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Authors: Angie Smibert
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of agreeing, including agreeing to come by the store where she worked so I could tell her in person how Winter really was.
That was fine with me. I had some things I wanted to ask her.
13.0
WAITING FOR THE BRAVE NEW WORLD TO CHANGE
VELVET
Huxley’s was deader than usual—and I really couldn’t afford to keep recycling my paycheck through the shop’s antiquated till. Mrs. Huxley is against a lot of the same things as my mom—like gridded technology. They’re friends. And, yes, that’s how I got the job.
Still, I had nothing better to do than browse the new vintage jackets and play dress-up until Winter’s cousin got here or a customer popped in. The latter wasn’t likely at this time of day. “Business” would pick up later after we closed, during the unspoken, unadvertised Hour Exchange hours. Mrs. H. worked those herself.
I didn’t like deciding on barters, anyway. How many dresses does four hours of free legal service or five loaves of French bread equal? Only Mrs. H. could judge that.
“Nothing Ever Happens” by the Lo-Fi Strangers roared over the store’s old-fashioned stereo system, while I slipped on a black leather jacket. I modeled it with my current ensemble. Too biker chick.
Spike called while I was trying on the vintage Chanel suit with my black lace tights.
Ignore. Don’t talk to fools when you’re still mad at them. Or yourself. Book of Velvet. Yada, yada, yada.
I was modeling the peasant skirt with combat boots when Aiden came in. The effect was sort of punk little-house-on-the-prairie. Not my best work.
“Velvet?” he asked. I could feel him staring, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him.
I held up my hand. “I’ll be right with you.” I ducked into the dressing room again and changed back into my jeans.
Now it was my turn to stare.
Aiden Nomura looked like he’d stepped out of a J. Crew catalog. Not bad on the eyes, but nothing like Winter. If I hadn’t been expecting him, I would’ve directed him to the mega-Gap three blocks away.
“I’m Aiden.” He reached out his hand and launched into this full-charm initiative, with just the right smile and tilt of his head. “Nice shop—”
I put the counter between us.
He kept talking some crap about liking the store, yada, yada, yada. I stopped listening. Never listen to BS wrapped in a polo shirt and $300 shoes. Finally, he came up for air.
“You’re Winter’s cousin?” I let the incredulity sink in.
“Um, yeah,” he said, put off his game, whatever it was.
“Velvet Kowalcyk,” I said. I made a show of appraising his outfit.
“What is it with you and Winter?” He chuckled. “I have to look the part, you know.”
I guess we all do. Corporate prince. Wannabe rock star. Vintage store screw-up. Everybody except maybe Winter. She doesn’t care.
“How is our girl? Really,” I asked.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he said earnestly. The Prince Charming façade fell away like an ill-fitting prom dress.
Now I could see the resemblance. In the eyes. He had Winter’s intensity.
Aiden Nomura slung his backpack on the counter and glanced around before he pulled out a large coffee-table art book. “She doesn’t remember sending me these.” He slipped out a set of cartoons—which were obviously drawn by Micah. No doubt.
Winter (and Micah) always had art books like this around, but I didn’t remember seeing the comics—and I think I would because they were disturbingly good.
“Definitely Micah’s,” I said to Aiden’s unasked question.
“We got a weird message when we called him.”
I put the drawings back into their hidey hole and closed up the book tightly. Aiden watched.
“Micah’s in juvie.” And now I know why.
“When did that happen?” Aiden shoved the book into his pack.
“Right before the cops raided Black Dog Village and found ‘suspicious’ materials there. Bomb-making stuff, they said.” I explained to Aiden that BDV was a
That was fine with me. I had some things I wanted to ask her.
13.0
WAITING FOR THE BRAVE NEW WORLD TO CHANGE
VELVET
Huxley’s was deader than usual—and I really couldn’t afford to keep recycling my paycheck through the shop’s antiquated till. Mrs. Huxley is against a lot of the same things as my mom—like gridded technology. They’re friends. And, yes, that’s how I got the job.
Still, I had nothing better to do than browse the new vintage jackets and play dress-up until Winter’s cousin got here or a customer popped in. The latter wasn’t likely at this time of day. “Business” would pick up later after we closed, during the unspoken, unadvertised Hour Exchange hours. Mrs. H. worked those herself.
I didn’t like deciding on barters, anyway. How many dresses does four hours of free legal service or five loaves of French bread equal? Only Mrs. H. could judge that.
“Nothing Ever Happens” by the Lo-Fi Strangers roared over the store’s old-fashioned stereo system, while I slipped on a black leather jacket. I modeled it with my current ensemble. Too biker chick.
Spike called while I was trying on the vintage Chanel suit with my black lace tights.
Ignore. Don’t talk to fools when you’re still mad at them. Or yourself. Book of Velvet. Yada, yada, yada.
I was modeling the peasant skirt with combat boots when Aiden came in. The effect was sort of punk little-house-on-the-prairie. Not my best work.
“Velvet?” he asked. I could feel him staring, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him.
I held up my hand. “I’ll be right with you.” I ducked into the dressing room again and changed back into my jeans.
Now it was my turn to stare.
Aiden Nomura looked like he’d stepped out of a J. Crew catalog. Not bad on the eyes, but nothing like Winter. If I hadn’t been expecting him, I would’ve directed him to the mega-Gap three blocks away.
“I’m Aiden.” He reached out his hand and launched into this full-charm initiative, with just the right smile and tilt of his head. “Nice shop—”
I put the counter between us.
He kept talking some crap about liking the store, yada, yada, yada. I stopped listening. Never listen to BS wrapped in a polo shirt and $300 shoes. Finally, he came up for air.
“You’re Winter’s cousin?” I let the incredulity sink in.
“Um, yeah,” he said, put off his game, whatever it was.
“Velvet Kowalcyk,” I said. I made a show of appraising his outfit.
“What is it with you and Winter?” He chuckled. “I have to look the part, you know.”
I guess we all do. Corporate prince. Wannabe rock star. Vintage store screw-up. Everybody except maybe Winter. She doesn’t care.
“How is our girl? Really,” I asked.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he said earnestly. The Prince Charming façade fell away like an ill-fitting prom dress.
Now I could see the resemblance. In the eyes. He had Winter’s intensity.
Aiden Nomura slung his backpack on the counter and glanced around before he pulled out a large coffee-table art book. “She doesn’t remember sending me these.” He slipped out a set of cartoons—which were obviously drawn by Micah. No doubt.
Winter (and Micah) always had art books like this around, but I didn’t remember seeing the comics—and I think I would because they were disturbingly good.
“Definitely Micah’s,” I said to Aiden’s unasked question.
“We got a weird message when we called him.”
I put the drawings back into their hidey hole and closed up the book tightly. Aiden watched.
“Micah’s in juvie.” And now I know why.
“When did that happen?” Aiden shoved the book into his pack.
“Right before the cops raided Black Dog Village and found ‘suspicious’ materials there. Bomb-making stuff, they said.” I explained to Aiden that BDV was a
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