Текст книги "The Distance Between Us"

Автор книги: Kasie West

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Chapter 4

As I walk into the doll store the next day after school, I’m surprised to see a man standing at the counter. He’s wearing dark clothes and has a dark, shortly trimmed beard and a dark tan. Yes, there is definitely a dark theme going on. He seems to exude it, and yet my mom’s cheeks are pink and she’s smiling. When the bell on the door rings, they both look over at me.

“Hi, Caymen,” my mom says.

“Hi.”

“Well, see you around, Susan,” the strange man says.

My mom nods.

He leaves, and I say, “Who was that?” I tuck my backpack beneath the register. “Alex?”

“Who’s Alex?”

“The guy who’s supposed to pick up Mrs. Dalton’s doll.”

“Oh no, it was just a customer.”

Right. I watch him walk by the front window. A single man in his forties is a customer. I almost say as much when she says, “I’m glad you’re here. I have to run a couple things to the post office before one.” She picks up two boxes and a stack of envelopes and heads toward the back door. “Oh, and Mrs. Dalton’s doll is in the back.”

“Okay, see you later.”

The front door opens and I look up half expecting to see my mom’s “customer” walk back in, but I’m greeted by a broody Henry. I don’t know if he took a shower or if carrying a guitar case actually does make a guy appear more attractive than he is, but either way, it’s suddenly a little more apparent what Skye sees in him.

“Hey, Caveman.”

Ugh. He probably forgot my real name. “Hi, Toad. Skye’s not here.”

“I know. I was hoping I could play you a song I wrote for her. Let me know if you think she’ll like it.”

“Okay. Sure.”

He sits on the floor and takes out his guitar. He leans against a lower cabinet, stretching out and crossing his legs in front of him. The dolls on the lit glass shelves above him and the wooden cradle next to him make this look like the setting for some trippy music video. He strums a few chords then clears his throat and sings.

The song is pretty good, bordering on cheesy. The line about how without Skye he would die makes me want to laugh, but I manage to hold it in. But by the end of the song I completely understand what Skye sees in him. I’m pretty sure I’m staring at him dreamily myself. So when the sound of someone clapping breaks the after-song silence, my cheeks go hot.

Xander is standing by the front door. He looks even richer today. The look consists of perfectly styled hair, designer clothes, and Gucci leather loafers with no socks.

“Great song,” he says to Henry.

“Thanks.” Then Henry looks at me for verification.

“Yeah, it was awesome.”

He takes a breath of relief then puts his guitar away. I turn my attention to Xander.

“I’ve been sent on another errand,” he says.

“Another day where mingling with commoners helps you appreciate your life more?” I could’ve sworn I said something equivalent last time, but the offended look that takes over his face lets me know I probably only thought it before. Oh well, it was a joke anyway (sort of). If he can’t take a joke, that’s on him.

“Something like that,” he mumbles.

Henry stands up. “The Scottish doll is mine, so hands off.”

Xander holds his hands up. “Not interested.” I get the feeling Xander thinks Henry is talking about something other than a kilt-wearing doll. But since Xander is not interested, it doesn’t matter anyway.

Henry heads for the door. “I’m going to sing the song in our set Friday night. Come. We’re playing at Scream Shout. Ten o’clock.” Scream Shout is a dive about five blocks away where local bands play to small, mostly wasted crowds for little or no money. I tag along with Skye occasionally, but it’s not really my scene.

Xander watches him go and then turns back to me, all business. “My grandmother asked me to pick up a doll she ordered.”

“Your grandmother?” I open the book, wondering if I had missed an order.

“Katherine Dalton.”

“Mrs. Dalton is your grandma?”

“Why does that surprise you so much?”

I close my open mouth. Because Mrs. Dalton is sweet and down-to-earth and amazing. . . . You take yourself too seriously, have perfectly manicured nails, and line your clothes with money (or at least that’s the excuse I give him for such good posture). “I just had no idea.”

“So I guess she never talks about her brilliant grandson?”

“I just thought she was sending Alex in.”

“I am Alex.”

Oh. Duh. Xander. As in Alexander. “So do you go by Alex or Xander?”

He gets an arrogant smirk on his face like I had Googled him or something.

“Your credit card,” I say, reminding him he had used it last time he was in.

“Oh. Yes, I go by Xander, but my grandparents call me Alex. I’m named after my grandpa so you know how that goes.”

I have no idea how that goes. “Yeah, totally.”

“So, Susan’s daughter . . .” He leans his elbows on the counter, looks at a small wooden apple a customer gave us years ago, and starts spinning it like a top. “Do you have my doll?”

I laugh a little at how that sounds. “Yes, I do. Give me one minute.” I retrieve the box from the back room and bring it to the counter. It surprises me that my mom hasn’t opened it to inspect the doll. Sometimes they come cracked or broken, and the service we use is responsible for that. I grab a box cutter from a silver cup next to the register and cut the packing tape. “Just let me make sure she hasn’t had any limbs amputated on her journey.”

“Okay.”

I remove the doll box from the shipping box, only displacing a few packing peanuts in the process, and carefully open it.

“‘Mandy,’” he says, reading her name off the lid.

“Mandy’s in good shape. Your grandma will be happy. I guess she’s for your sister?”

“No. My cousin. Scarlett. That doll looks a lot like her. It’s a little creepy.”

“Your cousin wears lacy socks and knit dresses?”

“Well, no. But the hair . . . and my cousin definitely has that sly look in her eyes.”

“So your cousin has a black bob and is looking for trouble?”

“Exactly.”

I slide the box across the counter to him. “Tell your grandmother hi for me.”

“And she’ll know who ‘me’ is?”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

“Everybody but me, it seems.” He takes out his phone and pushes a few buttons.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m telling my grandma you say hi.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s cheating.”

“I didn’t realize we were playing a game.” He offers me his first smile of the day, and I’m suddenly glad he keeps that thing put away. It’s more disarming than any weapon. “Hi, Grammy. I got your doll. . . . Yes, a young lady at the store helped me with it. She told me to tell you hi. . . . No, not Susan.”

I laugh out loud.

“Her daughter. Dark hair, green eyes.”

I look down, surprised he knows the color of my eyes. His are brown with gold flecks. Not that I’ve noticed.

“Sixteen . . . ish?” He widens his eyes, asking if he guessed right. I shake my head no. “Seventeen?”

And a half.

“Caymen?” He raises his eyebrows at me. I shrug my shoulders. “Well, Caymen says hi. . . . Sweet? I don’t know about sweet, but she’s something.” He’s quiet for a while. “I am being nice. You should tell her to be nice. She wouldn’t even tell me her name. . . . No, not because I’m being mean.”

I love Mrs. Dalton.

I write down in the book the date and time the special order was picked up. Then for some reason I add the “ander” on the end of the “Alex” I had written before. I close the book and put it beneath the counter. He’s still listening intently to something his grandma is saying. He meets my eyes at one point and then holds up a finger. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet and a credit card without even looking at it.

“She already paid,” I whisper.

He nods and puts it away.

His grandma says something that makes him smile. The smile. What is it about that smile anyway? Maybe it’s his perfectly straight and white teeth that make it so amazing. But it’s more than that. It’s a little crooked, one side going up more than the other. And once in a while his top teeth bite his bottom lip. It’s a very unguarded smile, unlike the rest of his appearance, which is a fortress.

“Well, hey, Grammy, I gotta go. Caymen is staring at me, probably wondering if I’m ever going to leave her store so she can get back to work.”

It’s weird to hear him say my name. It makes him seem like more than just some random customer. Almost like we know each other now.

He pockets his phone. “Caymen.”

“Xander.”

“Does this mean I won the game?”

“I didn’t realize we were playing a game.”

He picks up the doll and backs away with his lower-lip-biting smile. “I think you did.”

Chapter 5

About a year ago my mom started booking little girl birthday parties in the back room of the store. It sounded ridiculous at the time (still does), but she had a vision of ordering unfinished dolls and then having the girls come in and pick out the finishing touches—clothes, hair color, eye color—so they could go home with their own personalized doll. At first my mom let them paint on the eyes, but that turned into Creep Show 101. So now I sit at the register painting eyes while my mom stays with the party in the back and helps them pick outfits and hair. On a good day we finish with a hundred dollars in our pockets. On most Saturdays we’re lucky to break even (my mom is a sucker and lets the kids pick more than the three allotted clothing items).

Today I think we made twenty bucks, and I’m wishing beyond anything that we would stop booking Saturday parties. But it makes my mom happy—some nonsense about the laughter of little children—so I don’t complain. The girls giggle their way out of the store, clutching their newly clothed dolls and touching everything as they go. My mom will spend the next two hours cleaning up the “party room” (formerly known as the break room).

I look up when Skye walks in, Henry tagging along behind her. “We missed you last night,” she says.

I search my memory but come up empty. “What was last night?”

“My band’s show at Scream Shout,” Henry says with a “duh” in his voice.

“Oh yeah. How’d it go?”

Skye smiles. “He wrote me a song.”

Henry sets down his guitar and plops down next to it. “We thought we’d do a repeat of the night.”

“Awesome,” I say, looking over the list my mom made of the doll clothes we were running low on and checking off the ones I’d already ordered.

“She sounds like she’s not excited, but she totally is,” Skye says to Henry.

“Totally,” I assure him dryly.

He strums a few chords. “Caveman has no life,” he sings. I throw my pen at him, but then I need it back so I walk to where it landed on the floor behind him and pick it up.

Skye laughs. “She has a life, Henry. It’s just a boring one.”

“Considering I’m with you half the time, Skye, I’d watch what you say.”

“Caveman has a boring life,” he sings. “She needs some toil and strife.”

“No, I’m fine with boringness, thank you.” In fact I’ve settled into my monotonous life pretty well, only feeling the urge to rip my hair out about once a week now.

Skye straightens a doll on the shelf beside her. “But seriously, Caymen, you should’ve come last night. Why didn’t you?”

“What time did you get home?” I ask.

“I don’t know . . . two-ish.”

“And that’s why I didn’t go. I had to work this morning.”

“It’s like she’s a grown-up already,” Henry says.

Who asked you?

“Play her a song, Henry. A real one.”

“Okay.”

As he starts to play Skye grabs the paper from my hands and puts it on the counter. “Just take a little break.” She drags me to the floor in front of Henry. While he sings she looks over at me. “Oh, someone asked about you last night.”

“Where?”

“At Scream Shout.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, some kid who looked like he could’ve owned the place. Dressed like a fancy-pants. Super white teeth.”

For some reason this news sends a jolt of fear through me. “Xander?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. He didn’t say his name.”

“What did he say?”

“Well, I overheard him talking to some guy behind me. He said, ‘Do you know a girl named Caymen?’ The guy said he didn’t. When I turned around to tell him I knew you he was already walking away.”

“And he left?”

“No, he stayed for a while, listened to Henry play, ordered a soda. Then he left.”

Xander was looking for me. Not good. Mr. Rich and his completely over-the-top lifestyle need to stay away. “Was he alone?”

“No. Some girl was with him. She had short dark hair. Looked like she was bored.”

His cousin maybe? I shrug.

“Who is he?”

“Just the grandson of some customer.”

“The rich grandson of some rich customer?”

“Yeah.”

“We should have more rich friends. It would take our entertainment to the next level.”

“What are you talking about?” I point to Henry. “This is completely high-class. We have our own personal musician.”

“You guys aren’t even listening to my song,” Henry complains.

“Sorry. It sounds great, babe.”

He stops playing and returns his guitar to the case. “Caveman, I’m going to do you a favor.”

“Please don’t.”

“Hear me out. I’m going to set you up with a friend. We can double.” He looks at Skye. “Tic. He’s the lead singer of Crusty Toads.”

Skye gets a huge smile. “Oh yeah, he’s so cool. You’ll love him, Caymen.”

“Tick? As in a blood-sucking insect?”

“No, as in a twitch. A tic.” He blinks hard, imitating what I assume is a twitch. “It’s not his real name.”

“No kidding,” I say.

“It’s true. But I forgot his real name. Seriously, you guys would be perfect for each other. You’ll like him.”

I stand and grab my paper again. “No. I don’t want to go out.” And I definitely don’t want to go on a blind date with someone named Tic who Henry thinks is perfect for me.

“Please, please, please,” Skye begs, tugging on my arm.

“I don’t even know the guy. I’ll feel pathetic.”

“We can change that. I’ll send him in your store one day this week to say hi,” Henry says.

I whirl on him. “Don’t you dare.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” he says with a laugh.

“No, it’s not, Toad. Don’t do this.” Would it be wrong if I sicced one of the dolls on him?

“Don’t worry. I’ll be sly about it. I won’t tell him you want to go out with him or anything.”

“Well, that’s good considering I don’t want to go out with him.”

Skye sings the word “Anxiety.”

Henry laughs again and stands up. “No worries, Caveman, you’ll be okay. Just be yourself.”

Not the “be yourself” line. I loathe that line. As if Myself and Tic have met before and gotten along, so all I have to do is make sure Myself is there this time. So illogical.

“You ready to go, Die?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you soon.” She smiles a really sneaky smile and I groan. This is so not cool. They are going to send some guy named Tic into my store and there is nothing I can do about it.

Chapter 6

After a week of anxiously looking up every time the bell on the door rings, I start to think maybe Skye had talked Henry out of the horrible threat of sending Tic into my store. But then it happens one Monday afternoon. A guy walks into the doll store holding a stack of papers.

He has short, curly black hair and mocha skin. A lip ring draws even more attention to his large lips. He’s wearing jeans tucked into army boots and a T-shirt that says, My band is cooler than your band. In a tortured sort of way he’s actually very attractive. And way too cool for me. I wonder why Skye’s not dating this guy. He seems like a far better match for her.

“Hey,” he says. His voice is raspy, like he just woke up or needs to clear his throat. “Henry told me you guys would be willing to put some flyers on your counter for our next show.” He looks around.

“I’m sure the old ladies would love a rock concert,” I say.

He lowers his brow. “Yeah, Henry seemed to think . . .” He trails off as he eyes a porcelain baby inside a bassinet. “Maybe I got the wrong store.”

“No. It’s fine. Just put them right here.”

He walks over and sets a small stack on the counter then gives me a once-over. He must like what he sees because he says, “You should come,” pointing to the flyer.

The flyer has a picture of a toad that looks like it just met the grill of a semitruck. Who designed that thing? Across its belly it says, “Crusty Toads.” Then at the bottom it reads, “Friday night, ten o’clock, Scream Shout.”

On the tip of my tongue something sarcastic about the flyers is ready to spew forth, but then I stop myself. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

“That sounds like what you really mean is that it’s the last thing you want to do.” He blinks hard, reminding me how he got his nickname. “I’m the singer. Does that make you want to go more or less?”

I smile. “Maybe a little more.”

“I’m Mason.” Much better than Tic.

“Caymen.”

Please don’t turn it into a nickname.

“Good to meet you, Caymen.”

Five points.

“So what are the chances I’ll actually see you Friday night?”

I look down at the flyer again then back up at him. “Pretty decent.”

He tugs on his lip ring. “Tell the old ladies that it’ll be rockin’.”

“I will.”

Just as he starts to leave my mom comes in the back door and he stops.

“Hi,” she says.

“Mom, this is Mason. Mason, my mom, Susan.”

“Hi, Susan, good to meet you.”

“You, too.” She points to the ceiling. “Caymen, I’ll be upstairs making some phone calls if you need me.” Her shoulders are slumped, and she reaches for the banister of the stairs.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah . . . I . . . yes, I’m fine.”

I watch her go then look back to Mason.

He taps the stack of flyers on the counter. “See you Friday.” He gives me a single wave as he walks out the door.

I bite my lip and stare at the toad on the paper. I need a new outfit or a new haircut. Something new. I make sure no one is coming through the front door then go into my mom’s office to see if she’s written my paycheck yet. She usually leaves it in an envelope in her desk. It’s not much and I’ve told her a million times I feel weird about being paid, but she insists.

In the right-hand drawer is the balance book, bulging with receipts and loose papers. I pull it out and flip to the end where I’ve seen her pull my paycheck from several times. There’s nothing there. I start to shut the book but a flash of red catches my eye. Scanning down the page, my eyes stop on the last number, a red “2,253.00.” That’s more than we spend in a month. I know. I do the bills sometimes.

My heart thumps out of control and guilt constricts my breathing. Here I was rooting around for my paycheck and my mom can’t afford to pay me. We’re beyond broke. No wonder my mom’s seemed stressed recently. Does this mean we’re going to lose the store? For just one second I think of a life without the doll store.

For that one second I feel free.

Chapter 7

I stare at the long mirror hanging in my room. Even when I back up as far as I can I can’t see my entire body. My room is too small. I had straightened my hair, put on my best jeans and a black T-shirt, and laced up my purple boots. Nothing new. I wrestled with the fact that this wasn’t a good idea at all. In eight hours from this minute I have to be awake and getting ready for work. Knowing how bad-off the store is makes me feel guilty. Like I haven’t done enough. For the hundredth time I tell myself that I don’t have to stay long. Just make my appearance and leave.

My mom walks by my room then backs up. “I thought you left already.”

“No, and I don’t have to leave if you need me.”

“Caymen, I’m fine. Now get out of here. You look amazing.”

As I walk the five blocks to Scream Shout, I take in my surroundings. Old Town looks like it belongs in a western movie. All the storefronts are made of vertical siding or red brick. Some stores even have saloon-style swinging doors. The sidewalks are cobblestone. The only things missing are the horizontal posts to tie off the horses in front of the stores. Instead there is a wide street and diagonal parking curbs. The ocean is several blocks away, but on a quiet night I can hear it and I can always smell it. I take a deep breath.

Two doors down from our doll store is a dance studio, and I’m surprised to see the lights all on this late at night. Wide-open windows on a dark night make everything inside as clear as on a movie screen. There is a girl inside, probably my age, dancing in front of a wall of mirrors. The graceful movements of her body prove she’s been studying for years. I wonder why some people seem to be born knowing what they want to do with their lives and others—mostly me—have no idea. I sigh and continue my walk to the club.

Scream Shout is packed with locals tonight. I recognize some people from school and nod hello. The stage can barely be called that. It’s more like a rickety platform. Mismatched tables fill the area around it and a bar lines one wall. There are so many people I actually have to search out Skye.

“Hey,” she says when I join her. Her hair is extra pink tonight, and I feel drab standing next to her.

“Hi. It’s crowded tonight.”

“I know. So cool. You must’ve made a good impression on Tic because he was just asking if I thought you’d show up.” She nods her head to a door off the side of the stage where I assume the band is getting ready.

“Must we call him that?” I haven’t decided what my impression of Mason is. But it must’ve been something or I wouldn’t be standing here, giving up sleep.

“Yes, we must, Caveman.”

“Please. Not you, too, Die.”

She laughs. “I know, they’re pretty awful, aren’t they? It makes me laugh when you call Henry Toad, though.”

“How’s it going with Toad anyway?”

“Pretty good.” Skye is extremely loyal. Henry would have to do something blatantly horrible for her to break up with him at this point. Not that he would. Aside from his heinous abuse of nicknames, Henry is decent.

I look back at the stage, waiting for its occupants. “I’m guessing tonight you’re going to be madly in love with him because he’s about to go all rock star on you.”

“For sure.” She smiles. “And you are about to fall madly in love with Tic because his voice is like honey.”

She’s right. About the honey part at least. As he starts to sing I can’t take my eyes off him. His voice has a soft, raspy quality to it that makes me want to sway with the beat. When I hear Skye giggling beside me I’m finally pulled from the trance.

“I told you,” she says when I look at her.

“What? I was just listening. It’s rude not to listen.”

She laughs again.

When the last song is over Mason jumps off the stage and disappears into the back with the other guys. Henry comes out first, and he and Skye make out for a while right in front of me. Gross. Why do I suddenly wish I had someone to make out with? I’m good at being alone. I’ve pretty much mastered it. So what’s changed? Xander’s lip-biting smile flashes through my mind. No. I shake the image away.

Just when I’m sure that if I take a saliva sample from Skye’s mouth it will come back with Henry’s DNA, I say, “Okay, enough.”

Skye pulls away laughing and Henry pretends like he just realized I was standing there. Right.

“S’up?” he says, then leans over to the bar and asks for some ice water. He takes it and we search for a table. There are no open ones so we just stand in the corner talking.

Eventually Mason comes out and throws one arm around my neck. His T-shirt is sticky with sweat and almost reverses the effect his singing had on me. “Hey, Caymen, you came.”

“Here I am.”

“How’d we do tonight?”

“Really good.”

“Did you bring any old ladies with you?” He looks around like this is a valid possibility.

“Almost, but she canceled on me last-minute. I guess some metal-head band was playing downtown tonight.”

“Which band?” Henry asks, and Mason starts laughing.

“It was a joke, idiot,” he says.

“Don’t call me an idiot.”

“Then don’t act like one.”

Henry pouts, and Skye says, “You’re not an idiot, babe.” Then they start making out again. Ugh. Seriously.

“Do you want something to drink?” Mason asks, leading me toward an abandoned table.

“Yes, please.”

I sit down and he comes back with two bottles of beer. He holds one out for me.

I put up my hands. “Oh, I don’t drink. I’m seventeen.”

“So? I’m nineteen.”

“My mom says before I turn eighteen she still has the right to murder me.” My mom always tells me to blame it on her if I am ever in an uncomfortable situation. It seems to work well.

He laughs. “Okay, that’s cool.” He sits down next to me.

I watch him drink for a minute then say, “I’m going to get some water.”

“Oh.” He jumps back up. “Sit. I’ll get it.”

I watch him walk away and can’t decide if I’m feeling fluttery because I’m talking to the lead singer of a band or if it’s Mason. When two other girls approach him at the bar and he turns to talk to them, I realize it’s the first option. After all, I hardly know him. This makes me feel really shallow.

The bartender hands him my glass of ice water but Mason continues talking.

I stand, suddenly. I need to go. I have an early morning.

I walk to where we had left Skye and Henry and tap her on the shoulder. “Hey, I’m leaving.”

She pulls away from Henry. “Wait.” She looks around and spots Mason. “No, don’t leave. He always gets bombarded by girls. It’s not his fault.”

“I’m not worried about him. That’s not why I’m leaving.” At least that’s what I’m trying to convince myself. “I just have to work in the morning. I’ll see you soon.”

I walk away to say good-bye to Mason and hear her say, “Wait, we’re walking you.”

As we pass Mason I wave and mouth bye. But Skye says out loud, “We’re walking Caymen home.”

He gives me the wait motion with his hand and nods politely to the girl in front of him, finishing up whatever conversation they were having. He sets the ice water he’d ordered on the bar, then he’s by my side. “I’m coming, too.”

Henry and Skye walk in front of us, talking quietly. Mason drapes his arm around my shoulder. I’m learning quickly that he’s a touchy kind of guy. We’re silent for a block.

“I didn’t realize you had to leave so early,” he finally says.

“Yeah. I have work in the morning.”

“We play again next week.”

I’m not sure if he is inviting me or making small talk so I just nod.

“Thanks,” I say when we get to the shop and I pull the keys out of my pocket.

He leans toward me, and because it never crosses my mind that he would try to kiss me no matter how touchy-feely he is and with witnesses, I don’t back up fast enough and am shocked when his lips meet mine. They’re surprisingly soft. “Oh, uh . . . wow,” I say, pulling back.

He doesn’t back up and his eyes meet mine. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

His smoky voice makes my heart patter to life and again I’m shocked at my reaction to him.

“Okay, see you.”

Skye smiles at me like that was the most exciting occurrence ever. I just want to escape.