Free Not Your Ordinary Wolf Girl by Emily Pohl-Weary Page B

abuelita does, but I fill in for her sometimes. That’ll be thirty-four nineteen. Ten percent discount, since you’re a Mary.”
    He obviously meant the infamous virgin. I refused to acknowledge the quip and pulled out two twenties. He already had my change in his hand, as well as a stiff off-white business card that had only an email address and the words Daniel Rojas, Knowledge Keeper, Words of Wonder. I accepted both, then turned to leave. Daniel’s casual “Looking forward to the next time, sugar” sounded like a promise.

SEVEN
    A t five after seven, I entered the Cake Shop. It was packed. Jordan’s comics-inspired panels dominated all the walls. Harris was at a corner table, talking to some guy and already nursing a half-finished pint of beer. Right above their heads was Jordan’s painting of Homer Simpson wearing one of Marge’s dresses and a tall blue wig.
    I passed the counter where they sold old vinyl and CDs by local bands. Someone had hung a Cream Puffs poster advertising our monthly jam in the basement space—which was happening tomorrow. It was the poster with Jules hanging her tongue out Kiss-style, Malika bouncing so her skirt flipped up and showed a flash of white lace, and me playing and glancing shylydown at my bass. It felt like a huge neon sign pointing right at me. A half-dozen heads turned to gawk as I slipped into the seat across from Harris. A fangirl tried to wave me down, but I flashed her a distant smile and turned away. Harris’s friend realized he might be intruding, said hello to me, then disappeared.
    Pretending not to notice when Harris leaned across the table for a hello hug, I tossed my bag between our feet and made a big show of craning my neck to take in a painting of Spider-Man and the Green Hornet making out.
    â€œJordan’s pretty twisted,” I said. “In a good way.”
    Harris looked disappointed, but he turned his gaze to the walls. “We met in high school—hung out at lunch drawing superheroes. Used to be roommates, too.”
    I nodded, because I already knew both of those things through the grapevine. “Before you moved in with Marie?”
    â€œRight.” He drained the last of his pint. “And now that we’ve split, I’m back at Jordan’s place, crashing on the couch.”
    â€œAhh.” So they broke up last night?
    â€œWant a beer?”
    â€œUh, okay.” Except that they wouldn’t serve me, because they knew I was underage.
    He nodded, but didn’t stand up. Instead he rested his forearms on the table and bent over his own glass, bringing our faces very close. His breath smelled like beer. I could have leaned over and kissed the tip of his nose. It was hard not to stare at the curve of his full lips, which quirked upward slightly, and the way his soft brown curls moved whenever he did. He looked especially delicious tonight, in his distressed cotton T-shirt with a picture of Hopey and Maggie from Love and Rockets on it. I’m such a comic nerd, and Hopey’s one of my idols—the original tough girl, flawed and real.
    â€œFeeling okay?” he asked.
    â€œI’m fine,” I said, slumping backward as much as possible. It was warm in the Cake Shop, which wasn’t helping me any. A raunch-heavy track from a few years ago came on—the one where Peaches does a nasty duet with old Iggy Pop. I could’ve used something to help me cool down, not get me more worked up.
    â€œYou were really out of it yesterday,” said Harris.
    â€œUgh. It was pretty awful.”
    He nodded sympathetically. I wondered if Jules and Malika would accept my excuses that easily when I eventually got around to calling them. Doubtful.
    â€œI’m actually super thirsty,” I said, not wanting to talk about it. I could hardly believe he was still interested in me after that disaster.
    He jumped up. “Oh, sorry. I’ll go order.”
    Then he strode off,