I press the tip of the blade against the soft skin of my finger.
“I, Savannah Mae Dare, solemnly swear…”
“Is that a knife?” my older sister, Frankie, interrupts me for the third time. I sigh. The first was to ask why we had to go to Springer’s Point Preserve, the big nature park near our house. The second was why we had to go where it was hundred degrees to sit under a giant live oak with fire ants in the sand. I reminded her we live in North Carolina. On an island. It’s all giant oak and fire ants and sand, not air-conditioning and iced drinks and fluffy pillows.