Page 47 of Trip Me Up

The woman grasped it, her light brown hand a contrast to my pale one. “Gabriela Padrón. I’m Niall’s agent.”

Judging from how close she stood to Niall, she was more than that.

“We met at that literacy fundraiser in San Francisco, but we didn’t get a chance to talk.” Gabriela scanned me, not head-to-toe, but picking out features to examine for a few seconds like dead butterflies on a tray. “Enjoying the tour so far?”

“It’s okay. Tiring.”

“Sam’s been a trooper, though,” Niall said. “She’s great with the readers, especially kids.”

Gabriela’s gaze lingered over myNeverending StoryT-shirt. Then she smiled like she knew a secret and leaned into Niall. “Not everyone gets to ride the coattails of a writer of Niall’s caliber.”

Niall’s brow turned pink, then the color ran down his face. “Sam’s book is doing great. It might be me riding her coattails.” He chuckled in a way I hadn’t heard him do before. As if someone was forcing him.

Qiana, bless her, said, “Sam and I are going back to my place. I assume you guys are going to hang out?”

“Yeah,” Niall said, “since we’re free the rest of the night.”

The rest of the night? I hated how Gabriela draped herself over him. I half-expected her to rub her face on him, like a cat. Or maybe piss in a circle around him.

“Sounds good,” Qiana said. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at ten.”

With an easy wave, Niall turned with Gabriela and walked out of the store.

“Rawr,” Qiana said. “The claws come out.”

So I hadn’t made it up. “What was that about?”

Qiana waved her hand. “Oh, she’s just protecting her boy. Wanting to be sure the young upstart knows her place.” She grinned. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

Her boy?

Two hours later, Qiana handed me the bottle of coral nail polish. I frowned at it. “Do you have anything less…pink?”

Qiana grinned. “I’ve got lots more choices. Just a sec.” She stepped through the doorway into her bedroom.

She returned a minute later with a rattling tray of colorful bottles. “We have mermaid green, gold, dark blue, purple, red. See anything you like?”

I scanned the selection and picked up the black bottle. “This one.”

“A goth girl. I should’ve known.” She pushed the pink polish into the middle of the pack and shook up a bottle of dark cherry. I mirrored her action with the bottle of black polish. She spread a sheet of newspaper over the coffee table—small but solid, and much nicer than my dumpster rescue—and uncapped the polish.

She stroked the deep red over her thumbnail. “So, tell me about yourself. I’ve heard all about the tour, but now I want to hear about the other twenty-some-odd years of your life.”

“There’s not much to tell.” I shrugged like there really wasn’t, like I wasn’t shrink-wrapped in secrets. “I grew up in San Francisco, and now I’m a graduate student.” I tried to copy Qiana’s smooth strokes on my stubby nails.The shiny black against my pale skin made me smile.

“What’s your family like? Big? Small?”

“Really?” I hadn’t meant for the word to burst out. But I hardly ever met anyone who didn’t know the Joneses. “My father was Jasper Jones. He founded a startup that was acquired by Gurusoft. My mother runs the Jones Literacy Foundation. They work mostly on the West Coast. And my brother’s Jackson Jones. He founded Synergy Analytics, and he’s—he was—in the tabloids a lot. You—you don’t know?”

Qiana’s stare was blank. “I don’t really follow the tech news.”

“Oh.” My chest eased, like I’d taken off one of those lead vests they make you wear to take X-rays at the dentist. She didn’t have a dozen preconceived notions of what a Jones should be like. “Cool. I guess we’re a big family. I have two brothers and a sister. Plus some other family in the Bay Area.”

“Yeah?” Qiana held out her hand, examining her glossy red nails. “You guys close?”

“I guess so? My mother hosts brunch every Sunday. But it can be a little much.”

Qiana looked up from her nails and smiled. “I get that. They must be so proud of you.”

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