mine.
She gives me an approving nod, like maybe she had the same guy come talk at her school. “Cool name.”
“Thanks.”
She lets go of my hand and I wiggle my fingers to get the blood back in them.
Lourdes hunches over her box and starts digging through it. “So what’s your problem, anyway?” she asks. “Why were you so pissy when you first came in here? And don’t tell me it’s because I ruined your precious weeping willow display.”
Okay, that’s incredible. She knew it was a weeping willow. That’s just … Nobody else would ever get that. Except maybe Flynn. “I’ve been dealing with a lot of weirdness the last couple of days,” I say. “Something that seems really great happens and then it turns out to be, like, anti-great, if you know what I mean.”
She laughs. “Oh, man. I have so been there. Feel free to vent.”
“Will you be mocking my pain?”
“Probably.”
I smile. I’d like to tell her everything, and it
would
be easier to confide in a stranger, somebody I have no emotional connection to. But I’d have to back all the way up to Mom and moving here and Dad and learning I’m anf.g. and my first wish and Ariella and Jeni—and Lourdes probably wouldn’t believe half of it. Even if she did, it’d definitely lead to a nickname a lot worse than Boots.
“Is it a guy thing?” she asks. “Because I am
all
over that. My love life is a tragic farce.”
This surprises me, because it seems like Lourdes is somebody who can get whatever she wants on her own. I concentrate on her for a second, to see if I can sense any kind of wishing vibe coming off her. How great would it be if
she
were my client? Hmm. Maybe it’s possible to switch clients if you haven’t found out the wish yet.
“Yo.” She dangles a striped leg warmer in front of my face. “Earth to Boots.”
“Sorry.” I keep trying to tap into some invisible yearning from Lourdes, but she’s vibe-free. “It’s not that. It’s more of a professional problem,” I say, hoping this ends it. To change the subject, I hold up a rope belt I’ve found. “Interested?”
Lourdes takes it and dangles it by one end, as if she’s got a snake by the tail. “How much?”
I always tell customers to ask Nancy the price of stuff that’s not marked yet, but I’ve noticed that she seems to make up the price on the spot, to match the customer. She’s pretty good at guessing the person’s maximum budget. I don’t think she’d mind if I gave it a try, especially since Lourdes is buying every other belt in the store.
“A dollar.”
Lourdes thinks a second. “Why not?” She tosses it onto the chair with the others. “So?” She spins her hand in the air for me to continue my story. “Spill.”
She’s not going to give up, so I try to come up with a good metaphor. “I’m supposed to, like … tutor this girl in, um, math. And she really needs a tutor. Bad. But she’s freaking out about it.”
“Because she doesn’t want one? Or she doesn’t believe she needs one? She thinks it’s an insult? What?”
That’s the question. Why? Why would somebody
not
want an f.g.? “I don’t know.”
Lourdes inspects a long blue-and-white vinyl belt. “Yeah, that’s an easy out.” She drops the belt back in the box. “Put yourself in her place. See the situation from her point of view.” She sits down on the floor cross-legged, facing me. “Imagine you’re this girl. What’ve you got against math tutors?”
I lean back on my heels and think. It doesn’t make sense. I’ve given her written proof that her wish will be granted, that I’m the one who can put her together with what she’s been wishing, dreaming, yearning, pining for. And still … “She’s afraid for some reason.”
“Afraid of what? Math?”
Oh my God. That’s it. It’s not
me
she’s afraid of, it’s getting the wish. “She’s scared because she’s never done it!”
“Wait, how old is she?”
“I don’t know. Sixteen?”
“She
She gives me an approving nod, like maybe she had the same guy come talk at her school. “Cool name.”
“Thanks.”
She lets go of my hand and I wiggle my fingers to get the blood back in them.
Lourdes hunches over her box and starts digging through it. “So what’s your problem, anyway?” she asks. “Why were you so pissy when you first came in here? And don’t tell me it’s because I ruined your precious weeping willow display.”
Okay, that’s incredible. She knew it was a weeping willow. That’s just … Nobody else would ever get that. Except maybe Flynn. “I’ve been dealing with a lot of weirdness the last couple of days,” I say. “Something that seems really great happens and then it turns out to be, like, anti-great, if you know what I mean.”
She laughs. “Oh, man. I have so been there. Feel free to vent.”
“Will you be mocking my pain?”
“Probably.”
I smile. I’d like to tell her everything, and it
would
be easier to confide in a stranger, somebody I have no emotional connection to. But I’d have to back all the way up to Mom and moving here and Dad and learning I’m anf.g. and my first wish and Ariella and Jeni—and Lourdes probably wouldn’t believe half of it. Even if she did, it’d definitely lead to a nickname a lot worse than Boots.
“Is it a guy thing?” she asks. “Because I am
all
over that. My love life is a tragic farce.”
This surprises me, because it seems like Lourdes is somebody who can get whatever she wants on her own. I concentrate on her for a second, to see if I can sense any kind of wishing vibe coming off her. How great would it be if
she
were my client? Hmm. Maybe it’s possible to switch clients if you haven’t found out the wish yet.
“Yo.” She dangles a striped leg warmer in front of my face. “Earth to Boots.”
“Sorry.” I keep trying to tap into some invisible yearning from Lourdes, but she’s vibe-free. “It’s not that. It’s more of a professional problem,” I say, hoping this ends it. To change the subject, I hold up a rope belt I’ve found. “Interested?”
Lourdes takes it and dangles it by one end, as if she’s got a snake by the tail. “How much?”
I always tell customers to ask Nancy the price of stuff that’s not marked yet, but I’ve noticed that she seems to make up the price on the spot, to match the customer. She’s pretty good at guessing the person’s maximum budget. I don’t think she’d mind if I gave it a try, especially since Lourdes is buying every other belt in the store.
“A dollar.”
Lourdes thinks a second. “Why not?” She tosses it onto the chair with the others. “So?” She spins her hand in the air for me to continue my story. “Spill.”
She’s not going to give up, so I try to come up with a good metaphor. “I’m supposed to, like … tutor this girl in, um, math. And she really needs a tutor. Bad. But she’s freaking out about it.”
“Because she doesn’t want one? Or she doesn’t believe she needs one? She thinks it’s an insult? What?”
That’s the question. Why? Why would somebody
not
want an f.g.? “I don’t know.”
Lourdes inspects a long blue-and-white vinyl belt. “Yeah, that’s an easy out.” She drops the belt back in the box. “Put yourself in her place. See the situation from her point of view.” She sits down on the floor cross-legged, facing me. “Imagine you’re this girl. What’ve you got against math tutors?”
I lean back on my heels and think. It doesn’t make sense. I’ve given her written proof that her wish will be granted, that I’m the one who can put her together with what she’s been wishing, dreaming, yearning, pining for. And still … “She’s afraid for some reason.”
“Afraid of what? Math?”
Oh my God. That’s it. It’s not
me
she’s afraid of, it’s getting the wish. “She’s scared because she’s never done it!”
“Wait, how old is she?”
“I don’t know. Sixteen?”
“She
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