I didn’t know how to respond to that, but she didn’t notice.
She eyed my bag as if she could see through the paper. “What did you bring? Tofu? Sushi?”
Guess she had some ideas about what a proper Angelino should eat. “A turkey sandwich and some chips.”
“Oh.” Her mouth pressed into a firm line as she studied me from head to toe.
I nearly walked away right then. Mom and Dad were kind of right this morning. I couldn’t change who I was, even though I needed to hide my visions. I was a walking contradiction—equal parts wanting to fly my freak flag with pride and bury it in a deep dark hole.
“What’s up with the gloves? Are you a germaphobe or what?”
And there it was. This was why I didn’t talk to people. I needed a lie. A good one. Just my luck I was possibly the worst liar ever. “I guess it’s hard to stay current with fashion here.”
I held my breath, hoping she’d buy it. My cheeks weren’t heating, my usual “tell.” That was something at least.
“Ugh.” She stuck out her bottom lip. “We never get any of the new trends till they’re already over. I’ve got to get out of here.”
I couldn’t believe she bought it. If everyone here started to wear gloves because of this, I was going to laugh. Hard.
Rosalyn walked up to a round table that was almost full and sat down. Taking my cue, I slid into the chair next to her. Everyone stopped what they were doing, some in mid-chew, to gawk at me. One might think being a pariah at my old school would give me the ability to deal with these kinds of situations, but they never got any easier. I wanted to slouch, but didn’t dare. Showing weakness only made things worse.
“This is Tessa,” Rosalyn said. “She’s from LA.”
I counted eight other people besides Rosalyn sitting around the Formica. Two of the guys had on blue and white jerseys. Hiding my abilities from one person, hard. From nine? This could very easily be a disaster of epic proportions.
“Is that Tokidoki?” The girl to the right of me asked as she pointed to my bag. Her brown hair was done in some elaborate braid that would’ve taken me hours to attempt even though my hair was long enough to try it. I was jealous for a split second and then realized she must’ve gotten up at the butt-crack of dawn to get ready, a feat I would never dare to try myself.
“Cool hair.”
She grinned. “Thanks.”
I tapped my messenger bag. “Yep. I have kind of an obsession with Tokidoki.”
“Jealous! My dad won’t get me one. Says a teenager doesn’t need such an expensive backpack. But I found my Harajuku Lovers one on eBay for a sweet deal.” She rummaged around in it and pulled out a copy of Us Weekly. “Have you ever met any stars?” She flipped through pages, stopping on a picture of my favorite Scotsman.
I flashed back to the party before we left LA. The look on his face when he stared at me was something I wished I could erase from my mind. I could’ve probably impressed the group by saying that he’d been one of Dad’s clients, but that would’ve required a bunch of explaining and would probably come off as bragging. Not a good option.
I took a closer look at the photo. “That’s Larchmont Village, one of my favorite streets in LA.” I shrugged. “You see them every once in a while. I mean they’re normal people. Just like us.” I quoted the magazine’s tag line, but got a bunch of empty stares as I glanced around the still silent table. I quickly re-thought my no-bragging approach. “My dad had a lot of stars as his clients, including him.” I tapped the picture. “Plus, there were tons in my neighborhood—Bel Air.”
“No way!” Fancy Braid Girl said.
“Isn’t that where the Fresh Prince lived?” the boy across the table asked. His dimples winked at me as he spoke.
“Yep.” He was cute, but nowhere near Dastien’s level of hotness. Perfect. I was obsessing over a boy I didn’t even really know. That made me officially ridiculous.
Fancy Braid Girl grabbed the corner of my T-shirt. “Who’s this? I’m Lindsay, by the way.” She cocked her head, waiting for me to answer.
It took me a second to realize she was talking about my shirt. “Um…The Orb is one of my favorite groups.”
“It’s really soft. Has to be printed on something better than American Apparel for sure. Lemme check.” She reached toward me, but I leaned away. “Don’t freak. I’m just checking the label.”
Her fingers brushed against the back of my neck.
“Oh, Lindsay. You’re so soft,” Dimple Boy said. His voice was muffled as his lips moved along her neck.
Ew, gross!
The seatbelt dug into Lindsay’s back. She was giddy as his wet lips pressed against hers.