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“So sad.” It’s a girl’s voice.
“Whatever, Leah,” Alex says softly. “Just leave me alone.”
“Aren’t you alone, anyway?” The girl, she’s got a nasal whine that’s so annoying, stands in front of Alex, her fists on her hips. She’s got dark hair, and she’s wearing jeans and a frilly pink top covered in flowers.
The girl’s stance is familiar to me.
It’s that “too cool to even look in your direction” stance. Hip popped, examining her fingernails. I knew girls like this when I was in middle school.
They haven’t noticed me yet.
“My nanny is—”
“Your nanny?” Leah giggles. “I can’t believe you have a nanny. But, oh, I forgot. You don’t have a mom, right?”
Alex’s expression falls. She glances away, and I can tell she’s trying to hide how much the comment upset her.
I grab a T-shirt off the rack. “Hey, Alex, check this out.”
Alex hastily scrubs a hand underneath either eye and feigns interest in the T-shirt.
I turn toward Leah—upturned nose, a bored expression—and smile. “Hello,” I say. “June Jackson. What’s your name?”
“Leah,” the girl replies, losing steam now that there’s an adult present.
“Leah.” I nod. “Are you one of Alex’s friends?”
“Uh.”
Before she can make something up, a woman appears in the aisle. She’s got the same upturned nose and raven hair as Leah, and she’s wearing a red ruched bustier with a pair of tight-fitting skinny jeans. “Leah, honey, did you pick something out? I want to—oh!” The mother stops. “Is that Alexandra Taylor?”
“Just Alex,” Alex says.
“Alex, honey,” the woman says, “how are you?”
“Fine. How are you, Ms. Pamini?”
The woman turns toward me. “And you must be…?”
“June Jackson. I’m Alex’s nanny.” I extend a hand.
The woman grips my fingertips and shakes them daintily. “Ooh, the nanny? Delicious. I’m Zara. This is Leah.”
I open my mouth to respond, but Zara is on a roll.
“Working as the nanny for Cash Taylor?” Zara lets out a breath heavy with excitement. “That must be wild. I mean, you know he’s a country music star, right? There are all kinds of rumors about that man.”
“Mom, can we go?” Leah inserts.
Zara pats her daughter on the head. “Honey, go look at the blouses. Why don’t you take Alex with you?”
The girls stare at each other.
“Alex and I were in the middle of shopping, actually,” I say.
“Oh, well, gosh, I’ll have to get your number,” Zara says. “You know, Cash Taylor is the most eligible bachelor in Heatstroke. Every woman in town is after that piece of—”
I clear my throat. “It was nice meeting you, Zara.”
