no question what part of my fate I’m trying to shape. Obviously, I’m seriously jonesing in the love department. Josie, who is sitting at the table with her coffee (she doesn’t drink sweet tea either), shoots me a questioning look but doesn’t bother to ask why I’m cooking up a pot of straw first thing. I take my batch of brewed herbs upstairs, put it in the bathwater with a cup of salt, and soak, chanting the mantra Mom taught me:
Salt and rose and spirits,
listen to what I say.
Bring me my lover
by the end of the day.
I lie in there for about half an hour. Then, down below, the doorbell rings. Actually, it’s more of a grand, old-timey gong sound.
“Alex!” Josie calls up the stairs now. “Visitors!”
My eyes fly open. Could the salts have worked that fast?
I shoot out of the tub and, leaving a trail of puddles on the floor, pull on my cutoffs and favorite Phish shirt. (No way am I letting the RC-ers see me in that Dolce thing.) I run down the stairs so fast that I almost slip. But it’s not Reggie. It’s just Hayes and Madison again, looking irritatingly beautiful in outfits even more glamorous than yesterday’s.
“Gosh,” Madison says, studying my crestfallen face, “we’re not that bad.”
“Sorry. I was just expecting someone else.”
“Zac Efron? Taken.”
“Who?”
“Listen, we’re here to insist that you come shopping with us,” Hayes says.
“Thanks, but if you haven’t noticed, I’m not really into mindless consumerism.”
“OMG,” Madison says. “Mindless is the last word you could apply to shopping. Clearly, you have no idea.”
“Alex,” Hayes says, “I know you think your situation really blows right now, but for the time being you’re stuck here. You might as well make the most of it.”
“Also, if we’re taking you to the Field tonight, you are not going dressed like that,” Madison says. “It’s disrespectful to God and yourself and us and the whole concept of clothing.”
“Why can’t I wear this?” I look down in confusion. “The kids at the RC would have killed for this shirt. And what’s disrespectful to the world is spending so much money on clothes.”
Madison bursts out laughing. Hayes kicks her.
“I really respect that you’re so thoughtful about spending money,” Hayes says. “But your grandmother wants us to help you pick some new things for school, and she gave us this.”
She pulls a gold credit card out of her wallet. It’s so new, it glitters.
“It’s not even really money,” Madison says. “It’s plastic.”
“My grandmother already bought me a ton of stuff.”
“Can we see it?” Hayes asks, and before I can stop them, they’re both halfway up the grand staircase. I follow. As they enter my room, Hayes nods with approval. “Your grandmother has such great taste. I love this wallpaper.”
“Really?” I say. “I think it looks like Marie Antoinette threw up in here.”
“Slightly gross, but that’s the first joke I’ve heard you make that normal people might understand.” Madison smiles, dumping the shopping bags on the bed.
“She’s got some nice pieces,” Hayes says, like a jeweler appraising diamonds. “The Marc Jacobs military jacket—that’s a good start.”
Madison nods. “She could wear it with those trashy T-shirts if we added some decent skinny jeans. I’ll put it together for you. I’m studying to be a designer.”
“See?” says Hayes. “We’ve got you covered. You won’t even have to buy that much. Plus, it’s a way out of the house.”
“Fine.” I do need to get out of this tomb before I find myself in more trouble with my grandmother. “I’ll come, but I’m warning you both: If you think this is going to be some kind of shopping spree, then you’re going to be disappointed.”
“If you weren’t disappointing,” Madison says, “you wouldn’t be you.”
On a whim, I hold up an old necklace of my mother’s. It’s a small pointed rock woven into a tiny, crude straw basket. The pendant hangs from a piece of hemp twine. Even I know it’s a horribly ugly piece of jewelry, but my mother used to love it. In fact, I don’t ever remember her without it. I found it in the Sanctuary after she died.
“And I don’t care if you hate this,” I say defiantly. “I’m wearing it anyway.”
Madison’s eyebrows shoot up. Hayes leans in as if she’s going to touch it, but she stops with her fingertips an inch away from the rock.
“Where did you get it?” she asks in a hushed tone.
“It was my mom’s.”
“It’s eco-chic,” Madison says quickly. “Barely. But WTF, is that Bubble Yum on