“What do you want?” Johan had stopped, framed in that moment by a towering ficus tree. He looked similarly robust, with his carved, narrow forehead and skewed nose. “Wait, no. Let me guess. You’re new to the city, flew in from—oh, that accent—somewhere in the South, but not too far south. Virginia, maybe. Or Kentucky. Mama’s back home, missing her little girl. But she’s proud of you, Kitty, chasing your dreams in L.A. And it could happen at any moment. That skin, those cheekbones. It’s just a matter of time before somebody discovers you. Then you’ll show everyone back in Jerkwater, Virginia, how high you can climb.”

Kitty opened her mouth to respond, but a bubble of emotion had risen into her throat. She managed to breathe. Only breathe.

“All those hopes and dreams.” Johan spread his arms, then drew them in slowly. “Yet here you are, with a backpack full of junk, skating from trash can to trash can.”

His assessment was close, but it wasn’t that neat a trick. Clearly, he was familiar with the streets and the people who worked them so knew that she was fresh on the scene. Her accent had a southern flavor, but it wasn’t deep-fried. Virginia/Kentucky was an educated (or lucky) guess. And what pretty person didn’t arrive in Los Angeles without at least one eye on the stars?

Still, he’d evoked emotion, partly resentment at being packaged into such a trite little box, mainly a blue, singing disappointment in herself.

“Is that what this is about?” she asked. “Why you followed me—stalked me—from Melrose Avenue? Why your boy put a hurting on Cal? Just so you could degrade me?”

“Not at all.”

“Oh right. You’re scouting me.”

“I want to elevate you.” He twirled the prongs of his beard again. “Take you closer to where you want to be.”

Kitty tried looking away from him, but her gaze kept snapping back, drawn by some illogical science. He must have recognized this, and wanted to test it, because he walked on, his shoulders arrogantly lifted. Kitty turned back the way they’d come. She saw the driver propped against the Mustang’s rear fender. He regarded her with his jackal eyes. Kitty sighed, then proved the science. She tucked her skateboard close and caught up to Johan.

“Who are you, exactly?”

“An entrepreneur, a social media sensation.” He shrugged, as if who he was defied explanation: a box without sides. “Look me up: the Cali Viking. My accounts are verified.”