Reading shopkeep + lady

“That your Dad?” I heard a voice say from beside me.

My head snapped around, and I focused on a well dressed girl with dark brown hair. It was a page cut, and it looked like she took good care of it. Hair was one of the things I had paid attention to.

“Yeah,” I said cautiously.

My first thought was that she was a plant, either from one of the gangs, or maybe by Emma, but her expression was open and disingenuous. Someone who knew that I was a cape, and especially if they knew I was a thinker would be a lot more cautious about simply approaching me.

“My dad used to duck away like that too,” she said. “But at least your Dad is here, right? That's more than most dads do.”

There was a sadness in her voice. Was it death or divorce? Her mother wasn't around either, which didn't necessarily mean anything. I could probably press the issue, find out more about it, but I still hadn't really dealt with Mom dying. I certainly wouldn't want a stranger asking about it. It was one o'clock on a Friday afternoon and the crowds around were sparse. I doubted that the Lord Street Market was the first place my classmates were going to go to celebrate their day off from sucking in black mold.

The owner of the booth was keeping a careful eye on us, but he was ignoring our conversation. Really, the only thing he cared about was whether we bought his stuff or not, and his philosophy was that if you wanted great customer service, you'd go pay ten times his prices at the Boardwalk.

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