Marigold pulls all her long, dark hair into a sloppy bun and drizzles a little bit of oil into a jar. “Thanks for setting this up, Mrs. Beck—er, Marigold.” Deo’s mom has been asking me to call her by her first name since Deo and I were out of high school, and I almost always remember. It’s not all that hard, since Marigold is cool and funny and so down-to-earth, it’s easy to see her as a friend. But I imagine how hard my mom would slap me upside the head if she ever heard me do it; my parents are old-school, manners-wise. I don’t think Deo even knows what their first names are. “Forget about it. I love getting awesome people together. And here is your scent.” She holds a small blue vial under my nose, and I breathe in deep. There’s sandalwood, a tiny hint of something sweet…maybe vanilla, and a last burst of mint. “This is great. What do I owe you?” I reach for my wallet, but Marigold smacks at my hand and shakes her head.
