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“Shy.” Her voice is full of surprise. I’m sure I’m the last person she expected to see in her driveway on a Saturday morning. She's wearing jeans, a gray shirt, and a black jacket. Her hair falls in a thick mass over her shoulders. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought I'd stop by, see if you were doing anything today,” I say as I approach her, hands in the pockets of my jacket. I grin at her, hoping she’ll smile back. I don’t like the disappointment I feel when she doesn’t.
“I'm kind of busy,” she says, and I glance behind her where a white substance covers the ground. My eyes narrow, but before I can ask, Anora’s name is called from inside the house. She goes rigid, and the static in my chest pops. The front door swings open, and the person I assume to be Anora's mom stands there. She has dark, round eyes, and her cheekbones and chin are sharp as knives. She hesitates when she sees me.
“Hi,” her mom says, but it sounds more like a question.
“Mom, this is Shy,” Anora says quickly, indicating to me with her left hand—the right is still behind her back.
I wave at her and smile. “It's nice to meet you, Ms. Silby.”
“Mom, you work for Shy's mother at O'Connor Realty,” Anora says, and I can tell by the breathlessness in her voice—and the pinch at my chest—that this is making her anxious.
Ms. Silby smiles and moves closer to us on the porch.
“Oh! You're Guiliana's son? I've heard so much about you.”
I sort of laugh—I can just imagine how Mom brags. I've heard her before. “I hope she doesn't talk about me too much.”
“She's very proud of you,” Ms. Silby says. “But she’s not the only one who talks about you. Anora says you’re a great football player, practically won last night’s game single-handedly.”
I look at Anora, whose face has turned an enticing shade of pink. She looks at the ground, kicking at gravel with her foot. It’s a small consolation considering she won’t smile for me today.
“That’s too much credit, Ms. Silby. I’m nothing without my team.”
Ms. Silby smiles. It's Anora’s smile, but there's something less sincere about it. “Have you had lunch, Shy?”
“No, Ms. Silby.”
“Call me Jayne. And you should join us for lunch.”
“I'd love to.”
When Jayne goes back inside, Anora turns to glare at me.
“Why do you have salt behind your back?” I ask. I’m trying to be playful, but she’s not having it.
“To keep the dead away from my house,” she says. It's a challenge to keep a straight face. I'm surprised she's being so direct.
I grin. “Salt's not going to keep anything out...except maybe snails.”
“If you have any advice, I'd love to hear it.”
I pull my hand from my pocket where I've been rolling a stone between my fingers for the last several minutes and hold it out to her.
“What's that?”
“Obsidian. It'll keep evil at a distance for a lot longer than salt.”
She tightens her fingers around the rock and says. “Hmm. Must not work. You're still here.”
I put my hand to my heart. “You wound me.” She glares and I frown. How have I become a bad guy overnight?
I bet I can guess.
I shove my hands in my pockets again, feeling really freaking awkward. “You gonna show me around?”
Anora glances toward her house. “This is my house,” she says. “That you creepily found on your own.”
