Текст книги "On the Fence"

Автор книги: Kasie West

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

Chapter 4

I came out of Urban Chic carrying an application and had to wait while Gage finished talking to a redhead and her short friend. I listened to the sound of the ocean, only three blocks away, and took a deep breath of coastal air. Old Town was only ten minutes from our house, but the air tasted different here.

“Did you come to help me or to pick up girls?” After the way the lady behind the register looked at me, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be a future employee of Urban Chic. Perfectly fine with me. There were so many sequins reflecting the fluorescent lighting in that store, I was sure it would produce a massive headache after five minutes.

“I can do both at the same time,” he assured me. “I’m talented like that.”

The only reason I chose Old Town to look for a place of possible employment was because it had so many stores so close together and I wouldn’t have to drive all around town picking up applications. And unlike the mall, hopefully nobody I knew would come around. It was near the beach, so mostly tourists or rich types shopped here. The stores consisted mainly of local owners with local wares—lots of antique shops and vintage clothing stores. And although I liked the feel of the area, what I truly and sincerely hoped was that I wouldn’t be able to find a job. Maybe that was why I stayed in my jeans and T-shirt, my hair pulled up into a ponytail, still wet from my shower.

“Never date a guy whose jeans don’t cover his ankles,” Gage said, pointing to the guy twenty yards ahead. He shuddered.

“But he’d be able to walk through puddles and stuff without even getting his jeans wet. He’s a planner.”

I often wondered why my brothers insisted on making these lists for me. It wasn’t like I had been waiting anxiously on the sidelines for the dating buzzer to sound.

He laughed then steered me to the right. “That looks like a good store.” So far Gage’s employment suggestions had been influenced by whether there was a girl in the vicinity. This store just happened to have an outdoor fountain where a girl and her little sister (maybe?) were throwing spare change into the water.

“Do you think there’s two hundred and sixty-four dollars’ worth of change in there?” I watched the coins ripple the surface. “I could just come here once a week and collect the money out of the fountains.”

“Now you’re thinking creatively,” Gage said. “I could totally get behind that idea.” Then he cleared his throat and spoke a little louder. “My sister”—he always made sure hot girls knew our relationship—“and I were just trying to guess how much money is in this fountain.”

“A million dollars,” the little girl said.

“See, there you go,” Gage said, looking at me. “Problem solved.”

The dark-haired girl in low-rise jeans playfully hit her sister’s shoulder and batted her eyelashes at Gage with a giggle. Before I hurled, I stepped into the store behind her and looked around.

The store smelled like old people—like books and bread and perfume. It was full of . . . stuff—mirrored boxes, colorful lamps, small dog statues. Did people buy small dog statues?

A girl, her blond hair tipped with pink, stood arranging knickknacks on a shelf.

“Hi. Could I get an application?” I asked.

“Of course.” She walked to the counter and pulled a paper from beneath it. “We’re not really hiring right now, but it doesn’t hurt to try, right?”

“Right.”

She bit her lip. “There’s a store two doors down. A little clothing store owned by a lady named Linda. You should try there. Tell her Skye Lockwood sent you.”

“Okay, thanks. I’m Charlie.”

“Good to meet you.”

I waved and walked out of the store.

“How’d it go?” Gage asked.

“Not hiring.”

“Bummer. Well, I’ve already scored three phone numbers, so at least one of us is accomplishing something today.”

“Thank you. Very motivating.” I pointed up the way. “The girl told me to try some clothing store two doors this way, though.”

We walked down the sidewalk and passed a doll store. “Oh, you so need to go in there,” Gage said. I noticed the girl working inside was beautiful—of course. Next time I went job hunting I was leaving my brother at home. He opened the door and a bell announced our arrival. When we stepped in, I realized this store was either on the verge of closing or on the verge of opening. Boxes lay open all over the floor and were being packed . . . unpacked?

“Oh,” she said when she saw us. “Hi. Sorry, we’re closed. Xander must’ve left the door unlocked.” She handed us a card. “But if you’re looking for a doll, that’s our website. We’re going mobile.”

“Mobile?” Gage asked.

“As in trade shows, fairs.” She continued putting newspaper into a box.

“You need some help packing up?” Gage asked.

I grabbed Gage by the arm and yanked him out of the store.

“Did you see her eyes?” He put his hand over his heart and took a few staggering steps.

I rolled mine. “Last store,” I said, pointing at the clothing store Skye must’ve been referring to. “Then I’m ready for food or something.”

“I’ll wait out here.” When he said it, he gestured to a dance studio next door. A girl who looked about our age was inside, practicing in front of the mirrors.

“I swear, Gage. You’re such a guy.” I yanked open the door. The shop appeared free of any breathing person. It smelled like burning incense, but I couldn’t find the source. There were a few headless mannequins wearing tiny dresses. Circular racks of clothes filled the middle of the store and more racks lined the walls. Along the back were large hutches housing small glass bottles. I couldn’t tell if they were for sale or just on display. A floor lamp draped with a scarf stood unlit in the corner.

“Hello?” I called out. No answer. Just as I turned to leave, a middle-aged woman came out of the back room holding a coffee cup. Her brightly colored shirt looked straight out of India and her legs were clad in a wide-legged pair of dark jeans.

“Oh. Hello there.” She set her cup down on the counter, put her palms together, and bowed. “Welcome.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

She stepped forward and I could see that her feet were bare. “How can I serve you?”

Was this lady for real? I tried to remember the name of the store I was in. Crazy Lady Central? Had I accidentally walked into a spiritual healing or massage therapy store? The mannequins and racks of clothes would seem to indicate otherwise, but I was no fashion expert.

I held up the papers already in my hand. “I just wanted to pick up an application. Um . . . Skye Lockewood said you might be hiring.”

“Did she now? I don’t have applications. It’s just me. This is my store.”

“Okay. Well, thanks anyway.” I started to leave.

“But,” she said as I was almost out the door, “I asked for a sign today and here you are.”

“A sign?” I glanced out the window, hoping Gage would come in and save me. He was leaning against the glass next door staring inside dreamily. No help whatsoever. “I . . .” I took a step back. “Have a good day.”

“You want a job, right?”

Not really. “Yes.”

“Well, I’ve been contemplating expanding, bringing in new business. And if Skye vouches for you, maybe you’re just the girl I’ve been waiting for.”

I didn’t tell her that Skye had just met me. “I’m pretty sure I’m not the girl anyone has been waiting for. I have no experience, I’ve never used a register in my life. I really wouldn’t be very good selling clothes either. I mean, look at me.”

She did. She took in my faded McKinley High T-shirt, my Target jeans, and my beat-up sneakers. “So you’re looking for a job, but hoped you wouldn’t find one? Let me guess. Parents forcing you to?”

“Yes. My dad.”

“What’s your name?”

“Charlie.”

“Charlie, I’m Linda. I think I can give you the best deal in all of Old Town. From six to eight on Tuesdays and Thursdays and then four hours Saturday mornings. So what is that? Eight hours a week? Your dad will be appeased and you’ll hardly have to work at all.”

I nodded slowly. That didn’t sound too bad. Even if it meant working with Crazy Barefoot Lady.

She moved to a small metal tree by the register where earrings hung and straightened a pair, then looked up at me expectantly.

“What’s the pay?” In other words, how many weeks was it going to take me to pay off those tickets and get done with this?

“I can afford ten dollars an hour, so around a hundred and fifty dollars every two weeks, after taxes. But . . .”

Of course there’s a catch.

“You would need to wear something more presentable. If you don’t have anything, I will front you a paycheck to buy a few outfits, but then you’ll be working those first two weeks for your clothes.”

Ugh. Stupid clothes. I looked at the mannequins, who were showing more leg than I cared to see. “I don’t do dresses.”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t put you in a dress like that anyway. It’s all wrong for your aura.”

My aura? I didn’t know my aura had an opinion on dresses.

“What’s today?” she asked.

“Wednesday.”

“Okay, why don’t you come in tomorrow before your shift starts and you can fill out some paperwork? Don’t forget to bring your driver’s license. . . . You are sixteen, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then after that I’ll help you pick out a few things that would suit you.”

Tomorrow. I’ll have to start work tomorrow. “Okay.”

She smiled, took a deep breath, then bowed again. “This feels right.”

I nodded and backed my way out of the store. Was this what “right” felt like?

“How’d it go?” Gage asked.

“I got a job.”

“Really?” He looked up at the name of the store. “Linda’s Bazaar.”

“Yeah.”

“And was it bizarre?” He wiggled his fingers.

“You have no idea.”

Chapter 5

My dad seemed surprised when I told him I’d gotten a job, like he’d expected me to come home a failure. I couldn’t blame him. I was surprised too.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.”

“It’s not that I didn’t think you could get one, I just didn’t think you really would.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Do you need anything?” He looked me up and down. “Uh . . . uniform or something?”

When I was with my brothers, my dad was perfectly normal, but when he singled me out, he was so awkward. And always a beat behind. I still remembered when I was thirteen and my dad approached me one day. Sweat beaded his upper lip. “Charlie,” he’d said, “Carol at work said you might need a bra.” He said it so fast I almost didn’t catch it. Then both of our faces reddened. “I could take you shopping,” he added. “I guess they have stores where they help you get fitted . . . and stuff.” My face still red, I assured him I already had a bra. I had learned the year before, when I started changing out for gym class, that everyone but me had one. I’d told my dad I needed money for cleats and used the money to buy one. Even though I hadn’t known her, it was times like those that I longed for my mother.

“Linda—my new boss—she’s going to help me get clothes.”

He nodded, relieved. “Good. Good.” Then he pulled me into a rare hug. “I’m proud of you.” My dad was tall, so my cheek pressed against his chest. He smelled like cinnamon gum.

“No need to get all mushy. It’s eight hours a week.”

“I’m proud of you too,” Gage said, throwing his arms around us and sending us all collapsing to the sofa.

“Gage,” my dad grunted, untangling himself from our bodies and standing.

Gage filled in the now empty space by wrapping one arm around my neck and the other behind my knee and proceeding to fold me in half. I kicked and struggled to get out. “Surrender,” he said.

“Don’t break anything,” my dad said and walked away. “Oh, and congratulations, Charlie.”

“Thanks,” I called, sounding a bit like Kermit the Frog with my neck bent over like that. I pinched Gage hard on the side and he yelped but didn’t let go. I squirmed and kicked and wasn’t above biting, but I couldn’t get a good hold on his arm. My brothers always called me a cheater when I bit, but they had twice as much muscle as I did, so I had to find a way to even the playing field.

“Surrender,” he said again.

I pushed off the ground with my free foot and almost succeeded in rolling us off the couch, but he eased me back into place.

“Charlie, you stubborn child, just admit I have you. You can’t get out of this.”

I pushed against his neck and he gagged a little, but then just pulled my arm into his hold. The front door opened and closed, and Braden said, “Hey, guys.”

Gage looked over, distracted, and I forced my leg out of the hold then kneed him in the stomach. He reeled back and I jumped on him, pushing his face against the cushion.

“You’re ruthless,” he said.

“I learned it from you.” I let him go, then stood. “Hey, Braden. How was your mom’s birthday dinner last night?”

“Same old, same old.”

I tilted my head, wanting him to go on. Braden was an only child, so he was always the center of attention . . . and expectations. Sometimes I felt like he came to our house as often as he did to be surrounded by chaos. To disappear. I stared at him, but he didn’t continue. He grabbed the remote off the end table and turned on the TV. “I thought for sure you guys would be watching the A’s game.”

“Whoa! What time is it?” I consulted the clock on the DVD player. “Crap. It’s already halfway over.” I claimed my position on the couch.

It was as if the sounds of the game called my brothers from their hideouts, because soon the living room was full, everyone shouting at the TV, soda cans and chips open on the coffee table. We didn’t have a favorite sport in our house. We liked them all.

My dad came down and gestured for Gage to scoot over, which meant I had to scoot over into Braden’s hard side. He moved his arm to the back of the couch to make more room. The smell of his deodorant assaulted my senses. “You smell good.”

He pulled me into a headlock, holding me there for a minute. “You’re stuck now.”

I opened my mouth, ready to bite, when he must’ve realized what I was doing because he pushed me away with a laugh. I threw both my legs over one of Gage’s and grabbed the jar of peanuts off the coffee table.

“No!” Braden yelled at the television, right in my ear.

I elbowed him.

“Sorry,” he said, distracted.

Gage absently patted one of my knees with his closed fist. Thump thump thump. I kicked a little and he stopped. But then Braden, drinking a soda, gulped loudly in my ear. Seriously, was he the loudest swallower in the world? I stood and started collecting empty soda cans off the table in front of us.

Braden reached up and pushed me over a little so he could see the TV.

“Oh, excuse me, was I in your way?”

“Yes, actually, so move it or lose it.”

“Lose what?”

He pushed on the back of my knee with his foot and my leg gave out from under me, causing me to fall, the soda cans landing on the floor.

“Death to you.”

I dropped to my hands and knees on the floor and collected the soda cans, then carried them toward the kitchen. As I reached the door, I looked over my shoulder. All their eyes were glued to the television. Warmth surged through my cold heart. I loved these guys so much. They were my life and I couldn’t think of anything better than all of us together, just hanging out and doing nothing. I must have lingered in my happy feelings for too long, because Braden looked up, met my eyes, then gave me the “What’s your deal?” face: one eyebrow raised, mouth twisted up.

I scrunched my nose at him and then walked into the kitchen.

Chapter 6

I hoped so badly that the guys never, ever came to visit me at work. This was my wish the next day as I stood in front of what had to be the most awful mirrors in the world—they showed three angles simultaneously—trying on the bajillionth outfit for Linda. I looked ridiculous.

We were behind some large flowered screens at the back of the store, so at least people walking by on the street outside couldn’t witness my humiliation.

“These clothes fit you well,” she said, adjusting the flowing top that hung a little too low in the front for my taste. I was used to the high neck of a T-shirt. And I always thought jeans were meant for comfort. These jeans felt like they were attempting to hold my thighs in place.

“This is why models are so tall. Because clothes look good on tall people. It’s completely unfair.”

“Okay, I think I’m done playing dress-up forever. Which ones do you want me to buy?”

“Well, that’s up to you, Charlie. Which ones speak to you?”

I coughed as I got a big whiff of the incense she had lit for this “experience.” I waved my hand through the air. “Not a single piece of clothing spoke to me.”

She placed a finger on my forehead. One thing I was learning rather quickly about Linda was that she didn’t understand the concept of personal space. Not that I had a lot of personal space in my life, but generally strangers granted me that much. “Find your center. Feel your aura,” she said, her finger still on my head.

“Neither me nor my aura know how to pick out clothes. Which ones do you like?”

“Okay. That’s very practical of you. We are never fair judges of ourselves. An outside observer is much more likely to accurately tell us what looks the best on us.” She studied all the clothes I had tried on.

A movement to my right caught my eye and I looked over.

“Mama Lou, how old is this Chinese food?” Skye, the girl with the pink-tipped hair who had referred me to Linda, walked out from the back room, holding up a container and tilting it so we could see the noodles inside. I didn’t even know she was here. “Oh. Hi, Charlie. Cute outfit.” She pointed at me with a fork.

I tugged on the bottom of the uncomfortable shirt, wondering if it was see-through. The material felt so thin. “Thanks.”

Linda looked up in surprise. “Skye. When did you get here?”

“Just now. I came in the back door.” She plopped down on a red circular ottoman next to the mirrors and lifted a forkful of noodles.

“I’m not sure how old that food is. At least a few days.”

Skye sniffed it, then put it in her mouth.

Linda started separating the clothes I had tried on into two piles. “To buy now.” She pointed at one pile. “To buy later.” She nodded toward the other. Then she looked at the outfit still on my body. The mirror in front of me assured me the top wasn’t see-through, but it felt so light. And it had a flower pattern on it. I could confidently say that I had never worn anything with flowers on it before. Well, maybe when I was five.

“And to wear now,” she said, referring to the outfit I wore.

“Uh . . . I don’t know that my aura is ready to jump right in with flowers.”

She laughed like I was kidding but then threw me a striped shirt, which I changed into quickly.

“Let me ring this stuff up, then you can start work.”

It felt like I had been hard at work for the last hour trying on those clothes. It was exhausting, and I hoped I never had to do it again. I checked myself out in the mirror again. I didn’t look like me.

“You look great,” Skye assured me through a mouthful of noodles.

When I came out from behind the screens Linda smiled. “So nice.” She sighed like she had just performed some miracle and was pleased with the results. At least, until her gaze reached my face and hair. I could tell she wanted to say something, but it was one thing to tell someone to change her clothes; it was a whole other thing to tell someone her face could use some work.

She positioned herself behind the register, and I watched as the number on the tiny black screen got bigger and bigger.

“Skye,” Linda called. “I got some more colored dye in.”

Skye leaped off her low stool and headed for the hutch in the corner. “Green. Nice. I’m coming back after closing so you can help me.”

Linda helped her dye her hair? Skye’s parents must’ve been really laid-back. Well, Skye looked older than I was. Maybe she didn’t live with her parents.

Linda tucked the receipt into her drawer, probably so she could deduct it from my paycheck later. “Sounds good,” she said. “So scoot on out of here. I need to train Charlie now.”

“Fine. Fine.” Skye headed toward the back, and a thought suddenly occurred to me.

“Are you and Skye related?”

“Oh, no. Her mother left when she was young.” A look of pity passed over Linda’s face as she gazed toward the back of the store where Skye had just left. “She just needs an extra helping of love. That’s all.”

My breath caught. Is that how Linda saw the motherless of the world? Lacking somehow? I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t need to. Linda filled the silence by showing me how to fold shirts, organize racks by sizes, and properly hang pants.

The two hours went by pretty fast, and I changed back into my normal clothes, then collected my bag of new clothes and my car keys. Linda said, “So, I’ll see you Saturday at ten a.m., Charlie.” She paused, thoughtful. “Is that a nickname?”

“Short for Charlotte. But Charlie fits me better.”

“It does.” She pointed to the bag of clothes. “You can wear them home, you know. They’re completely machine-washable.”

“Oh, yeah . . .” I shrugged my shoulders. “If my brothers saw me in these clothes, they’d never let me live it down.”

“We live in our own minds, child.”

Not in my house. In my house, we were always getting in each other’s heads. It was hard enough keeping the guys out without giving them extra ammo. “I guess.”

She had a set of keys in her hands and she followed me to the door, obviously about to lock up. “What about your mom? I’m sure she’d love to see you in those clothes.”

That look of pity Linda had given when talking about Skye’s motherless state flashed through my mind. I knew that look well. I’d seen it before. It was the look that always came after the line My mom died when I was six. That was my go-to line. That was usually followed by an apology from the listeners and then the look. Sometimes the look lingered for months, every time they saw me. It was hard to say which was worse: the look, or when the look finally went away, the memory of my story fading into the recesses of their minds. How could they forget when I couldn’t?

I hadn’t seen that look directed at me in a while. Most people just knew. We lived in the same house and went to the same schools pretty much my whole life.

I opened my mouth to avoid the question when “My mom’s like me. She doesn’t know a thing about fashion” came out. My face flushed hot and I stepped outside without turning back. Did I really just pretend my mom was alive? Not only that, I gave her my fashion sense. I knew that wasn’t even true. I’d seen enough pictures of her to know she always looked gorgeous. The picture my mind always went to was my mom in a long yellow sundress, standing on the beach looking out at the waves.

But I didn’t know much outside of pictures. I used to ask my dad questions about her, but as I got older I noticed the sad looks that accompanied the answers and stopped asking. I stopped asking long before I could start asking questions that really mattered. I wondered if I’d ever get the motivation or courage to start asking again.