cheekbones. He wore a single heavy braided silver ring on his right middle finger. Even she had to admit
there was something skeevily sexy about the boy.
Ew! What are you thinking, Ondine?
She turned back to the shelves.
Moth continued unfazed. “So what time is our party starting?”
“What?” She whipped her head around.
He bent down and tied one of his shoelaces, still staring. “I said, what time is the party starting? I don’t want to be late.”
The girl narrowed her eyes and stepped closer. Moth didn’t flinch. She was surprised. People normally flinched.
“There is no party.”
“Sure there is, pet.” He straightened up and smiled. “At your place. Your parents left today and you’re having —”
Before Ondine had the chance to ask the older boy how the hell he knew about her parents leaving, Morgan rounded the corner.
As soon as she saw their new companion she slowed, slinking catlike toward Ondine but looking at Moth, the bottles in her
hands clinking.
Moth stared back. “Vision number two? Well, isn’t this my lucky night!”
“Fly away, Moth,” Ondine whispered.
“I’m Morgan,” the black-haired girl intoned, tilting her head. “And you?”
He grinned. “James Motherwell.”
“Like the painter?”
“Very good.” He nodded. “A muse. But you can call me Moth.” He extended a few fingertips, which Morgan grazed, her lips parting
into a knowing smile.
“I was just asking our friend Ondine here what time your party starts this evening.”
“The party starts at ten,” Morgan replied, ignoring Ondine’s shaking head. “We’re just stocking up now.” She held up four
bottles of wine gripped in both hands.
“What lovely jugs.”
Morgan threw back her head and laughed. “Why, thank you.”
Ondine stared. “Oh. My. God. You’re such an asshole.” She turned to the boy then glared at her friend. “You’re not invited,
Moth. Moth tends to attract a difficult crowd. He can’t come.”
Ignoring her, Morgan eyed Moth up and down, a smile lingering.
“Oh. Too bad.”
“Hm.” He considered the loot. “There’s no way you’re going to be able to buy that yourself, though.”
“
Au contraire,
my friend.” Ondine pointed down the aisle at the cashier reading his newspaper behind the counter. “Morgan buys here all
the time. That guy is
in love
with her.”
Morgan shrugged, still smiling.
“Of course he is.” Moth winked but shook his head. “Not tonight, though. Not without Moth’s help.” His face became serious.
“And we might as well have fun tonight, before everything starts.”
Before everything starts?
What the hell was he talking about? Ondine ignored the mysterious comment. Moth was known for the kind of deep guy blather
she hated.
Hey, are you going to Burning Man this year? Cool tats, man
— blah blah blah. Lines like these may have worked in Portland, but they were just ways of getting into crunchy girls’ pants.
She waved her hand. “Dippin’ into the dust a little too much these days, Motherwell? Let me rephrase.
You. Are. Not. Invited.
”
He only smiled. “Whatever.”
“Come on, Morgan.” Ondine started for the counter. “We don’t need your help, Moth. We’re just having a little gathering —
a small, select group of people. From
high school.
But I suppose you can’t be expected to remember back that far.”
The boy laughed, enjoying the banter. “I’m just glad to be in your presence. Now, Morgan,” he began, taking the wine bottles
from the girl’s splayed fingers and placing them in Ondine’s cart. “Tell me about yourself. Who are you, lovely angelic creature
of light? And would you like to run away with me?”
The girl stepped closer. She clearly liked the attention and was charmed by Moth. Ondine pushed faster. It felt strange to
be ignored. It wasn’t that she was jealous. No. Jealousy — an offshoot of desire, which for the most part seemed to have spared
her (she had kissed a
there was something skeevily sexy about the boy.
Ew! What are you thinking, Ondine?
She turned back to the shelves.
Moth continued unfazed. “So what time is our party starting?”
“What?” She whipped her head around.
He bent down and tied one of his shoelaces, still staring. “I said, what time is the party starting? I don’t want to be late.”
The girl narrowed her eyes and stepped closer. Moth didn’t flinch. She was surprised. People normally flinched.
“There is no party.”
“Sure there is, pet.” He straightened up and smiled. “At your place. Your parents left today and you’re having —”
Before Ondine had the chance to ask the older boy how the hell he knew about her parents leaving, Morgan rounded the corner.
As soon as she saw their new companion she slowed, slinking catlike toward Ondine but looking at Moth, the bottles in her
hands clinking.
Moth stared back. “Vision number two? Well, isn’t this my lucky night!”
“Fly away, Moth,” Ondine whispered.
“I’m Morgan,” the black-haired girl intoned, tilting her head. “And you?”
He grinned. “James Motherwell.”
“Like the painter?”
“Very good.” He nodded. “A muse. But you can call me Moth.” He extended a few fingertips, which Morgan grazed, her lips parting
into a knowing smile.
“I was just asking our friend Ondine here what time your party starts this evening.”
“The party starts at ten,” Morgan replied, ignoring Ondine’s shaking head. “We’re just stocking up now.” She held up four
bottles of wine gripped in both hands.
“What lovely jugs.”
Morgan threw back her head and laughed. “Why, thank you.”
Ondine stared. “Oh. My. God. You’re such an asshole.” She turned to the boy then glared at her friend. “You’re not invited,
Moth. Moth tends to attract a difficult crowd. He can’t come.”
Ignoring her, Morgan eyed Moth up and down, a smile lingering.
“Oh. Too bad.”
“Hm.” He considered the loot. “There’s no way you’re going to be able to buy that yourself, though.”
“
Au contraire,
my friend.” Ondine pointed down the aisle at the cashier reading his newspaper behind the counter. “Morgan buys here all
the time. That guy is
in love
with her.”
Morgan shrugged, still smiling.
“Of course he is.” Moth winked but shook his head. “Not tonight, though. Not without Moth’s help.” His face became serious.
“And we might as well have fun tonight, before everything starts.”
Before everything starts?
What the hell was he talking about? Ondine ignored the mysterious comment. Moth was known for the kind of deep guy blather
she hated.
Hey, are you going to Burning Man this year? Cool tats, man
— blah blah blah. Lines like these may have worked in Portland, but they were just ways of getting into crunchy girls’ pants.
She waved her hand. “Dippin’ into the dust a little too much these days, Motherwell? Let me rephrase.
You. Are. Not. Invited.
”
He only smiled. “Whatever.”
“Come on, Morgan.” Ondine started for the counter. “We don’t need your help, Moth. We’re just having a little gathering —
a small, select group of people. From
high school.
But I suppose you can’t be expected to remember back that far.”
The boy laughed, enjoying the banter. “I’m just glad to be in your presence. Now, Morgan,” he began, taking the wine bottles
from the girl’s splayed fingers and placing them in Ondine’s cart. “Tell me about yourself. Who are you, lovely angelic creature
of light? And would you like to run away with me?”
The girl stepped closer. She clearly liked the attention and was charmed by Moth. Ondine pushed faster. It felt strange to
be ignored. It wasn’t that she was jealous. No. Jealousy — an offshoot of desire, which for the most part seemed to have spared
her (she had kissed a
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