“Excuse me,” said a voice just behind her.
Laurel turned to see an older woman she vaguely recognized from town. “Yes?”
“Could you help me?”
Laurel looked up toward her mom, who was still on the phone. She turned back to the woman. “I can sure try,” she said with a smile.
“I need something for my headaches. I’ve been taking Advil, but it’s not helping as much anymore. I think my body’s getting used to it.”
“That happens,” Laurel said, nodding sympathetically.
“I want something a little more natural. But effective, too,” she added.
Laurel was trying to remember what it was she had put on the shelves just a few minutes earlier. She had held the small bottle for several seconds, wondering if she should get some for herself — with the stress of the last few months, Laurel had more than a few headaches of her own. She moved an aisle over and found the bottle. “Here,” she said, handing it to the woman. “It is a little pricey”—she pointed to the price tag—“but it will be so worth it. I’m considering getting some for myself. It will be much better than Advil.”
The woman smiled. “Thanks. It’s certainly worth a try.”
She carried the bottle up to the register as Laurel went back to sorting homeopathics. After a minute Laurel’s mom led the woman over to Laurel’s display and, after a pointed look at Laurel, grabbed one of the green cylinders. “This will work much better,” she said. “It’s cyclamen, and I’ve given it to my husband for years for his migraines. Works like a dream.” As they were walking back up to the register Laurel’s mom explained how to use the homeopathic pilules and soon the woman was on her way.
Her mom stood by the door for a few seconds to wave at the woman, then walked toward Laurel. “Laurel,” she started, and Laurel could hear the frustration she was holding carefully in check, “if you don’t know what to recommend, come get me. Don’t just pull random bottles off the shelf. I wish you had waited for me to finish my phone call. These people are looking for help, and all of these herbs work very differently.”
Laurel felt like a little child being scolded by an adult who was being very careful not to hurt her feelings. “I didn’t just pull a random bottle,” Laurel protested. “That stuff’s really good for headaches. I picked it on purpose.”
“Really?” her mom said dryly. “Somehow I don’t think it’s that kind of headache.”
“What?”
“Pausinystalia johimbe? Do you even know what Pausinystalia johimbe is marketed for? It’s a male-enhancement herb.”
“Eww, gross!” Laurel said, repulsed now by her thought that she should get a bottle for herself. She knew most herbs affected faeries differently, but that was just wrong!
“Exactly. I only carry it because there’s a guy who came in last week and asked if I could special-order it. There’s something I didn’t need to know about my sixty-year-old banker,” she added.
“I’m sorry,” Laurel said genuinely. “I didn’t know.”
“I don’t expect you to. But that’s what I’m here for. I’m really glad you came in to help, but handing out sex pills for headaches isn’t helping. You need to ask for advice when you need it, Laurel. You could potentially kill someone by giving them the wrong herbs, depending on their health conditions. Please think about that next time.”
“I did think,” Laurel retorted, suddenly angry at her mom’s attitude. “It would have helped me!” she added impulsively.
Laurel’s mom sighed heavily and turned away.
“I got mixed up,” Laurel said, following behind her. “I forget that herbs don’t work the same for humans as for fae. I just made a little mistake.”
“Laurel, not now, please.” She walked around to the other side of the counter.
“Why not now?” Laurel said, slapping her hands down on the counter. “When? At home? Because you don’t ever want to talk about me being a faerie there, either.”
“Laurel, lower your voice.” Her mother’s voice was sharp — a clear warning to watch her tongue.
“I just want to talk, Mom. That’s all. And I know this isn’t the ideal place, but I can’t wait for ideal anymore. I’m tired of what’s been happening to us. We used to be friends. Now you never want to hear anything about my faerie life. You don’t even like to look at me anymore! Your eyes slide right by me. It’s been months, Mom.” Tears welled up in her throat. “When are you going to get used to me?”
“That’s ridiculous, Laurel,” her mom said, raising her eyes to meet Laurel’s as if to prove her wrong.
“Is it?”
Laurel’s mom held her gaze for a few seconds and Laurel saw something change in her eyes. For just a second, she thought her mom would give — would really talk to her. But then she blinked and cleared her throat and it was gone. Her mom looked down and began sifting through receipts on the counter. “I can put the rest of the homeopaths away later,” she said quietly. “You can go.”
Feeling as though she’d been slapped, Laurel stood still, dazed. Her mom had dismissed her. After taking a couple of quick breaths, Laurel spun on her heel and opened the door, the cheerful bell mocking her.
A strong gust of wind hit her in the face as the door closed, and Laurel realized she had no idea where to go. David was working; Chelsea was at cross-country practice. Her next instinct was to go talk to her dad, and she even got as far as putting her hand on the door handle before she stopped. It wasn’t fair to pit her parents against each other, to run to one when the other had hurt her feelings. She stood just out of sight, behind a big poster announcing the newest Nora Roberts novel, and watched her dad and Maddie help a customer with a big stack of books. The man said something Laurel couldn’t hear, and her dad threw back his head and laughed as he wrapped the books in tissue paper while Maddie looked on with a gentle smile.
After one last look at her dad, Laurel turned away and headed to her empty house.
LAUREL AND DAVID STOOD TOGETHER IN THEIR chemistry lab, watching their first graded experiment fail miserably. David was scouring their calculations, looking for a step they’d missed or math they’d done incorrectly. Laurel wrinkled her nose at the pungent mixture bubbling over their Bunsen burner.
“Did we put in the sulfuric acid?” David asked. “We did, didn’t we?”
“Yes,” Laurel said. “Fifty milliliters. We balanced the equation three times.”
“I don’t understand!” David vented under his breath. “It should have turned blue, like, two minutes ago!”
“Give it a few more minutes. Maybe it will.”
“No. It’s definitely too late. Look, it says right here, ‘The solution should turn blue within one minute after reaching boiling temperature.’ We totally screwed up. And she said this was just a simple lab.” He raked his hands through his hair. For some reason David had decided that four AP classes weren’t too much for one semester; Laurel wasn’t convinced. Just two short weeks into the school year and already he was more than a little high-strung.
“David, it’s okay,” she said.
“It is not okay,” he whispered. “If I don’t get an A in this class, Mr. Kling won’t let me into AP physics. I have to get into AP physics.”
“You’ll be fine,” Laurel said, a hand on his shoulder to soothe him. “I hardly think one funky experiment is going to keep you out of Mr. Kling’s class.”
David hesitated for a moment, then his eyes darted back to their shared paper. “I’m going to balance this one more time, see if I can find where we made our mistake.”