jewelry, pretty much blocked the third person from view. All I could see was part of a black blazer and black jeans.
The woman noticed us and broke off the conversation. "Esmun!"
"Betty. Arthur. How you be?" he asked, giving the woman a quick hug.
"I'm well." Betty patted her super-short, wispy gray hair as though there was a connection between it and her wellbeing. She glanced at me and asked Esmun, "Is this the niece you've been expecting?"
Thanks to two years of Junior Cotillion, I flashed the woman my most welcoming smile. "Hello. I'm Ainslie." I made eye contact for a few seconds, oozing graciousness as my gaze slid to include her husband. Then, with feigned detachment, I checked out Jett.
Long dark bangs angled across his forehead, obscuring his right eye. A stray lock slashed in front of his left eye. Our gazes collided. Faint attraction buzzed my insides. Jett gave me the once-over, not pausing until he reached my black stilettos with the peep toes exposing my Drop Dead Red pedicure. His lips hardened. He glared at me with disdain.
Suddenly, he didn't look so cute anymore.
"Jett, this is Ainslie," Uncle Esmun prompted.
"Hey," Jett said. Not a pleasant, friendly, welcoming hey but a grudging, I'm-only-acknowledging-you-because-I-have-to hey.
Burned. The blatant diss kicked the mental locker where I stashed my hurt. I wavered, off kilter. Sucker-punched. The tears I had held back since my parents' big announcement threatened to bubble to the surface like a toxic spring.
Inside my head, I heard Jazmin's voice say, "The guy's a jerk. Don't let him get to you."
I realized I had blinked several times in rapid succession and forced myself to stop. I cleared my throat. "Hey." I kept my voice low, almost neutral, but with a faint, bring-it-on edge I hoped would make Gong Li and Maggie Q proud.
Jett's attention shifted to the customers. "I'll put this by the register for you." He indicated the pink crystal the woman cradled, reaching out with fingers as long as a concert pianist's.
"I'll take it," Aunt Terra said.
"Thank you, dear." The blue veins stood out on Betty's skin as she handed over the rock as though it were a newborn chick. Arthur slid his arm around her waist and gave her a reassuring hug. Betty lit up like Cinderella at the ball.
Uncle Esmun clasped my shoulder, then Jett's. "Please excuse us," he told the couple. "We need to set up for a workshop."
"Of course." Betty beamed as if every day was a gift.
Jett pinged me with a surly look.
My Viking blood boiled. My right hand flexed, as if searching for one of my confiscated throwing stars. I wished I could have packed them. All I had on me was a small cross-body handbag containing a hundred dollars in twenties, my prepaid credit card, sparkle lip gloss, and my new almanac. This would never have happened to Gong Li or Maggie Q.
As Uncle Esmun maneuvered us toward the back, I heard Betty say, "Don't they make a cute pair?"
Jett and I exchanged horrified glances. He shook his head and rolled his eyes. I could tell we were thinking the same thing.
No way.
Chapter Nine
Uncle Esmun led us past a unisex bathroom and into a dim hall. It could definitely use skylights. But since I had read Joshua Tree could reach a hundred and fifteen degrees in the summer, maybe not.
"Are those classrooms?" I asked as we passed two closed doors.
"Nah. Too small," Jett answered.
Oh, he can speak to me.
"We rent them out when we can. Tarot readers. Psychics. Massage therapists," Uncle Esmun explained, sounding defeated. Were he and Aunt Terra having financial difficulties? Probably the last thing they needed was another mouth to feed. A sick, guilty feeling constricted my throat. Anger bubbled to the surface. Hadn't my parents thought of anyone but themselves?
I reflected back on the nearly empty store. On a Saturday this close to Christmas, it should be packed. Where were the locals? Where were the hikers and rock climbers on their way to Joshua Tree
The woman noticed us and broke off the conversation. "Esmun!"
"Betty. Arthur. How you be?" he asked, giving the woman a quick hug.
"I'm well." Betty patted her super-short, wispy gray hair as though there was a connection between it and her wellbeing. She glanced at me and asked Esmun, "Is this the niece you've been expecting?"
Thanks to two years of Junior Cotillion, I flashed the woman my most welcoming smile. "Hello. I'm Ainslie." I made eye contact for a few seconds, oozing graciousness as my gaze slid to include her husband. Then, with feigned detachment, I checked out Jett.
Long dark bangs angled across his forehead, obscuring his right eye. A stray lock slashed in front of his left eye. Our gazes collided. Faint attraction buzzed my insides. Jett gave me the once-over, not pausing until he reached my black stilettos with the peep toes exposing my Drop Dead Red pedicure. His lips hardened. He glared at me with disdain.
Suddenly, he didn't look so cute anymore.
"Jett, this is Ainslie," Uncle Esmun prompted.
"Hey," Jett said. Not a pleasant, friendly, welcoming hey but a grudging, I'm-only-acknowledging-you-because-I-have-to hey.
Burned. The blatant diss kicked the mental locker where I stashed my hurt. I wavered, off kilter. Sucker-punched. The tears I had held back since my parents' big announcement threatened to bubble to the surface like a toxic spring.
Inside my head, I heard Jazmin's voice say, "The guy's a jerk. Don't let him get to you."
I realized I had blinked several times in rapid succession and forced myself to stop. I cleared my throat. "Hey." I kept my voice low, almost neutral, but with a faint, bring-it-on edge I hoped would make Gong Li and Maggie Q proud.
Jett's attention shifted to the customers. "I'll put this by the register for you." He indicated the pink crystal the woman cradled, reaching out with fingers as long as a concert pianist's.
"I'll take it," Aunt Terra said.
"Thank you, dear." The blue veins stood out on Betty's skin as she handed over the rock as though it were a newborn chick. Arthur slid his arm around her waist and gave her a reassuring hug. Betty lit up like Cinderella at the ball.
Uncle Esmun clasped my shoulder, then Jett's. "Please excuse us," he told the couple. "We need to set up for a workshop."
"Of course." Betty beamed as if every day was a gift.
Jett pinged me with a surly look.
My Viking blood boiled. My right hand flexed, as if searching for one of my confiscated throwing stars. I wished I could have packed them. All I had on me was a small cross-body handbag containing a hundred dollars in twenties, my prepaid credit card, sparkle lip gloss, and my new almanac. This would never have happened to Gong Li or Maggie Q.
As Uncle Esmun maneuvered us toward the back, I heard Betty say, "Don't they make a cute pair?"
Jett and I exchanged horrified glances. He shook his head and rolled his eyes. I could tell we were thinking the same thing.
No way.
Chapter Nine
Uncle Esmun led us past a unisex bathroom and into a dim hall. It could definitely use skylights. But since I had read Joshua Tree could reach a hundred and fifteen degrees in the summer, maybe not.
"Are those classrooms?" I asked as we passed two closed doors.
"Nah. Too small," Jett answered.
Oh, he can speak to me.
"We rent them out when we can. Tarot readers. Psychics. Massage therapists," Uncle Esmun explained, sounding defeated. Were he and Aunt Terra having financial difficulties? Probably the last thing they needed was another mouth to feed. A sick, guilty feeling constricted my throat. Anger bubbled to the surface. Hadn't my parents thought of anyone but themselves?
I reflected back on the nearly empty store. On a Saturday this close to Christmas, it should be packed. Where were the locals? Where were the hikers and rock climbers on their way to Joshua Tree
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