Call Me Vi | ONC 2024 Entry | Novel Expansion Pending

Chapter 8

The world was a bit brighter today, the air a bit warmer, as we strolled down the quaint streets of Asheville. Remnants of the bonfire party were still sprinkled around the grass by the lake, as early morning cleaners picked up discarded plates and cups one by one.

Violetta shoved her hands in her pockets as we walked, ducking her face out of view from the occasional stare.

"Sorry," she muttered. "Old habits."

"Don't apologize." I covered her hand with mine. The warmth of her skin was comforting, the two of us clutching at the other for that sense of security we found together. "We just have to work through this, together. One step at a time."

We approached our first stop, going back to Flare & Solstice. After getting dressed, I'd found the red wig I stole the day before and panicked until Violetta calmed me down and said we could just go back and pay for it. No harm, no foul.

The bell over the door jungled as we walked in.

"Welcome to Flare and Solstice! How can I—" the clerk gasped mid-sentence, her eyes going wide. She pointed an accusatory finger in our direction. "You! Y-you stole that wig!"

I gently laid the wig down on the counter and raised my hands in surrender. "Miss, we're here to pay for it. I recognize that thievery is wrong and a criminal offense, but my friend here—Violetta Dawson—who you might recognize? Yeah? She, um, well she was going to be bombarded by paparazzi that day. And as her, um, friend, I had to act quickly."

"But-but you...you stole it!" the clerk cried out. The volume of her voice began to draw attention around the store.

Oh my god, we're going to get arrested. We're going to jail. This is how it ends.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Violetta pull out her wallet and a wad of green.

"Okay, okay!" She surrendered. "The wig was how much? Thirty? Here, I'll pay you fifty. Thirty for the wig, twenty for extra. Please, just let us go."

"Vi," I murmured, tugging at her arm. "Come on."

The woman eyed us carefully then accepted the cash. "Next time just...pay first."

We thanked her again and then left. Oh man, what were the chances I'd never be able to show my face in there again?

"You didn't have to bribe them," I said when we were down the road. "The thirty would've been plenty."

"It wasn't a bribe." Violetta stopped walking. "Do you really think I'd do that, Reagan? It was an inconvenience for them that the paparazzi raided the store. I like to pay back the hassle."

"I don't know what you'd do," I snapped, "because we barely know each other." I didn't know where this anger was coming from. Maybe it was all the back and forth. The feeling like there was something more, right there, but just out of reach. Maybe it was that Violetta was a superstar and I was a measly journalist.

"That's why we're getting to know each other today," she replied, her voice calm. "And next stop: pottery class."

"Pottery?" I asked, jogging to keep up with her. I was suddenly glad I wore my hikers today.

"Yes, pottery. Spontaneity, remember?" She stopped by a storefront adorned with ceramic pieces of various sizes and styles.

Potter's Wheel, the sign on the door read.

Inside, the air was cool. People mulled around. Some whacked a block of clay against a wooden board; some sat and painted already-made pieces; others hunched over wheels that spun and whirred while their hands seemed to delicately craft the clay from a blob to a...not blob.