diamonds in the sky // moon

Elisabet is making me up for the dance. Mother knows I can do it myself, but this is a special occasion, so she's hired her. Honestly, I never liked Elisabet; she is disdainful of my pink locks, the way I train with the poorer kids. Silly woman. Just because I am wealthier than your children does not mean I cannot break their legs.
Anyway, the rest of the dance has to be taken care of. The theme is Floating on a Cloud. I have my dress already. It's a brilliant silver, dotted with colored rhinestones like stars and planets. The hairpiece is being prepared. The only thing left is the necklace. Mother showed me the preorders of it. It's custom. She doesn't trust this jeweler, but Father says he supplied him with model necklaces for his last catalogue. I am dressed and up, on my way to the square to do some shopping at dawn.
"Adaira." Mother looks at me mid-stride and lets out a small chortle at my forgetfulness. "Darling, you have to pick your necklace up today."
"What's the jeweler's name?"
"Carat of a Rose. Lord knows what job they'll do. But your father trusts them. If there's even one carat less than what was promised, send them to me. Be wary."
I set off for Carat of a Rose. Among my thoughts- new knives with mother-of-pearl handles I am expecting to be delivered to me soon, techniques with flaming arrows. And of course this necklace. My mother has good judgement. If this bastard stiffs me, I will have my revenge. My family will have our revenge.
I arrive. There is an idiotic sign hanging out front. It is called Carat of a Rose for some particular reason, the sign seems to say. In the front window there are subpar excuses for jewelry. Sure, the stones are sound, but it's all in what you do with them. My mother makes jewelry with the same stones that sells for thousands more than this crap.
As I enter, I see a bored teenage girl, perhaps my age or older, behind the cash register. "Hello," I say. My voice rings out. I will not be played with, I will not be given service an iota below their best. Surely I am the highest of customers they have had in a long time. "May I have the order of the diamond necklace for Adaira Lynsen, please?"

​

The girl, thank Ripred, is paying some attention to me.
"Of course," she says. "I'll be right with you." God. She snaps to and goes back to the stockroom. About a minute passes. She comes back holding a box of sufficient size and shape. At least they got that right.
"I'm...surprised you wanted to get something from a store like this, but..." She hesitates. At least she knows her store's reputation. "...I don't think you'll be disappointed. This time...I'm sure not."
I open the box. Inside it lies my order. I am quite surprised. The craftmanship is quite good. The stones are placed well. But around the edges, it has a slight air of sloppiness. Two jewelers made this. One who was clearly inexperienced, and one who was clearly a master. I take a closer look and I find one small stone. It is holding up a teardrop, and is awkward next to the beautiful lines of the other. There is a slight problem. Judging by the rest of it, I will certainly accept the necklace after it is addressed. "Shopgirl," I ask. "May I ask who the two people who made this were? I'd like to point a flaw out to the master jeweler. Their intern, or apprentice, or what have you, has substituted cubic zirconia for this diamond." 

The panic-stricken girl looks at the case. She is probably not the jeweler's daughter, or if she is, her training has been in other things. The cubic zirconia is translucent. You can see the writing on the other side. I study her. She has an airy-eyed look anchored by a hard mouth set firmly in place, like the girls who we pay off to volunteer for us. There's a lack of knowledge, but an anger there. She is in a situation she does not quite know how to handle. I feel a brief pang of pity for her. She has no hand in this. I will not hurt her.
The jeweler's apprentice, however, must rectify the mistake, or there will be a punishment there.
She looks up at me. "Oh, you're good," she says. I nod very slightly. This is obvious. She shakes her head, brow furrowed, and holds up her index finger. "One moment, please." She is going to bring the apprentice out to me. I imagine them. An overworked older sister, perhaps, or an arrogant younger brother. I will tell them to fix their doing, and tell them that we will deduct the cost of the diamond at resale price. If the job is not satisfactory we will go elsewhere.
I am waiting and picture what I am going to do, how I will admonish them, curtly, firmly, but not without room for redemption. Then the girl comes back with only a piece of newspaper. I am inwardly chuckling. She did not know how to tell them apart without the newspaper test. But where is the apprentice?
"My parents made this necklace. It was mainly all my mom's doing before she passed, but I can tell my dad made adjustments to it for your order because of his...handiwork." I am gathering my thoughts as she scoffs. "If you're willing to stick around for a little while, I'll let him know and either he can fix it or I'll try."
I take a second to process this. This exquisite necklace, which I would have gladly taken but for one small flaw, was made by her late mother. The mother was the master. The clumsy intern was the current owner and head jeweler, the father.
No, the father is not fit to repair this. I will take a chance on the girl. She has a certain disdain for her father. Perhaps that disdain translates to prowess. She will have to bring me the father, though. I have a plan.
"Please fix this for me in private. I will be back in the afternoon to pick it up. Tell your father you have lost the sale because of the cubic zirconia. If you fix this to my satisfaction, the full monetary value of the sale will go to you, and only to you. If you do not, you may keep the necklace as a symbol of your late mother and I will go elsewhere." I nod at her before she is able to say anything and turn my heel, walking out of the shop. I am going to get a new lipstick. There is about a forty-sixty chance in favor of the girl failing.

With that die rolled, I set about the business at hand. The choices at the cosmetician are robust. I am considering two different shades of silver lipstick, each with a slight variation in sheen. One is more a pearl, or mother-of-pearl, with the abalone-like iridescence of the handles of my new knives. But one is more opaque, scattering light, like- like a diamond.
I automatically think of the necklace. Thoughts tumble through my brain, thoughts I attempt to compartmentalize as I bite the inside of my lip in annoyance. I sort them out and address them one by one.
First, there is the issue of the necklace being made by two people. One of them was the shopkeeper's mother, who made the original.
This leads to an acknowledgement of her incredible prowess, disappointment in the flaw made by the girl's father, and a curiosity.
What else did this girl's mother make?
There is certainly no shortage of good quality jewelry in District One. This necklace, however, screams of untapped talent. It begins to dawn on me that the pieces that adorned my father's furniture catalogue may not have been from the owner of the shop's hands.
And the girl- she cannot be tainted. She despises her father. I am sure she is of some use. She must have some purpose in the gilded rat race of District One.
That is of little to no concern, I remind myself, unless the repair work is done well. There is also another caveat. I cannot have the girl's father claim to have made this. An association with a jeweler of that poor quality, especially if my claim is true and Carat of a Rose is uncovered, would be disastrous. How, how would it impact the girl? Oh, the poor thing. Born to a jeweler father and not knowing the difference between diamond and cubic zirconia is like being born to a dentist and not knowing how to floss the back molar. Sure, it's difficult, but it's a skill you learn, and without it you cannot really even claim the title.
Perhaps she could even be my friend, so to speak, even if she wrecks her mother's beautiful necklace. I can perhaps ask what else her mother has made, apprentice her somewhere. What did they say in science class about the debate, nature vs nurture? Despite the poor nurturing, the nature may be in her, I know it.
It is early afternoon when I stride back to Carat of a Rose, open the door, and see the girl waiting for me. I cannot read her face. Thoughts of anticipation- good, bad, terrible, merely alright -flicker at the edges of my mind as I approach the counter. I can tell the girl already knows to dispense with the pleasantries. She knows what I am here for. I nod. She brings out the box.




​

The girl opens the box. I take a minute. The necklace is there, shimmering like drops of water, a flowery rain falling from the sky, the perfect complement to my dress, my eyes, my shoes, and somehow containing a competent, kind spirit reaching out from the grave.
Or she could be in front of me.
I look at the replaced diamond. Just by looking at the opacity I can tell it is a true diamond, and its placement is dead center, though the stone tilts slightly back. I scrutinize and my thoughts turn around and around. It is a beautiful necklace. It is such a beautiful necklace, indeed, that it would be a crime not to compensate the girl for her mother's sake and for her own. I look at the diamond once more and tilt my head. I realize that in the afternoon sun, the way she has placed it makes it catch the light better.
"This is satisfactory. In fact," I say, my words sort of unexpectedly stopping in my throat as I speak, "it is a beautiful work of art. I am honored to own it. What is your name?"

The girl has a name now.
"M-my name is Alexandrite, Alexandrite Rose," she announces, stuttering, with about the biggest, most sunshine-like smile I've ever seen. "I'm the daughter of the owner of this shop. You can call me Alex."
Alexandrite. A stone of the chrysoberyl family, the birthstone for my birth month, June, and a relatively rare stone despite the fact it is in high demand. "How fitting," I say. "Much obliged to meet you, Alex. I am Adaira Lynsen. This necklace is for a dance my mother is throwing, the Floating on a Cloud dance at the Lynsen Villa up on City Center Drive. I don't suppose you'd like an invitation? I will take you shopping. My treat for the excellent service."
And just like that, I feel like the world has been balanced, that I have rescued this girl, Alex, from where she used to be and brought her to the level where she deserves to be.
Not everyone has to be your foe, Adaira, I tell myself. Life is all about the give and take. An eye for an eye also means a diamond for a diamond. I run my finger over the shimmering necklace. I would give her all the diamonds in this shop.
​