Page 16 of The Slug Crystal

“Need a room?” she asks, deadpan.

“Yes. Three beds if you have it,” Ben says. “Or two, with a sofa.”

She slides a battered ledger across the counter and taps a pen. “Name?”

Ben glances at me. “Emma...”

“Hartley,” I respond. Realizing Ben doesn’t even know my full name. Despite the long hours spent getting to know each other in the car, we still have very little information about each other.

She writes it down, then frowns at the terrarium in my hands. “You got pets?”

I open my mouth, but Ben jumps in. “Just a snail. He’s hypoallergenic.”

She seems satisfied with Ben’s explanation, nodding and returning to the paper on the desk.

She slides a key card across the counter.

“Room seven. Park in front. Breakfast is in the morning, six to nine. Pool is open twenty-four hours, but we don’t have a lifeguard, so don’t go in if you can’t swim. ”

I nod, snagging the key card off the counter and shooting a quick glance at Ben. He isn’t paying attention to me, his gaze fixed out the window on the pool outside.

Jake stands behind me with his hands in his pockets, not bothering to step away when I turn on my heel and I almost crash into him. He places a hand on my elbow to steady me, finally stepping back when he’s sure I won’t fall.

I offer him a small smile, then the three of us file silently out of the lobby.

After stopping by the car for our bags, we follow the signs to find number seven.

We pile into the room, and it’s… well, it’s exactly what I expected from this rundown town.

Two queen beds, a hideous, ancient sofa, carpet the color of canned spinach, and a TV bolted to the dresser with a remote that may or may not be for this brand of TV.

The bathroom is a shrine to off-brand cleaning products and has complimentary soaps shaped like seashells.

I drop the terrarium on the dresser, set my bag on the bed closest to the window, and flop down hard enough to make the mattress groan.

Jake sits at the edge of the other bed, rubbing his face with both hands.

Ben checks out the dresser and finds a mini fridge behind the bottom right door, which is empty except for an old takeout container, presumably from a prior occupant.

He slams the fridge shut and collapses onto the sofa. “This,” he says, “is the best worst day I’ve had in years.”

No one responds. The rain outside drums against the window, a steady white noise that fills the room.

For a while, we just sit. I stare at the ceiling, counting the weird brown spots and trying to decide if any of them are actively moldy.

Jake fiddles with his phone, probably texting his brother and sister that he’s super close to or maybe doomscrolling social media.

We don’t have many other friends besides Alina, who is more my friend than his, anyway.

Ben fiddles with the remote until he’s able to get it to start working, then flips channels on the TV, cycling through infomercials, a rerun of CSI: Miami, and then, inexplicably, a cooking show hosted by a woman who looks like she could kill a man with her spatula.

Eventually, the exhaustion morphs into hunger. “Anyone want to order something?” I ask, but my voice is muffled by the pillow.

Jake raises a hand. “Pizza, if we can find somewhere that’s not closed.”

Ben gives me a thumbs up. “Works for me.”

I try the pizza place in town, finding the number from Google, and to my surprise, a teenager picks up even though the hours aren’t listed and everything seemed closed earlier. I order a large with everything, plus garlic knots.

The kid responds, “Cool, thirty minutes, unless the bridge is flooded again.”

I say, “Thanks.” Then I hang up, while secretly wondering how anyone lives like this. We definitely aren’t in Boston anymore.

While we wait, Jake moves to sit on my bed next to me, watching as I scroll on my social media.

He comments occasionally as we watch a few reels.

I’m so engrossed in my phone that the delivery guy rapping on the door with his knuckles scares the shit out of me, and I shriek, tossing my phone up into the air.

Ben laughs and stands, stretching his arms over his head and revealing a slice of toned muscle as his shirt lifts with the movement. Wait, is Ben… hot? I eye the sliver of skin and watch him move, realizing how toned he is. Suddenly, I can’t unsee his attractiveness, and my cheeks flush with heat.

Something is wrong with me .

Ben answers the door, leaning against the frame. “Pizza?” He asks.

The delivery guy, a young teen covered in acne, peers around him into the room, glancing from Ben to Jake to me. “Yeah, best in town. You guys aren’t from around here, are you?”

“Nope,” I say, walking towards the door and handing over a small set of crumpled bills. “Just passing through, excited to try the pizza though.”

He nods enthusiastically in response. “You definitely won’t be disappointed. Honestly, you should have gotten two.”

I laugh. “We can always order again. Or grab more on our way out of town.”

“You’re not leaving tonight, are you?” He asks, suddenly looking concerned. “The river always floods when it rains, and the locals get into weird shit near the bridge. Better just to stay until tomorrow.”

Ben accepts the boxes from the kid. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what “weird shit” means, but he starts to walk away once the pizza is no longer in his possession.

“Weird kid,” Ben comments as he closes the door.

“Weird town,” Jake mutters.

I just shake my head, ignoring both of them and walking the boxes to the dresser. There aren’t any plates, but they did include a handful of napkins, along with packets of Parmesan cheese and red pepper flakes.

Within minutes, each of us has a couple of slices and a garlic knot on napkins in our seats around the room.

We eat in near silence, except for the sounds of Ben violently inhaling a slice in two bites.

I glance at snail Alex inside the terrarium, watching for a second as he gnaws on a chunk of lettuce I brought from the car.

My gaze flits to Jake. He eats slower, methodically, as if he’s savoring the first real food he’s had all day .

After my two slices and a garlic knot, I’m done. I place my napkins to the side and flop back on the bed, letting the crusts litter the side table.

Ben wipes his hands on a napkin and fixes me with a look. “We need alcohol.”

I glance at Jake, who’s stretched out on the other bed, staring at the ceiling with his arms folded under his head. He meets my gaze and gives me the barest hint of a smile. Just enough to remind me that he’s here, always in my corner, and the decision on what we do on this trip is mine to make.

I think about it. I want to say yes, but I just can’t bring myself to commit. “I think maybe we could use clear heads…” I start.

“Nah, we don’t need that,” Ben interrupts, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. He hops to his feet and yanks open the door. “I’m going to go for a walk and see what I can scrounge up from nearby.”

The rain intensifies, and the power flickers. For a second, we’re all silent, watching the room pulse with the lightning. “Are you sure you want to go out there?” I ask.

“Definitely,” Ben replies, then steps out into the torrent, closing the door gently behind him.

Concerned, I glance at Jake, but he seems entirely unbothered. I stand and walk to the window. The world outside is blurry, neon reflections slicking the wet parking lot. Ben is already out of sight, apparently dashing in whatever direction he thinks the liquor is in.

Jake clears his throat, voice low. “He’ll be fine. He’s an adult, and you don’t have to worry about him. Or Alex. You made a mistake, you’re trying to fix it. You’re not a bad person, Emma.”

I nod, but in my heart, I’m not sure I believe him. Most people don’t revenge-transform their exes into a snail, and since Ben joined us for this journey, I feel responsible for him too. One thing is for certain. I know I’m not done. I owe Alex more than this.

The snail is pressed to the side of his terrarium, antennae stretching, as if searching for a way out.

I watch him for a long time, the blue shell shimmering under the cheap motel lamp.

Maybe Ben is right when he was rambling in the car earlier.

Maybe the story isn’t about the spell at all.

Maybe it’s about how I fix the mess I made, and the people who stick with me, even after everything falls apart.

Monday 9:12PM. The door crashes open, and Ben staggers in, dripping rain onto the carpet. His shirt is plastered to his chest, and his hair is dripping in little rivulets down his face. He’s grinning like he’s won a war.

“Emma, Jake,” he announces, holding a plastic bag aloft. Water runs down his arm and splatters onto the carpet. “I bring tequila.”

He sets the bottle down on the dresser with a heavy thud, then rummages deeper into the bag to reveal limes and a salt shaker and three Styrofoam cups, as if he’s just returned from some heroic quest.

Jake stares at him, unimpressed. “You’re soaked and you’re getting the carpet all wet.”

“It’s called commitment,” Ben says, peeling his shirt off and dropping it in a soggy heap near the door. His tanned skin is slick and toned, and I have a hard time tearing my eyes away. “The universe tested me, and I prevailed. You’re welcome for bringing you the drink of the Gods.”

I can’t help laughing. “Tequila is the drink of the devil.”

“Correction,” Ben says, already pouring liquor into the cups, “It is our salvation.” He hands me one, along with a full lime because no one has a knife handy.

The first round burns down my throat, sharp and mean, and the second follows before I can think better of it. By the third, Ben is insisting on Never Have I Ever , leaning forward with that manic gleam in his eyes that I already know is going to get us in trouble.