“I don’t have a crush,” I exclaim, mortified.
I don’t!
…do I?
I mean, sure, Simone is pretty. But it’s her personality that sparkles more than anything. She’s got lively, expressive eyes and a laugh that lights up the street. Her customers love her. Even when she scowls at me, she still manages to look exciting and alive and vibrant and…
Ohno.
“I don’t have a crush,” I blurt again, trying to convince them. Hell, I’m not sure I’m convinced myself.
“It’s fine,” Ruthie says. “These goobers aren’t going to judge you. We’ve got Captain Unrequited Love over here,” she gestures at Dopekh, “And Mister I’ll-Let-Michaela-Step-On-My-Neck right here.”
Aithar beams as Ruthie gestures at him, nodding.
“And we’re certainly not going to judge,” Ruthie continues, gesturing at herself and then at Kazex.
Kaz just gives my “sister” the most besotted look ever.
“What about me? And Zaemen?” Jerzec frowns. “And Erzah? Sakkar?”
“I’m not namingeveryone,” Ruthie tells him. “Just commenting on the lovesick fools.”
“I might be lovesick,” Jerzec continues, defensive. “You don’t know I’m not.”
“It’s not a contest and I’m not lovesick,” I protest, wanting to tear my hair out. “Oh my god! All I did was comment on the bakery cart not being there today! That doesn’t make me in love with her.”
They all stare at me, judgment in their eyes.
“I’m not,” I say again, weakly.
“You need to let it go,” Dopekh says. “And that’s coming from me.”
I cross my arms over my chest, then uncross them. I pick up another object, restless, and keep dusting. “I’m not in love. I just don’t like that she’s…wrong. Her baking is atrocious. She should take pride in her work.”
Jerzec’s tattooed face is the picture of befuddlement. “You think she doesn’t?”
“I don’t know what she’s thinking.” I pick up a bent piece of a license plate—New Mexico, and an ugly yellow—and pretend to dust it. “And she’s got a young carinoux with her. They’re ultra-possessive of their people. She should be keeping him home.”
“So, what, since she has a pet she’s not allowed to leave the house anymore?” Jerzec asks.
I’m not going to dignify that with a response. “Anyway, where are we at with the booze? Who’s working on that? We can’t have a cantina without booze.”
It’s the best distraction I know how to throw out there, because the actual acquiring of alcohol is Jerzec’s task, and it’s been an absolute disaster. He throws his hands up in the air and then hops up on the bar next to Ruthie. “Speaking of! You know I was trying to buy some of the local brew, right? You will not believe what that insane human did this time…”
He launches into his story, and I glance out the window one more time at the empty spot in the street where Simone’s cart normally is.
Surely I didn’t chase her off, did I?
CHAPTER
FIVE
SIMONE
I’m dying.
This is how I go out—the space flu from hell. I wake up from another fitful nap and stare at the ceiling of my dorm room. I’m soaked in sweat, my lightweight nightgown plastered to my skin, my hair stuck to my face. I should get up and open a window, but I lack the energy.
