styled in a feminine version of the fauxhawk. And near the front is a chunk dyed hunter green.
“It’s perfect!” With my black-lined eyes, deep-purple tank top, and dark jeans, I look tough. I look interesting. And I look nothing like my mother.
Amberlyn lets out a relieved breath and gives me detailed instructions on how to take care of it so the color lasts longer. I happily pay her; before I came I looked up the customs for paying stylists, so I leave an eighty-percent tip. The fact that my mother paid for what she will consider an absolute butchery is icing on the cake. Who misses who now?
I grab Deena’s bike and walk it down the sidewalk, the day warm in spite of the clouds that won’t go away. San Diego’s hills have quickly made me repent of my initial excitement over this form of transportation. Who designed this city? It’s a good thing Sirus is around to take me to work and bring me home. I’d probably die if I had to pedal everywhere.
I pause, watching someone use an ATM. Interesting. The card goes in, but instead of magically paying for something, actual money comes out. . . . Looks like I have something new to research when I get home.
A smoothie shop on the corner of a brown, tired-looking strip mall calls to me, and I ditch my bike against a lamppost. It smells heavenly inside, all citrus and sugar. I order some strawberry-mango-banana concoction that’s heavy on the sherbet. As I walk outside, I sincerely hope it will give me a cavity. I’ve never had dental problems before, and even though I can’t quit flossing and brushing three times a day (I’ve tried, but the residual Isis guilt gives me a headache), maybe a massive influx of sugar will do the trick.
The nearest green plastic table is occupied by a guy hunched over a notebook, so I take the free one next to him and give myself a brain freeze. The only thing that could make this moment better would be if the clouds would go away. I’d love to feel the sun on my day off, and I haven’t once seen the stars. It’s starting to make me twitchy, disconnected. Maybe tonight will be clear.
“Isadora?”
I jump, knocking over my smoothie. “Floods!” I mutter, flipping it back up and resealing the lid. A lump of the frozen pink drink is slowly spreading out along my table. I look up to see the culprit and am met by a pair of perfectly blue eyes. Ry.
He’s staring at me like he’s seen a ghost. Even his olive skin has paled. After a few seconds he shakes his head, coming back to himself. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.” He grabs his stack of napkins and sops up the mess.
“It’s not a big deal. Don’t worry about it.”
He finishes cleaning anyway, dumping the napkins in the trash right next to me and then grabbing his bag and sitting down at my table.
“Your hair. I didn’t recognize you before.”
I lift a finger self-consciously to my chopped locks. “Oh, yeah. You have a good memory.”
“No, I mean, I didn’t recognize you when we met before. But now I do.”
I frown. “Umm, what?” Why would he have recognized me before? I doubt he’s spent any summers in Abydos.
“Sorry.” He smiles, his teeth big and white and very straight. “I mean, of course I remember you. I remember interesting faces.”
“Interesting? Wow. That’s flattering.”
He laughs. “You have perfect, classic features. I like it. You don’t look like everyone else here.”
“Lucky me?” I take a long draw on my straw, not sure what we’re supposed to talk about now. It’s not like we’re friends. I don’t even know Ry. Why did he sit with me?
He keeps staring, this strange expression on his face. Finally, his beautiful lips once again parting in a smile like he knows a joke I don’t, he pulls his pen from behind his ear and goes back to the tattered black notebook. He starts scribbling away like I’m not even here. Which, yet again, begs the question of why he sat here in the first place.
“Sorry,” he says,
“It’s perfect!” With my black-lined eyes, deep-purple tank top, and dark jeans, I look tough. I look interesting. And I look nothing like my mother.
Amberlyn lets out a relieved breath and gives me detailed instructions on how to take care of it so the color lasts longer. I happily pay her; before I came I looked up the customs for paying stylists, so I leave an eighty-percent tip. The fact that my mother paid for what she will consider an absolute butchery is icing on the cake. Who misses who now?
I grab Deena’s bike and walk it down the sidewalk, the day warm in spite of the clouds that won’t go away. San Diego’s hills have quickly made me repent of my initial excitement over this form of transportation. Who designed this city? It’s a good thing Sirus is around to take me to work and bring me home. I’d probably die if I had to pedal everywhere.
I pause, watching someone use an ATM. Interesting. The card goes in, but instead of magically paying for something, actual money comes out. . . . Looks like I have something new to research when I get home.
A smoothie shop on the corner of a brown, tired-looking strip mall calls to me, and I ditch my bike against a lamppost. It smells heavenly inside, all citrus and sugar. I order some strawberry-mango-banana concoction that’s heavy on the sherbet. As I walk outside, I sincerely hope it will give me a cavity. I’ve never had dental problems before, and even though I can’t quit flossing and brushing three times a day (I’ve tried, but the residual Isis guilt gives me a headache), maybe a massive influx of sugar will do the trick.
The nearest green plastic table is occupied by a guy hunched over a notebook, so I take the free one next to him and give myself a brain freeze. The only thing that could make this moment better would be if the clouds would go away. I’d love to feel the sun on my day off, and I haven’t once seen the stars. It’s starting to make me twitchy, disconnected. Maybe tonight will be clear.
“Isadora?”
I jump, knocking over my smoothie. “Floods!” I mutter, flipping it back up and resealing the lid. A lump of the frozen pink drink is slowly spreading out along my table. I look up to see the culprit and am met by a pair of perfectly blue eyes. Ry.
He’s staring at me like he’s seen a ghost. Even his olive skin has paled. After a few seconds he shakes his head, coming back to himself. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.” He grabs his stack of napkins and sops up the mess.
“It’s not a big deal. Don’t worry about it.”
He finishes cleaning anyway, dumping the napkins in the trash right next to me and then grabbing his bag and sitting down at my table.
“Your hair. I didn’t recognize you before.”
I lift a finger self-consciously to my chopped locks. “Oh, yeah. You have a good memory.”
“No, I mean, I didn’t recognize you when we met before. But now I do.”
I frown. “Umm, what?” Why would he have recognized me before? I doubt he’s spent any summers in Abydos.
“Sorry.” He smiles, his teeth big and white and very straight. “I mean, of course I remember you. I remember interesting faces.”
“Interesting? Wow. That’s flattering.”
He laughs. “You have perfect, classic features. I like it. You don’t look like everyone else here.”
“Lucky me?” I take a long draw on my straw, not sure what we’re supposed to talk about now. It’s not like we’re friends. I don’t even know Ry. Why did he sit with me?
He keeps staring, this strange expression on his face. Finally, his beautiful lips once again parting in a smile like he knows a joke I don’t, he pulls his pen from behind his ear and goes back to the tattered black notebook. He starts scribbling away like I’m not even here. Which, yet again, begs the question of why he sat here in the first place.
“Sorry,” he says,
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