Stained Glass Summer by Mindy Hardwick

Author:Mindy Hardwick
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Musa Publishing
Published: 2011-12-30T05:00:00+00:00

Outside the shop, the town is busy. I weave my way around couples strolling and families eating ice cream. I wander past a used bookshop, an ice cream parlor, an English tearoom, and then stop outside a window with a small gold sign, “Spectacular Scents and Surprises.” I peer inside the silver bins of colored bath salts. I’ve never seen so many colored salts—turquoise, olive, purple, yellow, and maroon. Mom would love it. I can see us searching through the bins for just the right color, and then finding the right texture of bath salts. Not too grainy and not filled with rock clumps. I decide to buy Mom a small collection of them and pull open the shop door. A bell tinkles, and vanilla, musk, and lilac swirl around me—just like the smells at our home bathroom.

Inside the shop, clusters of women hold creamy vanilla soap bars, lotions, and small plastic packages of bath salts. I can’t believe all these people live on the Island; this must be what Opal means when she talks about the Island tourists. I push past two women making an awful lot of noise about soaps, and make my way up to the front of the counter.

A girl with shoulder length blonde hair, who can’t be older than me, perches on a small stool. In Chicago it’s not possible to have a job at age twelve, at least not a paid job beyond babysitting or lawn mowing, but maybe on the Island people fudge the rules a bit.

“Hello,” I say.

The girl doesn’t look up from her iPad.

“Do you work here?” I hope my voice sounds polite and friendly.

“My mom does. I’m watching the shop while she went out to run an errand.”

“Can you mail soap?” I’m going to send Mom a whole basket of bath salts, along with some of the fizzies that dissolve when tossed into water.

“Sure,” the girl replies as she flicks the screen.

“To Chicago?” I try not to let my annoyance show. I square my shoulders and try to stand very tall. She’s acting snotty to me, just like the girls at home, and she doesn’t even know me.

“You’re Jasmine, aren’t you?” The girl finally looks up, and her hazel eyes meet mine. Her blonde hair swings lightly when she moves her head.

“Don’t believe anything you’ve heard.” I feel like I am pleading, but I really need friends on the Island.

“Opal was talking about you. We were curious,” the girl says shyly. “I wanted to meet you. I’m Alexa. I try to bury my nose in my iPad so I don’t have to answer their questions.” Alexa waves at the ladies who smell and sniff their way through each of the silver barrels of bath scents.

I giggle. She looks so funny, waving at the tourists. “What did Opal say about me?” I ask, and then bite my tongue. I sound guilty and defensive, as if I have something to hide.

“Nothing bad,” Alexa says.

“Okay.” I try to trust her. It’s a small town.

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