over to get a good look at the baby through his thick lashes. The freckle under his eye was the only thing marring his perfect complexion. Yeah, definitely faery material. He smoothed the baby’s fuzz of hair back, almost getting a smile out of her. He glanced over at me. “How old are you ?” he asked.
“What does that have to do with anything?” I sputtered, but I tried to keep it down. The stiff lady glared at me anyway.
He laughed. “I was asking the kid.” After an intense staring contest, he shrugged. “She doesn’t know. I’d say she looks to be about your age.” The baby shouted out in indignation. Apparently I wasn’t the only one he liked to tease. “Yep, about seventeen.”
If I had more energy, I’d stomp my foot. He wouldn’t take anything seriously, and he wasn’t being discreet at all. You would think the faery queen would’ve sent someone a little more sensible. “Would you, I don’t know, grow up or something!” I raged at him. The lady scorched me with her eyes. I felt my cheeks go red.
“You want me to grow up? Really? How old do you want me to be?” He guffawed at my angry expression and pushed the cart away from the boring section.
I grunted in pain, feeling the tiara tighten around my head the farther he pushed the baby. I ran after him and tried to hang onto the cart with all my might, but he just kept wheeling it down the aisle. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Another shopper dodged out of the way. She pressed annoyed lips together. She should be giving the real troublemaker those looks. I straightened, seeing that he was getting into the children books at the end of the aisle. We didn’t have time for this. I tugged Cinderella from him, but he nonchalantly picked up another. This one was a compilation of faerytales.
“Hey look, it’s about your people.” He gave the book to the baby and she stored it in her mouth.
“You paying for that?” I asked him.
He frowned sternly at me. “Babies can’t pay. Are you crazy or something?”
And that was beside the point. I wasn’t talking to the baby and he knew it. My hand went to my aching head. I was torn between laughing and strangling him. “So . . . is there anything in this store that breaks curses, like four leaf clovers? You know about those kinds of things, right, or are you just annoying and that’s all you do?”
“Sure, I know.” He gave me a challenging look. “Frog’s breath, St. John’s wort, English daisies . . . got any of those here?”
“Well, let me check the aisle where they keep the ingredients for spells. What do you think this is—a witch’s shop?” I pushed the shopping cart to the closest register. To my dismay, the cashier was one of my frenemy acquaintances. She barely knew me and yet she still seemed threatened by me. Valerie wore a horrible blue polyester number, her bleached blonde hair squashed in the front and big in the back and squeezed into a tight ponytail. It was the newest style about three years ago, I think. I, on the other hand, knew I looked odd.
Valerie gave me a tight smile. “What’s with the hair thing?” She pointed to the tiara and popped her gum. “Wait, I get it. It’s from the play, isn’t it? Why are you wearing it in public?”
“Um, yeah.” I patted it gingerly. “I still have it on? That’s weird.” I avoided her eyes, watching the black sky outside the glass windows.
Her hands were busily sliding groceries across the belt. The price reader beeped rhythmically and I tried not to look too guilty as every sort of junk food imaginable passed over the scanner. It took me back to the days when I had scrounged for change under the couch cushions and used my plunder to score about ten candy bars at once—about two months ago?
Valerie brought the book of faerytales through. I glanced over at the tabloids on the shelf, my attention caught by the strange headlines, the ones that were way too embarrassing to buy. I read one of the titles:
“What does that have to do with anything?” I sputtered, but I tried to keep it down. The stiff lady glared at me anyway.
He laughed. “I was asking the kid.” After an intense staring contest, he shrugged. “She doesn’t know. I’d say she looks to be about your age.” The baby shouted out in indignation. Apparently I wasn’t the only one he liked to tease. “Yep, about seventeen.”
If I had more energy, I’d stomp my foot. He wouldn’t take anything seriously, and he wasn’t being discreet at all. You would think the faery queen would’ve sent someone a little more sensible. “Would you, I don’t know, grow up or something!” I raged at him. The lady scorched me with her eyes. I felt my cheeks go red.
“You want me to grow up? Really? How old do you want me to be?” He guffawed at my angry expression and pushed the cart away from the boring section.
I grunted in pain, feeling the tiara tighten around my head the farther he pushed the baby. I ran after him and tried to hang onto the cart with all my might, but he just kept wheeling it down the aisle. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Another shopper dodged out of the way. She pressed annoyed lips together. She should be giving the real troublemaker those looks. I straightened, seeing that he was getting into the children books at the end of the aisle. We didn’t have time for this. I tugged Cinderella from him, but he nonchalantly picked up another. This one was a compilation of faerytales.
“Hey look, it’s about your people.” He gave the book to the baby and she stored it in her mouth.
“You paying for that?” I asked him.
He frowned sternly at me. “Babies can’t pay. Are you crazy or something?”
And that was beside the point. I wasn’t talking to the baby and he knew it. My hand went to my aching head. I was torn between laughing and strangling him. “So . . . is there anything in this store that breaks curses, like four leaf clovers? You know about those kinds of things, right, or are you just annoying and that’s all you do?”
“Sure, I know.” He gave me a challenging look. “Frog’s breath, St. John’s wort, English daisies . . . got any of those here?”
“Well, let me check the aisle where they keep the ingredients for spells. What do you think this is—a witch’s shop?” I pushed the shopping cart to the closest register. To my dismay, the cashier was one of my frenemy acquaintances. She barely knew me and yet she still seemed threatened by me. Valerie wore a horrible blue polyester number, her bleached blonde hair squashed in the front and big in the back and squeezed into a tight ponytail. It was the newest style about three years ago, I think. I, on the other hand, knew I looked odd.
Valerie gave me a tight smile. “What’s with the hair thing?” She pointed to the tiara and popped her gum. “Wait, I get it. It’s from the play, isn’t it? Why are you wearing it in public?”
“Um, yeah.” I patted it gingerly. “I still have it on? That’s weird.” I avoided her eyes, watching the black sky outside the glass windows.
Her hands were busily sliding groceries across the belt. The price reader beeped rhythmically and I tried not to look too guilty as every sort of junk food imaginable passed over the scanner. It took me back to the days when I had scrounged for change under the couch cushions and used my plunder to score about ten candy bars at once—about two months ago?
Valerie brought the book of faerytales through. I glanced over at the tabloids on the shelf, my attention caught by the strange headlines, the ones that were way too embarrassing to buy. I read one of the titles:
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