The Good, the Bad, and the Gwen | ✔️

23 - Déjà Voodoo

"Seriously?" Hartley complains for the hundredth time since we left Lady Bijou's, which couldn't have been more than only a few minutes before. "What does she mean by don't wear anything nice?"

It takes every ounce of willpower inside of me not to smile. "I guess it means not to wear anything nice."

"But why?" She turns to me with a desperate glare, her pupils so enlarged I can barely see the blue.

I scrunch up my face. "Maybe she wants you to clean. What did you think you were going to do? Serve drinks?"

Hartley flips long blonde ringlets over her shoulder and sucks in her cheeks, making them all elongated and pointy. "I don't know. Mix some beats?"

A rogue snort escapes from my nose. "You're only fifteen-years-old!"

"And a half!" she adds sharply, holding her palms out in front of her. "These hands are not meant to clean, Gwennie. There's no way I'm going to do anything disgusting."

"Beggars can't be choosers. You're the one who busted Nick's windshield and now you're the one who has to pay," I remind her. "You're lucky she's even letting you work there. She doesn't have to, you know."

"Whatever," she answers flippantly, but I can tell deep down she knows it's true. We cross the street and walk half a block before she speaks. "So, when did you and Lady Bijou become BFFs?" She keeps her tone low and even but there's the hint of something more behind it. Jealousy, perhaps? But who she's jealous of I can't tell. Me, for hanging out with the charismatic transvestite, or Lady Bijou for hanging out with me.

I choose my words carefully. "We had a good time the other night." I press my lips together in an attempt to hide just how much I enjoyed myself. Hartley's a lot of things and possessive is high on that list. We've been down this road before, like when I would get invited to a slumber party back home and she wouldn't. I've learned that the best way to spare her feelings is to play it nice and cool. Distracting her by switching focus works pretty good, too. "We talked a lot about you, to be honest," I tell her.

"Really?" Her mouth curves into a half grin. "What'd you say?"

She reminds me of a kid on Christmas morning. "Just how much fun I've been having since I got here. And how nice it is to spend time with you again."

"Aww, Gwennie!" My best friend melts like a dusting of snow in the warm sun. She links her arm through mine as we continue down the sidewalk. "I love spending time with you, too. Have I told you how happy I am that you're here?"

I roll my eyes. "Not in the past few hours." My gaze scrolls up and lands on a neon yellow sign blinking wildly in a store front window. Madame LaRue's House of Magic. I stop dead in my tracks. "We're here!"

I grab Hartley by the hand and drag her through the open doorway, which emits a melodic chime as soon as we step inside. The smell of cedar and citrus permeates the humid air. When I scan my surroundings I discover several sticks of incense in colorful ceramic holders, releasing steady curls of gray-tinted smoke.

"I haven't been here in so long I forgot how amazing it is," Hartley says, taking everything in. She makes a beeline toward a shelf displaying dozens of travel-size-like vials, and begins to inspect each one carefully. "I mean, look at this ..." She holds up a bottle that says Third Eye in bold white letters across a cornflower blue label. "Do you know what this is?"

I shake my head.

"It's a magic potion that makes people psychic."

I frown. Because seriously. "How can a potion make someone psychic?"