But the moment the words escape, a girl springs up from the floor near a rack of X-Men comics. Her light brown hair in a messy braid, she slings an old jean backpack on her shoulder and walks slowly towards me. She fixes her large round glasses on her nose with shaky, nervous hands.
I thought she’d be excited, like the girls who shriek outside every time I glance their way. Instead, the color drains from her face.
With the checkout counter separating us, she’s not too close. “Hi,” I smile, but she doesn’t return it. Oh…what if she hates me and only loves Lo? I didn’t think this through.
“Is Loren around?” she asks. “I really want to see him.” She pushes her glasses up again.
“He’s working,” I say with the scrunch of my nose. “It sucks. But I’m here.” I smile again, but her frown deepens. I’m a shit alternative to Loren Hale’s six-pack and sharp-as-ice cheekbones. Daisy is also better at small talk than me. But she’s taught me some things through our Hale Co. competition. Compliments get you far. “I like your pin,” I tell her.
“What?” she asks in a daze.
This is not going well. I point to the well-worn pin on the strap of her backpack. The blue words are half-scratched off but I can read the saying: Mutant & Proud. I add, “X-Men: First Class is one of my favorites too.”
Her clutch tightens on the strap and she adjusts the weight of her bag. “Is there any way I can see him? Tomorrow maybe?”
I can’t promise her a one-on-one meet-and-greet with Lo. He’s dealing with so much that it’s just not a good time to be shaking hands with strangers. But I want to give him the option. “I’ll have him email you,” I tell her. “That’s as much as I can offer.”
Her shoulders rise in shock. “Yes, please, thank you.”
I find a notepad beside the register and slide it to her with a pen. “Write down your email address for me.”
While she scribbles, the chimes on the door ding, and the noise level increases. Loud, obnoxious boys enter the store, a group of four stumbling through. One knocks into a cardboard cutout of Cyclops, which is just rude.
Maya groans in distress beside me. “They’re awful.”
I frown. “They’ve been here before?”
“Twice. And they always make a mess.”
They can’t be any older than seventeen. One of them clutches a brown paper bag. They’re drunk. A guy with a black hoodie trips into a not-so-empty booth. A couple girls curse them out as they leave the table, and the guy slurs, “Bitches.” He even flips them off.
My heart speeds as I text my bodyguard: Superheroes & Scones needs your assistance, Garth. He took a bathroom break ten minutes ago and said that the Lucky’s chili isn’t sitting well with him. I warned him. I love Lucky’s but that chili is never to be eaten.
And then I text Lo: There are some rude guys down here. How should I kick them out?
When I press send, the girl hands me the note with her email. She seems like she’s genuinely interested in comics, so I’m not surprised when she says, “I’m going to stick around if that’s okay? I was in the middle of Messiah Complex.”
“Of course,” I say with a smile. She slowly retreats back to the floor and row of X-Men comics. I read the note before I pocket it: [email protected]
My phone buzzes.
I’m coming down with Moffy and Ryke. – Lo
What? No. I quickly text back: No, I have this…wait, what’s Ryke doing there?
I called him when you left. He was in town. I’ll see you in a second. – Lo
Before I reply with a more forceful text or even process Ryke being here, the break room door swings open, and Ryke and Lo emerge. It’s like the floodgates open, shrieking and screaming from outside. And the chatter escalates in the store. Almost everyone has their phones pointed at us, except the employees.
Moffy cries in Lo’s arms like he’s being attacked. My heart catapults, and I instinctively pry him from Lo and tuck him to my chest. Lo hardly even notices, his eyes plant on the booth of rowdy, drunken guys.
“No fucking way,” Ryke curses, his tone more shocked than angry.
“What?” I gape.
“Those are the guys,” Lo tells me with gritted teeth, “the ones who’ve been pranking us.”
Oh. Oh. Shit.
{ 57 }
LOREN HALE
Ryke and I squeeze into either end of the red booth, blocking all four guys from a quick, easy exit. “Hey there,” I say with the most agitated half-smile.