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scared. So I started climbing the tree—”
    Brooke’s eyes widened. “He was spying on you!” she concluded. “Oh my gosh, that’s so creepy! But wait—why were you in his arms?”
    I tried not to l augh at her childish excitement and even felt a little of it rub off on me, remembering the solid outline of his jaw, the intensity of his eyes...I shook my head and continued with my story.
    “I was climb ing too fast and I fell.” I winced, just thinking about it. “And there he was, kneeling beside me...Then, even after I told him not to, he carried me home.”
    Brooke clasped her hands together, staring up at the ceiling. “Wow. And he is incredibly good-looking! So, did he ask about me?”
    “Huh?” Her question threw me off guard. “And why would he ask about you?”
    “Because,” Brooke answered, running a manicured ha nd through her layered tresses. “That’s him. That’s the same guy I was telling you about. He’s the one that I caught watching me at the festival. And since you were always with me, well, naturally he would go to you to find out more about me.”
    I cleared my throat, unsure how to proceed. “Well, uh, yeah. That—that makes some sense.” I stood up, pretending to organize the miscellaneous items on my desk in no particular order.
    “So ...” she pressed, “What did you find out? What’d you tell him?” I was quiet for a moment before letting out a quick sigh.
    “You know what, Brooke ? He actually didn’t ask anything about you. In fact, he didn’t say more than a few sentences to me. All I know is his name’s Damien.”
    I watched her reflection scowl in the mirror as I pulled my brunette hair into a high, messy ponytail as I often did. She hopped up, straightening her tank top.
    “Well, he’ s probably just a weirdo anyway and not very interesting.” She swung her purse over her arm and headed for the door, then threw her head over her shoulder. “The festival is closing tonight. Want to go look around one last time?”
    I nodded and , without another word, she flounced out my door, long, blond hair swinging behind her.
    ***
    The folk band was up on stage by late morning, filling the air with enthusiasm. A woman in blue jeans and tall, brown leather boots sang into the microphone, swaying her hips and tapping her foot to the rhythm. We came across a large, red tent, shadowed under the trees. In front of the tent, a table displayed itself with an array of silver and gold jewelry, each set with unique combinations of colorful gems and stones.
    “These are beautiful!” Brooke cooed, holding up a v-cut bracelet with a wide, silver band. One large, oval sapphire was embedded at its center, with more tiny, blue gems decorating the band. Brooke hooked it onto her left wrist, admiring it with her slender arm held out.
    “These look pricey,” I murmured, scanning all the bracelets, necklaces, and rings. I held up a pair of silver, spiral earrings encrusted with green stones. Eying a mirror resti ng flat on the table, I held it up to my face. I shrieked at my reflection, catching a glimpse of a dark figure behind me. I dropped the mirror and spun around, my back pressing against the table’s edge. Brooke jumped at my sudden movement, also twisting around in fright.
    The Russian storyteller stood just a few feet from where we stood with racing hearts. She stepped towards us. “They are not so expensive,” she emphasized, her Russian accent combing through her words. “Imitations. But very beautiful.”
    She caught sight of the mirror, now lying facedown at my feet. She frowned. I scrambled to pick it up. Turning it over, I caught my own reflection, split by the long crack down the center of the glass.
    “I— I’m sorry,” I stammered, offering her the broken mirror. “Uh, I can pay for it.” I held it away at arm’s length with trembling hands.
    She put her hands up, shaking her head, not even looking at it. She turned her head to the left, and spat three times