GENRE: MG Urban Fantasy
The smell of cheap plastic and fake gold filled the mall. My mom said no one could smell the difference between gold and cheap chrome, but I could tell the difference. My best—only—friend, Beth had stopped between a kiosk and a store that sold clothes for full figured Goths. Beth stared at a blue jacket covered in buckles and straps.
“Try it on,” I said.
Beth shrugged. “Their clothes never fit right. They’re a little too optimistic,” she said pointing at her chest. “I can bench a bull, Allyson, but I’m not wining any wet T-shirt contests.”
“How do you know unless you try it on?” I pushed her toward the window, and she stumbled into the foot traffic. I must have caught her by surprise; she was the immovable object. Refrigerators were intimidated by Beth. She was tall, blond, and ready to go pro wrestler at the drop of a hat. I’d seen daintier linebackers on ESPN.
I, on the other hand, had the look of well bred mutt. Eyes too slanted to be Irish, too green to be Japanese, and all of it covered in a fine layer of damning pimples. I looked like a reject from a geisha convention.
A guy even taller and broader than Beth caught her before she stumbled into an innocent passerby. He set her back on her feet like she weighed nothing. My jaw popped open.
“Sorry, my friend’s overly enthusiastic.” Beth straightened her jacket and brushed at imaginary dust.