Charley scowled at the older boy, her freckles melting together at the creases of her forehead. They almost disappeared under the warmth of her cheeks, inflamed by the pointed daggers thrown from his mouth. Embarrassed, she shook her wet hand away as the drier fingers of the other clasped around one of the gobstones still sitting on the drawn playing surface in the dust. The stone clenched tightly in her fist, ready to throw it —or her knuckles— to get revenge for the smear.

It shouldn't have even bothered her, somehow this teenager had a way of getting under her skin.

"What'd you say to me?" she started, thinking more deliberately for a moment. Hitting him would feel really good, and it was hard to resist the temptation. Crouched on the ground, Charley was too easy a target for retribution if she threw the stone or a punch. Even holding herself back rankled the urchin, and she could feel her face scrunch tighter and hotter at the bitter anger inside her, burning for release.

The urchin rose to her full height, and if she lifted her chin it was almost even with the boy's shoulder. Her feet shifted her weight automatically into the balls of her feet, in case she needed to run or dodge. It didn't matter. He'd challenged her, and now he'd answer for it. Otherwise the boy was a coward, and she'd make it known to anyone he met up with before the day was over. This, Charley promised herself with every fiber of her heart and all the magic pumping through her veins.

"Like you'd even know what a game was, Duke o' Limbs. Were you born without the knack for fun, or did yer nanny whack it outta you with her umbrella?!"

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