsies in the circus or millionairesses on a yacht or radio announcers. But it was also Tyra who decided when it was getting late or when a tree was just that bit too high. "I can do it," said Lyla. She stretched her fingers up above her head and balanced on tiptoe. She bounced a couple of times. She was still a foot away from the bottom branch.
"It's okay, we're bored with climbing trees anyway," said Tyra.
They walked home through the school.
Back then there were no houses west of the school. You could see all the way to the Interstate, if you stood in the right spot. When Tyra looked across the football field and out over the flat expanse of fields it seemed to stretch so far. She saw everything she ever wanted. There were cities and airports and white sandy beaches. There were movie stars out there and businesswomen and models. When Tyra looked it was all so far away.
When Lyla looked she folded her hands over her heart and sighed with pleasure.
"It's so pretty here," Lyla said.
They were best friends, that year. But already Lyla was better at living in Dillon than Tyra would ever be.
***
Tyra pulls the truck over to the edge of the road and they prop themselves up in the tray, their backs against the cab. They're a few miles out of Dillon. You can't see the town from here, just some farmhouses in the distance.
Lyla's shoulders are shaking. She's poured out all this mess about Jason and how it's never going to work. Now she's onto Lyla's mom and fucking Buddy Garrity. Tyra clenches her fists into little balls and presses them against the bed of the truck.
"Look, could you stop-" Tyra starts.
Lyla looks her way and stops talking. There's some of the old sympathy in Lyla's eyes, like they're kids and best friends forever again.
"Oh fuck," she says quietly. "I'm sorry." Tyra's never heard Lyla Garrity swear. And she hasn't heard Lyla admit she's wrong for maybe seven years.
"It's okay," says Tyra. She meets Lyla's eyes for maybe the first time this evening. There's a long moment before either of them moves. It's like the fields take a slow breath.
Then Lyla pulls her knees toward her chin. Her legs are bare. Tyra thinks she could run her hand over Lyla's thigh but there's all the Jason business and Tyra's not about to do anything quite that stupid.
Lyla's looking off into the dark when she asks, quietly, "So you don't hate me any more then?"
"Nah," says Tyra. She doesn't add that it was never really hate.
Tyra turns the truck back to town and drives Lyla at home. They sit in the car for a few silent minutes before Lyla climbs out.
"I have to help with the kids," says Lyla, like she needs to explain. "So I'm going back. I'll see you at school?"
"Right on," says Tyra. She drives home with sweaty palms.
***
At thirteen, Lyla was the perfect example of a Dillon girl. She was gifted at having shiny hair and owning the cute outfits everyone wanted. She loved their town, their music, football. She was the best in the whole school at being tiny and smiling and perfect.
And Tyra was best in the school at hating everything.
Tyra wore mostly black that year - thick eyeliner and boots. She'd lean against the bricks behind the boys' toilet block. Some of the boys would slouch there with her - Tim Riggins and other boys every teacher had given up on. The boys would agree with pretty much everything Tyra said, as long as she didn't talk about football.
"I just wanna get out of here," she'd say as she lit up a Marlboro. "Go to Austin or maybe Los Angeles."
"Yeah," someone would mutter. "We need to fucking leave this hole." But no one wanted it like she did.
Sometimes Lyla would walk past. The boys would whistle and whisper. Tim seemed older even then. He'd say, "Get on over here, pretty thing." Lyla would blush and look away. Tyra would blush too, but she'd laugh and pretend she was going to put out her cigarette on Lyla's retreating back.
***
It's morning, which means Tyra's mom is crying about Buddy Garrity.
"You've got to get over it," says Tyra. "He's a fuckwit." She leaves her mom on the grubby couch with some Raisin Bran and a promise that she'll at least consider the jobs Tyra's circled in the paper.
At school Lyla stops Tyra and thanks her, twice. "I miss our friendship," she says, looking into Tyra's eyes. She looks sincere. Tyra watches as Lyla walks away.
Lyla's got this way of moving like she knows she's the most beautiful thing anyone's ever seen. It's some kind of small town magic, Tyra thinks. In a city like Austin she'd be nothing special.
Tyra looks back and meets the question mark of Julie's raised eyebrow.
"We had a chat last night," explains Tyra. "I dropped her home."
"Right," says Julie. She looks confused.
"This whole thing wasn't really about Lyla," says Tyra. "She's just as fucked as everyone else."
"You're probably right," says Julie, with a tiny smile. Julie's the sort of girl who's kind to everyone.
***
Tyra kind of loved Tim. Mostly she loved that he'd let her take him. She'd have his back pressed against a wall and his pants around his ankles. She'd straddle him and pin him to the bed. She'd bend him backwards over a table that creaked under his weight. Everyone said he was a great fullback - he's certainly big enough - and still he'd let her take him down. It made her head spin.
She wasn't oblivious. She knew he wanted Lyla. In the hallway he'd flick his eyes toward Lyla and back at Tyra. He'd say, "Come on girlie, where are your pom-poms? You know I'd love to see your ass in that tiny little skirt she's wearing."
"Loser," she'd say. "Can't come up with a better cliché?"
Secretly she'd considered it - thought about turning up for his birthday with a cheerleading skirt and no panties. But she knew she'd never look as perfect as the cheerleader in his brain.
Most days, Tyra figured, everyone in town wanted Lyla. Truth is, most days Tyra was okay with that.
***
Lyla's turned up in Tyra's dreams for the past few weeks. So Tyra's not really surprised when Lyla turns up at her bedroom window. It's midnight and the yard is moonlit. Tyra switches on her light and sticks her head out the window.
"Hey," she says.
"Jason and I broke up," Lyla says. "Properly."
Tyra's confused, partly because she just woke up and partly because Lyla has this firm tilt to her chin that Tyra can't place.
"I'm sorry," Tyra tries. Lyla looks predictably gorgeous. Tyra runs a hand through her hair to try and fend off any bed head.
"No, you don't need to be sorry. Everything's good," says Lyla confidently. "It wasn't going to work again this time."
"Okay," Tyra says. "Good."
"Right, well, I just came over to let you know," says Lyla. She looks doubtful for the first time since Tyra opened the window.
"You wanna go for a ride?" offers Tyra.
"Y'know, I'd like that," says Lyla with a beam.
The truck costs Tyra way too much to run, too much to insure, too much to get the shitty thing registered. She holds on to it because as long as she has it she knows she can leave town. She can pack up this Friday or next Tuesday or any day she chooses. She thinks she'll probably finish school first, though, and then drive to Austin, find herself a job as a PA. She'll wear suits with little skirts and keep some advertising executive organized. Maybe she'll get into marketing or something. She needs to sort it out.
Whatever she keeps the truck for, it's worth it tonight. Lyla climbs into the passenger seat and Tyra starts the car. She imagines Lyla saying, "Let's go - let's just keep on driving."
There's a pause. Tyra says, "Where to, princess?"
Lyla gives her a quick look but says, mildly, "They're your wheels, Ty."
An hour later they're dangling their legs off the dam wall at Lake Travis. They sit close enough that their shoulders and thighs brush together.
It's silent out here this late at night. It's the kind of place where words just get dragged away across the water and swallowed into all the empty space. They can talk about anything here.
"So," says Tyra.
"Yeah," says Lyla.
But they've known one another for more than ten years so they can't say nothing forever.
Lyla says, "Remember when we were kids?"
"You were such a pain in the ass," says Tyra.
"I wanted to be just like you," says Lyla with a smile. "I've wanted to be like you since I was seven years old."
Tyra remembers Lyla cheerleading while Tyra smoked at the back of the boy's toilets. Lyla could definitely have done a better job with that. But the rest of her brain has stopped making light of anything.
Maybe Lyla knows what she's thinking, because she says, "I'm not sure that was ever really what I wanted. I know it's not what I want anymore."
Tyra tilts her head, "What is it you want?" Her voice sounds different even to her.
"This?" says Lyla with a question at the end of the word. She reaches for Tyra's hand.
***
The first time they have sex they're in Tyra's room. Tyra's put clean sheets on her bed. She's even found some candles and has them burning on the window ledge.
Tyra knows she's good in bed. But Lyla is Lyla. She's the girl everyone wants. She's the girl Tyra wants more than she's wanted anybody - the girl Tyra wants almost as much as she wants to leave Dillon.
There's a few moments when Tyra's working out Lyla's body, brushing over Lyla's smooth brown thighs and shoulders. It seems like Lyla has all the moves arranged; she moans at just the right times. She arches her back like a kitten. But then she slows down and melts under Tyra's fingers and Tyra grins in the half light.
"Come on, baby, I've got you," Tyra says.
Lyla's eyes roll back, a bit, in her head.
"Oh my god," she says, over and over. Lyla's beautiful when she's perfect, when she knows she has everything together. She's even more beautiful when she lets it all go.
Afterwards Lyla looks up from the bed with huge eyes. "You're amazing," she says. And Tyra can't help but smirk a little.
"You know it, princess," she says and leans to kiss Lyla.
***
They keep it quiet. Julie knows and that's about it. This is Dillon and Tyra's not in the mood to face bigotry or dodge the boys' drooling. So they lock themselves away. They only kiss in private. They hold hands when they're miles out of town.
For the time being there's something sweet about having a secret. They run into one another in the halls at school and Lyla's private smile makes Tyra's stomach flip.
"You still want to get out of here," Lyla says one day. It's not a question.
"Yeah."
They're leaning against the truck, looking west across the yellow fields at the edge of town.
"You've got these big dreams," says Lyla. "And I'm always going to love it here."
Still, nothing seems impossible right now. Maybe Lyla will want to go to college one day, study psychology or something. Maybe she'll get tired of the secrecy. Tyra's always ready to leave but for now she doesn't mind it here.
***
the end