“You hate... Kaylee?”
She whirls around and starts walking. “I said what I said.” I hurry after her.
“Wait—are you serious?”
“I’m always serious.”
She’s not. “Did she do something to you?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me, please.” I put my hand on her shoulder, trying to be reassuring. “I’m here for you, whatever it is—”
“Her stupid curls,” Rocío spits out. “They look like a damn Fibonacci spiral. They’re logarithmic, and their growth factor is the golden ratio—not to mention that they even look like spun gold. Is she Cinderella? Is this Disneyland Paris?”
I blink. “Ro, are you—”
“And what self-respecting person wears that much glitter? Unironically?”
“I like glitter—”
“No, you don’t,” she growls. I can only nod. Okay. Don’t like glitter anymore. “And earlier she dropped something and you know what she said?”
“Oops?”
“ ‘Lordy.’ She said, ‘Oh, Lordy!’—do you understand why I cannot work with her?”
I nod to buy time. This is... interesting. At the very least. “I, um, understand that you two are very different and might never be friends, but I need you to overcome your... revulsion for sequins—”
“Pink sequins.”
“—for pink sequins, and to get along with her.”
“Impossible. I quit.”
“Listen, none of these things are grounds for a formal complaint. We can’t police our coworkers’ sense of fashion.”
Rocío frowns. “What if I told you that she had a lollipop? The kind with gum inside?”
“Still no.” I smile. “Wanna know something? Everything you feel about Kaylee, Levi feels about me.”
“What do you mean?”
“He hates my hair. My piercings. My clothes. I’m pretty sure he thinks my face is on par with a splatterpunk movie.”
“Splatterpunk movies are the best.”
“Somehow I don’t think he’d agree. But he ignores the fact that I’m a total swamp hag so we can collaborate. And you should do the same.”
Rocío resumes walking, morose. “Does he really hate the way you look?”
“Yep. Always did.”
“It’s strange, then.”
“What’s strange?”
“He stares at you. Plenty.”