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pines. 
    The scent of pine needles and rich earth swirled around June. That smell. These pines. It was here she’d run right into Ivan Sokolov just the night before. It seemed a lifetime, before she’d learned of the ability lurking inside of her. June’s stomach growled and she shook away the memory. She pulled out a cucumber sandwich, some pickles, and an apple and placed the lunch next to her onto a calico cloth she’d cut from one of her old dresses. 
    Even in the shade, the sun fought its way through the pine boughs and hit June’s back. The sun didn’t just warm her back, but the stone bench next to her hand too. June chewed her triangle of sandwich and stared lazily at the way the sun dappled her skin where she laid her hand on the concrete. The stone was rough under her fingertips and she wondered … wondered.
    She stared at her fingers where they rested lightly against the concrete and let her vision blur until the edges where her fingers stopped and the concrete began shimmered, like heat off the pavement on a summer day. The concrete was still solid under her fingers, but she could feel something at the boundary of her skin. A feeling of melting, succumbing.
    Somewhere nearby, a child screeched in laughter. June snatched her fingers away from the concrete. She peered around, trying not to let her hands shake where they picked at another triangle of sandwich. But she was alone. Through the pines, she could just see the white tents from the weekend market. Women out shopping with children in tow wandered the stalls, but they were distant.
    June pressed her lips together, set down her uneaten bit of sandwich, and laid her fingers against the concrete again. She furrowed her eyebrows, blinked hard until her vision blurred again.
    And then it happened. Her fingers were pressed against hard concrete, then it melted before her like mist. Her hand passed through the concrete and came out the other side like nothing had stood in the way. June gulped down something between a laugh and a yelp and tugged her hand free to press her fingers to her lips.
    She did it. She actually did it! Whatever it was. June smiled to herself, excitement bubbling up through her chest. June held her hands out in front of herself, marveling at this new power.
    The minute hand on her watch tick, tick, ticked. And June really did yelp this time. She threw the remains of her lunch back into her pail and sprang to her feet. She was expected back at the bank in just a minute.
    June nearly ran through the bench, so preoccupied she was with getting back to the bank. She nearly ran headlong into someone standing just inside the copse of trees and jumped back.
    “Oh! I’m so—” The apology died on her lips. Before her, Butch sneered. He licked his lips as he regarded her.
    “No need to rush,” he said, drawling and lazy. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the tree at his back. “I can give you plenty of excuses to be late getting back to the bank.”
    June held her lunch pail in tight to her body and shouldered past Butch. “Excuse me,” she said, not trying to hide the curtness in her tone. Everyone knew horrible Butch Murphy and the things he tried with girls who were unfortunate enough to find themselves alone with him. Just the thought of what others would say if they saw her alone with him made her shiver in disgust.
    Butch held one arm out wide, like he was generously allowing her to keep walking. “By all means,” he said.
    June hated herself for it, but she thanked him before she could stop the words leaving her mouth. Then head down, she rushed across the town square and slipped through the bank door just as the clock in the town hall chimed one.
     
    “And ten makes fifty,” June said, counting out the withdrawal for Mrs. Sharpe.
    “Well done, June,” Mrs. Sharpe said as she accepted the money. “It must be an adjustment, taking on a difficult job like this. My Evie’s head would be all aflutter if she