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yeyesburnaholeinthepage.Ishouldknowthis.Icanusuallydissectascienceequationeasily,but

the answer isn’t coming to me. The bell on the door dings. I quickly tuck my homework beneath the
counterandlookup.Aguyonacellphonewalksin.

That’snew.
Notthecellphonepartbuttheguypart.Itisn’tthatmendon’tfrequentthedollstore—Okay,actually

it is. Men don’t frequent the store. They are a rare sighting. When they do come in, they trail behind
femininetypesandlookextremelyself-conscious...orbored.Thisoneisneither.He’sverymuchalone
andconfident.Thekindofconfidenceonlymoneycanbuy.Lotsofit.

Ismilealittle.Therearetwotypesofpeopleinoursmallbeachtown:therichandthepeoplewho

sellthingstotherich.Apparentlyhavingmoneymeanscollectinguselessthingslikeporcelaindolls(the
adjective “useless” should never be used around my mother when referring to dolls). The rich are our
constantentertainment.

“What do you mean you want me to pick?” Mr. Rich says into the phone. “Didn’t Grammy tell you

which one she wanted?” He lets out a long sigh. “Fine. I’ll take care of it.” He pockets his phone and
beckons me over. Yes. Beckons. It’s the only word I can use to describe the motion. He hadn’t even
glancedmywaybuthelduphishandandmovedtwofingersinhisdirection.Hisotherhandrubshischin
whilehestudiesthedollsinfrontofhim.

IsizehimupasIwalkover.Theuntrainedeyemightnotpickupontherichnessoozingoffthisguy,but

Iknowrichandhereeksofit.Hisoneoutfitprobablycostmorethanalltheclothesinmytinycloset.Not
that it looks expensive. It’s an outfit that’s purposefully trying to downplay how much it cost: a pair of
cargo pants, a pink button-down rolled at the sleeves. But the clothes were purchased somewhere that
specializes in thread count and triple stitching. It’s obvious he can buy the whole store if he wants to.
Well, not him; his parents. I didn’t realize it at first because his confidence aged him, but now that I’m
closer I can see he’s young. My age maybe? Seventeen. Although he could be a year older. How is
someonemyagealreadysoversedatbeckoning?Alifetimeofprivilege,obviously.

“CanIhelpyou,sir?”Onlymymomwould’veheardthesarcasmlacedintothatsinglestatement.
“Yes,Ineedadoll.”
“Sorry, we’re all out.” A lot of people don’t get my humor. My mom calls it dry humor. I think that

means “not funny,” but it also means I’m the only one who ever knows it’s a joke. Maybe if I laugh
afterward, like my mom does when she’s helping customers, more people would humor me, but I can’t
bringmyselftodoit.

“Funny,”hesays,butnotlikeheactuallythinksit’sfunny;morelikehewishesIwouldn’ttalkatall.

Hestillhasn’tlookedatme.“Sowhichoneofthesedoyouthinkanolderwomanmightlike?”

“Allofthem.”
Themuscleinhisjawjumpsandthenheturnstowardme.ForasplitsecondIseesurpriseinhiseyes,

like he expected some old woman to be standing in front of him—I blame my voice, which is slightly
deeper than average—but it doesn’t stop him from saying the sentence already spilling over his lips:
“Whichonedoyoulike?”

AmIallowedtosay“none”?Despitethefactit’smyinevitablefuture,thestoreismymom’slove,not

mine.“I’mpartialtotheeternalwailers.”

“Excuseme?”
Ipointtotheporcelainversionofababy,hismouthopeninasilentcry,hiseyessqueezedshut.“I’d

rathernotseetheireyes.Eyescansaysomuch.Theirssay,‘Iwanttostealyoursoulsodon’tturnyour
backonus.’”

I’mrewardedwithasmilethattakesawayallthehard,arrogantedgesonhisface,leavinghimvery

attractive. He should definitely make that a permanent fixture. But before I even finish the thought, the
smile’sgone.

“Mygrammy’sbirthdayiscomingupandI’msupposedtopickoutadollforher.”
“Youcan’tgowrong.Ifshelikesporcelaindolls,she’lllikeanyofthem.”
He looks back at the shelves of dolls. “Why the wailers? Why not the sleepers?” He’s staring at a

peaceful-lookingbaby,apinkbowinherblondcurls,herhandstuckedunderhercheek,herfacerelaxed.

Istareather,too,andcontrasthertothewailernexttoher.Theonewhosefistsareballed,itstoes

curled,itscheekspinkwithirritation.“Becausethat’smylife:screamingwithoutmakingasound.”Okay,
soIdidn’treallysaythat.Ithoughtit.WhatIreallysayafterashrugis“Theybothwork.”BecauseifI’ve
learnedanythingaboutcustomersit’sthattheydon’treallywantyouropinion.Theywantyoutotellthem
theiropinionisvalid.SoifMr.RichwantsthesleepingbabyforGrammy,whoamItostophim?

Heshakeshisheadasiferadicatingathoughtandthenpointstoacompletelydifferentshelfoccupied

bydollsofthesoul-suckingvariety.Thegirlhepointstoisdressedinaplaidschooluniformandholds
theleashofablackScottishterrier.“Iguessthatonewillwork.Shelikesdogs.”

“Whodoes?Yourgrandmaor”—Isquinttoreadtheplacardinfrontofthedoll—“Peggy?”
“It’squiteobviousPeggylikesdogs,”hesays,ahintofasmileplayingonhislips.“Iwasreferringto

mygrandmother.”

IopenthelowercupboardtofindPeggy’sbox.Ipullitoutandgentlytakethegirlandherdog,along

with her name placard, off the shelf and to the register. As I carefully pack her away, Mr. Rich points.
“Howcomethedogisn’tnamed?”Hereadsaloudthetitleonthebox.“‘Peggyanddog.’”

“Becausepeopletendtowanttonameanimalsaftertheirbelovedpets.”
“Really?”
“No.Ihavenoidea.IcangiveyouthenumberofPeggy’screatorifyouwanttoask.”
“Youhavethephonenumberofthisdoll’screator?”
“No.”IpunchthepriceintotheregisterandpushTotal.
“You’rehardtoread,”hesays.
Whyishetryingtoreadme?Weweretalkingaboutdolls.HehandsmeacreditcardandIswipeit

throughthemachine.Thenameonthecardsays,“XanderSpence.”Xanderasin“Z-ander”orasin“X-
ander”?I’mnotgoingtoask.Ireallydon’tcare.I’vebeenpleasantenough.Thisexchangewouldn’teven
haverequiredamom-lecture,hadshebeenhere.MymomiswaybetterathidingherresentmentthanIam.
Sheevenhidesitfromme.Ichalkituptoyearsofpractice.

Hiscellphoneringsandhetakesitoutofhispocket.“Hello?”
While I wait for the machine to spit out his slip, I open the drawer beneath the register and put the

name placard along with the others sold this month. This helps us remember which dolls we need to
reorder.

“Yes,Ifoundone.Ithasadog.”Helistensforaminute.“No.It’snotadog.Ithasadog.Thedollhas

adog.”HeturnsaroundtheboxandlooksatthepictureofPeggysincetherealPeggyissecuredinside.“I
guessshe’scute.”HelooksatmeandshrugsasthoughaskingifIagree.Inod.Peggyisdefinitelycute.
“Yes,it’sbeenconfirmedbythesalesgirl.She’scute.”

Iknowhewasn’ttalkingaboutmebeingcute,butthewayheemphasizedthe“she”madeitsoundlike

hewas.Ilookdownandripoffthepaperthenholdapenoutforhimtosign.Hedoesitone-handed,andI
comparethesignaturetotheoneonthecardthenhanditbacktohim.

“No,notthe...Imeansheis,too,but...OhyouknowwhatImean.It’sfine.I’llbehomesoon.”He

sighs. “Yes, I mean after the bakery. Remind me to run away when your assistant has a day off.” He
squeezes his eyes shut. “I didn’t mean it like that. Yes, of course it makes me appreciate things more.
Okay,Mom,I’llseeyousoon.Bye.”

Ihandhimthebaggeddoll.
“Thanksforyourhelp.”
“Noproblem.”
Hepicksupabusinesscardfromtheholderbytheregisterandstudiesitforamoment.“‘Andmore’?”
ThenameofthestoreisDollsandMore.He’saskingwhatothershavebeforehimoncetheycomeinto

thestoreandonlyseedolls.Inod.“Dollsandmoredolls.”

Hetiltshishead.
“Weusedtocarrycharmbraceletsandstuffedanimalsandsuch,butthedollsgotjealous.”
Hegivesmealookthatseemstosay,Areyouforreal?Obviouslyhehasneverencounteredanyone

likemeinanyofhis“govisitthecommonpeoplesoyoucanappreciateyourlifemore”outings.“Letme
guess,thedollsthreatenedtostealyoursoulifyoudidn’tcomplywiththeirdemands.”

“No,theythreatenedtoreleasethesoulsofpastcustomers.Wecouldn’thavethat.”
Helaughs,whichsurprisesme.IfeellikeIearnedsomethingnotmanyothershave,andIsmiledespite

myself.

Inodmyheadtowardthecard.“Mymomlikesdollsthebest.Shegottiredofstockingstuffedmice.”

Pluswecouldnolongeraffordtheextras.Somethinghadtogoanditwasn’tgoingtobethedolls.And
sinceweareinaperpetualstateofbroke(asinbarelyenoughmoneytostayafloat),thenameofthestore
andbusinesscardsstayedthesame.

Hejamsafingeratthecard.“Susan?That’syourmom?”
Andthat’sallitsays,too,herfirstnamefollowedbytheshop’sphonenumber,likeshe’ssomestripper

orsomething.Icringewhenshehandsoutabusinesscardoutsideofthestore.“Yes,sir.”

“Andyouare?”Hemeetsmyeyes.
“Herdaughter.”Iknowhe’saskingformyname,butIdon’twanttogiveit.ThefirstthingIlearned

about the rich is that they find the common folk an amusing distraction but would never, ever want
anythingreal.Andthat’sfinewithme.TherichareanothertypeofspeciesthatIobserveonlyfromasafe
distance.Idon’tinteractwiththem.

Hereplacesthecardandtakesafewstepsbackward.“DoyouknowwhereEddie’sBakeryis?”
“It’stwoblocksthatway.Becareful.Theirblueberrymuffinsarelacedwithsomesortofaddictive

substance.”

Henods.“Noted.”

Chapter2

“

o, we don’t carry Barbie dolls, only porcelain dolls,” I say into the phone for the fifth time. The

womanisn’tlistening.She’sgoingoffabouthowherdaughterwilldieifshecan’tfindthefaeriequeen.
“Iunderstand.MaybeyoushouldtryWalmart.”

“Idid.They’reout.”Shemumblessomethingabouthowshethoughtwewereadollstoreandhangs

up.

I set the phone down and roll my eyes at Skye, who doesn’t notice because she’s lying on the floor

holdinghernecklaceintheair,watchingitswaybackandforthoverher.

Skye Lockwood is my one and only friend. Not because the kids at my high school are mean or

anything.TheyjustforgetIexist.WhenIleavebeforelunchandneverattendtheirsocialgatheringsit’s
nothardtodo.

Skyeisafewyearsolderandworksnextdoorataplacethatcarrieslotsof“andmore.”It’sanantique

storecalledHiddenTreasuresthatIcallObviousGarbage.Butpeoplelovethatstore.

Intheworldofscience,ifSkyewereahost,Iwouldbeherparasite.Shehasalife.Ipretendit’smine.

Inotherwords,shegenuinelylikesthings—musicandeclecticvintageclothingandweirdhairstyles—and
Ipretendthosethingsinterestme,too.It’snotthatIhatethosethings;it’sjustthatIdon’treallycarefor
themeither.ButIlikeSkye,sowhynottagalong?EspeciallybecauseIhavenoideawhatIreallydolike.

Istepoverherwithasigh.“Haveyoufiguredoutlife’sanswersyet?”Skyeoftenusesthefloorofthe

shoptohavephilosophicalwanderings(afancywayofsaying“argumentswithherself”).

She moans and throws her arm over her eyes. “What would I even study if I went to college?” If it

wereuptoher,she’dworkatthegiftstoreforever,butcollegeisimportanttohernever-went-to-college-
so-is-now-a-funeral-directorfather.

“Whining?”
“Ha-ha.”Shepushesherselftositting.“Whatareyougoingtostudywhenyougo?”
Noidea.“Thelong-termeffectsofphilosophicalwanderings.”
“Howabouttheartofsarcasm?”
“I’mprettysureI’vealreadyearnedtheequivalentofamaster’sinthatone.”
“No,butseriously,whatareyougoingtostudy?”
I hear those words a lot: “No, but seriously” or “In all seriousness” or “But really.” Those are the

wordsofsomeonewhowantsarealanswer.AndIdon’twanttogiveone.

“Ihaven’tthoughtaboutitmuch.IguessI’llbeoneofthose‘nomajor’peopleforawhile.”
Sheliesbackdown.“Yeah,maybethat’swhatI’lldo,too.Maybeaswetakeclassesourtruepathwill

cometous.”Shesitsupsuddenlywithagasp.

“What?”
“Weshouldtakeclassestogether!Nextyear.Youandme.Thatwouldbeawesome!”
I’vetoldheramilliontimesI’mnottakingcollegeclassesnextyear.Mymotherwillfightthisplan

(whichiswhyIhaven’ttoldher),butI’mtakingayearortwooffsoIcanhelpfull-timeinthestore.But
SkyelookssohappythatIjustsmileandgiveanoncommittalnod.

Shestartssingingamade-upsong.“MeandCaymentakin’classestogether.Findingourtruepaths...”

Hervoicegetssofterandturnsintohappyhummingasshelowersherselfbacktothefloor.

Acoupleoflittlegirlswhojustlefthadtouchedeverything.Mymominsiststhatwhenpeopleknowa

doll’sname,it’seasiertofallinlovewithit.Soinfrontofeverydollisaplacard.Nowthoselittlename
cardsarecompletelymessedup,switchedaround,lyingflat.It’sreallysadthatIknowBethany’sname
cardisinfrontofSusie.Really.Really.Sad.

Skye’s phone rings. “Hello? . . . No. I’m at The Little Shop of Horrors.” That’s what she calls my

store.

It’s quiet for a while before she says, “I didn’t realize you were coming by.” She stands and leans

againstthecounter.“Youdid?When?”Shetwistsapieceofhairaroundherfinger.“Well,Iamkindof
spacedoutduringthatshow.”Skye’svoicematcheshername,lightandairy,whichmakeseverythingthat
comesoutofhermouthsoundsweetandinnocent.“Soareyoustillhere?”Shewalksarounddollcradles
and blanket-draped tables to the front window and peers out. “I see you. . . . I’m next door at the doll
store.Comeover.”Shepocketsthephone.

“Whowasthat?”
“Myboyfriend.”
“Theboyfriend.SodoesthismeanIfinallygettomeethim?”
Shesmiles.“Yes,you’reabouttoseewhyIsaidyesthesecondheaskedmeoutlastweek.”Sheflings

openthefrontdoor,andthebellpracticallyswingsoffitshook.“Hey,baby.”

Hewrapshisarmsaroundherandthenshemovesaside.“Caymen,thisisHenry.Henry,Caymen.”
Idon’tknowifI’mnotlookinghardenough,butIdefinitelydon’tseemuchofanything.He’sscrawny

withlonggreasyhairandapointynose.ApairofsunglasseshangsoffthecollarofabandT-shirt,anda
long chain attached to his belt buckle droops halfway down his leg before disappearing into his back
pocket.WithoutmeaningtoIcalculatehowmanystepsittookhimtogetfromSkye’sstoretomineand
howmanytimesthatchainmust’vehithimintheleg.

“S’up?”hesays.Really.Hesaidthat.
“Um...nothing?”
Skye gives me a wide smile that says, See, I knew you’d love him. The girl can find redeeming

qualitiesinadrownedrat,butI’mstilltryingtomakesenseofthematch-up.Skyeisbeautiful.Notthe
conventional beautiful. In fact people usually stop to stare first because they’re stunned by her choppy
blondhairwithpinktips,thediamondstudinherchin,andhercrazyclothes.Butthentheykeepstaring
becauseshe’sstunning,withherpiercingblueeyesandthemostbeautifulbonestructureever.

Henryisnowturningacircle,lookingatallthedolls.“Whoa,trippy.”
“Iknow,right?It’salittleoverwhelmingthefirsttime.”
Ilookaround.Itisalittleoverwhelmingatfirst.Dollscovernearlyeveryinchofwallinanexplosion

ofcolorsandexpressions.Allstaringatus.Notonlythewalls,butthefloorspaceisamazeoftablesand
cradles and strollers overflowing with dolls. In case of fire there is no clear exit to the door. I’d be
pushingbabiesoutofthewaytoescape.Fakebabies,butstill.

Henrywalksuptoadollwearingakilt.“Aislyn,”hesays,readinghernamecard.“Ihavethisoutfit.I

shouldgetthisdollandwecangoontourtogether.”

“Playingbagpipes?”Iask.
Hegivesmeafunnylook.“Nope.I’mtheguitarplayerforCrustyToads.”
Ah,andthereitis.ThereasonSkyekeepshimaround.Shehasasoftspotformusicians.Butshecan

domuchbetterthanaguywholookslikehewastheinspirationforhisband’sname.

“Die,youready?”
“Yep.”
Die?I’llaskheraboutthatlater.

“See you later, Caveman,” he says with a guffaw like he’d been saving that up since the second we

wereintroduced.

Iwouldn’tneedtoaskaboutDie,afterall.He’soneofthosetypes:AssignerofInstantNicknames.
“Bye”—CrustyToad—“Henry.”
Mymomwalksinthebackdoorastheywalkoutthefront.She’scarryingtwoarmloadsofgroceries.

“Caymen,thereareafewmorebags;canyougetthem?”Sheheadsstraightforthestairs.

“You want me to leave the store?” It sounds like a lame question, but she’s really particular about

leavingthesalesfloor.First,becausedollsareexpensiveandifanyofthemevergotstolenthatwouldbe
aBigDeal.Wedon’thaveanytypeofvideosurveillanceoralarmsystemonthestore—tooexpensiveto
maintain.Second,mymomishugeaboutcustomerservice.Ifsomeonewalksin,I’mnotsupposedtolet
onesecondgobywithoutagreeting.

“Yes.Please.”Shesoundsoutofbreath.Mymom,thequeenofyoga,isoutofbreath?Wassherunning

laps?

“Okay.”Iglancetowardthefrontdoortomakesurenooneiscomingandthengooutbackandgrabthe

restofthegroceries.WhenItakethemupstairsIstepoverthebagsshedroppedoffrightinsidethedoor
andthensetmineonthecounterofourdollhouse-sizekitchen.That’sreallythethemeofourlives.Dolls.
Wesellthem.Weliveintheirhouse...oratleastthesizeequivalent:threetinyrooms,onebathroom,
miniature kitchen. And I’m convinced the size is the main reason my mom and I are so close. I peer
aroundthewallandseemymomsprawledoutonthecouch.

“Youokay,Mom?”
Shesitsupbutdoesn’tstand.“Justexhausted.Gotupextraearlythismorning.”
Ibegintounloadthegroceries,puttingthemeatandfrozenapplejuiceinthefreezer.Ionceaskedmy

momifwecouldgetbottledjuiceandshetoldmeitwastooexpensive.Iwassix.Thatwasthefirsttime
Irealizedwewerepoor.Itdefinitelywasn’tthelast.

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t worry about unloading. I’ll do that in a minute. Will you head back to the

store?”

“Sure.”OnmywayoutthedoorImovethebagsshehadabandonedonthefloortothecounteraswell,

thenleave.IttakesmybrainthewholetripdownthestairstorememberthatIsawmymomstillinbed
whenIleftforschoolthismorning.Howwasthatgettingup“extraearly”?Ilookovermyshoulder,upthe
steep set of stairs, tempted to turn around and call her bluff. But I don’t. I take my place behind the
register,pulloutmyEnglishreadingassignment,anddon’tlookupuntilthebellonthefrontdoorjingles.

Chapter3

neofmyfavoritecustomersevercomesthroughthedoor.She’solderbutsharpandfunny.Herhairisa

deep red, sometimes bordering on purple, depending on how recently she had it dyed. And she always
wears a scarf no matter how hot it is outside. The autumn weather occasionally justifies a scarf these
days,andtoday’sisbrightorangewithpurpleflowers.

“Caymen,”shesayswithasmile.
“Hi,Mrs.Dalton.”
“Isyourmomintoday,honey?”
“She’supstairs.DoyouwantmetogetheroristheresomethingIcanhelpyouwith?”
“Ihadadollonspecialorderandwonderedifshearrivedyet.”
“Letmecheck.”Ipulloutabinderfromthedrawerbeneaththeregisterthatlogsorders.IfindMrs.

Dalton’snamefairlyeasilybecausethereareonlyafewentries,andmostofthemarehers.“Itlookslike
it’sscheduledtoarrivetomorrow,butletmecallonitforyousoyoudon’tcomedownherefornothing.”
Iplaceacallandfindoutitwillarriveafternoontomorrow.

“I’msorrytobotheryou.Yourmotherdidtellmethat.Iwasjusthoping.”Shesmiles.“Thisone’sfor

mygranddaughter.Herbirthday’sinafewweeks.”

“That’scool.I’msureshe’llloveit.Howoldwilltheluckylittlegirlbe?”
“Sixteen.”
“Oh.Thelucky...biggirl.”Idon’tknowwhatelsetosaywithoutsoundingrude.
Mrs.Daltonlaughs.“Don’tworry,Caymen,Ihaveotherpresentsforher.Thisgiftismoretohumor

hergrandma.I’vegottenheradolleveryyearsincesheturnedone.It’shardformetobreakatraditionno
matterhowoldtheyget.”

“Mymotherthanksyouforthat.”
Mrs.Daltonlaughs.Shegetsmyjokes.Maybebecauseshe’salittledryherself.
“She’stheonlygirlsoIspoilherrotten.”
“Whattraditiondoyouhavefortheboys?”
“Akickinthepants.”
“That’sagreattradition.Ithinkyoushouldgetthemdollsfortheirbirthdays,too.Theyprobablyfeel

leftout.”

Shelaughs.“Imighthavetotrythat.”Shesad-eyesthebinderonthecounterlikeshewishesthedate

wouldmagicallychangeandherdollwouldbeherenow.Sheopensherpurseandstartsdiggingthrough
it.“How’sSusandoing?”

I glance toward the back like my mom will come down the stairs at the mere mention of her name.

“She’sgood.”

Shepullsoutalittleredbookandstartsflippingthroughit.“Tomorrowafternoon,yousaid?”
Inod.
“Ohno,thatwon’tdo.Ihaveahairappointment.”
“That’sokay.We’llholditinthebackuntilyoucome.YoucangetitWednesdayorreallyanydaythis

week.Whateverworksbest.”

Shepicksuptheblackpenonthecounterandwritessomethinginherbook.“MaybeI’llsendsomeone

togetitforme.Wouldthatwork?”

“Ofcourse.”
“HisnameisAlex.”
IwritethenameAlexnexttothepickupline.“Soundsgood.”
She grabs my hand and squeezes it with both of hers. “You’re such a good girl, Caymen. I’m glad

you’rehereforyourmom.”

Sometimes I wonder just how much these ladies talk to my mom. What did they know about our

history?Didtheyknowaboutmyfather?Asthespoiledkidofawealthyfamily,heranbeforemymom
could finish saying, “I’m pregnant. What should we do?” His parents made her sign papers she didn’t
understandthatvirtuallysaidshecouldnevergoafterhimforchildsupport.Theygaveherhushmoney
thateventuallybecamethestart-upfundsforthedollstore.AndthisiswhyIhaveabsolutelynodesireto
meetmygemofafather.Notthathe’stried.

Okay,somaybeIhaveasmalldesire.Butafterwhathedidtomymotheritfeelswrong.
IsqueezeMrs.Dalton’shand.“Oh,youknowme,I’mcompetingforaBestDaughterintheUniverse

award.Ihearthisyearitcomeswithamug.”

Shesmiles.“Ithinkyoualreadywonit.”
Irollmyeyes.Shepatsmyhandandthentakeshertimeleavingthedollstore,studyingdollsasshe

goes.

Isettlebackontothestoolandreadsomemore.Whenseveno’clockrollsaroundIglanceatthestairs

forwhatseemslikethegazillionthtime.Mymomnevercamedown.That’sweird.Sherarelymakesme
stay down here alone if she’s actually here. After locking up, lowering the blinds, and turning out the
lights,Igrabthestackofmailandgoupstairs.

Thehousesmellsamazing.Likesweetcookedcarrotsandmashedpotatoeswithgravy.
Mymomisstandingatthestovestirringgravy.JustasI’mabouttogreether,shesays,“Iknow.And

that’stheproblem.”

Irealizeshe’sonthephone,soIheadtomybedroomtoputmyshoesaway.HalfwaydownthehallI

hearhersay,“Ohplease.Theydon’tliveheretominglewithnormalsociety.”

Shemustbetalkingtoherbestfriend.Shedoesn’tknowI’veoverheardmanyconversationslikethis

butIhave.Ikickoffmyshoesinmyroomandheadbacktothekitchen.

“Smellsgood,Mom,”Isay.
She jumps and then says, “Well, Caymen just walked in. I’d better go.” She laughs at something her

friendsays.Herlaughislikeamelodicsong.

The kitchen doesn’t like two people in it at once so it constantly shoves counter edges and drawer

handlesintomyhipsandlowerback.Isoonabandontheideathatwecanbothfit,andIsteparoundthe
countertothesmalldiningarea.

“SorryIdidn’tjoinyoudownstairs,”shesaysafterhangingupthephone.“IthoughtI’dmakeusahot

dinner.It’sbeenawhile.”

IsitdownandflipthroughthemailIhadbroughtup.“Isthereanoccasion?”
“Nope.Justforfun.”
“Thanks,Mom.”Iholduptheelectricitybillinapinkenvelope.Ihavenoideawhypinkischosenfor

lateness.Isitreallythecolorthatannouncestotheworld(oratleastthemailcarrier):“Thesepeopleare
irresponsiblefailures?”I’dthinkpukeyellowwoulddoabetterjobatthatannouncement.“Forty-eight-
hoursnotice.”

“Ugh.Isthattheonlyone?”
“Lookslikeit.”

“Okay.I’llpayitonlinelater.Justsetitonthecounter.”
Idon’tevenhavetostanduptoreachthecounter.It’slessthananarm’slengthawayfromthetable.

Mymomcarriesovertwoplatesofsteamingfoodandsetsoneinfrontofme.Wetalkasweeat.

“Oh,Mom,Iforgottotellyouabouttheguywhocameintothestoretheotherday.”
“Ohyeah?”
“Hebeckonedme.”
“I’msurehewasjusttryingtogetyourattention.”
Ikeepgoing.“Also,nobodytaughthimhowtosmile,andtherewasalipcurlatonepoint.”
“Well,Ihopeyoukeptthesethoughtstoyourself.”Shetakesabiteofherpotatoes.
“No,Itoldhimthatyouofferedsmilinglessonsintheafternoon.Ithinkhe’llbeintomorrow.”
Hereyessnapup,butshemustrealizeI’mkiddingbecausesheletsoutasigheventhoughIseeher

tryingtohideasmile.

“Mrs.Daltonwasinagaintoday.”
For this news she offers a real smile. “She was in last week, too. She gets so excited when she’s

waitingforadoll.”

“Iknow.It’scute.”Iclearmythroatandforkaswirlingpatterninmypotatoesbeforelookingatmy

mom.

“Thanksforrunningthestoretoday.Igotcaughtupinpaperworkuphere.”
“It’sokay.”
“YouknowIappreciateyou,right?”
Ishrug.“It’snobigdeal.”
“Itistome.Idon’tknowwhatI’ddowithoutyou.”
“Ithinkyou’downlotsofcats.”
“Really?YouthinkI’dbeacatlady?”
Inodslowly.“Yeah.Thatornutcrackers.”
“What?Nutcrackers?Idon’tevenlikenuts.”
“Youdon’thavetolikenutstoownlotsofwide-mouthedwoodendolls.”
“So you think without you that I’d have a completely different personality and like cats and/or

nutcrackers?”

Without me she’d have a completely different life. She’d have probably gone to college and got

married, not been disowned by her parents. “Well, yeah. Hello. Without me in your life you’d have no
humororlove.You’dbeasad,sadwoman.”

Shelaughsagain.“Sotrue.”Sheplacesherforkonherplateandstands.“Areyoudone?”
“Yes.”
ShepicksupmyplateandputsitontopofhersbutnotbeforeInoticethatshehardlyateanything.At

thesinkshequicklyrinsestheplates.

“Mom,youcooked.I’llclean.”
“Okay,thanks,sweetie.IthinkI’mgoingtogoreadinbed.”
Ittakesmeonlyabouttwentyminutestocleanup.OnthewaytomyroomIpokemyheadinmymom’s

roomtosaygoodnight.Anopenbookliesonherchestandshe’sfastasleep.Shereallywastiredtoday.
Maybeshehadgottenupearly,likeshesaid,toworkoutorsomethingthenwentbacktosleep.Icloseher
book,putitonhernightstand,andturnoffherlight.

Chapter4

sIwalkintothedollstorethenextdayafterschool,I’msurprisedtoseeamanstandingatthecounter.

He’swearingdarkclothesandhasadark,shortlytrimmedbeardandadarktan.Yes,thereisdefinitelya
darkthemegoingon.Heseemstoexudeit,andyetmymom’scheeksarepinkandshe’ssmiling.Whenthe
bellonthedoorrings,theybothlookoveratme.

“Hi,Caymen,”mymomsays.
“Hi.”
“Well,seeyouaround,Susan,”thestrangemansays.
Mymomnods.
Heleaves,andIsay,“Whowasthat?”Ituckmybackpackbeneaththeregister.“Alex?”
“Who’sAlex?”
“Theguywho’ssupposedtopickupMrs.Dalton’sdoll.”
“Ohno,itwasjustacustomer.”
Right.Iwatchhimwalkbythefrontwindow.Asinglemaninhisfortiesisacustomer.Ialmostsayas

muchwhenshesays,“I’mgladyou’rehere.Ihavetorunacouplethingstothepostofficebeforeone.”
Shepicksuptwoboxesandastackofenvelopesandheadstowardthebackdoor.“Oh,andMrs.Dalton’s
dollisintheback.”

“Okay,seeyoulater.”
ThefrontdooropensandIlookuphalfexpectingtoseemymom’s“customer”walkbackin,butI’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
Skyeseesinhim.

“Hey,Caveman.”
Ugh.Heprobablyforgotmyrealname.“Hi,Toad.Skye’snothere.”
“Iknow.IwashopingIcouldplayyouasongIwroteforher.Letmeknowifyouthinkshe’lllikeit.”
“Okay.Sure.”
He sits on the floor and takes out his guitar. He leans against a lower cabinet, stretching out and

crossinghislegsinfrontofhim.Thedollsonthelitglassshelvesabovehimandthewoodencradlenext
tohimmakethislooklikethesettingforsometrippymusicvideo.Hestrumsafewchordsthenclearshis
throatandsings.

Thesongisprettygood,borderingoncheesy.ThelineabouthowwithoutSkyehewoulddiemakesme

wanttolaugh,butImanagetoholditin.ButbytheendofthesongIcompletelyunderstandwhatSkye
seesinhim.I’mprettysureI’mstaringathimdreamilymyself.Sowhenthesoundofsomeoneclapping
breakstheafter-songsilence,mycheeksgohot.

Xanderisstandingbythefrontdoor.Helooksevenrichertoday.Thelookconsistsofperfectlystyled

hair,designerclothes,andGuccileatherloaferswithnosocks.

“Greatsong,”hesaystoHenry.
“Thanks.”ThenHenrylooksatmeforverification.
“Yeah,itwasawesome.”
Hetakesabreathofreliefthenputshisguitaraway.IturnmyattentiontoXander.

“I’vebeensentonanothererrand,”hesays.
“Anotherdaywhereminglingwithcommonershelpsyouappreciateyourlifemore?”Icould’vesworn

I said something equivalent last time, but the offended look that takes over his face lets me know I
probablyonlythoughtitbefore.Ohwell,itwasajokeanyway(sortof).Ifhecan’ttakeajoke,that’son
him.

“Somethinglikethat,”hemumbles.
Henrystandsup.“TheScottishdollismine,sohandsoff.”
Xander holds his hands up. “Not interested.” I get the feeling Xander thinks Henry is talking about

somethingotherthanakilt-wearingdoll.ButsinceXanderisnotinterested,itdoesn’tmatteranyway.

Henryheadsforthedoor.“I’mgoingtosingthesonginoursetFridaynight.Come.We’replayingat

ScreamShout.Teno’clock.”ScreamShoutisadiveaboutfiveblocksawaywherelocalbandsplayto
small,mostlywastedcrowdsforlittleornomoney.ItagalongwithSkyeoccasionally,butit’snotreally
myscene.

Xanderwatcheshimgoandthenturnsbacktome,allbusiness.“Mygrandmotheraskedmetopickup

adollsheordered.”

“Yourgrandmother?”Iopenthebook,wonderingifIhadmissedanorder.
“KatherineDalton.”
“Mrs.Daltonisyourgrandma?”
“Whydoesthatsurpriseyousomuch?”
Iclosemyopenmouth.BecauseMrs.Daltonissweetanddown-to-earthandamazing....Youtake

yourself too seriously, have perfectly manicured nails, and line your clothes with money (or at least
that’stheexcuseIgivehimforsuchgoodposture).“Ijusthadnoidea.”

“SoIguessshenevertalksaboutherbrilliantgrandson?”
“IjustthoughtshewassendingAlexin.”
“IamAlex.”
Oh.Duh.Xander.AsinAlexander.“SodoyougobyAlexorXander?”
HegetsanarrogantsmirkonhisfacelikeIhadGoogledhimorsomething.
“Yourcreditcard,”Isay,remindinghimhehaduseditlasttimehewasin.
“Oh.Yes,IgobyXander,butmygrandparentscallmeAlex.I’mnamedaftermygrandpasoyouknow

howthatgoes.”

Ihavenoideahowthatgoes.“Yeah,totally.”
“So, Susan’s daughter . . .” He leans his elbows on the counter, looks at a small wooden apple a

customergaveusyearsago,andstartsspinningitlikeatop.“Doyouhavemydoll?”

Ilaughalittleathowthatsounds.“Yes,Ido.Givemeoneminute.”Iretrievetheboxfromtheback

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
cutterfromasilvercupnexttotheregisterandcutthepackingtape.“Justletmemakesureshehasn’thad
anylimbsamputatedonherjourney.”

“Okay.”
Iremovethedollboxfromtheshippingbox,onlydisplacingafewpackingpeanutsintheprocess,and

carefullyopenit.

“‘Mandy,’”hesays,readinghernameoffthelid.
“Mandy’singoodshape.Yourgrandmawillbehappy.Iguessshe’sforyoursister?”
“No.Mycousin.Scarlett.Thatdolllooksalotlikeher.It’salittlecreepy.”
“Yourcousinwearslacysocksandknitdresses?”

“Well,no.Butthehair...andmycousindefinitelyhasthatslylookinhereyes.”
“Soyourcousinhasablackbobandislookingfortrouble?”
“Exactly.”
Islidetheboxacrossthecountertohim.“Tellyourgrandmotherhiforme.”
“Andshe’llknowwho‘me’is?”
“Doesn’teverybody?”
“Everybodybutme,itseems.”Hetakesouthisphoneandpushesafewbuttons.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Iask.
“I’mtellingmygrandmayousayhi.”
Irollmyeyes.“That’scheating.”
“Ididn’trealizewewereplayingagame.”Heoffersmehisfirstsmileoftheday,andI’msuddenly

gladhekeepsthatthingputaway.It’smoredisarmingthananyweapon.“Hi,Grammy.Igotyourdoll....
Yes,ayoungladyatthestorehelpedmewithit.Shetoldmetotellyouhi....No,notSusan.”

Ilaughoutloud.
“Herdaughter.Darkhair,greeneyes.”
Ilookdown,surprisedheknowsthecolorofmyeyes.Hisarebrownwithgoldflecks.NotthatI’ve

noticed.

“Sixteen...ish?”Hewidenshiseyes,askingifheguessedright.Ishakemyheadno.“Seventeen?”
Andahalf.
“Caymen?”Heraiseshiseyebrowsatme.Ishrugmyshoulders.“Well,Caymensayshi....Sweet?I

don’tknowaboutsweet,butshe’ssomething.”He’squietforawhile.“Iambeingnice.Youshouldtell
hertobenice.Shewouldn’teventellmehername....No,notbecauseI’mbeingmean.”

IloveMrs.Dalton.
Iwritedowninthebookthedateandtimethespecialorderwaspickedup.ThenforsomereasonI

add the “ander” on the end of the “Alex” I had written before. I close the book and put it beneath the
counter.He’sstilllisteningintentlytosomethinghisgrandmaissaying.Hemeetsmyeyesatonepointand
thenholdsupafinger.Hereachesintohispocketandpullsouthiswalletandacreditcardwithouteven
lookingatit.

“Shealreadypaid,”Iwhisper.
Henodsandputsitaway.
His grandma says something that makes him smile. The smile. What is it about that smile anyway?

Maybeit’shisperfectlystraightandwhiteteeththatmakeitsoamazing.Butit’smorethanthat.It’salittle
crooked,onesidegoingupmorethantheother.Andonceinawhilehistopteethbitehisbottomlip.It’sa
veryunguardedsmile,unliketherestofhisappearance,whichisafortress.

“Well, hey, Grammy, I gotta go. Caymen is staring at me, probably wondering if I’m ever going to

leaveherstoresoshecangetbacktowork.”

It’s weird to hear him say my name. It makes him seem like more than just some random customer.

Almostlikeweknoweachothernow.

Hepocketshisphone.“Caymen.”
“Xander.”
“DoesthismeanIwonthegame?”
“Ididn’trealizewewereplayingagame.”
Hepicksupthedollandbacksawaywithhislower-lip-bitingsmile.“Ithinkyoudid.”

Chapter5

bout 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
havingthegirlscomeinandpickoutthefinishingtouches—clothes,haircolor,eyecolor—sotheycould
gohomewiththeirownpersonalizeddoll.Atfirstmymomletthempaintontheeyes,butthatturnedinto
CreepShow101.SonowIsitattheregisterpaintingeyeswhilemymomstayswiththepartyintheback
andhelpsthempickoutfitsandhair.Onagooddaywefinishwithahundreddollarsinourpockets.On
mostSaturdayswe’reluckytobreakeven(mymomisasuckerandletsthekidspickmorethanthethree
allottedclothingitems).

Today I think we made twenty bucks, and I’m wishing beyond anything that we would stop booking

Saturdayparties.Butitmakesmymomhappy—somenonsenseaboutthelaughteroflittlechildren—soI
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”
(formerlyknownasthebreakroom).

IlookupwhenSkyewalksin,Henrytaggingalongbehindher.“Wemissedyoulastnight,”shesays.
Isearchmymemorybutcomeupempty.“Whatwaslastnight?”
“Myband’sshowatScreamShout,”Henrysayswitha“duh”inhisvoice.
“Ohyeah.How’ditgo?”
Skyesmiles.“Hewrotemeasong.”
Henrysetsdownhisguitarandplopsdownnexttoit.“Wethoughtwe’ddoarepeatofthenight.”
“Awesome,”Isay,lookingoverthelistmymommadeofthedollclotheswewererunninglowonand

checkingofftheonesI’dalreadyordered.

“Shesoundslikeshe’snotexcited,butshetotallyis,”SkyesaystoHenry.
“Totally,”Iassurehimdryly.
Hestrumsafewchords.“Cavemanhasnolife,”hesings.Ithrowmypenathim,butthenIneeditback

soIwalktowhereitlandedonthefloorbehindhimandpickitup.

Skyelaughs.“Shehasalife,Henry.It’sjustaboringone.”
“ConsideringI’mwithyouhalfthetime,Skye,I’dwatchwhatyousay.”
“Cavemanhasaboringlife,”hesings.“Sheneedssometoilandstrife.”
“No,I’mfinewithboringness,thankyou.”InfactI’vesettledintomymonotonouslifeprettywell,only

feelingtheurgetoripmyhairoutaboutonceaweeknow.

Skyestraightensadollontheshelfbesideher.“Butseriously,Caymen,youshould’vecomelastnight.

Whydidn’tyou?”

“Whattimedidyougethome?”Iask.
“Idon’tknow...two-ish.”
“Andthat’swhyIdidn’tgo.Ihadtoworkthismorning.”
“It’slikeshe’sagrown-upalready,”Henrysays.
Whoaskedyou?
“Playherasong,Henry.Arealone.”
“Okay.”

AshestartstoplaySkyegrabsthepaperfrommyhandsandputsitonthecounter.“Justtakealittle

break.”ShedragsmetothefloorinfrontofHenry.Whilehesingsshelooksoveratme.“Oh,someone
askedaboutyoulastnight.”

“Where?”
“AtScreamShout.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, some kid who looked like he could’ve owned the place. Dressed like a fancy-pants.

Superwhiteteeth.”

Forsomereasonthisnewssendsajoltoffearthroughme.“Xander?”
Sheshrugs.“Idon’tknow.Hedidn’tsayhisname.”
“Whatdidhesay?”
“Well,Ioverheardhimtalkingtosomeguybehindme.Hesaid,‘DoyouknowagirlnamedCaymen?’

Theguysaidhedidn’t.WhenIturnedaroundtotellhimIknewyouhewasalreadywalkingaway.”

“Andheleft?”
“No,hestayedforawhile,listenedtoHenryplay,orderedasoda.Thenheleft.”
Xanderwaslookingforme.Notgood.Mr.Richandhiscompletelyover-the-toplifestyleneedtostay

away.“Washealone?”

“No.Somegirlwaswithhim.Shehadshortdarkhair.Lookedlikeshewasbored.”
Hiscousinmaybe?Ishrug.
“Whoishe?”
“Justthegrandsonofsomecustomer.”
“Therichgrandsonofsomerichcustomer?”
“Yeah.”
“Weshouldhavemorerichfriends.Itwouldtakeourentertainmenttothenextlevel.”
“What are you talking about?” I point to Henry. “This is completely high-class. We have our own

personalmusician.”

“Youguysaren’tevenlisteningtomysong,”Henrycomplains.
“Sorry.Itsoundsgreat,babe.”
Hestopsplayingandreturnshisguitartothecase.“Caveman,I’mgoingtodoyouafavor.”
“Pleasedon’t.”
“Hearmeout.I’mgoingtosetyouupwithafriend.Wecandouble.”HelooksatSkye.“Tic.He’sthe

leadsingerofCrustyToads.”

Skyegetsahugesmile.“Ohyeah,he’ssocool.You’lllovehim,Caymen.”
“Tick?Asinablood-suckinginsect?”
“No,asinatwitch.Atic.”Heblinkshard,imitatingwhatIassumeisatwitch.“It’snothisrealname.”
“Nokidding,”Isay.
“It’strue.ButIforgothisrealname.Seriously,youguyswouldbeperfectforeachother.You’lllike

him.”

Istandandgrabmypaperagain.“No.Idon’twanttogoout.”AndIdefinitelydon’twanttogoona

blinddatewithsomeonenamedTicwhoHenrythinksisperfectforme.

“Please,please,please,”Skyebegs,tuggingonmyarm.
“Idon’tevenknowtheguy.I’llfeelpathetic.”
“Wecanchangethat.I’llsendhiminyourstoreonedaythisweektosayhi,”Henrysays.
Iwhirlonhim.“Don’tyoudare.”
“Thatsoundslikeachallenge,”hesayswithalaugh.

“No,it’snot,Toad.Don’tdothis.”WoulditbewrongifIsiccedoneofthedollsonhim?
“Don’tworry.I’llbeslyaboutit.Iwon’ttellhimyouwanttogooutwithhimoranything.”
“Well,that’sgoodconsideringIdon’twanttogooutwithhim.”
Skyesingstheword“Anxiety.”
Henrylaughsagainandstandsup.“Noworries,Caveman,you’llbeokay.Justbeyourself.”
Notthe“beyourself”line.Iloathethatline.AsifMyselfandTichavemetbeforeandgottenalong,so

allIhavetodoismakesureMyselfistherethistime.Soillogical.

“Youreadytogo,Die?”
“Yeah.I’llseeyousoon.”ShesmilesareallysneakysmileandIgroan.Thisissonotcool.Theyare

goingtosendsomeguynamedTicintomystoreandthereisnothingIcandoaboutit.

Chapter6

fteraweekofanxiouslylookingupeverytimethebellonthedoorrings,IstarttothinkmaybeSkye

hadtalkedHenryoutofthehorriblethreatofsendingTicintomystore.ButthenithappensoneMonday
afternoon.Aguywalksintothedollstoreholdingastackofpapers.

Hehasshort,curlyblackhairandmochaskin.Alipringdrawsevenmoreattentiontohislargelips.

He’swearingjeanstuckedintoarmybootsandaT-shirtthatsays,Mybandiscoolerthanyourband.Ina
tortured sort of way he’s actually very attractive. And way too cool for me. I wonder why Skye’s not
datingthisguy.Heseemslikeafarbettermatchforher.

“Hey,”hesays.Hisvoiceisraspy,likehejustwokeuporneedstoclearhisthroat.“Henrytoldme

youguyswouldbewillingtoputsomeflyersonyourcounterforournextshow.”Helooksaround.

“I’msuretheoldladieswouldlovearockconcert,”Isay.
He lowers his brow. “Yeah, Henry seemed to think . . .” He trails off as he eyes a porcelain baby

insideabassinet.“MaybeIgotthewrongstore.”

“No.It’sfine.Justputthemrighthere.”
Hewalksoverandsetsasmallstackonthecounterthengivesmeaonce-over.Hemustlikewhathe

seesbecausehesays,“Youshouldcome,”pointingtotheflyer.

Theflyerhasapictureofatoadthatlookslikeitjustmetthegrillofasemitruck.Whodesignedthat

thing? Across its belly it says, “Crusty Toads.” Then at the bottom it reads, “Friday night, ten o’clock,
ScreamShout.”

On the tip of my tongue something sarcastic about the flyers is ready to spew forth, but then I stop

myself.“Yeah,I’lltry.”

“That sounds like what you really mean is that it’s the last thing you want to do.” He blinks hard,

remindingmehowhegothisnickname.“I’mthesinger.Doesthatmakeyouwanttogomoreorless?”

Ismile.“Maybealittlemore.”
“I’mMason.”MuchbetterthanTic.
“Caymen.”
Pleasedon’tturnitintoanickname.
“Goodtomeetyou,Caymen.”
Fivepoints.
“SowhatarethechancesI’llactuallyseeyouFridaynight?”
Ilookdownattheflyeragainthenbackupathim.“Prettydecent.”
Hetugsonhislipring.“Telltheoldladiesthatit’llberockin’.”
“Iwill.”
Justashestartstoleavemymomcomesinthebackdoorandhestops.
“Hi,”shesays.
“Mom,thisisMason.Mason,mymom,Susan.”
“Hi,Susan,goodtomeetyou.”
“You,too.”Shepointstotheceiling.“Caymen,I’llbeupstairsmakingsomephonecallsifyouneed

me.”Hershouldersareslumped,andshereachesforthebanisterofthestairs.

“Everythingokay?”

“Yeah...I...yes,I’mfine.”
IwatchhergothenlookbacktoMason.
Hetapsthestackofflyersonthecounter.“SeeyouFriday.”Hegivesmeasinglewaveashewalks

outthedoor.

Ibitemylipandstareatthetoadonthepaper.Ineedanewoutfitoranewhaircut.Somethingnew.I

makesurenooneiscomingthroughthefrontdoorthengointomymom’sofficetoseeifshe’swrittenmy
paycheckyet.Sheusuallyleavesitinanenvelopeinherdesk.It’snotmuchandI’vetoldheramillion
timesIfeelweirdaboutbeingpaid,butsheinsists.

Intheright-handdraweristhebalancebook,bulgingwithreceiptsandloosepapers.Ipullitoutand

fliptotheendwhereI’veseenherpullmypaycheckfromseveraltimes.There’snothingthere.Istartto
shutthebookbutaflashofredcatchesmyeye.Scanningdownthepage,myeyesstoponthelastnumber,
ared“2,253.00.”That’smorethanwespendinamonth.Iknow.Idothebillssometimes.

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
withoutthedollstore.

ForthatonesecondIfeelfree.

Chapter7

stareatthelongmirrorhanginginmyroom.EvenwhenIbackupasfarasIcanIcan’tseemyentire

body.Myroomistoosmall.Ihadstraightenedmyhair,putonmybestjeansandablackT-shirt,andlaced
upmypurpleboots.Nothingnew.Iwrestledwiththefactthatthiswasn’tagoodideaatall.Ineighthours
fromthisminuteIhavetobeawakeandgettingreadyforwork.Knowinghowbad-offthestoreismakes
mefeelguilty.LikeIhaven’tdoneenough.ForthehundredthtimeItellmyselfthatIdon’thavetostay
long.Justmakemyappearanceandleave.

Mymomwalksbymyroomthenbacksup.“Ithoughtyouleftalready.”
“No,andIdon’thavetoleaveifyouneedme.”
“Caymen,I’mfine.Nowgetoutofhere.Youlookamazing.”
AsIwalkthefiveblockstoScreamShout,Itakeinmysurroundings.OldTownlookslikeitbelongs

inawesternmovie.Allthestorefrontsaremadeofverticalsidingorredbrick.Somestoresevenhave
saloon-styleswingingdoors.Thesidewalksarecobblestone.Theonlythingsmissingarethehorizontal
poststotieoffthehorsesinfrontofthestores.Insteadthereisawidestreetanddiagonalparkingcurbs.
Theoceanisseveralblocksaway,butonaquietnightIcanhearitandIcanalwayssmellit.Itakeadeep
breath.

Twodoorsdownfromourdollstoreisadancestudio,andI’msurprisedtoseethelightsallonthis

lateatnight.Wide-openwindowsonadarknightmakeeverythinginsideasclearasonamoviescreen.
Thereisagirlinside,probablymyage,dancinginfrontofawallofmirrors.Thegracefulmovementsof
herbodyproveshe’sbeenstudyingforyears.Iwonderwhysomepeopleseemtobebornknowingwhat
theywanttodowiththeirlivesandothers—mostlyme—havenoidea.Isighandcontinuemywalktothe
club.

ScreamShoutispackedwithlocalstonight.Irecognizesomepeoplefromschoolandnodhello.The

stagecanbarelybecalledthat.It’smorelikearicketyplatform.Mismatchedtablesfilltheareaaroundit
andabarlinesonewall.TherearesomanypeopleIactuallyhavetosearchoutSkye.

“Hey,”shesayswhenIjoinher.Herhairisextrapinktonight,andIfeeldrabstandingnexttoher.
“Hi.It’scrowdedtonight.”
“Iknow.Socool.Youmust’vemadeagoodimpressiononTicbecausehewasjustaskingifIthought

you’dshowup.”ShenodsherheadtoadooroffthesideofthestagewhereIassumethebandisgetting
ready.

“Must we call him that?” I haven’t decided what my impression of Mason is. But it must’ve been

somethingorIwouldn’tbestandinghere,givingupsleep.

“Yes,wemust,Caveman.”
“Please.Notyou,too,Die.”
Shelaughs.“Iknow,they’reprettyawful,aren’tthey?ItmakesmelaughwhenyoucallHenryToad,

though.”

“How’sitgoingwithToadanyway?”
“Prettygood.”Skyeisextremelyloyal.Henrywouldhavetodosomethingblatantlyhorribleforherto

breakupwithhimatthispoint.Notthathewould.Asidefromhisheinousabuseofnicknames,Henryis
decent.

Ilookbackatthestage,waitingforitsoccupants.“I’mguessingtonightyou’regoingtobemadlyin

lovewithhimbecausehe’sabouttogoallrockstaronyou.”

“Forsure.”Shesmiles.“AndyouareabouttofallmadlyinlovewithTicbecausehisvoiceislike

honey.”

She’sright.Aboutthehoneypartatleast.AshestartstosingIcan’ttakemyeyesoffhim.Hisvoice

hasasoft,raspyqualitytoitthatmakesmewanttoswaywiththebeat.WhenIhearSkyegigglingbeside
meI’mfinallypulledfromthetrance.

“Itoldyou,”shesayswhenIlookather.
“What?Iwasjustlistening.It’srudenottolisten.”
Shelaughsagain.
WhenthelastsongisoverMasonjumpsoffthestageanddisappearsintothebackwiththeotherguys.

Henry comes out first, and he and Skye make out for a while right in front of me. Gross. Why do I
suddenlywishIhadsomeonetomakeoutwith?I’mgoodatbeingalone.I’veprettymuchmasteredit.So
what’schanged?Xander’slip-bitingsmileflashesthroughmymind.No.Ishaketheimageaway.

Just when I’m sure that if I take a saliva sample from Skye’s mouth it will come back with Henry’s

DNA,Isay,“Okay,enough.”

SkyepullsawaylaughingandHenrypretendslikehejustrealizedIwasstandingthere.Right.
“S’up?”hesays,thenleansovertothebarandasksforsomeicewater.Hetakesitandwesearchfor

atable.Therearenoopenonessowejuststandinthecornertalking.

EventuallyMasoncomesoutandthrowsonearmaroundmyneck.HisT-shirtisstickywithsweatand

almostreversestheeffecthissinginghadonme.“Hey,Caymen,youcame.”

“HereIam.”
“How’dwedotonight?”
“Reallygood.”
“Didyoubringanyoldladieswithyou?”Helooksaroundlikethisisavalidpossibility.
“Almost, but she canceled on me last-minute. I guess some metal-head band was playing downtown

tonight.”

“Whichband?”Henryasks,andMasonstartslaughing.
“Itwasajoke,idiot,”hesays.
“Don’tcallmeanidiot.”
“Thendon’tactlikeone.”
Henry pouts, and Skye says, “You’re not an idiot, babe.” Then they start making out again. Ugh.

Seriously.

“Doyouwantsomethingtodrink?”Masonasks,leadingmetowardanabandonedtable.
“Yes,please.”
Isitdownandhecomesbackwithtwobottlesofbeer.Heholdsoneoutforme.
Iputupmyhands.“Oh,Idon’tdrink.I’mseventeen.”
“So?I’mnineteen.”
“MymomsaysbeforeIturneighteenshestillhastherighttomurderme.”Mymomalwaystellsmeto

blameitonherifIameverinanuncomfortablesituation.Itseemstoworkwell.

Helaughs.“Okay,that’scool.”Hesitsdownnexttome.
Iwatchhimdrinkforaminutethensay,“I’mgoingtogetsomewater.”
“Oh.”Hejumpsbackup.“Sit.I’llgetit.”
Iwatchhimwalkawayandcan’tdecideifI’mfeelingflutterybecauseI’mtalkingtotheleadsingerof

abandorifit’sMason.Whentwoothergirlsapproachhimatthebarandheturnstotalktothem,Irealize

it’sthefirstoption.Afterall,Ihardlyknowhim.Thismakesmefeelreallyshallow.

ThebartenderhandshimmyglassoficewaterbutMasoncontinuestalking.
Istand,suddenly.Ineedtogo.Ihaveanearlymorning.
IwalktowherewehadleftSkyeandHenryandtapherontheshoulder.“Hey,I’mleaving.”
ShepullsawayfromHenry.“Wait.”ShelooksaroundandspotsMason.“No,don’tleave.Healways

getsbombardedbygirls.It’snothisfault.”

“I’mnotworriedabouthim.That’snotwhyI’mleaving.”Atleastthat’swhatI’mtryingtoconvince

myself.“Ijusthavetoworkinthemorning.I’llseeyousoon.”

Iwalkawaytosaygood-byetoMasonandhearhersay,“Wait,we’rewalkingyou.”
AswepassMasonIwaveandmouthbye.ButSkyesaysoutloud,“We’rewalkingCaymenhome.”
Hegivesmethewaitmotionwithhishandandnodspolitelytothegirlinfrontofhim,finishingup

whateverconversationtheywerehaving.Hesetstheicewaterhe’dorderedonthebar,thenhe’sbymy
side.“I’mcoming,too.”

Henry and Skye walk in front of us, talking quietly. Mason drapes his arm around my shoulder. I’m

learningquicklythathe’satouchykindofguy.We’resilentforablock.

“Ididn’trealizeyouhadtoleavesoearly,”hefinallysays.
“Yeah.Ihaveworkinthemorning.”
“Weplayagainnextweek.”
I’mnotsureifheisinvitingmeormakingsmalltalksoIjustnod.
“Thanks,”IsaywhenwegettotheshopandIpullthekeysoutofmypocket.
Heleanstowardme,andbecauseitnevercrossesmymindthathewouldtrytokissmenomatterhow

touchy-feely he is and with witnesses, I don’t back up fast enough and am shocked when his lips meet
mine.They’resurprisinglysoft.“Oh,uh...wow,”Isay,pullingback.

Hedoesn’tbackupandhiseyesmeetmine.“Thanksforcomingtonight.”
HissmokyvoicemakesmyheartpattertolifeandagainI’mshockedatmyreactiontohim.
“Okay,seeyou.”
Skyesmilesatmelikethatwasthemostexcitingoccurrenceever.Ijustwanttoescape.

Chapter8

hestoredoesn’topenuntilnine,butlikeclockworkmyeyespopopenatsixSaturdaymorning.Itryto

gobacktosleepbutmybodywon’thaveitsoIstareattheceilingforawhilethinkingaboutthenight
before.Whathappened?DidMasonmeantokissme?HadIturnedtowardhimwhenhewasgoinginfor
ahugorsomething?Mybrainfeelstheneedtodisassembleandthenreconstructthenightinawaythat
makessense.

Itcomesupwithtwologicalpossibilities.One,itwasanaccidentandhewastoonicetosayso.Or

two, he was really friendly and kissed everyone. Now that I have some reasonable explanations, I feel
better.Ijusthopewedon’trunintoeachotherforawhile.

Afteranhourofunsuccessfullytryingtogobacktosleep,Irolloutofbedandshowerbeforemymom

takesoverthebathroom.Ipullonapairofjeans,aT-shirt,andslidemyfeetintofuzzyblackslippers.
WithwethairIgotograbalistofordersIhadleftdownstairsthedaybeforesoIcanenteritintothe
computer.

Icross-checkitwiththelistmymomhadmadeonemoretime.Westillhaveanhouruntilopeningso,

withplentyoftimetofinishgettingready,Ituckthelistintomypocketandheadforthecomputer.BeforeI
makeittothebottomstep,Ihearaknockonthefrontdoor.Myhandimmediatelygoestomywethairand
mybrainimmediatelythinksit’sMason.Thisscenariodoesn’tfallintoeitheroftheexplanationsmybrain
hadcomeupwith.Overlyaffectionaterockstarsdon’tshowuponthedoorstepthemorningafter.We’re
notopenyetsotheblindsarestilldrawnovertheglass.Idon’thavetoopenthedoor.

Asecondlatertheshopphonerings.
Masondoesn’thavetheshopphonenumber,doeshe?WouldSkyehavegivenittohim?Ipickitup

beforemymomgetsthechancetoanswerupstairs.“Hello,DollsandMore.”

“AweekagosomeonewarnedmenottobuytheblueberrymuffinsatEddie’s,butIdidn’tlistenand

boughtthemanyway.NowatoddhoursIgettheseinsatiablecravings.”

I’m so relieved at who’s on the line that I let out a weird laugh/sigh combo then quickly clear my

throat.“They’relacedwithaddictivesubstances.”

“Ibelieveyounow.”
Ismile.
“Soareyougoingtoletmein?It’skindofcoldouthere.I’llshare.”
Myeyesdarttothedoor.
“Ithinkthismuffinmightevenhaveyournameonit....Ohno,sorry,that’smyname.”
“I...”
“Youwouldn’twantmetodieofhypothermia,wouldyou?”hesays.
“Idon’tthinkitgetscoldenoughhereforthat.”Ishuffleonmyslipper-cladfeettounlockthedoorthen

holditopenforXander.

“Hi.”HisvoiceechoesinthephoneI’mstillholdingtomyear.IpushtheOffbutton.
It’sbeensolongIhadalmostforgottenhowgood-looking...andrichheis.Butitclingstohimalong

withthecoldairashewalksinside.Irelockthedoorandturntofacehim.He’sholdingabrownEddie’s
bakerybagandtwoStyrofoamcupswithlidsonthem.“Hotchocolate.”Heliftsthecupinhisrighthand.
“Orcoffee.”Heliftstheoneinhisleft.“Ionlytookatinysipoutofeachsoitdoesn’tmattertome.”

Nice.MaybeRichisacommunicabledisease.Ipointtohisrighthand.“Hotchocolate.”
“Ithoughtyoumightbeahotchocolategirl.”
ItakethehotchocolatefromhimandtrynottoregistermyshakinghandasIdoso.Thatwouldimply

hisshowingupoutoftheblueonmydoorstepistrippingmeout.

Mygazetravelsthelengthofhim.ItirritatesmethatthisearlyinthemorningXandercanlookso...

awake. If I saw him in the middle of the night with bedhead and sleepy eyes, would he still look so
perfect?

“Yourstarecanmakeaguyinsecure.”
“I’mnotstaring.I’mobserving.”
“What’sthedifference?”
“Theintentofobservationistogaindataandformatheoryorconclusion.”
Hetiltshishead.“Andwhattheoryhaveyouformed?”
Thatyou’reatleastonestepremovedfromnormal.Achunkyblackringonhispinkyfingerknocks

againstarockingchairasheturnstoglancearoundthedarkstore.Iraisemyeyebrows.Maybetwosteps.
“Thatyou’reamorningperson.”

Heholdshisarmsouttothesidesasiftosay,Youcaughtme.“I’vemadeanobservationaswell.”
“What’sthat?”
“Youhaveverywethair.”
Oh.That’sright.“Yeah,well,yougavemenowarning.Idon’twakeuplookingperfect.”Likesome

people.

ArealizationcomesoverhisfaceandIwaitforhimtoexpressit.Helooksoverhisshouldertoward

theback.“Doyoulivehere?”

“Yeah,there’sanapartmentupstairs.”NowI’mconfused.“Soifyoudidn’tknowIlivedhere,whydid

youknockonthedoorbeforeopening?”

“BecauseIassumedyouhadtocomeinearlytogeteverythingreadytoopen.”
“Thisiswhereproperamountsofobservationwould’vecomeinhandy.”
Helaughs.
“You have no idea how many nightmares a porcelain-doll store can fuel. I have been murdered in a

varietyofwaysbyangelic-lookingdollsovertheyears.”

“That’sreally...morbid.”
Ilaugh.“Sowhatareyoudoinghere?”
“I’mgettingEddie’s.Isn’tthatobvious?Andsinceyouintroducedmetothepoison,Ithoughtitonly

rightthatIshareinthebounty.”

“Youliketolookatthedolls,don’tyou?Youmissthemwhenyou’reaway.”
Heoffersoneofhisstingilygivensmiles.“Yes,ImissthisplaceterriblywhenI’maway.”
Isetthephoneonthecounter,wrapbothmyhandsaroundthewarmcup,andleadthewaytowardthe

stockroom.Hefollows.Isitdownontheoldcouchandputmyfeetuponthecoffeetable.

HesetstheEddie’sbagandhiscoffeeonthetablebymyfeet,takesoffhisjacket,andsitsdownnext

tome.“So,Caymen...”

“So,Xander...”
“Liketheislands.”
“What?”
“Your name. Caymen. Like the Cayman Islands. Is that your mom’s favorite place to visit or

something?”

“No, it’s her third favorite place. I have an older brother named Paris and an older sister named

Sydney.”

“Wow.”Heopensthebag,takesoutamuffin,andhandsittome.Thetopglistenswithsprinkledsugar.

“Really?”

Igentlyunwrapit.“No.”
“Wait,soyoudon’thaveoldersiblingsorthosearen’ttheirnames?”
“I’manonlychild.”MostlybecauseIwasbornoutofwedlockandhavenocontactwithmyfather.

Wouldthatstatementsendhimrunning?Probably.Sowhydidn’tIsayitoutloud?

“Notetoself:Caymenisverygoodatsarcasm.”
“Ifyou’rerecordingnotesforanofficialrecord,I’dliketheword‘very’strickenandreplacedwith

‘exceptionally.’”

Hiseyeslightupwithasmilethatdoesn’tquitereachhislips,butthatseemstoimplyheactuallyfinds

meamusing.Mymotheralwaystoldmeguyswereputoffbymysarcasm.

“Allright,yourturn,”hesays.
“Forwhat?”
“Askmeaquestion.”
“Okay...um...Doyouoftenforcegirlstoinviteyouintotheirhouses?”
“Never.Theyusuallyinvitemeinthemselves.”
“Ofcoursetheydo.”
Heleansbackandtakesabiteofhismuffin.“So,Ms.Observant,whatwasyourfirstimpressionof

me?”

“Whenyoucameintothestore?”
“Yes.”
That’seasy.“Arrogant.”
“Really?Whatmadeyouthinkthat?”
Doesthatsurprisehim?“Ithoughtitwasmyturntoaskaquestion.”
“What?”
“Isn’tthathowthegameworks?Weeachgetaquestion?”
He looks at me expectantly. I realize I have no question. Or maybe I have too many. Like why is he

reallyhere?WhenwillherealizeIdon’tplaywithhiscrowd?Whatexactlymadehiminterestedinthe
firstplace?...Ifthat’swhatthisis.“CanIgofinishgettingready?”

Chapter9

“

o.Okay,myturn.Whatmademecomeoffasarrogant?”

IstareatthecreaseonthesleeveofhisT-shirt—aclearindicationithadbeenironed.WhoironsT-

shirts?“Youbeckonedme,”Isay,rememberingthatfirstday.

Hisbrowneyesflashtomine.Evenhiseyeswiththeirgoldflecksremindmeofhiswealth.“Iwhat?”
“You stay there. I’ll be you.” I walk to the far end of the stockroom and pretend to come in a door,

holdingacellphonetomyear.Iswaggerafewsteps,stopandstareatthewall,thenholdupmyhandand
beckonhim.Iwaitforhimtolaugh,butwhenIglanceoverhehasamortifiedlookonhisface.

“Imayhaveexaggerateditjustabit,”IsayeventhoughIdidn’t.
“That’showyousawme?”
I clear my throat and walk slowly back to the couch. “So are you the soccer player or the math

genius?”

“Excuseme?”
“Yourgrandmotherbrags.I’mwonderingwhichgrandsonyouare.”
“Theonewhohasn’tdonemuchofanything.”
Itoethetablelegwithmyslipper.“Youdoknowwhoyou’retalkingto?”
“Ido.Caymen.”
Irollmyeyes.“Imean,I’mthequeenofhavingdonenothing,soI’msureyou’vefaroutdoneme.”
“Whathaven’tyoudonethatyouwanttodo?”
Ishrug.“Idon’tknow.Itrynottothinkaboutittoomuch.I’mperfectlysatisfiedwithmylife.Ithink

unhappinesscomesfromunfulfilledexpectations.”

“Sothelessyouexpectfromlife...”
“No.It’snotlikethat.IjusttrytobehappyandnotwishIcoulddomore.”Well,Iwasgettingbetterat

thatgoalatleast.AndhavingpeoplelikehimaroundonlyservesasareminderofeverythingIdon’thave.

Hefinishesoffhismuffinthenthrowsthewrapperinthebag.“Anddoesitwork?Areyouhappy?”
“Mostly.”
HeraiseshisStyrofoamcupinatoast.“That’sallthatmatters,then,isn’tit?”
Inodandmovemyfootontothecoffeetable.Theorderforminmypocketcrinkleswiththemovement.

Ipullitout.“Ishouldgo.Ihavesomeworktodobeforeweopen.”

“Right.Ofcourse.Ishouldgo,too.”Hehesitatesforamomentasifwantingtosaysomethingmore.
Istandandhefollowssuit,pickinguphisjacket.Iwalkhimtothefrontdoorandopenit.
As he walks away I realize how little our question-and-answer session revealed about each other. I

havenoideahowoldheisorwherehegoestoschoolorwhathelikestodo.Didwesteerclearofthose
questionsonpurpose?Didwebothaskridiculous,meaninglessquestionsbecausedeepdownwereally
don’twanttoknowtheotherperson?

Hepushesabuttononhiskeysandthefancysilversportscarinfrontoftheshopbeeps.Thatcaralone

answers any question I could possibly have about him. No need for any more. He opens the door and
throwsmethatsmileandIhearmyselfyell,“Areyouasenior?”

Henods.“You?”
“Yeah.”Iholdupmydrink.“Thanksforbreakfast.”

“Noproblem.”
Ishutthedoorandleanagainstit.Why?
It takes me several minutes to push myself away from the door and head upstairs. My mom’s in the

bathroomsoIdragachairtotheoldcomputerandstartenteringordersonline.

“DidIhearthephonering?”mymomaskswhenshecomesintothediningarearubbingherwethair

withatowel.

“Yeah.Iansweredit.”
“Whowasit?”
“Just someone asking what time we opened.” And that is the first time in my life I have lied to my

mother.Wetelleachothereverything.Itsurprisesme.Ishould’vesaid,“ThiskidnamedXander—yes,he
goesbyXanderonpurpose—whohashisT-shirtsironedandwearsjewelry.”Thatwould’vebeenfun.
Mymomwould’vetriedtopretendshewasoffended.Wecould’vetalkedabouthowheprobablygetshis
haircuttwiceamonth.Shewould’vegivenapolite“it’sbestifwedon’thangoutwithpeoplelikethat”
speech.Iwould’veagreed.Idoagree.

Sowhatstoppedme?
“Canyoufinishupthisorder,Mom?MyhairisgoingtodryallfunkyifIdon’tgetaholdofablow-

dryer.”

“Yes,ofcourse.”
“Thanks.”
Iclosemyselfinthebathroomandpressmypalmstomyeyes.Whatstoppedme?
Loyalty.
Ididn’twantmymomtohavebadfeelingstowardhim.Somehowtheguyhadmanagedtoclimboutof

theboxfullofpeopleIhadalreadylabeledoff-limitswithapermanentmarkerandhe’dbecomedifferent.
Andnow,muchtomyirritation,IfeelsomeformofloyaltytoXanderSpence.

Ihadtochangethisimmediately.

Chapter10

onday morning I wave good-bye to my mom and open the front door to the shop. As I walk toward

school,InoticeasportscarthatlooksjustlikeXander’sparkedafewdoorsdown.Ibendovertolook
inside,andwhenIstraightenupagainXanderisonmyoppositeside.Ijump.Hehandsmeacupofhot
chocolateandtakesasipfromhiscup.

Ilookatthecup—thesameasyesterday’s.“Ionlywantthisifyoudrankoutofitfirst,”Isay,refusing

tosay,“Whatareyoudoinghere?”ThatmightgiveawaythatIcare.

Hegrabsthecupfromme,takesadrinkthenhandsitback.
It surprises me so much that he acted on my sarcasm that I can’t help but laugh. “I believe there’s a

meeting Thursday nights at Luigi’s for those addicted to Eddie’s muffins. If that doesn’t work, I hear
there’sapillyoucantake.”

“I’mafraidmyaddictionisnotoneI’mwillingtogiveupyet,”hesays.
Igivehimasidewaysglance.Wewerestilltalkingaboutmuffins,right?“I’msorry.”
“Sowhoseturnisitforaquestion?”heasks.
“Mine,”Isay,eventhoughIreallydon’tremember.ButI’dratheraskthananswer.
“Okay,what’sitgonnabe?”
“Doyouhaveanybrothers?”Iknowhedoesn’thaveanysistersbecausehisgrandmasaidshehasonly

onegranddaughterandhealreadytoldmethatishiscousin.

“Yes,Ihavetwoolderbrothers.Samuelistwenty-three,justgraduatedfromlawschool.”
“Whichlawschool?”
“Harvard.”
Ofcourse.
“Myotherbrother,Lucas,istwentyandawayatcollege.”
“Thoseareprettynormalnames.”
“Normal?”
“NoChetsorWellingtonsoranything.”
Heraisesoneeyebrow.“DoyouknowanyWellingtons?”
“Ofcoursenot,butyouprobablydo.”
“No,actuallyIdon’t.”
“Hmm,”Isay.
“Okay,myturn.”
Ismilebutamnervousatthesametime.IreallywishIgottocontrolallthequestionsasked.ThenI

couldsteerclearoftheonesIdon’twanttoanswer.

“Areyouwearingcontacts?”
“What?That’syourquestion?”
“Yes.”
“No,I’mnot.Why?”
“I’vejustneverseeneyesasgreenasyours.Ithoughtmaybetheywerecoloredcontacts.”
I turn my head so he doesn’t see my smile and secretly curse him for making me feel special. “Are

you?”

“OfcourseI’mnotwearingcontacts.YouthinkIwouldpurposefullymakemyeyesboringbrown?”
“Those gold flecks make them look more amber.” I want to kick myself for admitting I’ve noticed,

especiallywhenhissmilewidens.

“Well,thisisme.”Ipointtotheoldhighschoolonmyright.Itwasbuiltseventy-fiveyearsago,and

althoughitsarchitectureisprettyandnotseenmuchanymore,itcoulddefinitelyusesomeupgrades.

He takes in my school. I shift uncomfortably, wondering what he thinks of it. Wondering why I care

whathethinksofit.Heprobablygoestooneofthetwoprivateschoolsintown.Yes,thatishowmany
richpeoplelivehere—enoughtorequiretwoprivatehighschoolsinasmallbeachtown.

Hiseyesarebackonme.“Seeyoulater.”
“Laterasinyou’regoingtobehereattwelveo’clocktowalkmehome?BecauseIdon’tknowifIcan

handleyoutwiceaday.”

Hesighsheavily.“Andmygrandmotherthinksyou’resweet.”Thenhisbrowfurrowsalittle.“Your

schoolgetsoutatnoon?”

“Well,notthewholeschool,butyes,Igetoutatnoon.”
“Why?”
“Um...”Igesturetowardtheshop.“Workrelease.”
Hiseyeswiden.“Youmisshalfyourschooldaytoworkintheshop?”
“It’snotabigdeal....Itwasmyidea....Itreallydoesn’tbothermeatalltohelpout.”IknowI’m

ramblingbecausedeepdownitdoesbotherme—alot—soIcutoffmylistofexcusesandfinishwith“I
bettergo.”

“Okay. Bye, Caymen.” He turns around and walks back toward his car without even a backward

glance.

“Caymen,”Mr.BrownsaysasIwalkintoscienceclassafewminuteslate.
“Sorry,Igotcaughtinathornyvineandhadtountanglemyselffromitsclutches.”Whichisactually

sortoftrue.

“Althoughyourexcusesarebyfarthemostcreative,that’snotwhyIaddressedyou.”
TherestoftheclasshadalreadystartedonalabandIwanttobedoingit.Itlookslikethereareactual

chemicalsinvolved.

Mr.Brownmust’venotedmygazebecausehesays,“Itwillonlytakeaminute.”
Ireluctantlywalktohisdesk.
Heslidesseveralpapersacrosstome.“ThisisthatcollegeIwastellingyouabout.Itspecializesin

mathandscience.”

Igrabthepapers.“Ohyeah,thanks.”Ilearnedatthebeginningoftheyearthatit’sbettertojustplay

alongwithteachersaboutcollegethantotrytoexplaintothemthatyou’renotgoingforawhile.Ishove
the papers in my backpack and take a seat at my station. At the beginning of the year we had an odd
numberofpeopleinclass.Mr.Brownaskedforavolunteertobealone.Iraisedmyhand.I’dmuchrather
dolabworkalonesonooneelsecanscrewitup.It’ssomucheasiernottohavetodependonanyone
else.

The next morning Xander’s waiting outside the shop again, casually leaning against a light post, like
we’vebeenwalkingtoschooltogetherourwholelives.Hetakesasipofmyhotchocolatethenhandsit
tomeaswestartwalking.

Itakeadrink.Itscaldsmythroatgoingdown.Thisisn’tworking.IneedhimtodisappearsoIcanget

back to my normal life of mocking people like him. So he can stop making me look forward to every

morning. “So, Mr. Spence, your first brother is a lawyer; your second is going to some fancy college.
Whatdoesyourfuturehold?”

“I’mkindoflikeyou.”
“Inwhatuniverse?”
Heseemstothinkthisisajokeandlaughs.“I’mexpectedtotakeoverthefamilybusiness.”
“Whatmakesyouthinkthat’sthesameasme?”
“Youworkthere,youlivethere,youhelpruntheplace....I’mprettysureyourmomthinksofyouas

hereventualreplacement.”

Ihadresignedmyselftothefactlongago,buthearingsomeoneelseacknowledgeittriggerssomething

inme.“I’mnotgoingtorunthedollstoreforever.”

“Thenyoubetterstartsendingdifferentsignals.Stat.”
“It’smorecomplicatedthanthat.”Ican’tjustwalkawayanddosomethingelse.Shedependsonme.
“Icompletelyunderstand.”
Nowit’smyturntolaugh.Hecan’tcompletelyunderstandanythingaboutmysituation.It’smorethan

obviousbyhislifestylethatifhewalksawayfromwhateverhis“familybusiness”isitwillsurvive.His
family’sbillswillstillgetpaid.Hehasafutureoflimitlesspossibilities.

“Whatwillyoudoinstead?”heasks.
“I don’t know yet. I like science, I guess, but what am I supposed to do with that?” Knowing that

would’verequiredmegrowingupthinkingIhadachoiceinthematter.“Sowhyyou?”

“Whyme?”
“Yes,whyareyouexpectedtotakeoverthebusiness?Whynotyourbrothers?”
“BecauseIhaven’tdoneanything.Ihaven’tdeclaredmystrength.Somydadhasdeclareditforme.

HesaysI’mgoodinmanyareassothatmustmeanI’msupposedtobethefaceofthebusiness.Sothey
sendmeoutintotheworld.”

“Whatisthefamilybusiness?”
Hetiltshisheadlikehe’stryingtodecideifI’mserious.“TheRoad’sEnd.”
Itrytomakesenseofthatstatement.“Youownahotel?”
“Somethinglikethat.”
“Whatdoyoumean‘somethinglikethat’?Youeitherdooryoudon’t.”
“Therearefivehundredofthem.”
“Okay.”
“Alltogether.”
“Oh.”Realizationdawns.“Youownallofthem....”Holycrap.Thisguyisn’tjustrich;he’sRICH.

Myentirebodytenses.

“Yes.AndI’mgettinggroomedtotakeoveroneday.Justlikeyou.”
Just like me. “We’re practically twins.” By this time we’re in front of my school. So is this why he

startedhangingoutwithme?Iwanttotellhimthatifhethinkshehasfoundsomesortofconnectionwith
methroughour“similar”situationsheshouldthinkagain.ButIcan’tbringmyselftosayit,andI’mnot
sureifit’stosparehisfeelingsormine.“I’llseeyou....”ThistimeIwalkawayfirstanddon’tlook
back.

Chapter11

orthefirsttimeinaslongasIcanremembertherearetwocustomersinthestore.Asintwogroupsthat

didn’tarrivetogetherandbothneedassistance.

I’m not so good with kids—perhaps the real reason I’m banished to the “eye painting area” during

parties.Sowithoutanykindofcollaborationwithme,mymomheadsforthemomandlittlegirlwhileI
walkovertothemiddle-agedwoman.“Hi.CanIhelpyoufindanything?”

“Yes.AfewmonthsagoIwasinhere—maybeitwasmorelikesix;I’mnotevensureanymore—and

therewasthisdoll.”

Whenshedoesn’tcontinueIsay,“I’llhavetolookintothat.Wedon’tlikedollscomingintothestore.”
She gives a halfhearted laugh. Maybe more of a nervous chuckle. “I know I’ll have to be more

specific.”Shewalksalongthebackwall,intentlylookingateachandeveryone.

Itrailafterher.“Ifyoucandescribeit,Icanstartalineupofsuspects.”
“Darkcurlyhair,onedimpleonherleftcheek.”
Thewomanisdescribingherself.Alotofpeoplefallinlovewithdollsthatlooklikethem.SoIstudy

thewomanalittlecloserandtrytothinkofanydollswemighthavethatlooklikeher.“Tina,”Ifinally
say.“Wassheasittingdoll?”

“Yes.”Thewomangetsalargesmile.“Yes,IthinkhernamewasTina.”
“Sheshouldbeouthere.Letmelook.”IgotothecornerofthestorewhereTinalastwas,butsheisn’t

there. “Let me look in the back.” We almost always order the same doll after it’s proven itself a good
seller.

Thesidewallinthestockroomislinedwithshelvesandthoseshelveshouseboxesbigenoughtohold

asingledoll.Ontheendofeachboxanameiswritten.It’slikeourveryownporcelain-dollCrypt.About
midwayupIseethenameTina.Idragtheladderoverandpulldownherbox,whichfeelsverylight.

Onthefloor,afterdiggingthroughthepackingpeanuts,Ifindoutwhy.Thereisnodoll.Weird.Istand

thereconfusedforamoment,notsurewhattodo,beforeIgobackouttothesalesfloorandinterruptmy
mothermid-sentence.

“Sorry,Mom,canItalktoyouforaminute?”
Sheholdsupafingertome,andwhenshe’sfinishedtalkingtohercustomer,walkswithmebehindthe

“IjustwenttogetTinaoutofherbox,onlyitseemsTinahasbeenabducted.”
“Ohyes,sorry.Isoldherawhileback.Imust’veforgottentoputhernameplacardinthedrawer.”
“Oh, okay. It just freaked me out. I’ll tell the customer that we can order it for her.” I start to walk

away.

“Caymen,”mymomsays,keepinghervoicelow.
“Yeah?”
“Willyoutrytosellwhatwehaveonthefloorbeforeorderinganotherdoll?”
Inod.Ofcourse.Thatmakesmoresensethananythingthathadhappenedinthelastfiveminutes.My

momwantstosellourinventorybeforeweplacemoredollorders.Itisagoodideatogetusoutofthe
hole.Itactuallyeasesmyburdentoknowshehasaplanforthebigrednumberinherbook.

“I’m sorry,” I say to the lady. “Tina has found another home, but I know we have some other dolls

you’lllovethatlookverysimilartoTina.Letmeshowyoumyfavorite.”Favoritebeingarelativeterm,
meaningIfoundhertheleastdisturbing.

Thiswomanwasnotbiting.AftershowingherfivedollsthatlookverymuchlikeTina,shegetsvisibly
upset.Hervoicestartstowobble;hercheeksdeepenashade.“IjustreallywantTina.IsthereawayIcan
orderher?Doyouhaveacatalog?”

Mymom,havingjustsaidgood-byetohercustomers,joinsus.“IsthereanythingIcanhelpyouwith?”
“YouhadadollinherethatIwant,butnowshe’sgone.”
“Tina,”Iremindmymom.
“DidCaymenshowyousomeotherdolls?”
“Yes,butthoseoneswon’twork.”
“IstheresomethingspecificaboutTinathatmakesherspecialtoyou?”
“Yes. My father bought me a doll when I was a girl. The doll was given away when I became a

teenager and I have since lost my father. When I saw Tina a few months ago I couldn’t get over how
similarshewastomydoll.Ileftwithoutbuyingherthatdaybuthaven’tbeenabletogetheroffmymind.
Ireallyjustwantthatdoll.”Afewtearsescapethewoman’seyesandshehastilywipesthemaway.

Ilookaway,embarrassedforher.Ormaybeit’smore.MaybeI’mjealoussomeonecanhavethatclose

of a relationship with her father that even after he is gone just the thought of him makes her emotional.
WhenIthinkofmyfatherIfeelonlyemptiness.

Mymompatsherarmandsays,“Icompletelyunderstand.”Butdoesshecompletelyunderstand?My

motherwasdisownedbyherfather.Isshethinkingaboutthatwhilecomfortingthislady?Doesshethink
aboutthatalot?Ordoesshe,likeme,trytopushitintothefurthestpartsofhermindandhopeitnever
escapes,especiallyinfrontofothers?

Mom continues. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Sometimes it’s the little things that bring that special

someone back to us in some small way.” She waves her hand toward me and says, “Caymen can be a
sticklersometimes,butwecandefinitelyorderthatdollforyou.Wecanprobablyevengiveyouanextra
specialprice.”

Iseehowitis,makemethescapegoat.ButIcanhandletakingtheblame.It’sthefactthatmymomis

onceagainnotthinkingaboutourfinancialproblemsthathasmeworried.Wouldthisstorehavecollapsed
already if not for me keeping her from giving customers too many discounts, letting little girls pick too
manyclothesfortheirbirthdaydolls...?

“Forsure,”Isay.“Letmetakeyoutothecatalogsowecanmakesurewe’realltalkingaboutthesame

dollhere.”Ileadthewayandthensay,“Werequirepaymentupfrontbeforewecanplacetheorder.”The
lastthingweneedistoorderadollandhavetheladynevercomegetit.

Mymomturnstomewhentheladyleaves.“Caymen.”
“What?”
“Idon’tbelieveyouwerewiththatcustomerforagoodhalfhourwithoutfindingoutwhyshewanted

that doll. We care about people, Caymen. I’ve been around too many people who only care about
themselvestoraiseadaughterwhodoesn’tthinkaboutothers,eveniftheyarestrangers.”

Mymom’snotsoveiledput-downofmyfatherwasnotlostonme,buthergeneralizationbotheredme.

Wasn’titpossiblethatmoneyhadnothingtodowiththeattitudesofthetinysliceofhorriblerichpeople
shehadbeenexposedto?“Youtoldmetotrytogethertobuyonewealreadyhad.”

“Notattheexpenseofherfeelings.”
“Feelingsdon’tcostanything.Dollsdo.”
She offers me a small smile and then runs a hand down my cheek. “Feelings, my dear daughter, you

willperhapslearnoneday,canbethemostcostlythingintheuniverse.”

Andthat’sthekindofattitudethatisgoingtobethefinancialruinofthestore.

AsIsitinmyroomlater,herphraseplaysoverandoverinmymind.Feelingscanbethemostcostly
thingintheuniverse.Whatdoesthatmean?Well,Iunderstandwhatitmeans,butwhatdoesitmeanto
her?Isshetalkingaboutmyfather?Hers?

IpullanotebooktitledOrganDonorfromthetopshelfofmycloset,fliptoanemptypage,andwrite

thesentencemymomhadsaid.ThisiswhereIkeepalltheinformationIhaveonmydad.Iactuallyknow
alot:hisname,wherehelives,evenwhathelookslike.I’dlookedhimupontheinternetoutofcuriosity.
HeworksforsomebiglawfirminNewYork.Butknowingabout someone doesn’t equate to knowing
them.SointhisnotebookIwriteallthethingsmymomhaseversaidaboutmydad.Itisn’tmuch.Shehad
known my dad when she was young; it was a short relationship that ended fast. I often wonder if she
reallyknewhimatall.ShecouldrarelyansweranyofmyquestionssoIstoppedasking.Buteveryonce
inawhileshesaysthingsinpassingthatIwanttoremember.Thingsthatmighthelpmediscover...him?
Me?

Eventhinkingthatmakesmeangry.AsifIneedhimtobeawholeperson.Heleftmymothertofend

forherself.HowcouldIwanttobeanythinglikehim?ButI’mpractical,rational,andifIneedtofindhim
one day, I want to know as much as possible. I close the book and underline the title again. You never
knowwhenyoumightneedakidneyorsomethingoneday.ThatiswhyIkeepthisnotebook.It’stheonly
reason.

Chapter12

he next morning my attitude hasn’t improved much. Thinking about my dad always puts me in a bad

mood. And the discovery of the empty doll casket in back made me realize the store is in even more
troublethanIthought.Ihadbeenhopingthatwealwaysraninthered;nowIknowwedon’t.Butthefact
thatmymomorderedthatladyherdollATCOSTmakesmerealizesomethingelse:mymommightnot
have enough business sense to get us out of our financial trouble. Are we months away from
homelessness?IsensetheburdenfallingonmyshouldersandIdon’tknowwhattodowiththeextraload.

I grab my backpack and walk out of the store. The air is cold today and bites my cheeks as I step

outside.HalfwaydowntheblockXanderappearsatmysideandhandsmemyalready-been-sipped-once
drink. I savor the heat as it coats my mouth and throat. I can’t believe we’ve been walking together all
week.IhidemygrinasItakeanotherlongsip.

“Youokay?”
Ilookoverathimandhe’sstaringatmewithacriticaleye.“What?Yeah,ofcourse.”
“Youjustusuallyhavesomethingsarcastictosayrightoutofthegate.”
Doesheknowmethatwellalready?“AmIyourrequireddoseofdailyabuse?”
“Thatworks.”Hecoughsalittle.“Okay,newgame.Achallengeifyouwill.”
“Listening.”
“Youdon’tknowwhatyouwanttodowithyourlife.Idon’tknowwhatIwanttodowithmine.Butwe

bothknowthatwedon’twanttododollsorhotels.”

“Thatsoundedbad,butI’mfollowing.”
“SoI’mgoingtodiscoveryourdestinyandyoucandiscovermine.”
“Uh,what?”
“I’mgoingtotrytofigureoutwhatyouliketodo.”
“How?”
“Bytryingdifferentthings,ofcourse.Careerdays,ifyouwill.I’llsetupthefirstone.Tomorrow,one

o’clock.Beready.”

“TomorrowisSaturday.Don’tyouhaveatennismatchtowatchorsomething?”
“What?No.Ihatetennis.”
Ilookaround.“Youmightwanttokeepyourvoicedownwhenyousaystufflikethat.Youwouldn’t

wanttobekickedoutoftheclub.”

“Areyoutryingtogetoutofthefirstcareerday?”
“IworkSaturdays.”
“Timetostartsendingdifferentsignals.”
I picture our monthly calendar on the back counter. Remember filling it in with my mom at the

beginning of the month like we always do. “We have a party booked. There’s no way I can leave her
alone.”Butmaybeaftertheparty...

Hedoesn’tsayaword,justgivesmearaisedeyebrowlook.Thepressurefromtheburdenrestingon

myshouldersintensifiesandangersurgesthroughme.WhyamIinchargeofmymom’sstore?Whydon’tI
haveanychoicesaboutmyfuture?

“Okay,oneo’clock.”

SaturdaycomesandIstillhaven’tmentionedtheoutingtomymom.Myshortburstofangerhadmelted
intoguilt.Mymomisstressedandthestoreisbroke.Thisisn’ttherighttimetorebel.Wouldthereever
bearighttime,though?Oneafternoonisn’tgoingtoequaltheruinofthestore...atleastIhopeitwon’t.

Thescheduleconfirmsonebirthdaypartyfromtentonoon.Thatshouldbeperfecttohelpandthenbe

donejustintimetogowithXander.TogowithXander.Onadate.Isthatwhatthisis?Itrynottosmile
butmyfaceseemstowanttoatthisthought.IremindmyfacethatXandercalleditacareerdayandthat
seemstohelp.

MymomisinthebacksettingupthepartywhileI’mwatchingthestore.IknowIneedtotalktoher,

butI’mstalling.Thatguiltthingisgnawingatmygut.NobodyisinthestoresoImeanderdowntheshort
hallandwatchmymomsetoutlittledollclothesonthetable.

She turns to grab another stack and sees me. “Hey.” She glances over my shoulder. “Did you need

me?”

“No.Ijustwantedtomakesureyoudidn’tneedmyhelp.”Youareahugewimp,Caymen.
“I’mgood.Doyouhaveallthepaintsreadyoutfrontfortheeyes?”
“Yeah.”
“ThenIthinkwe’reset.”
“Okay.”Iwalktowardthefrontbutforcemyselftogoback.She’sathertaskagain.Ifinditsomuch

easiertotalktothebackofherhead.“Um...atoneo’clockI’mgoingoutwithafriendifthat’sokay.”

She straightens up and turns to face me, brushing off her hands. For seventeen years I’ve always

waiteduntilafterthestoreclosedtodoanything.I’vescheduledmylifearoundstorehours.Alltoavoid
what I thought would be a look of disappointment if I asked. What I see makes me feel even guiltier:
exhaustion. It’s set in the crease between her eyes, the downward tilt of her chin. But not in her voice
whenshesays,“Ofcourse,Caymen.Havefun.WhatareyouandSkyedoing?”

“No,it’snotSkye.It’s...justafriendfromschool.”I’mnotquitereadytoexplaintomymomwhy

I’vedecidedtogoagainsteverythingshestandsforandeverythingI’vealwaysagreedwithtohangout
withKingRichhimself.Shedoesn’tneedtheaddedstressinherliferightnow.What’sthepointanyway
wheninafewweeksXanderwillbedoneseeinghowtheotherhalflives?He’llgetboredwithmeand
moveon,lookingforhisnexttasteofexcitement.

Shegoesbacktohertask.“Oneo’clock.”

Chapter13

henthetenlittlegirlscomeintothestore,Idirectthemtothebackanddon’tseemymomagainuntil

she starts bringing the dolls out and telling me the eye color attached to them. I focus all my energy on
stayinginthepre-etchedlinesofthedolls’eyes,addinggreenandblack.Someonehasaskedforbrown
eyes so I apply a dark coat of brown. Then I squeeze a little gold onto the plastic tray and pick up the
smallestpaintbrush.Concentratinghard,Iaddlittlespecksofgoldonthebrown.

The bell on the front door rings and I jump, sending a gold streak across the black pupil. “Crap,” I

breatheout.

“I’malittleearly,”XandersayswhenIlookup,surprised.
The clock on the register says twelve thirty. The party was supposed to be done a half hour ago. I

hadn’trealizeditwassolate.HadInoticedIwould’vegonetothebackandhurriedthemalong,likeI
havetodoalot.

Hewalkscloserandrubsafingeracrosshischeek.“Youhavesomethingonyourface.Paintmaybe?”
“Oh.Yeah.”Iwipeatmycheek.
“It’sstillthere.”
He’swalkingcloser,andIrealizeI’mstillholdingthepaintbrushwiththegoldpaintandthedollwith

thegold-fleckedeyessitsonthecounterinfrontofme.“Willyouwatchthestoreforaminute?”Iblurt
out,jumpingoffthestool,grabbingthedoll,andheadingforthebackwithoutwaitingforhisanswer.

“Mom,you’vegoneover.”
“What?Ihave?”Sheclapsherhandstogether.“Timetofinishup,girls.”Shethrowsmealookover

hershoulder—acombinationof“I’msorry”and“youknowme.”Idoknowherandthatlookmakesme
laugh.

“Areyoudonewiththatdoll?”Shepicksuptheelectricheateroffthecountertodrytheeyes.
Ilookdownatthedollinmyhands.“Yes.Oh,wait.No.Imesseduponit.”
She studies the doll’s eyes. “That’s kind of pretty,” she says. The gold streak across its pupil looks

purposeful,likeashimmer.“Ithinkyoushouldleaveit.”

“Okay.”Ihandherthedoll.“Myfriendishere.”Hereyesflyaroundtheroomwiththeannouncement.

“Iwon’tleaveuntilthegirlsaregone,butjustleavethemessforwhenIgetback.I’llhelpyou.”

“Soundsgood.”
Iheadbackoutfront.Behindmemymomsays,“Okay,let’sgetthisdolly’sclotheson.”
XanderisstaringatabusinesscardagainwhenIcomebackout.
“There’snohiddenmessagethere,”Isay.
Heputsthecardbackdown.“Youdon’thaveacellphone.”
“Didthecardtellyouthat?”Icleanupthepaints,closingtheirlids,andthenwrapthepaintbrushesin

apapertoweltorinseoffintheback.Iglanceovermyshoulder,hopingmymomdoesn’tcomeoutright
now.I’mtryingtofigureouthowtoaskXandertoleavethestorewithoutmakingthereasonobvious.

“You’reneverholdingone,youdon’thaveasquarelumpinthepocketofyourjeans,andyouhaven’t

givenmethenumber.”

“Yourobservationskillsaregettingbetter.AlthoughIdon’tthinkthelastfactorprovesyourtheory.”I

putthepaintsinaplasticbin.“I’llberightbackagain.Whydon’tyouwaitformeinthecar,okay?”

Hedoesn’tmove.
“Ishouldn’tbelong.I’llberightthere.”
“Okay.”
Iwaitforhimtowalktowardthedoorthentakethepaintbrushestothesinkinthepartyroom,rinse

them with soap and water, then put them in a jar to dry. The girls are gathering up their things and
comparingdolls.IhurryaheadofthegroupandwhenIroundthecornerseeXanderstillstandingthere.I
stop in my tracks and the kids push around me. He smiles as the girls sweep by his legs. I whirl back
aroundandmaneuverthroughafewgirls,blockingmymom’sview.

“What’swrong?”sheasks.
“Ithinkoneofthekidsleftherjacketbackthere.”
“Okay.I’llgograbit.”
OnelittlegirlstopsbyXander.“YoulooklikemyKendoll,”shesays,staringupathim.
“Ido?”hesays.
Shenods.
“Do you know who you look like?” He squats and starts to pull out his phone, but by this time I’ve

reachedhim.Igrabholdofhisarmanddraghimoutthedoor.

“Wehavetogo.”
Heletsoutagrunt.“Caymen,Iwastalkingtothatlittlegirl.”
“Whoisclearlydelusional.”
“Thanksalot.”
“ClearlyyoulookmorelikeDerek,thebrunette,thanKen.”Iwalkhimallthewaytohiscarandthen

say,“I’llberightback.”

MymomhascomeoutofthebackroombythetimeIgetinside.“Ididn’tseeajacketbackthere.”
“Imust’veheardherwrong.Sorry.”
“Okay.”Shesighs.“Thatwasafunparty.Thebirthdaygirlcouldn’tstophuggingherdoll.”
“Theyseemedtohaveagoodtime.”Ishiftnervouslyfromonefoottoanother.“Anyway,myfriendis

waiting.I’llseeyoulater?”Iheadquicklyforthedoor.

“Hey,Picasso!”shecalls.
Istop,thinkingshe’sseenXanderoutsideandisgoingtocallmeout.Iturnslowly.
“Youhavepaintonyourface.”Shesticksherthumbinhermouththencomesatmewithit.
“Don’tyoudare.”Iwipeatmycheek.
Shelaughs.“Havefun.”
“Thanks,Mom.I’msorrytoleaveyoubyyourself.”
“It’sfine,Caymen.”
“Thanks.”
XanderissittinginhiscarfiddlingwiththeradiowhenIgetin.Thesmellofnewleatherassaultsmy

senses.HiscarhasmorebuttonsandscreensthanI’veeverseeninacarinmylife.

He turns off the radio as I buckle my seat belt. “So you’re saying even if you had a cell phone, you

wouldn’tgivemethephonenumber?”

Ittakesmeasecondtorealizehe’spickingupourpreviousconversation.“Ididn’tsaythat.Ijustsaid

thatwasn’taconcretefactortoproveyourtheory.”

Helowersthevisorinfrontofmeandflipsopenthemirror.“Youstillhavepaintonyourface.”He

runsafingerdownmycheek,tracingthepaintline.Mybreathcatchesforamomentwhenhisfingerseems
tolingerasecondlongerthannecessary.

“Stubbornpaint.”Iturnmyheadtoseethebluestreakbetter.Irubituntilit’sgone.

Xanderopensthecompartmentabovemykneesandtakesoutapairofleathergloves.Ashepullsthem

on,Ican’thelpbutlaugh.

“What?”
“Youhavedrivinggloves.”
“And?”
“Andit’sfunny.”
“Funnyadorable?”
Ishakemyhead.“Ifyousayso.”
Herevstheengineafewtimesandthenpullsontotheroad.“WhydoIgetthefeelingyoudidn’twant

metomeetyourmombackthere?”

Ithoughtithadescapedhisnotice.Apparentlynot.“BecauseIdidn’t.”
“Well,thatwouldexplainthefeeling.”
“She’s...Let’sjustsayIneedalittletimebeforeyoutwomeet.”Fiftyyearswouldprobablydoit.
“I’msureI’dlikeher.”
Ilaugh.“Youwouldlikeherjustfine.”
He stops at an intersection and three women in brightly colored coats cross the street in front of us.

“Wait,areyouimplyingshewouldn’tlikeme?I’venevermetamomwhodidn’tlikeme.”

Mygazerestsonhisglovedhands.“There’safirsttimeforeverything.”Iwatchstorefrontsgobyfora

whilethenask,“Wherearewegoing?”

“You’llsee.”FifteenminuteslaterwepullupinfrontofTheRoad’sEndhotel.

Chapter14

“

ourhotel?I’mprettysureIdon’twanttobeamaidwhenIgrowup,”IsaytoXanderashedrives

throughtheparkinglot.

“EvenifyouwantedtoIdon’tthinkyoucould.That’sahardjob.”
I start to say something sarcastic back but am too surprised by his comment to think of anything. He

parksthecarinfrontandgetsout.Ifollowhim.

“Thisisnothotel-related.Exceptforthefactthatthehotelservesasthebackdrop.”
“ForREDRUM?”Iaskinacroakyvoice.
“What?”
“Haven’tyoueverseenTheShining?”
“No.”
“JackNicholson?Slowlygoingcrazy?”
“No.”
“Probably a good idea since your family owns a bunch of hotels. I wouldn’t recommend it. It’s a

horrormoviethattakesplaceinahotel.So.Scary.”

“Whatdoesredrumhavetodowithanything?”
“It’smurderspelledbackward.”Ifinishwiththreewarningbeats:“Dumdumdum.”
Hegivesmeoneofhisare-you-for-reallooksagain.“Soundsterrifying.”
“That’sit.Youhavetowatchthemovie.Idon’tcareifitmakesitsoyoucanneverstepfootinahotel

again.You’rewatchingit.”

Hetosseshiscarkeystoanattendantstandingbytheentranceandthenopensthedoor.Thelobbyis

gorgeous.Luxuriousfurniture,largeplants,shinytilesand...biggerthanmyentireapartment.Thefront
deskpeoplesmilewhenwewalkthrough.“Goodafternoon,Mr.Spence.”

Hegivesasmallnodanddirectsmedownthehallbyplacingahandonmylowerback.Achillgoes

throughme.Wecometoadouble-doorgoldelevatorandhepushestheUpbutton,droppinghishandfrom
myback.There’sanactualelevatorguyinsidewearingabluejacketwithbiggoldbuttons.Hesayshito
XanderandmeandIwave.Hepressesthebuttonnexttothenumbertwenty.Theelevatorgoeshigherand
higheruntilitfinallystopswithading.

Thehallwestepintoiswideandleadstoonlyonedoor.Ihavenoideawhatcouldbebehindthedoor

ofwhatisobviouslythepenthousesuitethatcouldpossiblyhaveanythingtodowithdiscoveringwhatI
wanttodoforaliving.

Xanderseemsexcited,though,asheturnstheknobandopensthedoor.I’moverwhelmedbyalotof

chaosandnoise.Bigshadedwhitelightsarebeingassembledbyacoupleofguys.Afewwomenarrange
pillows on the couch. A man with a large camera hanging around his neck walks around analyzing
differentlocations.Everyonceinawhilehetakesoutablackstickthingandpushesabutton.

“Whatarewedoinghere?”IaskXander.
“It’saphotoshoot.Mydadwantssomenewpicturestakenoftheroomforthesitesohesentmehere

tooverseeit.”Hewalkstoalargehutchagainstawall,removesacamerafromacase,andattachesa
lens.“Youaregoingtoshadowthephotographer.You’llbelikehisapprentice.”

“Didyouwarnhimthatsomegirlwhoknowsnothingaboutphotographyisgoingtogetinhiswayall

day?”

“I did.” He steps in front of me and slides the camera strap over my head then frees my hair from

beneath it. I try not to sigh. He smells like expensive soap and laundry detergent. “He was flattered
someonewantedtolearnfromhim.”

“Ifyousayso.”
Hiscellphoneringsandheturnsawaytoanswerit.“Whatdoyoumean‘whereamI?’”Hisvoicehas

gonehardandcold.“Yes,I’matthephotoshoot.That’swhereyouaskedmetobe....Yes,welltodayI
decidedto...Okay...Yes...No,Ihaveotherplanstonight.Fine.”Hehangsupwithoutsayingbye.

Iraisemyeyebrowsandlookathisphone.
“Mydad.”Heshrugslikehiscoldnessonthephonewasjustanact.
“Mr.Spence,”thephotographercalls.“Ifyou’rereadywe’llgetstarted.”
“Justletmechange.”
Change?
Whilehe’sgonethephotographercallsmeoverandshowsmeafewbasicfunctionsofthecameraand

howandwhentoshoot.Xandercomesbackoutwearingasuitthathetotallyrocks.Asuit,coupledwith
hisconservativehaircut,makeshimlookalotolderthanseventeen.Hepicksupamagazineoffthetable
andsitsonthecouch.Seriously,I’veneverseensomeonelooksogoodinasuit.Thephotographertakesa
fewshotsandthenstartsdirectinghim.Afterhetakesadozenorsoheturnstome.“Whydon’tyoutrya
fewwhileIsetupthenextscene?”Andthenhegoesintothekitchen(thehotelroomhasakitchen)and
startsmovingthingsaround.

“Youdidn’ttellmeyouwerethemodel.”
“Didn’tItellyoumydadismakingmethefaceofthebusiness?”hesays,andlooksdown.Forthefirst

timeeverIseehimblush.“It’sembarrassingbuthe’sfoundthatpeoplearemoredrawntoshotswithlife
inthem.”

“Sothesewillbeonflyersandthings?”
“Mostlyonourwebsite,butyes,flyers,too.”
A website. Why didn’t we have a website for the doll store? I smile and put the camera to my eye.

“Allright,hotstuff.Workit.”

LookingatXanderthroughthelensofacameraisrewarding.Icandoitwithoutworryingaboutstaring.
AsthedayprogressesIlearnhowtozoomin,focusonhissmileorhiseyes.Hisskinisamazing.Hishair
theperfectamountofshineandbody.It’sjustalittlewavy,which,althoughit’sontheshortside,makesit
standupperfectly.

Igettosetupafewshots.Iplaywiththelightcomingthroughthewindows.Firstoverexposinghim,

bathinghisfaceinlight.Andthenreversingtheeffectandbacklightinghimsoheislikeadarkshadow,
alledgesandcurves.Igetafewwiththeoceaninthebackground.Thehotelroomhastheperfectview.

“Loosenup,Xander,”Isayatonepoint.
“What?I’mloose.”
“You’rejustsoformal.You’resupposedtobeonvacationintheseshots,right?Actlikeit.”
“I’minasuit.I’mprobablyactuallyatabusinessmeetingorsomething.”
“Abusinessmeetingforuptightemployees?”
“Heynow.”Helaughs,andboththerealphotographerandIsnapmorepictures.
JustwhenIthinkthephotographerhasgottenallthepictures(andmore)thathecouldpossiblyneed,

thehotelroomdooropensandahandsomemiddle-agedmanwalksin.Idon’tneedXandertocurseunder
hisbreathtorealizeit’shisfather.Theresemblanceisobvious.Theybothhavethebrowneyesandthe

light brown hair, the high cheekbones and full lips. And they both carry themselves in exactly the same
way:liketheyowntheworld.Xander’sfatherscanstheroomandstopsonme.

Chapter15

r.Spencepausesonmeforafullthirtyseconds,takingmeinfrommysix-month-oldat-homehaircutto

myrattyConverse.Thenhegivesmeasmallnodofacknowledgment.IsensehethinksI’manassistantto
thephotographer,andifXanderwantstoplayalongwiththat,Idon’tblamehim.

Xander looks between his father and me. If I was so hesitant to introduce Xander to my mom, I can

onlyguesshowhefeelsaboutintroducingmetohisfather.Ikeepmymouthshutandmaintainatightgrip
onthecamera.

Mr. Spence spots the open laptop in the corner. The photographer, most likely realizing what that

means,says,“Theyaretheraw,uneditedshots,butyou’rewelcometolookattheonesI’vecapturedso
far.”

Xanderstands.“Buteitherway,we’redone.”Hewalkstothebedroom,andrightbeforehegetstothe

door,helooksbackatmeandsays,“Caymen,”almostlikehehadexpectedmetoknowtofollowhim.I
givehimtheAreyousure?lookandheholdsouthishand.MyheartflipsandItakeadeepbreathand
walktowardhim,butamnotstupidenoughtograbhishandwhenIreachhim.Ijustwalkpasthimand
intothebedroom.Hefollowsmeinandshutsthedoor.

ForsomereasonI’moutofbreath.
The clothes he came here in are hung nicely over a chair in the corner and he walks over to them

muttering something I can’t understand. As he slides out of his suit coat and starts to unbutton the shirt
underneath,somethinghitsme.WhatifI’mhissignal:anotheroneofthemessagestohisdadtoshowthat
hedoesn’twanttobepartofhisfather’sworld,apawninhisgameofrebellion?Isthatwhyhestarted
comingaround?Hangoutwiththepoorgirl.That’llreallygetunderhisfather’sskin.Iturntofacethe
wallwhilehechanges.

Islipthecameraoffmyneckandtracemyfingeroverthesilverbuttonontop.
“Don’tworry,”hesays,“I’mnotchanginginhere.I’llgointhebathroom.”
ButwhenIturnbackaround,thinkingI’msafe,hisshirtisallthewayunbuttoned.Regardlessofthe

factthathisclothesarerestingoverhisarmandhe’sheadingfortheattachedbathroom,myfacereddens
atthesightofhisbare,nicelydefinedchest.

Even after the bathroom door clicks shut, my heart continues to beat an accelerated rhythm. I walk

slowlyaroundtheroom,tryingtocalmit.Xanderwillnothavethiseffectonme.Iwon’tlethim.

Thefurnitureandbeddingintheroomarenicerthananythinginmyhouse.Iletmyhandtrailoverthe

richmaterial.WhenhecomesoutclothedIask,“Xander,isthisyourcameraorthephotographer’s?”

“It’smine.”
“DoyouthinkIcanborrowitforafewdays?”
“Ofcourse.Forwhat?”
“Ihaveaporcelaindollfetish.ThoughtIcouldtakesomehigh-qualitypicturesofthem.”
Heshakeshishead.“Andlet’strythatagain.Forwhat?”
“I kind of like the website idea. Maybe it’s time our store has one.” It could possibly save us from

financialruin.

“Hmm.Thatdoesn’tsoundlikethebestwaytoshowyourmomyouhavenointerestinthestore.”
I shrug. “I’ll just set it up and have her run it. Bring her into the modern world.” Maybe a website

couldeventuallytaketheplaceofme.Peoplecouldplacetheirownorders,wecouldmakemoremoney.
..thenmymomcouldaffordtohireapart-timeemployee.Itrynottogetmyhopesup,becauseitcould
takemonths,butIliketheidea.

Hedoesn’tanswerbuttakesthecamerafrommeandnodshisheadtowardthedoor,behindwhichhis

fatherexists.Howbadisthisgoingtolookwhenwewalkoutthere,Xanderfullychanged?

Hemustsensemyhesitationbecausehesays,“Idon’tcarewhathethinks,Caymen.”
Ofcoursehedoesn’tcarewhathethinks.Heprobablywantshisdadtothinksomethingisgoingon

betweenthetwoofus.

“Whatever.”Iopenthedoorandtrytowalkoutascasuallyaspossible.Myfacedoesn’tgetthememo

andblushes.Hisdadisstillstudyingtheshotsonthescreeninthecorner.

IturnbacktoXander,wonderingwheretogo.He’sholdingthecameraupandfiresoffashot.Iputup

myhand.“Don’t.”

“Comeon,youhavetobeontheotherendofthecameranow.Ihavetoseeifmodelingissomething

you’dwanttodo.”

“Notevenapossibility.”
“Withthoseeyes?”Heshootsanotherpicture.“Itisdefinitelyapossibility.”
Itmaybemyimagination,butheseemsextraflirty.Iswallowthelumpinmythroat.“Theseeyesare

abouttocommitredrum.”

HelaughslouderthanI’veeverheardhimlaugh,confirmingmysuspicionthathe’sdoingthisallfor

hisdad’sbenefit.“Comeon,Caymen,loosenup,”hesaysquotingme.

Icrossmyarmsandglareathim.Hetakesonemoreshotwithalaughandthenwalkstothehutch,puts

thecamerainitscaseandthenhandsittome.“Gocrazywithyourdolls.”

“Thanks.”
Xander’sfocuschangestosomethingovermyshoulder.WhenIturnaroundI’msurprisedtoseehis

dad behind me. “I thought you were here with the crew. I didn’t realize you were one of my son’s
friends.”Hesticksouthishand.“I’mBlaineSpence.”

Itakehishand.“CaymenMeyers,”Ibarelychokeout.I’mstillshockedhewantedtomeetmeatall.

Didhewantthecameraback?

“Goodtomeetyou,”hesays,seemingverysincere.Washeusingreversepsychologyonhisson?Then

heturnstoXander.“Alexander,alotofthosepicturesaregreat.”

Xander’sfaceinstantlyhardens.“Good.SoI’mdone,then.”
“I’dlikeyoutoworkwiththedesigneronaweblayoutandflyer.”
“Idon’thavealotoftimeforthat,whatwithschoolandstuff,butmaybeIcanfindsometimeinafew

weeks.” He puts a hand on my lower back as if trying to direct me out of the room fast, and I jump in
surprisebutthenlethimguidemetowardthedoor.

“Nicetomeetyou,”Icallbehindme.
“Alexander.”
Hestops.“Yeah?”
“Yes.”Mr.Spenceemphasizesthesontheword,andXander’sjawtenses.
“Yes?”Xanderemphasizesthesevenmore.
“Yourmother’sbenefitisinfourweeks.Yourpresenceisrequired.Andyouwillhavetheflyersready

forthatnight.”

Westepoutintothehall,andXandersays,“Ihopeyou’retakingnotes.I’msomuchbetteratpissing

offmyfamilythanyouare.”

“I’mtakingnotes.”Findthelastpersononearthmymom(orinhiscase,dad)wouldwantmetodate

andpretendtobedatinghim.Ofcourse,mymomwouldactuallyhavetoknowaboutit.Butthat’swhere
wediffer.I’mnotusingXander.“Extensivenotes.Whenmymomtellsmetodosomething”—Ipointover
myshouldertothedoorwejustexited—“Idoitandpretendtobemadaboutit.”

“Sorude.”Heshootsmeahalf-smile,whichI’mangryaboutbecauseIthoughtthatbitofsarcasmwas

atleastworthafullsmile.

HehitstheDownbuttononthewallnexttotheelevator.“So,photography?Yourfuture?”
“Onthemaybelist.”
“I thought you might like it because you said you like science, which requires observing things and

noticingdetail.You’regoodatthatandthosetraitsservewellwhenlookingthroughaviewfinder.”

Ilookupathiminsurprise.
“What?”heasks.
IrealizeImustbestaringathiminshockandturnbacktolookattheblurryreflectionofusinthegold

elevatordoors.“I...thanks...fornoticing.”

Heshrugs.“I’mtryingtofindsomethingyou’llactuallylike.Soyou’reupnext.”
“Yes,Iam.Andsincewe’reallintothismatchingupthecareerdaytoourtraitsIguessIshouldfinda

careerforyouthatinvolvesironingT-shirtsorusinglotsofhairproduct.”

Herunsahandthroughhishair.“Iuseverylittlehairproduct.”Weridetheelevatorbackdown.“So

nextSaturday,sametime?”

I try to mentally picture the calendar on the back counter of the store. I don’t remember if there’s a

birthdaypartywrittenin.“Yeah...yes,”Icorrectmyself,givinghimasmiletolethimknowIfoundhis
dad’scorrectionirritatingaswell.“Ithinkthat’llwork.”Wewaitwhilethecarisbroughtaround.“Oh,
andwearyourcrappiestclothes.”

Chapter16

meetXanderonthecurbSaturday,tryingtoavoidthesamesituationaslastweek.Mymomseemstobe

buyingthe“kidfromschool”routineanduntilsheforcesmetointroducehimI’mgoingtostickwithit.
HeturnsoffthecarandgetsoutbeforeherealizesI’mstandingthere.

He’swearingnicejeans,anevennicerT-shirt,andsomeloafer-typeshoes.
Ipointathisclothes.“Seriously?Didn’tIsaythecrappiestclothesyouhave?”
Hewalksstraightuptome.Normallyhe’sawholeheadtallerthanme,butwithhiminthegutterand

mestillonthecurb,myeyesarelevelwithhischin.

“Hitoyou,too.”
I haven’t seen him for a week. He was traveling for some sort of business stuff with his dad. For a

minuteIthinkhe’sgoingtohugmeandmybreathcatches,butthenhelooksdownathisoutfit.“Theseare
thecrappiestclothesIhave.”

I give him a shove, satisfying the urge I had to touch him. “You’re full of crap.” But I know he’s

serious.“Okay,we’llhavetomakeapitstoponthewaythere.”

Wedriveseveralblocks,andIpointtotheSalvationArmyparkinglot.“Firststop,newoutfit.Come.

Letusreclotheyou.”

We step inside and the musty smell that only exists in the presence of old furniture greets me. It

remindsmeofSkyebecausewespendsomuchtimeinplaceslikethis.“Shoesize?”Iask.

“Twelve...Wait...we’regettingshoeshere?Idon’tknowifIcanwearshoesotherpeoplehave

worn.”

“Ithinkyoujustmadeaphilosophicalstatement.Nowsuckitup,baby,becauseit’sthatorruinyour

prettyshoes.”

“I’mokaywithruiningmyshoes.”
“Wait. Did I give you a choice? Never mind, you obviously can’t be trusted with choices. We are

buyingyourshoeshere.”Idraghimtotheshoesection.Thereareonlythreechoicesinhissize.Ipickhim
outthemosthideousones—hightopswithneonlaces.ThenIputhimtoworktryingonclothes.

Whilehe’sinthedressingroomIlookthroughthesweatshirtsection.Flippingthroughtherack,Istop.

InbetweenanawfulneonorangesweatshirtandaUniversityblueoneisablackdress.Ithashand-sewn
beading,asweetheartneckline,andcapsleeves.Icheckthesize.Itwouldfitme.Ibitemylipandlookat
thepricetag:fortybucks.That’sexpensiveforathriftstore.Butit’spricedright.Thedresslooksvintage.
ThebestfindI’veevercomeacross.Thefactthatit’shiddenbetweentwosweatshirtsmakesmeknow
someone else has their eye on it, too, hiding it in hopes to come back later. But forty dollars is way
beyondmypricepoint.Istillhaven’tbeenpaidthismonthandI’mdebatingwhetherI’mgoingtocashmy
paycheckanyway.Mymomcan’taffordtopayme.Mypiddlypaycheckwon’tmakemuchofadifference
tomymom’sdebt,butitwouldmakemefeelalittlebetter.

“I’mtryingnottothinkaboutwhoworethesebefore,”Xanderyellsfromthedressingroom.
“Doyouneedatissueorareyougoingtostopcrying?Comeouthereandletmesee.”
Imovethenextsweatshirtontheracktocovertheblackdress.EvenifIhadfortybucks,wherewould

Ieverwearadresslikethatanyway?TosomefancyeventwithXander?IhopeI’mnotturningintothat
girl,theonewhodaydreamsaboutaguyshecanneverhave.

The dressing room curtain slides open and Xander steps out while still buttoning the bottom few

buttonsoftheflannelshirt.“Ifeellikeadork.”

“It’sgoodtofeellikeadorkonceinawhile.Nowyoujustneedasweatshirt.”
“Ihavemyjacket.”
“Youmeanyourreallyexpensivetrenchcoat?Yeah,notgoingtowork.”Ipullagrayoneoffahanger

nexttomeandthrowitovertworacksofclothestohim.

“Okay,I’mgoingtochangebackintomyclothesnow.”
“No.You’rewearingthoseoutofhere,boy.Comeon,meetmeattheregister.”Igivethedressonelast

lookandthenwalkaway.

TheladyattheregistergivesustheSeriously?look.
“Here,”Isay,turningXanderaround.Ipullthetagforthejeansoffthebackbeltloop.ThenIsnagthe

oneoffthesleeveoftheshirtandhandherthesweatshirtandshoes.

“That’llbefifteendollars,”shesays.
Xanderhandsheratwenty.“Fifteenbucks?Forallthis?”
As we walk back to the car Xander is still surprised. “I bought a pair of socks last week for thirty

bucks.”

“That’sbecauseyou’reanidiot.”
“Thanks.”
“Loveyournewshoes,bytheway.”
He rolls his eyes. “If humiliation is a career, I’m going to tell you right now that I don’t think I’m

interested.”

“Butyou’dbesogoodatit.”

WepulluptothecemeteryandXanderlooksatme.“Whatarewedoinghere?”

“Exploringourpotential.”
“Here?”
“Remember,I’mmorbid.Let’sgo.”Ibroughthimhereforacoupleofdifferentreasons.One,because

it’sfree.Ihavenomoneytotakehimontheequivalentofsomefancyphotoshootcareerday.Andtwo,I
honestlythinkXanderneedstogethishandsdirty,relaxalittle.Sofarhe’sbeingagoodsport,buthehas
noideawhatIhaveinstoreforhim.

“Hi, Mr. Lockwood,” I say, walking up to the funeral home that’s slightly elevated from the plots.

Skye’sdadissocool.Helookslikeheshouldliveinthemiddleofagraveyardwithhislongwhitehair
and crooked hooked nose. I always wonder if he owns a cemetery because he looks that way or if he
looksthatwaybecauseheownsacemetery.

“Hey,Caymen.”Heholdstwoshovels.“Areyousureyouwanttodothis?”
“Yep.”Igrabtheshovels.
“Okay,Igotitstartedforyousothatyoucouldgetasenseofthedimensions.It’spastthatoaktree

downthere.”Hepullsawalkie-talkiefromhisbackpocketandhandsittome.“Letmeknowifyouhave
anyquestions.”

IhandXanderashovel.“Okay.”
“Gravedigger?”heasksaswewalktowardthesite.“Really?Youthoughtthiswasaseriousoption?”
“It’s not just grave digging, Xander. It’s about this whole place. Living a quiet life surrounded by

peacefuldeath.”

“Youaremorbid.”

Dirtclingstohishairandissmearedacrosshischeek.Buteveninhispresentstatehisconfidenceand
stiffposturecomethrough.“We’renotgoingtobeburiedinhere,right?”

“Youcaughtme.”
“Youdidn’tthinkI’ddothis,didyou?”
Neverinamillionyears.“Ihadmydoubts.”
“I wish I would’ve brought some gloves.” He opens one of his hands and I catch the glimpse of a

bloodyblisteronhispalm.

Igasp.“Xander!”
“What?”
Igrabhishandandstudyitcloser,gingerlytouchingthebrokenskin.“Youdidn’ttellmeitwaskilling

yourhands.”Ihadpulledmysweatshirtsleevesdownovermine.Hissweatshirtwasalittleonthesmall
side.

“It’snottoobad.”
Iunclipthewalkie-talkiefromthepocketofmyjeans.“Mr.Lockwood,Ithinkwe’redone.”
“Thisholeisn’tnearlydeepenough,”Xandersays.
“Iknow.Ijustmeanthatwe’redone.”
There’saburstofstaticonthewalkie-talkie,thenMr.Lockwoodsays,“Youreadyformetosendthe

tractor?”

“Yes.”
“Wait,”Xandersays.“Atractorisgoingtocomedigtherestofthishole?”
“Yeah,theyhaven’thandduggravesinyears.Ijustthoughtitwouldbefun.”
“I’mgoingtokillyou.”
“Thiswouldbetheperfectplace.”
He charges me, sweeping my legs out from beneath me with one of his feet but catching me then

loweringmetothegroundgently.IlaughasIstruggletogetfree.Hepinsmywristsabovemyheadinone
ofhishandsanduseshislegstopinmine.Withhisotherhandhescoopsupahandfulofdirtandsmashes
itintomyhair.

I laugh and continue to struggle but then realize he has gone still. I suddenly become very aware of

everyplacehisbodypressesagainstmine.Hemeetsmyeyesandhisgriponmywristsloosens.Asense
ofpanicseizesmychestandIgrabahandfulofdirtfromabovemyheadandsmashitagainsthischeek.
Heletsoutagroanandrollsawayfromme,tohisside,proppinghimselfupwithoneelbow.

I lay there in the soft dirt for a while. It’s cool against my neck. I can’t decide if I just prevented

somethingfromhappeningorifitwasallinmymind.

Xanderletsoutalargesigh.“Ineededthisafteraweekwithmydad.”
“Ishehardonyou?”
“He’shardoneveryone.”
“I’msorry.”
“Don’tbe.Icanhandlehim.”
I’veseenthewayXander“handleshim.”Heshutsdown,becomeshard,closedoff.Butifthat’swhat

getshimthrough,whoamItoargue?Idon’tdealwithmymominthehealthiestwayseither.

Mybackachesandlyingdownfeelsgreat.Iclosemyeyes.It’sfairlypeaceful,thesilenceseemingto

pressagainstmebeingsurroundedbydirtwallslikeIam.MaybehereIcanforgetallthestressinmy
life.ForgetthatI’maseventeen-year-oldlivingaforty-year-old’slife.Thinkingaboutitmakesitfeellike
someonedroppedtwotonsofdirtonmychestthatIwasn’texpecting.

“What’swrong?”

IopenmyeyestoseeXanderstaringatme.“Nothing.”
“Itdoesn’tseemlikenothing.You’reoffyourgametoday.”
“Whatgameisthat?”
“Theonewhereyoutakeeveryopportunityyoucantomakefunofme.”Helooksathishand.“There

wereamillionjokesyoucould’vemadeaboutthis.”Heshowsmehisblisteragain.

“Iknow.Ireallyshould’vegoneoffonyoursoft,under-workedhands.”
“Exactly.”Hebrushesapieceofdirtoffmycheek.“Sowhatisit?What’swrong?”
“SometimesIjustfeelolderthanIam,that’sall.”
“Me,too.Butthat’swhywe’redoingthis,right?Tohavefun.Tostopworryingaboutwhat’sexpected

ofusandtrytofindoutwhatwewantforourselves?”

Inod.
“Mydadwoulddieifhesawmehere.”
“Weshould’veinvitedhim,then,right?”
Helaughs.“Hewouldn’tbecaughtdeadouthere.”
“Well,actually,that’sexactlywhenhe’llbecaughtouthere.”
Helaughsagain.“You’redifferent,Caymen.”
“Differentthanwhat?”
“ThananyothergirlI’vemet.”
Consideringmostofthegirlshe’dmetprobablyhadfiftytimesasmuchmoneyasIdid,thatwasn’ta

hardfeattoaccomplish.Thinkingaboutthatmakesmyeyessting.

“It’srefreshing.Youmakemefeelnormal.”
“Huh.Ibetterworkonthatbecauseyou’refarfromnormal.”
Hesmilesandpushesmyshoulderplayfully.Myheartslamsintomyribs.
“Caymen.”
Itakeanotherhandfulofdirtandsmashitagainsthisneckthentrytomakeaquickescape.Hegrabs

mefrombehind,andIseehishand,fullofdirt,comingtowardmyfacewhenthewarningbeepsofthe
tractorstartup.

“Savedbythegravediggers,”hesays.

Chapter17

anderhopsupandhelpsmetomyfeet.Wethrowourshovelsoutofthehole,thenhegivesmeaboost

outandheftshimselfoutafterme.

Aswewalkbacktowardthefuneralhome,ourshovelsproppedonXander’sshoulder,hesays,“So

thisiswhereyourbestfriendlives?”

Inod.
Helaughsalittle.“Youliveaboveaporcelain-dollstore;yourbestfriendlivesinacemetery.You’ve

prettymuchgrownupsurroundedbycreepythings.Isthereanythingyou’reafraidof?”

You.
Hemeetsmyeyes,almostasifhehadreadmymindormaybemythoughtiswrittenallovermyface.
Iclearmythroat.“Dogs.”
“You’vebeenbittenbyadogbefore?”
“No.Butthethoughtofthembitingmeisenough.”
“Interesting.”
“Oh,please.Don’tanalyzethestatement.Dogshavesharpteeth.Theybitepeople.”
Helaughs.
“Whataboutyou?What’syourbiggestfear?”
Hetwirlsashovelonhisshoulderonce,thinking.Eitherhedoesn’twanttotellmeorhedoesn’thave

astrongfearofanythingbecauseittakeshimawhiletosay,“Losing.Failure.”

“Failingatwhat?”
“Atanything.Sometimesit’shardformetostartsomethingbecauseI’drathernottryatallthanfailat

it.”

“Butnothinggoodeverhappenedwithoutrisk.”
“Iknowthis.Andyet...”
Wereachthebackdoorsofthefuneralhomeandheleansourshovelsagainstthewall.Ishakeoutmy

hairandhedoesthesame.Thenheturnsmearoundandbrushesoffmyback.

“Andyetwhat?”IaskwhenI’mnotsureifhe’sgoingtocontinue.
“AndyetIcan’tgetpastit.”HishandslingeronmybackandIclosemyeyes.
“Maybeyoushouldletyourselffailatsomething.Failhard.Thenyouwon’tbescaredanymore.”
“SoshouldIgogetthedogsnoworlater...?”
“Okay,okay,Igetit.”He’sright.Ican’ttellhimtofacehisfearifI’mnotwillingtofacemine.AndI

don’tmeanmyfearofdogs.

“Soareyoujustscaredofthebigdogsordothelittleonesbotheryou,too?”
“Youhavedogs,don’tyou?Thekindyoucarryinapurse?”
“No,”hescoffs.“OfcourseIdon’t.”
“Theirsizedoesn’tmatter.Infactsometimesthelittleoneareworse.They’lltakeoffafinger.”
“Thiscomingfromagirlwho’sneverbeenbittenbefore.”
“Thethought,Xander.It’sthethought.”
Hechucklesthenpatsmyshouldersasiftosaymybackisnowfreeofdirt.“Readytogo?”
“Yes.No,wait.Letmefixyourhandrealfast.Mr.Lockwoodhassuppliesinside.”Iknockonthedoor

thenopenitacrack.“Mr.Lockwood?”Istepinside.“Followme.IfIrememberrightthere’safirstaidkit
thisway.”

WewalkdownalonghallandIopenthelastdoorontheright.IstopcoldwhenMr.Lockwoodlooks

upfromadeadbodylyingflatonthetableinfrontofhim.“Sorry,”Isay.Themanhasalargecutdown
his chest with big staples holding it together. He had obviously had an autopsy performed. His face is
sunkenaswell,notafreshbodybutoneacoronerprobablyhadforseveraldays.

“It’sokay,comein.”
Theroomiscoldandashivergoesthroughme.“Ijustneededafirstaidkit.Somegauzeandantiseptic

maybe.”

Hepointstothesmallbathroomattachedtotheroom.“Rightthere.”Mr.Lockwoodappliessomesort

offoundationtotheman’sface.

It’shardtoignorethesmelllingeringintheroom.It’snotahorriblesmell,butthesmellofsomething

beingpreserved.“Ishegoingtobeopen-casket?”

“Yes. Tomorrow.” A large picture of the man when he was alive is taped to the wall next to Mr.

Lockwoodandhekeepsreferencingit.

“Heneedssomework,”Isay.
“We’regettingthere.”Heholdsoutabrush.“Doyouwanttoapplysomeblush?”
“Xander,whatdoyousay?Anotherfacettothiscareer?”Iturnaround,butheisfrozeninthedoorway

staringwithahorrifiedexpressionattheguyonthetable.Hisfacelooksalmostaspaleasthemanwho
hashisattention.“Maybenot.”

Istepinfrontofhimandittakesamomentforhimtomeetmyeyes.
“Youokay?”Iask.
“Didn’texpectthat.I’mfine.”
“Yousure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,comehere.”Ileadhimtothebathroomandclosethedoor,hopingthatputtingthebodyoutof

sight will help. I hold Xander’s hand under some slow running water, gently rubbing it with soap. His
eyeskeepdriftingtotheshutdoor.“Stay,”Isay,searchingthecupboardsforthefirstaidkit.Ifinditand
setitonthecounter,openingit.Xanderturnsoffthewaterandpatshishanddry.

I unscrew the lid off some antiseptic then take his hand back in mine and dab some onto the raw

wound.“Doesithurt?”

“It’sfine.”
His breath touches my cheek with the answer and I realize how close we are. I wrap his hand with

gauzeandlookup.“There,goodasnew.”

Thecolorinhisfacehaschangedtoasicklyshadeofgray.“Thanks,”hemumbles,andrushesbyme

andoutthedoor.

I thank Mr. Lockwood then leave. By the time I get outside, Xander is leaning one hand against the

building and dry heaving into some bushes. This is a disaster. From blisters to puking my career day
sucks.

“I’msorry.”Iwalktohissideandrubhisshoulder.MymomalwaysdoesthatwhenIvomit.Itdoesn’t

helpmuchbutIliketoknowshe’sthere.

“I’mokay.HowmuchdoyouthinkHumiliationpays?BecauseI’mobviouslyreallygoodatit.”
“Neverseenadeadbodybefore,huh?”
“No...”Hewipeshismouthonthesleeveofhissweatshirtandstraightensup.
“Notetoself:Xanderhasasensitivestomach.Stayawayfromcareerfieldsinvolvinganythinggross.”

Atthecarhepullsoffthesweatshirt,nearlytakingtheshirtunderneathwithitandthenstepsoutofhis

shoes.Hethrowstheminthetrunk,exchangingthemforhisniceones.Tryingnottoletmygazelingeron
thestripofstill-exposedskinabovehisjeans,Itugoffmysweatshirtaswell.

“Doyouwantmetodrive?”Iask,notinghisstill-too-paleface.
Hehesitatesforamoment.
“Youdon’ttrustmewithyourbaby?”
“It’snotthat....Okay,it’sthat.”
“Rude.”
Hegetsintothecar.
Iclimbinthepassengerseat.“You’rereallynotgoingtoletmedriveit?Youletthatvaletguydriveit

atthehotel.”

“Thatwasinaparkinglot.Andifyouwreckeditwecouldn’tbefriendsanymore.Thenwherewould

yoube?”

“Don’tyouhavethreeothersjustlikeit?”
“Four,actually,butwho’scounting?”
Ithinkhe’skidding,butthenagain...
Hestartstheengineandpullsawayfromthecurb.IlookattheclockonXander’sdash.Five.It’shard

tobelievefourhourshadpassed.

Xandermovesintotherightlaneandstartstoturn.
“Whereareyougoing?”
“Ithoughtwecouldgetdinner.There’sthisFrenchplaceoverherethatIlove.”
He’sobviouslyfeelingbetter.“Ishouldn’t.Mymom’sbeenstuckatthestoreallbyherselfhalftheday.

Ishouldgetbackandhelphercleanup.”

“Onemorehourwon’thurt.”
“Ishouldgoback.”
He continues his path down the wrong road. “Come on.” He throws me his smile. I swear the thing

couldendwars.

“Okay.Thenhome.”
“Ofcourse.”

It’snotuntilI’moutofthecarandwalkinguptothefancyFrenchrestaurantthatIthinkaboutthelayerof
dirt coating my skin. Xander had smashed dirt into my hair and I can still feel some caked against my
scalp.Iself-consciouslytrytocombitoutwithmyfingers.Whenwestepinside,thepeoplewaitinginthe
lobbyarealldressedup.I’msurethehostess,who’sdressedupherself,isabouttoturnusaway.Xander
hasastreakofdrieddirtacrosshisforehead,afterall.

ButsheoffersXanderagleamingwhitesmile.“Mr.Spence.Yourpartyisalreadyhere.”
“Really?”Hetiltshisheadather.“Thenleadtheway.”
“Didyouhaveplans?”Iaskaswewalkbehindhertowardabackroom.
“Apparentlyplansweremadewithoutme.”
Ihavenoideawhatthatmeans,butwhenwegettothebackroomadozenwell-dressed,perfectlyput-

togetherpeoplelaughwhentheyseehim.Oneguystandsandthenaddressesthehostess,“See?Didn’twe
tellyouwewerewithXanderSpence?”

“Ishouldn’thavedoubtedyou,”shesays,thentoXanderadds,“I’llmakesurethewaitercomestotake

yourorder.”

“Thankyou.”Xanderstepsintotheroomandwalksaroundtoanemptychair.

“Youlooklikeyou’vebeendoingcommunityservice,”someonecomments,pointingtohisflannelshirt

anddirtyface.

Xander’sconfidenceisn’tshaken.Hispostureisstillasstraightasever,hispresencebiggerthanthe

room.There’satwinkleinhiseyewhenhesays,“Sowhichfoolisusingmynametoavoidwaiting?”

Theguyalreadystanding,withglassesI’mprettysurearen’tprescriptionandatanheprobablypays

forweekly,bows.“Thatwouldbeme.”

“Ishould’veknown.”
“It’sgoingonyourtab,too,”theguyadds.
Xander looks around and then spots me still by the entrance. “Everyone, this is my friend Caymen.

Caymen,thesearepeopleyouprobablydon’tcaretoknowbutwhoIsometimescallmyfriends.”

Thereareseveralshoutsofdisapprovalfollowedbylaughs.
I’mnotsureI’mreadyforthiskindofinitiation.I’mbarelygettingusedtoXander.Sowhenhepulls

outthechairhe’sstandingbehindandgesturesformetosit,Iwanttogoscreamingoutoftherestaurant.

Mystomachtwistsintightknotsoverandover.Itdoesn’thelpthatoneofthegirlsontheendisglaring

atme.XanderseemsoblivioustothefactthatI’mcoatedinmudandunderdressed.

“Caymen.Come.Sit.”
I clamp my teeth together because the phrase “Am I wearing a collar?” had been on its way out my

mouth.I’mimpressedIstoppeditintime.Ipointbackthewaywecameandmutter,“Bathroom,”beforeI
disappearwithoutwaitingforhisresponse.JustwhenI’malmostoutofhearingrange,avoicesays,“You
takinginstraysnow,Xander?”followedbymorelaughter.

Myjawtwitchesasittightensmore.WhyamIsoangry?ThisonlyconfirmseverythingIalreadyknow

about the rich. Xander may be a slight exception, but those people in there are the rule. I change my
directionandheadtothehostessstationinstead.

“CanIborrowyourphone?”Iaskherwhensheturnsmyway.
“Ofcourse.”
IcallSkyeandsheagreestopickmeup.ThenIgobacktofacetheroomonelasttime.IwatchXander

asIapproach,beforehenoticesme.He’slisteningtosomeoneacrossthetable.Hehasasmallsmileon
hisface,butit’snowhereclosetobringingworldpeace.Italmostlookslikeapracticedsmile.

ItellmyselftobehavewhenIreachtheprivateroom.NoneofthemacknowledgemesoIdon’tfeel

anyobligationtododifferent.IreachXanderandleanover.“Ihavetogo.I’mnotfeelingsogreat.”Ifeel
slightly guilty for lying, but then I remember the “stray” comment his friend made and the feelings are
gone.

Hestartstostand.“I’lltakeyouhome.”
“It’sokay,IcalledSkye.I’llseeyoulater.”
“Caymen—”
“No,really.Stay.Havefun.”Ipushonhisshoulder,forcinghimbackdown,thenleavetheroom.

Chapter18

grabholdoftheshopdoorandyank,butmyarmjerkstoastop.

“Isitlocked?”Skyeasks.
ForthefirsttimeInoticethewindowsaredark.Icupmyhandovermyeyesandpressmynosetothe

window.Mymomisn’tthere.Diggingthekeysoutofmypocket,Iunlockthedoor.

“Mom!”
Noanswer.
“Don’tyounormallycloseatsevenonSaturdays?”Skyeasks.
“Maybeitwasslow.”
Skyelooksconfusedandshehaseveryrighttobe.We’veneverclosedearly.Shedoesn’tsayanything

aboutitbutroundsababycradleandleansagainstthecounter.

“I’ll be right back.” After looking in the party room and stockroom and not finding her, I go to the

registerandopenthedrawer.Empty.Shemust’vetakenthedeposit.Butwhywouldshecloseearlyjustto
dothat?Iwasn’tthatlate.

Irushupstairsandintotheapartment.
“Mom!”
I’mgreetedwithsilence.Theansweringmachinewe’vehadsinceIwasalittlegirldoesn’thavethe

redblinkinglightofamissedcall.Butonthecounterrightnexttoitisanote.

Caymen,
Ihada5:30doctor’sappointment.Sinceyouweren’there,Idecidedtoclosethestoreandtake
thedepositonthewaytomyappointment.Don’tworryaboutreopening.It’sbeenslowanyway.
Hopeyouhadafunday.

Mom

Irereadthenote.It’shardtotellfromapieceofpaperifsomeonewasangrywhentheywroteit.Iturn

itoverandrunmyhandalongthebacksidetoseehowdeeplythewordsarepressedintothepage.ThenI
holdituptothelighttoseeifthehandwritinglooksrushedorangry.Itseemstocheckoutasbeingwritten
byanaverage-temperedperson.Isighandplacethenotebackonthecounterthenlookaroundfeelinga
littlelost.

Igobackdownstairs.Skye’sonthephonesoIgrabtheshelfcleanerfromunderthecounterandstart

cleaning.

WhenSkyehangsupshesays,“Henryiscomingover.”
Thebellonthedoordings.
“Likerightnow.”
Iletoutalaugh.“Thatwasfast.”
Henrywavesthenlooksup.“Why’sitsodarkinhere?”
Ipointtotheoverheadlights.“Thelightsareoff.”
Skyelaughssweetly.“I’msurehemeantwhyarethelightsoff.”
I’m distracted. “Oh. Right. We closed early. So what are you guys up to?” I look back and forth

betweenSkyeandHenry.TheyobviouslyhadplansbeforeIinterceptedSkyeforaride.

“Henrycameoversowecouldallhangoutwithyou.”
“Oh.Cool.”
Henry flicks at his cheek twice, making a pinging noise. “Um . . . you also invited Tic over tonight.

He’llbehereinalittlewhile.”

“What?”
Againhepingshischeek.“WetoldTicyouinvitedhimtocomehangoutattheshop.”
“Wow,thatwasniceofme.WhywouldIdothat?”
Skyesmiles.“Becauseafterhekissedyou,youweresmitten.”
“IsthatwhyIhaven’ttalkedtohimintwoweeks?BecauseIwassmitten?”
Sheshrugshershoulders.
“Tellmeyoudidn’ttellhimthat.”
“Just relax. Come on, we’ll chill in the back and then you won’t feel like we’re standing around

waitingforhim.”Shepullsmetothestockroom.

“So you did tell him that?” I sink onto the couch in the back room and think about damage control

whileHenryandSkyetalkaboutsomeshowthebandisplayinginacoupleofweeks.BeforeIcomeup
withanygoodplan,thebellonthefrontdoorringsandmyheartstops.

“We’rebackhere,”Skyecallsout.
WhatwasIgoingtosay?Tic,hey.Wekissed?What?Hmm,Idon’trememberthat.
Ilookupasfootstepsshuffleintotheroom.“Xander!”Yes,Iyelledhisnamebutotherwiseremained

frozen. He had showered and was perfectly clean and back to his normal self. Looking at him like that
makesmefeelthelayerofdirtonmyexposedskin.Irubmyarm.Whydidn’tIshower?

Xander nods to Skye and Henry then says, “Caymen, you forgot this in my car.” He holds up my

sweatshirt.“AndIbroughtfoodsinceyoudidn’tstayandeat.”

Thatseemstobehistheme:Showingupwithfood.Hotchocolate,muffins,andnowFrench.
He sets it down on the coffee table and unloads several Styrofoam boxes. “Uh, I only brought two

forks.”

Skyecrawlsforwardonherknees.“Whoneedsforks?”Shescoopsupahunkofcheese-coveredbread

andpopsitinhermouth.“Hey.I’mSkye.Isawyouacoupleweeksagoattheclub.”

Xander nods and takes Skye in, from the top of her bubblegum pink hair down to her unlaced army

boots.

“Xander,thisismybestfriend,Skye,andherboyfriend,Henry.”
“Herboyfriend,”Xandersays.
“Ofcourse.”IrememberthedayXanderhadwalkedinthestorewhenHenrywassingingforme.He

hadgottentheimpressionthatHenrywasmyboyfriend.Oops.

Heshakeshishead.“Goodtomeetyou,SkyeandHenry.”
“You,too,”Skyesays,takinganotherbite.“Mmm,thisisamazing.”
Xandersitsnexttomeonthecouchandhandsmeaplasticfork.“Areyoufeelingbetter?”
“Better?”IttakesmeasecondtoremembertheexcuseIhadusedtoleavetherestaurant.“Oh.Yes.All

betternow.”

He raises one eyebrow like he knew my secret. “So, Henry,” Xander says. “Your band. Very

impressive.Haveyouguysrecordedanything?”

“No.We’reworkingourwayup.Wehavetoearnmoneyforstudiotime.”
“Ihaveaccesstoastudiothatyou’rewelcometouseanytimeforfree.”
“Areyouyankin’me?”

“Idon’t...uh...yank.Callmesometimeandwe’llsetitup.”
Henrypullsouthisphone,obviouslyreadytomakesurehenailsdownthephonenumberbeforethe

offeriswithdrawn.Xanderrelaysthenumber.

“Whereiseveryone?”IhearMasonyellatthesametimethebellrings.

Chapter19

widenmyeyesatSkyeandshebitesherlip.

“Backhere,Tic,”Henryyells.
Istand,wonderingifIshouldintercepthimbeforehecomesback,butit’stoolate.Masoninallhis

beautiful-hair-and-lipsglorycomeswalkingintothestockroom.Hegivesmeawidesmile.“Ithoughtyou
saidyouwerecominglastweek.Insteadyoudisappearedonme.”Hecrossestheroominthreestepsand
crushesmeintoahug,smellingofcigarettebuttsandpeppermintbreathmints.“Ididn’tpinyouasagirl
who’dkissandrun.”HesaysthisnexttomyearbutIknoweveryoneheard.Thenhekissesmycheek.

Talk about the king of bad timing. I pat his shoulder awkwardly then back out of his hug. A silence

stretches across the room. I tentatively glance at Xander to see how he’s taking all this. He has on his
standardseriousface.

“Dude,”Henrysays.“Xanderjustsaidwecouldusehisstudiotocutafewtracks.”
MasonlookslostsoIstepasideandsay,“Mason,thisisXander.Xander,Mason.”
Xanderextendshishand.
Masongiveshimasidewaysfive.“Hey,man.”ThenproceedstostudyXanderintentlybeforeadding,

“I’veseenyousomewherebefore.”

“Hewasatoneofourshows,”Henrysays.
“No.That’snotit.Areyousomesortofrecordproducer?”
Xander gives a single laugh. “No. I’m Caymen’s friend.” Did he emphasize the “friend” or was I

hearingthings?

Masonlooksatme,hisforeheadstillwrinkledasiftryingtoworkouthisthoughts.Heblinkshardthen

says,“Nope.Havenoidea.Thanksforthestudiotime.”

“Sure.”
MasondropsdownnexttoSkyeonthefloorandloungesbackononeelbow.Withhimonthefloorand

Xandersittingstifflyonthecouch,it’slikean“OppositesDemonstration”isbeingactedoutliveforme.
Two people couldn’t be any more different than Xander and Mason. And the weird thing is that seeing
Mason again makes me realize he probably is a good fit for me. Surely more than the rich guy I’m
constantlyassigningmotivestoforwantingtohangoutwithme.IsitsadthatIdon’tevenknowmyown
type?Shouldn’tIknowmytype?Islowlylowermyselfbackontothecouch.

Idon’tknowwhattosaytogetridoftheawkwardsilence.DoesXanderthinkIditchedhimtohang

outwithanotherguy?IwanttosayIdidn’tknowMasonwascoming,butthatwouldprobablymakehim
feelstupid.InsteadIopttosaynothingandtakeanotherforkfulofchickenasanexcusenottotalk.

“Oh,”Skyesays.“Lookatmyweeklyfind.”Shethrustsherfistforwardandthehangingchainofthe

braceletonherwristswayswiththemovement.“Tendollars.”

Everyoneleansforward.
Masonrunsafingeracrossabluestone.“Youwastedtenbucksonthat?Itdoesn’tlookedibletome.

Wecould’vefilledourfridgewiththatmoney.Right,Henry?”

“Amen,brother,”Henrysays.“Ithinkwehaveapackofmustardinthererightnow.”
“Nope.Iateityesterday,”Masonsays,andwelaugh.
“Youateapackofmustard?”Xanderasks.“Byitself?”

“Iwashungry.”Wealllaughagain.
“IonceateabowlofmayonnaisewhenIwashungry,”Henrysays.
“Oncemydaddidn’tshopforthreeweeks,”Skyesays,“andIatesomeshriveled-upcarrotsfromthe

bottomoftheveggiedrawer.”

Masonkicksmyfoot.“Youhavedirtsmearedacrossyourforehead.”
XanderlaughsandIwipeatit.“Yeah,wewereoutatthegraveyardtodaydigging.”
Skyeletsoutalittleyelp.“Oh.Iforgotyouweredoingthattoday.How’ditgo?”
Xanderclenchesandunclencheshisbandagedhand.“Itwasinteresting.”
Skyegivesmeaknowingsmile.
Masonseemsabitconfusedbutthenasksme,“How’syourmomdoing?”
“She’sgood.”
The room is completely silent for several beats until Xander’s phone rings. I jump. He steps away

fromthegroupandanswersitusingthehardvoiceheseemstosavejustforhisfather.

“Howdoyouknowthatguy?”Masonsays.
“He’sthegrandsonofacustomer.”
“Arichcustomer,”Skyeadds.
Masonmovestohisknees.“Whatarewealleating?Foo-foocrap?”
“It’sgood,”Skyesays.“Rich-peoplefood.Youshouldtryit.”
Xanderwalksbackoverwhilehangingupthephone.“Caymen,Ihavetorun.”
“Okay.”
“Goodtomeeteveryone.”Whenhe’salmosttothedoor,hisgazelingeringonme,IrealizeI’mbeing

rudeandjumpuptofollowhim.OnceoutsideIstopinfrontofhiscar.

“Youhavesomeinterestingfriends,”hesays.Thepracticedsmilefrombackattherestaurantisonhis

faceandIdon’tlikeit.

“Yeah,they’refun.”Ipointtohispocket.“Whowasonthephone?”
“Mydad.Hotelemergency.”
“Whatdoesahotelemergencyconsistof?”
“Thistimesomeidiotburnedaholeinacustomer’sdressshirtwhileironingit.Myorderistofinda

replacement shirt, hopefully in town.” He’s taken on his business voice: serious and matter-of-fact like
he’stalkingtoacolleagueandnotme.

“Hopefullyintown?”
“Well,itdependsonthebrand.Wemightnothavetheretailerinthissprawlingmetropolisofours.If

wedon’t,I’llhavetoheaduptoSanFranorsomewhere.I’llcallaroundfirst.”

“Sowhyareyouguysresponsibleforsomeidiotgettingaholeburnedinhisshirt?”
Hishandisinhispocketandhe’sbouncinghiskeysupanddown.Ishehintingthathewantstoleave?

“Becausetheidiotthatdidtheburningisoneofouremployees.Well,was.I’msurehe’sbeenfired.”

“Fired?”
IttakesXanderamomenttoregisterwhythatwouldshockme.“Hejustcostthecompanyanimportant

customer.”

Thewindhasblownastrandofhairacrossmyface,andwhenXanderreachesouttobrushitaway,I

moveitmyselfandtakeafewstepsback.“Havefunwithyouremergency.”

HelooksdownatthenewspaceIcreatedbetweenusthenshakeshisheadandsaysinahardvoice,

“He’smetyourmom?”

“What?Who?”
“Lip-ringguy.”

“Mason. Yeah, he has.” Just once, in passing, but right now I don’t care if Xander thinks more. I’m

irritated. I thought Xander was different but tonight has proved to me that he isn’t. I wanted him to be
different.

“Yourmomapprovesofhimandyou’reworriedshewouldn’tapproveofme?”
“Mason’sfriendshavenevercalledmeastray.Soisthatsohardtobelieve?”
“What?”
“Iheardwhatyourfriendcalledme.”
He gives a single, bitter laugh. “That’s why you left? You should’ve eavesdropped a little longer

becausehewasreferringtomyshirt.Hecallsflannelthe‘dog-catcherfabric.’”

MychesttightensandIthinkaboutsayingsorry,butthat’snottheonlythingthatbotheredmetonight.

“Well,thankgoodnessyou’llneverhavetowearitagain.”

Hepullshiskeysoutofhispocket.“Bye,Caymen.”
“Bye.”Idon’tlookbackovermyshouldereventhoughIwanttosobadly.Iwanthimtostopmefrom

walkingaway.AndI’mangrywithmyselfforwantingthat.

Hedoesn’tstopme.
BackinthestockroomHenryispackingawayhisguitarandSkyeiswrappingascarfaroundherneck.
Idon’twanttobeleftalone.Mystomachhurts.“Whereiseveryonegoing?”
“Henry doesn’t like the offerings.” Skye points to the food on the table. “We’re loading up on some

realfoodatthecornermart.”

“Realfoodasinnachosandday-oldcorndogs?”
“Exactly,”Henrysays.

Icarefullyaddthreeseconds’worthofMountainDewtomycupthenmovetothePowerade.

“What’sshedoing?”IhearMasonask.
Skye laughs. “It’s her special mixture. She spent all last summer on this experiment. She has now

discoveredtheperfectformulaofsodafountainmixture.”

“I’ll have to try it,” Mason says, the owner of the gas station trailing behind him as he walks. The

ownerdoesn’ttrustteenagersandhealwaysfollowsusaroundtellingusthe“dealsoftheday”inaveiled
attempttomakeitseemlikehe’snotwatchingus.RightnowheistellingMasonaboutthesaleonbeef
jerky and Mason is messing with him by asking if he can mix and match different items. The only one
amusedbythisisme.Skyeispumpingmustardontoanoversizedhotdog.

Ifinishupmylastadd-inandtakeasip.Perfect.Skyemaymakefunofmebutthiswasanexperiment

worth the effort. “How much would you pay for a shirt?” I ask suddenly, thinking of the hundreds of
dollarsXanderwasabouttospendonareplacementshirtforhis“importantcustomer.”

“IgotthisoneforfiftycentsattheSalvationArmy,”Masonannouncesproudly,pointingwithastickof

beefjerkytothebandlogoonhisT-shirt.Theownerintentlyfollowsthemovementofthejerkywithhis
eyesasifMasonisgoingtoslipituphissleeve.

“That’sawesomeevenforathriftstore,”Skyesayswithanod,clearlyimpressed.
“Five bucks for these jeans,” Henry says. “I would’ve been willing to pay six though.” He lifts his

shirttoshowusafullviewofhisbutt.

Ilaugh.Includingtheoverlysuspiciousgasstationowner,thesearemykindofpeople.
Masonpointsandblinksatthesametime,givingaloud“Aha!”thatmakesmejump.
“What?”Iask.
“That’swhereIrecognizehimfrom.”
Iturnslowly,followinghisfingertoaStarzmagazineonarackbehindme.Inthecorneronthefront

pageisapictureofXander.

Chapter20

probablyshouldn’thaveboughtthemagazine.I’malreadyirritatedenoughatXander.ButIdidandnow

I sit alone on the couch in my living room, waiting for my mom to get home, and read the lame article
again. All it says is that “The Prince of Hotels” was spotted in New York last week to oversee the
reopeningofoneofthefamily’shotels.

NowonderwhyhewasconfusedIdidn’tknowwhathisfamily’sbusinesswaswhenwefirstmet.He

probablythoughtIwaspretendingnottoknowwhohewas.Iblameitonourlackofcable.Imaynothave
knownexactlywhohewas,butIalwaysknewhewasasomebody.Anarticleremindingmeofthefact
doesn’t change anything. I crumble up the thin magazine and throw it at the glowing television. Two
secondslatermymomwalksinthefrontdoor.

“Hi,”shesayswhensheseesmeonthecouch.
“That appointment took forever.” It would be really obvious if I pick up the magazine so I leave it

thereandhopeshedoesn’tnotice.

“Sorry.IransomeerrandswhenIwasdone.”
Ipointovermyshoulder.“Imadeyouasandwich.It’sinthefridge.”
Thelightingchangesasmyshowgoestoacommercial,andInoticemymom’seyesarered.Isitup

andturntowardher.“Areyouokay?”

“Ofcourse.Justtired.”ShedisappearsasshewalksintothekitchenthatisseparatedfromwhereIsit

byasinglewall.

“Really?”
“Yes.I’mfine.”
Igrabthemagazineandshoveitinmypocket.
Afterbangingaroundinthekitchenforawhile,sheyellsout,“Didyouhavefun?”
Iwalkthefourandahalfstepstothetelevisionandturnitoffthenwaitforhertojoinmeonthecouch.

“Yes.WewenttoSkye’sanddidsomegravedigging.Itwasprettycool.”

“Thatsoundsgreat.Iwishyouwould’vehadyourfriendcomein.Iwantedtomeethim.”
No,youdidn’t.Youwould’vehatedtomeethim.“Hehasadollphobia.Somechildhoodtrauma.”
“Really?”
“Notreally,Mom.”
“Youarehilarious,Caymen.”
“You’regettinggoodatsarcasm.”
Shelaughs.“Soisthisfriendaboyfriend?”
“We’rejustfriends.”Butareweeventhatnow?
“Well,ifthat’sallyou’relookingforthenyoubetterwatchitbecauseyouknowthedifferencebetween

a‘boyfriend’anda‘boyfriend.’”

Irollmyeyeswithasmile.“Yeah,yeah.”
“Justalittlespace,”shesays.“Don’tgobreakinghearts.”
“You’relikeSocratesorsomething,Mom.”
“Iam,aren’tI?”Ihearacupboardopenandshutandprepareforhertojoinmeonthecouchwhenshe

says,“Thanksforthesandwich,sweetie.I’lleatittomorrow.IatewhileIwasout.”

“Okay.”
“I’msorrytocomeinandthencrashonyou,butI’mheadingtobed.”
“Ateighto’clock?”
“It’sbeenalongdaybetweenmanningtheshopandrunningaroundtown.”
Ijumpupandfollowherdownthehall.“Wait.”
Sheturnstofaceme.Thehalllightisoffandwestandinshadows.“Yes?”
“Pleasetalktome.Something’swrong.”MymomandIusedtotelleachothereverything.Thedistance

Ifeelbetweenusismyfault,Iknow,becauseofallthesecretswe’rekeeping,butIneedhertotalktome.

Shelooksatherhandsandhershouldersriseandfall.Shedoesn’tmeetmyeyeswhenshesays,“It’s

nothing.Really.”

“Please,Mom.Iknowwhatnothinglookslikeandit’snotthis.”
“Itriedtosecurealoantoday.Iwasdenied.”
Idon’tneedtoaskbutIdoanyway.“Aloanforwhat?”
Shefinallylooksup.Hereyesarebloodshot.“TopaysomebillsI’vegottenbehindon.”Shetakesmy

hand. “But I don’t want you to worry about it. We’ll be fine. We’re behind is all. We’ve been behind
before.Let’shopeforafewgoodmonths.We’lljusthavetobemorecareful.”

“Morecareful?”Howcouldwebemorecareful?Wealreadyspendnexttonothing.
“Don’tworry,okay?It’sfine.”
Inodandshegivesmeahug.Itdoesn’tstopmefromworrying.
Whenshe’sinherroomIshutmybedroomdoorwithahorriblepressureinmychest.Themagazine

digsintomythighsoIyankitoutofmypocketandsmoothitflat.“Areyouevenworthallthistrouble,
Xander?”Isaytohiswrinkledface.

MondaymorningItakemytimegettingready.I’vebeentryingtofigureoutallweekendwhattosayto
Xander.I’mtiredofthefeelingthat’ssettledontomychestandthreatenedtostay.

WhenIgodownstairsmymomiszippingupthegreenbank-depositbagandtuckingitintoherpurse.
“IthoughtyoutookthedepositSaturdaynight.”
Shejumps.“Youscaredme.”Shelooksmeupanddown.“Wow,youlooknicetoday.Ihaven’tseen

youwearthatsweaterinforever.Itmakesyoureyesstandout.Isthisforthespecialboyatschool?”

IfIdidn’tlovemymomsomuchIwouldstrangleher.“No,Mom,Itoldyouwe’rejustfriends.”And

hedoesn’tgotomyschool.And...wait,wasshetryingtochangethesubject?Italmostworked.“So
what’sgoingonwiththedeposit?”

“Ididn’ttakeitSaturday.”
She didn’t take the deposit? My mom is anal about making the deposit. And didn’t she just say last

nightthatwearebehind?

She must’ve noted my look because she says, “It’s not a big deal. I’ll take it over right when they

open.”

“Okay.” I grab my backpack, smooth down my sweater, and face the door. My heart gives a little

unexpectedflutter,thefirstonesincefightingwithXander.Ismileandstepoutintothecold.

Xander’snotthere.
Mywalktoschoolfeelstwiceaslongasnormal.MaybebecauseIkeeplookingovermyshoulderor

maybebecauseI’vesloweddowntogivehimtimetoarrive.Heneverdoes.

Afterschool,whilemymomisupstairsplacingordersonthecomputer,IgetoutXander’scamerathatI
keepstashedinthestockroomdeskandtakemorepicturesofthedolls.I’veneverfeltmoremotivatedto

getthewebsiteupandrunning.Wecouldobviouslyusetheincreaseintraffic.AsIstareatthelifeless
eyesofAislynthroughtheviewfinder,athoughtcomesbacktome:mymomstandingbytheregisterthat
morningholdingthebank-depositbagandhowshetriedtoavoidmyquestionsaboutit.

Istrapthecameraaroundmyneckandsneakintoheroffice.ThefirstthingIlookforisthebalance

book.Therednumberisevenbigger,overthreethousanddollars.Itshouldn’tsurpriseme;shehadsaid
asmuch.Butitmakesmeworryevenmore.Iopenthesidedrawerwhereshekeepsthebankbagandpull
itout.It’szippedshutandIstareatitforamoment,feelingtheweightinmyhands,notwantingtoopenit
andfindoutifthemoneyisstillinside.Ihavenoideawhatitwillmeanifthemoneyisstillinside.That
she’sstillhidingthingsfromme?Fastandpainless.Islideitopenandlookin.Empty.Eventhoughthe
moneyisgone,provingshemadethedeposit,Ifeeluneasy.

Thebellonthefrontdoorrings,andIshovethebagbackinthedrawerandrushbackoutfront.
Atallmanwithdarkhairandadarkbeardstandsjustinsidethedoor.Ittakesmeasecondtoplace

him,butthenIrememberhehadbeeninthestoreafewweeksago,talkingtomymom.

“IsSusanin?”heasks,hiseyeslingeringonthecameraaroundmyneck.
“No,she’snot.”Icouldprobablytellhimshe’sjustupstairs,butthefeelingofuneasinessIfeltinmy

mom’sofficehasgrown.

“WillyoutellherMatthewdroppedby?”
“IstheresomethingIcanhelpyouwith?”
Hiseyestwinkleandhismouthtwitchesintoasmile.“No.”Withthathebacksoutthedoor.Hewalks

bythefrontwindow,andIwaitforafewsecondsthenquicklystepoutside,stayingclosetothebuilding
so he won’t see me. He gets into a navy blue SUV parked a few stores away. I quickly snap off a few
pictures,zoominginonthelicenseplateandthenuptohisface.Myheartnearlystopswhenhiseyesmeet
thecameralens.Themetaldoorhandledigsintomybackwithmyhastyretreat.Heprobablydidn’tsee
me.Ihadzoomedinquiteabit.

InsideIpickupthephone.JustasI’mabouttopushtheintercombutton,Istopmyself.Idon’twantto

tellmymomaboutMatthewoverthephone.Idon’twanttotellheraboutMatthewatall.It’snotthatmy
mom has never dated anyone. She has . . . on occasion. But she always tells me about it. So I have to
assumethatwhoeverMatthewis,he’snotsomeoneshe’sdating.Andifshe’snotdatinghim,thenwhois
he?

Chapter21

wodayslaterIstareatXander’scamerabagonmybed.Ihaduploadedthepicturesontothecomputer

andstartedworkingonthewebsite.AnythingtokeepmymindoffthefactthatIhaven’tseenXandersince
Saturdaynight.Igooverthenightinmyhead.HimbringingovertheFrenchfood,Masonshowingup,me
steppingbackwhenXandertriedtotouchmyhair,ourfight.Ihadbeengivinghimtheback-offsignalsall
along,butapparentlyhedidn’ttakethemuntilnow.

Inudgethebagwithmytoeandsigh.FortwodaysIhadbeencontemplatingwhethertousethecamera

as an excuse to see him again. The whole “I just wanted to return your camera” bit. There are two
problemswiththis.One,Ihavenoideawherehelives.Two,Idon’thavehisphonenumber.Thereare
alsotwosolutionstothisproblem.One,IcouldcallMrs.DaltonandaskforXander’snumber.Two,Ican
showupatTheRoad’sEndhotelandhopetorunintohim.

Solution number two wins. My mind spins this crazy idea that if I show up at the hotel he will just

magically be there. I can say, “I was in the neighborhood,” and it won’t look so obvious or seem too
creepy.

ThingsneverworkhowIimaginethem,though,soasIstandatthecheck-incounterinthefancylobby

ofthehotel,talkingtotheclerk,Iresignmyselftothefactthatthisisnothappening.

“Ihavehiscamera,”Isayagain.
“AndlikeItoldyoubefore,ifyouleaveitwithmeI’llmakesurehegetsit.”
“Ifyoucanjusttellmewhenhe’llbeinorgivemehisaddressorsomething,Icandropitoff.”
Thelookshegivesmesendsapainthroughmyheart.Thelooksays,Do you know how many girls

havetriedtogetXander’sinformation?Itakeastepbackfromthelook.

“Youdon’twanttoleaveit?”
ItrytogiveherthelookthatletsherknowIdon’ttrustherasIsay,“It’sanexpensivecamera.”My

lookdoesn’tseemtoaffectherasmuchashersdidme.ThetruthisifIwereinhershoes,staringatme,I
wouldn’tgivemeXander’sinfoeither.

IturnaroundandwalkbackthewayIcame,stillclutchingXander’scamera.Soontooptionone,then.

I’llcallMrs.DaltonandgetXander’snumber.Ineedtoreturnhiscamera,afterall.It’sreallyimportant.

Thebag’sstrapistightaroundmyhandbecauseIhaveloopeditseveraltimestokeepitfromdragging

ontheground.Myfingersareturningmoreandmorewhitethelongerthecirculationiscutoff.JustasI
reachthedoorIstop.WhyamIdoingthistomyself?WhyamIhangingontothissotight?Tohimsotight?
Itshouldn’tbethishard.IfitwererightIwouldn’tbelyingtomymotheraboutit.Iwouldn’tfeelguilty
aboutit.Ifitwererightitwouldbeeasier.

Imakemywalkofshamebacktothecheck-indeskandputthecameraontop.“Yes.Willyougivethis

tohim?”

Shenodsandlookslikeshe’sgoingtosaysomething—thankyou,maybe?—butthenthephonerings

andshepicksitupandI’mforgotten.Itakeadeepbreathandwalkaway.Icanleavehimbehind,too.
Here,wherehebelongs.

AsIdrivehomeInoticekidsincostumefilltheneighborhoods.HowdidIforgetit’sHalloween?Old

Townisemptyofextrachildren,though.Notmanypeopleliveinthebusinessdistrict.Iparkinthealley
andcomeinthroughtheback.Thestoreisdark,justlikeIleftit.It’sclosetonine,andconsideringher

habitslately,Iexpectmymomtobeinbedalready.Ifindhersittingonthecouchwatchingamovie.

She looks over and smiles. “I thought maybe you went to a party tonight that I didn’t remember you

tellingmeabout.”

“No.Ikindofforgotit’sHalloween.”
Shepatsthecushionnexttoher.
“Whatareyouwatching?”
“Idon’tknow,someHallmarkclassic.”
I plop onto the couch next to her. “Let me guess, the lady has cancer and the man never knew but

alwayslovedher.”

“No.Ithinkthelittleboyissickandthemomisrealizinghowmuchtimeshe’sspentatwork.”
Ipullontomesomeoftheblanketmymomhasoverher.Wedon’tsayanything,justwatchthemovie,

butit’scomfortable,familiar,andbytheendofthemovie,Ifeelmuchbetter.I’vemissedher.I’vemissed
this.

ThenextdayonmywayintothestoreIbrushbythemailcarrier,whoisonhiswayout.Henodsahello
andIsmile.Mymomstandsbehindthecountersiftingslowlythroughthemail.Iwonderifshe’staking
hertimetoavoidthebillswaitingtobepaidwithmoneywedon’thave.Whenshegetstotheendshe
looksupatme.“Hey.”

“Hi.”
Sheholdsuptheenvelopes.“Areyougettingnervous?”sheasks.
“Yes.”Ifonlysheknewhowmuch.
“Whendoyouthinkyou’llstarthearing?”
“Hearing?”
“FromBerkeley,SacState,SanFrancisco,youknow,colleges?”
“Ohright.”I’dhavetosendinapplicationsfirst.“Notyet.ByApril,Ithink.”Iknew,actually.Iknew

thedeadlineformostcollegeswasfastapproaching.Istillhadn’ttoldhermyplantodelayforayearor
two.

“April?That’ssofaraway.”
Itfeelslikeit’sjustaroundthecorner.
Shesmilesandaddsthestackofmailtothedrawerthenturnstothetoo-big-for-our-pathetic-schedule

calendaronthebackcounter.Sheripsoffthetopmonth,foldingitneatlyandtuckingitintothecupboard
below with the others for future generations to see that we had the most boring year ever. “It’s a new
month,”shetellsme.“Timetoscheduleourlives.”Sheholdsherpenpoised,readytoputmylifeback
intolittledefinedboxeswhereitbelongs.“Anyextraschoolthingsthisweek?”

“No.Ihaveabigtesttomorrow,somaybeIshouldstudytonight.”
Sheblocksofftonightafterfiveforme.“Ihaveabusinessowners’meetingnextWednesdaynight.”
Shewritessixo’clockdownonthecalendarwithoutanyotherdetails.
“Whereisit?”
“I’mnotsure.Werotatestores.”
“Thenhowcomewe’veneverhostedone?”
“Ourstoreiswaytoosmallforthat.”Shelooksatthealmostblankcalendar.“Anythingelse?”
MyeyeslingeronSaturday,thedayXanderandIhadbeendoingourcareerdays.Itwouldbehisturn.

“No.Nothing.”

“Wow,wehaveanexcitingmonth.Idon’tknowifwecanhandlesuchafullschedule.”
“Nobirthdayparties?”

“Notyet.”
She puts away the pen and gets out some cleaning supplies. Throughout the afternoon I find myself

staringatthecalendarandtheWednesdaynight“meeting”writtenthereinblack.WhyamIsosuspicious
of that? I had been lying to my mom for the past few months about who I was hanging out with. Is it
possibleshe’sbeenlyingtomeaswell?ThenameMatthewpopsintomyheadandIquicklytrytopushit
out.Butitlingersthere.

“Mom,whois—”
Thebellonthedoorrings,cuttingoffmysentence.Ilookover,somesillyfalsehopeinsidetellingme

itcouldbeXander.It’snot.It’sMason.

Chapter22

ymomsmiles.“Hi.Mason,right?”

Sheremembershisname?
“Yes. Hi. Nice to see you again. I was hoping I could steal Caymen for an hour or two, if that’s all

rightwithyou,ofcourse.”

“That’sperfectlyfine.Whereareyouheaded?”
“WehavebandpracticeandIwantedheropiniononsomesongs.”
“Hedoesn’tknowmyopinionsonmusicareworthlessyet,”Isaytomymom.
“Shehasgreatopinions,”mymomassureshimasifhe’sreallyworriedaboutit.
HewalksbymymomandIseehereyeslingeronhiscalf.Shepoints.“Whatdoesitmean?”
Hetwistshisfoottolookathistattooasthoughheforgotitwasthere.“It’saChinesesymbol.Itmeans

‘acceptance.’”

“Verybeautiful,”mymomsays.
“Thankyou.”Heturnstome.“Youready?”
“Sure.Thanks,Mom.I’llseeyouinawhile.”
Heputshisarmaroundmyneck.I’mgettingusedtoMason’sneedforhumancontact.Ikindofneed

humancontactrightnow,too.

Inudgehimwithmyelbow.“You’rewearingshortsinNovember?”
“It’snotthatcold.”
He’s right, of course. On the coast of California the beginning of November is fairly similar to the

beginningofmostmonths.“Wheredoyouhavepractice?”Iask.

Hepointstoapurplevan.
“Inavan?”
“No,we’redrivingthere.”
Thesidedoortothevanslidesopen,andSkyeclimbsoutwithasmile.“Ididn’tthinkhe’dbeableto

talkyououtofthatstore.”

“Whynot?”
“Because you’re so responsible. But he assured me that he could. Apparently I underestimated Tic

charm.”

Morelikesheunderestimatedmyloneliness.Masonsmellsgood,andIleanintohischestalittlemore.

“Well,mymomwasinagoodmood.Itwasreallyherthatmadethedecision.”

“Oh!” Mason says. “Check it out.” He opens the passenger-side door and practically dives in,

retrieving something off the floor. He brings out a Starz magazine. “Another article. You should start
collectingthem.They’relikeourclaimtofamenow,right?”

IgrabthemagazineandscanthecoveruntilIfindXanderunderthecaptionXanderSpenceandSadie

NewelspottedinLAovertheweekend.Thepictureishimholdinghandswithagirlwhohasshortdark
hairandlongtanlegs.MystomachtwistssotightIwanttovomit.SoXandergotmorethanacustomer’s
dressshirtlastweekend.

Iopentothearticleandread,“XanderSpence,thesonofhigh-endhotelownerBlaineSpence,was

spotted in Los Angeles last weekend outside the nightclub Oxygen with his longtime girlfriend, actress

SadieNewel,whohasbeenfilminginParisforthelastsixmonths....”

Longtimegirlfriend?Ican’treadanymorebecausemyvisionblurs.ThereisnowayI’mgoingtocry

overthis.IhadalreadyletXandergo.Igavebackhiscamera,Iremindmyself.Thatwasmyrelease.But
secretly,deepdown,Ihadbeenhopinghewouldcomebackaround.Ibitetheinsideofmycheeksand
forcebackthetears.“Wow,excitingarticle,”Isay.“Twopeoplewereseenwalking.Nowthat’snews.”

Sixmonths.She’dbeengoneforthelastsixmonthsfilming.Iwashisdistraction.Mymindchooses

thismomenttoremindmeofhowplatonicourrelationshiphasbeen:howheneverwalkedtooclose,how
hepointedlycalledhimselfmyfriendwhentalkingtoMason,howhenevercalledouroutingsdates.They
were “career days.” How he hadn’t even been by this week. Stupid mind. Why didn’t it tell me these
thingsearlier?Ihadobviouslymisinterpretedhisreactionstothings.Ifeelstupid.Hereallyjustwanted
tobefriends.

Iswallowthetears.Good.ThisiswhatIneed—acleanbreak.Afirmbreak.Ilookatthepictureof

SadieNewel.Sheisbeautifulandsophisticatedandmuchmorehistype.

Henryappearsfrombehindthevan.“Soarewereadytorecordourfirstsingle?”He’sholdinguphis

phone.“Xandersaysthestudioistotallyfreerightnow.”

“Are you okay?” Skye asks quietly. I’m smashed in the middle seat between her and Derrick, the
drummer.

“I’mfine.Whywouldn’tIbe?”Andby“fine”Imeanfreakingout.WearegoingtoseeXander.Iam

goingtohavetofacehim.Thisisnotgood.Iconsiderflingingmyselfoutofthevannowthatthisnews
hassunkinproperly.

“Becauseyoujustfoundouttheguyyoulikehasagirlfriend.”Shepointstothemagazinethathadbeen

thrown back into the van and somehow ended up under my foot (I may or may not have purposefully
groundmyheelintoSadie’sperfectface).

“Wasitthatobvious?”
Sheshrugs.“Givemesomecredit.Iamyourbestfriend.”
“Yeah,well,I’moverhim.”
“Thatwasfast.”
“That’sbecauseI’vebeentryingtogetoverhimsincetheminuteImethimsoI’monestepaheadof

myself.”

ShepatsmykneelikeshethinksI’mindenial.Iamnotindenial.
Okay,soI’mtotallyindenial,butIneedhertoplayalongwithmeuntilallthefeelingsIamtryingto

convincemyselfIhaveareactuallytrue.

I’m hoping the studio and Xander aren’t a package deal. Because I’m not ready to face him at the

moment. It’s completely possible that he just called the studio and told them the band was coming. It
didn’tmeanhewouldbethere.Atleastthat’swhatItellmyselfduringthefifteen-minutecarridewhere
allthebandmembersaretalkingexcitedlyoveroneanother.Wedrivethroughasecuritycheckpoint,past
a wrought iron gate and onto a tiled drive. The second I see a huge fountain and a house with more
windowsthanIcaneasilycountIrealizethestudioandXanderareapackagedeal—theyliveinthesame
place.

Chapter23

ander meets us in the circular drive, and I try to stay hidden at the back of the group. I wonder how

embarrassedIshouldbeaboutmybehavioroverthelastcoupleofmonths.Hadhesensedmyracingheart
everytimehecamearound?HadIlookedathimwiththosestupiddoeeyes?Skyehadpickeduponit.He
probablyhad,too.Andnowhe’sgoingtothinkIaskedthebandifIcouldtagalongjustsoIcouldsee
him.

“Thestudioisaroundtheback,”Xandersaysastheguysstarttograbtheirinstrumentsfromthevan.

Thesoundofhisvoicemakesmyeyesstingagain.Icurseatmyself.Hecontinues,“Andit’stotallyupto
you,butthestudiohasitsowninstrumentsifyoudon’twanttocarryallthis.”

“Awesome,”Masonsays,puttinghisguitarback.Henryshutstheback.
“Followme,”Xandersays.Ittakeshimaminutetonoticeme.Ihadhiddenmyselfprettywellbehind

Skyeandbetweenthebassplayer,Mike,andthedrummer,Derrick.Hefurrowshisbrow.“Hey.Ididn’t
knowyouwerecoming.”

“I didn’t either.” I know that sounds squeaky and wrong because my throat is so tight but I try to

pretendlikeI’mperfectlyfine.

Hehesitatesforasecond,almostlikehewantstosaymorebutsays,“Okay,let’sgo.”Hegesturesfor

everyone to follow. I realize he expects me to catch up with him, walk next to him. I only know this
becauseheglancesoverhisshoulderafewtimesaswemakethejourneythroughhishugeyard,pasthis
built-inpoolandbasketballcourt.ButIstaywhereIam,betweentwoalmoststrangers,listeningtothem
banterbackandforth.I’mgoingtoprovetohimthatIknowwe’rejustfriends.Thatwewerealwaysjust
friends.Notonlythat,butthatIhaveotherfriends,too,andhedoesn’thavetoworryaboutmethrowing
myselfathim.

“Okay,guys,”hesays,openingthedoorandsettinghiskeysandcellphoneonthesmalltabletothe

left. “Get comfortable with the toys. I’ll fire up the equipment.” The band immediately attacks the
instrumentswhileXanderstaysonthissideofthelargeglasswindowandstartsmessingwithslidesand
buttons.SkyefloatsontoacouchbehindXanderandIjoinher.

Xandershutsboththedoorthatleadstotheoutsideandtheonethatleadstowherethebandmembers

arealreadyplaying,effectivelyshuttingoutthesound.Hesmilesatmeonthewaybacktohisseat,and
I’m mad that my heart hasn’t gotten the update yet about his girlfriend because his smile still sends it
racing.

“Therearesomesodasandthingsinthefridgeifyouladiesarethirsty.”Hepointstoastainlesssteel

fridgeinthecornerthenturns,holdsaheadsettooneear,pushesabuttononthepanelinfrontofhim,and
says into a microphone, “Go ahead and run through the song a few times, and I’ll let you know when
we’rereadytorecord.”

Heletsgoofthebuttonandspinsinhistwistychairtofaceus.ItwouldbesomucheasierifXander

wereless...lesswhat?Confident?Attractive?Flirty?

Yes,thatlastonewouldbenice.Nomatterwhatmybrainhadremindedme,Xanderisaflirt.Ifhe

weremyboyfriendandhewashangingoutwithagirllikehehadbeenwithme,Iwouldbeangry.

“What?”Xanderasks.
“What?”

“You’restaringatme.”
“Iamnot,”Isay.
“Youwere.Wasn’tshe?”heasksSkye.
“Yeah,youwere.”
“Well,I’mtryingtodecidewhatyouhavetolivefor.”
“Excuseme?”
Igesturearoundthisamazingstudiothatissittinginhisbackyard.“Howdoyoumanagetogetoutof

bedeverydaywithsuchadepressingfuture?”

“Actually,someoneisworkingwithmeonthatveryproblem.Ihopeshecanhelpmefigureoutwhat

myfutureholds.”Thatstatementmakesmerememberwhywehadstartedhangingoutinthefirstplace.
We were in the “same” situation, according to him. Maybe he just thought I understood him better than
most.Ididn’t.Wewerecompleteopposites.

The door to the band room opens, and Mason slingshots himself out and flies across Skye’s and my

lap,layinghisheadinmine.“Ithinkwe’reready,”hesaystoXander.

“Okay.”Xanderwaitsforamoment,probablythinkingMasonisgoingtogetup,thenhenodshishead

towardMason’scalf.“Nicetattoo.”

“Thanks. Speaking of.” Mason looks at me, grabbing a strand of my hair and twirling it around his

finger.I’mgratefulforhisattention.ItmakesmefeellessstupidabouthowI’dbeenactingwithXander.
Likehe’llseeIwasn’tjustpiningawayforhim.“Wasyourmombeingsarcastictodayordoyouthinkshe
reallylikesit?”

“Mymomisn’tthesarcastictype.”
Masonlaughs.“Really?Thenhowdidyoumastertheartsowell?Isyourdadsupersarcastic?”
Asifsensingtheworsttopicanybodycouldeverbringuphasbeenintroduced,theentirebandjoinsus

intheroomthatalreadyfeelssweltering.Mychesttightenswithalongingtosay,“Ihavenoideaifmy
dadissarcasticbecauseI’venevermettheman.”

“Shewouldn’tknow,”Skyesays,nothelpingmattersatall.
“Really?”Masonasks.“Youdon’tknowyourdad?What’sthestorythere?”
Ishift,wonderinghowIcanjokemywayoutofthistopic.
Xanderlooksathiswatch.“Guys,I’monaschedulehere.Let’sgetthisthingpoundedout.”Hecatches

myeyeforasplitsecond,provinghedidthatjustforme.

Mason rolls off the couch seeming to forget my dad as easily as he brought him up. I wish I could

forgethimthateasily.

The band plays in front of us, like a silent movie, Xander wearing the headphones and making

adjustments on the knobs and slides. I’m not sure what those adjustments do, but he obviously knows.
Skyestandsandhelpsherselftoasodafromthefridge.“Wantone?”sheasks.

“I’mgood.”
Sherejoinsmeonthecouch.“How’reyoudoing?”
“Fine.”
“Igetit,bytheway.”
“Getwhat?”
“Him.Igetwhyyoulikehim.There’ssomethingabouthim.”ShepointsatXander’sback.Eventhough

we’renottalkingveryloudandXanderhastheheadphonesonIwanttoshushher.

“Itoldyou.It’sover.Hisgirlfriendisanactress,Skye.”
Sherollshereyes.“Actressesareoverrated.Fightforhim.”
Istand,needingtoworkoffsomenervousenergy.“It’snotacompetitionwhenonepersonhasalready

won.”

Xander’s phone rings from where it sits on the table next to the door. He obviously doesn’t hear it

becausehedoesn’treactatall.I’mstandinglessthanfivefeetfromhisphone,soIgiveintomycuriosity
andlookattheglowingscreen.ThepictureiswhatIseefirst:adark-hairedgirllaughing.Idon’tneedto
seethenameatthebottomtoknowwhatitwillsay,butIlookanyway.Sadie.“See...?”Isay,raising
oneeyebrowatSkye.

“Seriously?”shesays.
Inodandthen,whilelookingatXander’sbackandthebandstillgoingstrongbehindtheglass,Iacton

thestrangestimpulseever,scoopuphisphone,andanswerit.“Hello?”

Skye’smouthopenssowidethatIfearherjawmightcomeunhinged.
“Hello?...Xander?...Ican’thearyouverywell.I’minthecar.”Hervoicesoundssonormal.Ihad

seenSadieNewelinafewmovies,andthisversiondidn’tsoundlikethesophisticatedversionfromthe
theater.

Idon’tknowwhattosaynowthatI’vedoneit.“Thisisn’tXander.Letmegethimforyou.”
“Ican’thearyou.What?Ugh.Listen,myconnectionisbad,butIneedyoutoworkyourmagic.I’llcall

youbackwhenIgettothehotel.”Thephonegoesdead,andIpushitbackontothetableasthoughit’s
abouttoexplode.

Skyegiggles.“You’recrazy.”
“Shedidn’tknowitwasme.She’scallingbacklater.”
Xander spins in his chair, making me gasp. “Does anyone want to listen?” he asks, taking off the

headphonesandholdingthemout.

“Yes.”Skyejumpsupandmovesforward.Whenshe’ssettledintothechairnexttoXander’slistening

tothebandhespinsaroundtofaceme.

“Sowhynotthis?”Iask,sittingonthecouchagain.
“What?”
“Whywouldn’tyouproducemusicforaliving?Itseemslikeapassionofyours.”
He rolls the chair forward until our knees bump. “My father would never front the money for

somethinglikethat.”

Istareatourknees,wonderingifIshouldusethewheelsonhischairtomyadvantageandshovehim

away.Iignoretheurge.“Buthebuiltthisstudio?”

“Myolderbrotherisaclassicalguitarist.Thiswastoprovideacreativeoutlet.Ahobby.Ispentalot

oftimeinherewithhimlearningthisstuff.Butthisisnotacareerinmyfather’sopinion.”

“Ithoughtyoudidn’tcarewhatyourfatherthought,”Isay.
Henarrowshiseyesasifconsideringthequestion.“IguessIcarewhatmyfather’smoneythinks.”He

rubsthebackofhisneck.“WithoutitIcan’tbefreeofhim.It’slikeadouble-edgedsword.”

Igetwhathe’ssaying:thatheneedsmoneytogotocollege,gethisowncareer,sohecanmakehis

ownmoney.ButIwonderifXanderreallyonlycaresaboutthemoney.Heseemstoputalotofeffortinto
makinghisfatherangry.I’mguessinghecaresalotaboutwhathisfatherthinks.

OntheothersideoftheglassMasonsingswithhiseyesclosed.Helooksridiculous.
Xander taps my knee with a closed fist, bringing my attention back to him. “I’m glad you’re here. I

didn’tthink...”

Itiltmyhead,waitingforhimtofinish.
“AfterlastSaturday...andyoureturnedmycamerawithoutaword....”Hiseyesboreintomine.
“What?”Iask,dyingtoknowwhyhe’snotfinishinghisthoughts.Whathe’sleavingunsaid.Didhow

weleftthingsbotherhimasmuchastheydidme?

“I’moutoftownthisweekendbutnextSaturday?Arewestillon?”
Iblinkonce.That’swhathewants?Morecareerdays?
Skyeletsoutayelp,startlingme.“Thatwassoawesome.”Shestands.
Xanderstandsaswell,walksover,andpushestheMicbutton.“That’sawrap.Goodjob,guys.”He

goestothetableandpocketshiskeysandcellthenlooksatmeapologetically.“Ididn’tknowyouwere
coming.Ireallyamonatightschedule.”Hecheckshiswatch.“I’msupposedtobeattheairportintwenty
minutes.”

“I’mprettysurewecanwalkourselvestothecar.”
“SoI’llseeyounextSaturday?”
Iwanttosay,“Idon’tknow,youbettercheckwithyourgirlfriendfirst.Shejustcalled;shouldweask

her?” But I don’t. I just nod. Because girlfriend or not, I want to see him on Saturday. Apparently I’m
furtherfrombeingoverhimthanIhopedandIhatemyselfforbeingsoweak.

Chapter24

ondaymorningasIsaygood-byetomymomandgrabmybackpackforschoolthere’saknockonthe

door.IlookovertoseeXanderstandingthereholdinghistwocups.Myheartjumpstomythroat.No,no,
no,no,no.Thiscan’tbehappening.Hehasagirlfriend.IfIknew...Myheartdoublesitsspeedwhenhe
smiles. If more than my heart knew that we have something, I could open that door right now and face
disappointingmymother.

“Who’sthat?”
Thisisnotagoodtimeforthis.MymomandIfinallyfeelrightagain.Ishakemyheadno,butinstead

ofwalkingawayXanderholdsupadrinkwithasmirkasiftosay,I’mnotleavingsoletmein.

Inarrowmyeyesandsmilealittle.Allright,ifhewantstoplayitthatway.Gameon.“Oh,thatlooks

likeMrs.Dalton’sgrandson.Hecameintheotherdaytopickupadollforher.I’lljusttellhimwedon’t
openuntilninetodayandtocomebacklater.”

“Ohno,honey.Mrs.Daltonisourbestcustomer.Whydon’tyoulethiminandseewhatheneeds.”
Orthere’sthat.Crap.
Islowlyunlockthedoor.“Hi,”IsaywhenIopenit.Hisfamiliarscentwaftsinwiththebreezeand

doesn’thelpmyalreadyracingheart.Itakeadeepbreath.“We’renotopenyet.Didyourgrandmaneed
something?”

Hetakesasipofthedrinkthenhandsittome.Icringe.Thatactaloneisgoingtomakemymomthink

heisthemostobnoxiousrichpersonintheworldwhowantsmetoholdhisdrinkwhileheshops.

“Iwanttomeetyourmom,”hesaysloudenoughforhertohear.
“Yes, my mom is much more knowledgeable about the dolls than I am.” I turn toward my mother.

“Mom,he...um...I’msorry,whatwasyournameagain?Wellingtonorsomething?”

Acreaseofconfusionformsbetweenhisbrows,butIcantellhealsothinksit’sfunny.
“No,thatwasn’tyourname.Um...”
“Xander.”
“Right.Iknewitwassomethingoddlikethat.”
“Caymen,”mymomsays.“Sorry,mydaughterisverydry.She’sjustkidding.”
“Last time Xander came in he was really interested in the sleeping baby dolls. Didn’t you say they

madeyourhearthappyjusttolookatthem?”

“Idon’trecallsayingthatbutitsoundslikeme.”
Ilaughthenquicklysuckinmylipstostopmyself.“Maybeyoucouldshowhimourcollection,Mom.”
Mymomtiltsherheadatme,obviouslyconfused.She’sgoingtocallmeout.ShemustsenseIknow

Xander.Ineedtogetoutofhere.Ishakethefullcupofhotchocolateinmyhand,pretendingit’sempty.
“There’satrashoutside.I’lljusttakecareofthisforyou.”Iturnbacktomymom.“I’mgoingtobelate.
I’llseeyouafterschool.”

“Haveagreatday,honey.”
Ileave,flashingXanderalookofwide-eyedinnocence.Asadnessfollowsmeoutofthestore,andI

can’t decide if it’s because I just lied to my mom again or because I really do want my mom to know
Xander.Notjustknowhimbutlikehim.

I’m ten steps from school when a pair of hands grabs my arms from behind, stopping me in my tracks.
“You are the biggest brat. You know that, right?” Xander says in my ear. He lets go and I turn around,
smiling.

“No,youare.ItoldyouIdidn’twantyoutomeetmymomyet.Butyouthoughtyou’ddoitanyway.”
“Yes, I did. I wanted to show you that all moms like me. And your mom is no exception: she loves

me.”

Myheartskipsabeat.“Really?”
“Ididn’tknowitwasgoingtocostmeahundredandfiftybuckstoproveitbutshe’ssmitten.”
Oh. Of course she loved him. He was a customer. “You bought a doll?” He isn’t holding a bag so I

grabthelapelsofhisopenjacketandlookinside.

“It’snotonme,woman.Iputitinthecar.”
“Whodidyoubuy?”
“Youdon’thonestlyexpectmetoremember.”
“Iknowyouremember.”
“Daphne.”
“YouboughtaWailer?”
“Yes,Iwasfeelingalittlefrustratedinthere,andthisscreamingbabyrepresentedmymoodverywell.

I’lljustgivehertomygrandmanextyearforherbirthday.”Helooksdown.“YouthoughtIstashedthe
dollinmycoat?”

IrealizeI’mstillholdingtighttohisjacket.“Ifyouregofitsinthereanythingispossible.”JustasI’m

abouttoletgo,heputshishandsovermine,sandwichingthembetweenhischestandhiswarmhands.

I’mnowstaringattheopencollarofhisname-brandshirt,tryingtopretendthathe’snotstaringatme.

Classmateswalkbyme,rushingtogettoclass,andIsensethemlookingatme.

“Ithoughtyouwereoutoftown.”
Heshrugsalittle.“I’mback.”
“Ithoughtweweren’tseeingeachotheruntilSaturday.”Myvoicecomesoutbreathy.
“Icouldn’twait.”
Myheartpoundsloudlyinmyears.“Whateverhappenedtheothernight,anyway?”
“Withwhat?”heaskssoftly.OrmaybeIcan’thearhimbecauseofthewholeheart-poundingthing.
“Thehotelcrisisofthedecade.Didyoufindareplacementshirt?”
“Yes.OnetripdowntoLAisallittook.”
Right.LA,theplacewherehesawSadieNewel.Mygoodmoodleavesquickly.“Isthatall?”
HenodsandI’mabouttopullmyhandsawaywhenhesays,“Cometothebenefitwithme?”
“What?”
“It’s in two weeks. There’ll be dancing, schmoozing, sucking people dry of their money. It’s for my

mom’scharity.”

“Anothercareerday?”
“No.”
Imeethiseyes.Isn’tthatsomethingheshouldtakehisgirlfriendto?“Ihaveplansthatnight.”
“Doingwhat?”
“Avoidingabenefit.”Ismile.“Ibettergo.I’mreallylate.”Whyaren’tmyfeetmoving?
“Bye,Caymen.”Heletsgoofmyhands.
Idropminetomysidesbutthensurprisemyselfbygivinghimahug.Hehugsmeback,andIlinger

therelongerthanIshould.Whycan’tIjustwalkawayfromXanderSpenceandnotlookback?Thetardy
bellringsbehindme.

“Igottago.”Ipushawayandturntoleave.
“Caymen,”hesays,stoppingme.
Iturnback.“Yeah.”
“Theemployeewhodoesn’tknowhowtouseaniron?”
“Yeah.”
“Hewasn’tfired.IknowthatbotheredyousoI...Hewasn’tfired.”
Whydoesthisnewsmakemewanttocry?“Good.MaybeheshouldattendthenextcareerdayIhost

wherewe’lllearnhowtoproperlyironallyourT-shirts.”

“I’llextendtheinvite.”

ThatafternoonasI’msittingbehindtheregisterdoinghomeworkandmymomiswipingdowncounters,
shechuckles.

“What?”Iask.
“Mrs.Dalton’sgrandson.”
“Xander?”
“Yes,Xander.Hewasfunnythismorning.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask hopefully. Maybe he really did make a good impression on my mom. Maybe it

wouldn’tbotherherafteralltoknowwehangout.

“Idon’tbelievehewantedyoutothrowawayhistrash.Andthen,afteryouleft,hewastellingmehow

muchhelikedyournameandhowhehadjustbeentotheCaymanIslandslastyear.HeaskedhowoftenI
wentasthougheveryoneintheworldgoeswherevertheywantwhenevertheywant.”

I’musuallytheonemakingfunoftherichandshe’stheonetellingmetowatchmyself.Foryearsit

mademeangrybecauseIknewshefeltthesameway.AndnowXanderistheoneshechoosestopickon?
AlumpformsinmythroatandIdon’tthinkIcantalkthroughit.Itryanyway.“Heseemednice,though.”

Sheshrugs.
Everydefensiveboneinmybodyisshaking.
“AreyouseeingMasontoday?”
Herabruptchangeinsubjectrendersmespeechless.
“I really like the sentiment of his tattoo. I’m not a huge fan of tattoos in general—they are just so

permanent—butIlikeitsmessage.”

“Acceptance?”Iask,waitingforhertorealizehowironicthatisafterwhatshehadjustsaid.
“Yes,abeautifulmessage.I’msurehemeetsalotofpeoplethatdon’taccepthimatfacevalue.I’mso

proudofyouforbeingabletolookbeyondthat.”

“Beyondwhatexactly,Mom?Hisskincolor?”
“What?No.Thishasnothingtodowithhisskincolor.Geez,Caymen,whatdoyouthinkI’mtalking

about?”

“Idon’tknow;that’swhatI’mtryingtofigureout.”Iknowwhatshe’stalkingabout—hislipring,his

tattoo,histic—butI’mtooirritatedtogiveherabreak.Canshereallynotseethehypocrisyinwhatshe’s
saying?

“I’mgoingtodomyhomeworkupstairs.”
“Okay.”
I make it to the door when it hits me—she suspects there’s something going on between me and

Xander.That’swhyshesaidwhatshedid.WhysheputdownXanderandbuiltupMason.It’shersubtle
wayofsteeringmethewayshewantsmetogo.Thathastobeit.IwanttoturnaroundandaskherifI’m
right.Butwhatdoesitmatterwhenhehasagirlfriend?

UpstairsIpassthecounteronthewaytowardmybedroomandseeanotherpink-envelopedbill.All

myirritationisimmediatelycoupledwithworry.I’mnotsurewhichemotionisworse.

Chapter25

lookthroughtherackattheSalvationArmywithSkye,tryingnottothinktoohard.

Skyesighs.“IguessIjustdon’tunderstandwhathappened.”
“What’stheretounderstand?Hehasagirlfriend.I’mprettysurethat’stheendofthestory.”Ihaven’t

seenhiminafewdaysandwheneverhe’sawayI’mabletothinkmoreclearlyaboutthings.

“Butthewayhelooksatyouisjust...”Shestops,mayberealizingthisisn’thelpingmattersatall.

“I’msorry.Movingon.”Sheholdsupashirtandraiseshereyebrowsatme.

“Notyourcolor.”
Sheputsitback.“Speakingofmovingon,whataboutTic?Hetotallylikesyou.”
“Masonlikeswhoeverisinfrontofhimatthemoment.”
“Okay,sohehastheattentionspanofaninsect,butIthinkhecouldsettledown.”Sheholdsupanother

shirtandInod,sosheaddsittothegrowingstackoverherarm.“Hereallyisanamazingguyifyougetto
knowhim.They’reperformingatTheBeachtomorrow.It’sabigdealforthem.Youshouldcome.”

Ishouldgo.Masonreallyisagoodfitforme.Mymomlikeshim;mybestfriendlikeshim;IknowI

could’velikedhimbynow,too,ifsomeoneelsewasn’tintheway.

Myhandstopsontheblackdress.TheoneIhadfoundwhenIwasherewithXander.I’msurprisedit’s

stillhere.It’samazing.Ipullitoutandrunonehandalongthehand-sewnbeading.

Skyegasps.“Thatisgorgeous.”
Iputitbackontherackandmovethenextpieceofclothing,ahideousspandexjumpsuit,infrontofit.
“Ohnoway,”Skyesays,comingtomysideandfreeingthedress.“Youaresogettingthis.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Why?WherewouldIeverwearit?”
“That’snotthepoint.Youfindsomethinglikethisandyoubuyit.Thisisthekindofdressyouplanan

eventaround.”

Ibitemylip.“Idon’thavefortydollars.”
“Ido.I’mbuyingitforyou.ItwillbemyI’m-sorry-you-got-screwed-over-by-a-rich-guygift.”
Ilaughalittle.“I’llpayyouback.”

Skye was right. The Beach (a club that named itself way too literally) is a much bigger venue and I’m
amazedbyhowmanypeoplehaveshownuptohearCrustyToadsplay.Thewavesrollinbehindthehuge
stage,andthesaltywindonlyaddstotheperformance.It’sagreatconcert,butI’malreadyplanningmy
early-exitstrategy.It’snotlikewe’regoingtogettotalktothebandaftertheshowwiththismanypeople
vyingfortheirattention.

Skyehasmadesomeawfulflattened-toadT-shirts,andIamwearingoneagainstmybetterjudgment.
“TwomoresongsandIneedtogo,”IyelltoSkyeasMasonsingsinhishoney-smoothvoice.
“IknewyouwouldtrytoleaveearlysoImadeplansforusaftertheshow.”
“Plans?Whatdoyoumean?”
Shenodsherheaduptothestage.“Theguyswanttohangout.”
IglanceupatMasonandhecatchesmyeye.HesingsrightatmefortwolinesandIcanseehowgirls

mightstalkhimaftersomethinglikethat.Myheartstutters.“Okay.I’llstay.”

Skyegiggles.“Ofcourseyouwill.”
WhenthelastsongisoverIexpectMasontodisappearbehindthestageforawhilelikehedidafter

thelastconcertIwentto.Hedoesn’t.Hedropshismicrophone,jumpsoffthestage,andweavesthrough
graspinghandsandstraighttome.

Bythetimehereachesmemyheartisinmythroat.
“Hi.” That single word is said with so much rasp and emotion that I realize why he’s such a good

performer.

“Hi.”
Hetakesmyhandandsqueezes.“Don’tleave.”
“Okay.”
Thenhedoes.Heheadsbacktothestageandslipsaroundit,throughalineofburlymenandoutof

sight.Iwatchhimtheentirewayandthenshakemyselfoutofthetrancewhenhe’sgone.

“Toldyouhe’scrazyaboutyou.”
Icomebacktomysensesandseethatthelittlestuntdrewalotofattention.Somanypeoplearestaring

atme.“Ineedsomewater,”Isay.

“Willyougetmeasoda?”sheasks,andhandsmeafive.
Itrompthroughthesandinmybarefeet,wonderingwhyIdidn’tjustleavemyshoesinthecarinstead

of checking them in. They were going to take forever to collect. A guy sitting at the bar looks vaguely
familiar.Andconsideringhe’sstaringatmeasIwalkup,hemustrecognizemeaswell.Ican’tplacehim,
though,andmymindscansthroughallmyclassesatschool.Icantellhisbrainisperformingasimilar
taskwhenfinallyhiseyeslightupwithrecognition.NowhehastheadvantagebecauseIstillcan’tplace
him.

“Xander’slittlefriend,right?”Hisremarkreeksofarrogance.
The moment he says it I realize he’s Robert from the restaurant. The one I thought had called me a

stray. I’m beginning to think Xander covered for him. “Yes. Hi.” I lean into the bar and order bottled
waterandasoda.

Whenthebartenderturnsaroundtofillmyorder,Robertasks,“DidXandergetyouinheretonight?”
Inarrowmyeyes.NowthatXander’snothereIdon’tfeeltheneedtobeaspolite.“No.Iknowthe

band.Howdidyougetin?”Ipickupmydrinksfromthecounter.

Robertlaughsandgivesmeaonce-over.“Iseetheappeal.Youhavegreat...eyes.WhenXandergets

boredofslummingitwithyouweshouldgettogether.”

I never thought I had the dumping-soda-on-someone-purposefully instinct, but sure enough my hand

reactsautomatically.Buthehasinstincts,too.Probablybornfromalifetimeofpeoplewantingtodump
sodaonhim.Hishanddartsoutandgrabsmywrist.

“Notagoodidea,”hetellsme,afewdropsofsodaspillingovertheside.“Thisshirtcostmorethan

yourmonthlyrent.”

“Toobadyouhadtosellyoursoultoaffordit.”
“Everythingokay?”Masoncomesupfrombehind,wrappinghisarmsaroundmywaist.
I’mjustabouttomurdersomeoneisall.“Let’sgo.”
“Yougetaround,”Robertcallsafterme.Ittakeseverythinginmenottothrowtheglassathim,soda

andall.

“Whowasthat?”Masonasksaswewalkaway.
“Nobodywortheverthinkingaboutagain.”
Only I can’t stop thinking about him. He’s Xander’s friend. Is that how Xander acts when I’m not

around?I’mseething.

“Caymen?” Mason takes my bottled water from me and grabs my hand. “Do I need to beat that guy

up?”

I hold on to him tightly. “No. Not worth it,” I tell myself again. But I know this isn’t about Robert

anymore.AndI’mtryingtodecideifthatadvicestillapplies.

Chapter26

henextnightIdecideIneedtofinishupthewebsiteIhadbeenslowlyputtingtogetheroverthelastfew

weeks.Ipullthepicturesuponthecomputer.Unfortunatelyforme,alongwiththedolls,allthephotosof
Xanderfromthehotelroomphotoshootopenaswell.Eveninaphotohissmilehasasofteningeffecton
me.

I scroll through them, lingering on the ones where I had made him laugh. In that magazine picture of

him with Sadie Newel he hadn’t even been smiling. She probably can’t make him laugh. I let out a
frustratedgrunt.Who cares, Caymen? He is with her. I try to delete the pictures of him but can’t bring
myself to do it. Instead I group all the doll pictures into a file and open that so I don’t have to look at
Xander’sambereyesanymore.

Iaddnamesandpricesbeneaththedolls.
“Isthataneworderingsite?”mymomasks,comingintothekitchen.
“No.”Ismile.Ihadplannedonsurprisingherwhenthesitewasallfinished,butit’sgettingcloseandI

need to make up for the attitude I’ve been giving her lately. I switch from the pictures to the website
layout.“I’vebeenworkingonsomethingforthestore.”

Shepositionsherselfbehindme.Onthescreenisabannerthatsays,“DollsandMore.”Ihadthought

abouttakingoutthe“andmore,”butitfeelsliketraditionnow.Andmaybewecouldadd“more”onceit
getsupandrunning.Iscandownalittletowhereithasmymom’snameandhercontactinformation.“I
want to add a picture of you here. Maybe we can take one out front or something next to the window
display.”

“Whatisthis?”sheasks.
“It’sawebsiteI’mdesigningforthestore.”Iputmyhandsouttothesidesandsay,“Surprise,”ina

falsescreamingvoice.

“Awebsite.”Hervoiceislowandeven.
“It’sgoingtobegreat,Mom.Itwillpumpupourbusiness,getusmoresales.It’sthenextsteptoour

growth.”

“No.”That’sallshesaysandthenturnsandroundsthecounterintothekitchen.
I’mconfused.“No?”
She pulls down a glass from the cupboard and fills it with water from the tap. “I don’t want a

website.”

Eventhoughwedon’thavecableorcellphonesorevenanewercomputer,it’snotbecausemymom

thinks technology is the devil or anything. It’s really just because we can’t afford it. “It’s cheap, Mom.
LessthantwentydollarsayearforthedomainnameandIcanrunit.Youcouldevenrunitoncewegetit
going.It’sreallyeasyand—”

“Isaidno,Caymen.Idon’twantit.”
“Why?”
“BecauseIsaidso.”
“That’snotananswer,Mom;that’saconversationender.”
“Good,becausethisconversationhasended.”SheslamstheglassontothecounterandI’msurprised

whenitdoesn’tshatter.Thenshemarchesoutofthekitchenandintoherroom.

IclosethepagesIhadopenonthecomputer,tryingtoremaincalm.WhatIreallywanttodoisshove

thecomputertothefloor.Idon’t.Iturnoffthescreenandwalkslowlydownstairsandoutside.ThenIrun.
Idon’tstopuntilmycheeksarenumbandmylungsfeelclosetoburstingandmylegsache.

BythetimeIgetbacktothestoreI’mdrippingsweatandIneedtotalkthisthroughwithsomeone.I

pick up the phone and dial Skye’s number. It goes directly to voice mail. My fingers tap an impatient
rhythmonthewallandIdecidenottoleaveamessage.

IshouldcallMason.Idon’t.
I grab the binder from beneath the counter and plop it on top of our oversize calendar. I find Mrs.

Dalton’sphonenumber.

IalmostchickenoutasIlistentothephonering.
“Hello,”Mrs.Daltonanswers.
“Hi...”Ihavethewrongnumber.IgaspwhenIrealizeit’spastnineo’clock.Wassheinbed?“Sorry

tocallsolate.ThisisCaymen...fromthedollstore.”

“It’snotlateatall,andIonlyknowoneCaymen,”shesays.“Howareyou?”
“I’mfine.”
“DidIordersomething?Idon’tremember,butthatdoesn’tmeanIdidn’t.”
“Likeyou’dforgetifyouorderedsomething,”Isay.
“That’strue.Thenyou’recheckingtoseeifI’vedied?Imaylookold,butI’monlysixty-seven.”
“Really?AndhereIthoughtyouwereinyourforties.”
“Nicetry.”
I take a breath. “I was hoping I could get a phone number from you. I think he would give it to me

himself. . . . I guess what I mean is that I’m not trying to get it behind his back or anything. He’s even
calledmebefore.Idon’tthinkhe’dmindifIhadit.”

“Takeadeepbreath,honey.”
“I’msorry.”
“YouwouldlikeAlex’sphonenumber?Heisquitethecharmer,isn’the?”
“No.Imean,well,yes,heis,butwe’rejustfriends.”AndrightnowIneedafriend.
“That’swhatitsoundslike.”
Ilaugh.Mrs.Daltonisfunny.
“Yes,letmegetitforyou.Ihavethisfancyphonethatcanstorehundredsofnumbers,butIstillwrite

theminmylittleredbook.”

IrealizeI’mholdingmybreathinanticipation.
“Areyouready?”sheasks.
Morethanready.“Yes.”Iwritedownthenumberonthecalendar.“Thankssomuch.”
“Noproblem.TellhimIsaidhi.”
Ihangupandstareatthenumberforaneternity.Iwanttotalktohim.Ineedtotalktohim.Butmy

insidesarealltwistedup.Isqueezemyeyesclosed,andwhenIopenthemagainIdialthenumberquickly
beforeIchangemymind.ItringsthreetimesandIfeellikeminutespassbetweeneachone.

Finallyheanswers.

Chapter27

“

ello.” His familiar voice automatically eases my tension. He’s nothing like Robert. If he were he’d

havebeengonetheminutehefoundoutIlivedaboveadollstore.Irelaxwiththisthought.

“Alex?”Idon’tknowwhyAlexcameoutofmymouth.ProbablybecauseIhadwrittenthatnamenext

tohisphonenumberwhenMrs.Daltoncalledhimthat.

“Caymen?”
“Yeah.Hi.”
“Alex?”heasks.
“Sorry.Slip.Iwastalkingtoyourgrandma.”
“Whywouldn’tyoube?”
IlieonthefloorbehindtheregisterandfeelabitlikeSkyeasIstareattheceiling.Thispositionis

conducivetothinking.Nowonderwhyshespendssomuchtimehere.

It’ssilentforalongtimebeforehesays,“Didyouneedsomething?”
You.“I’veneededmymorninghotchocolate,butsomeonegotmeaddictedtoitthentookitaway.”
“Isthatyoursubtlewayofsayingyoumissedmelastweek?”
“I’vemissedhotchocolate.Ijustthinkofyouastheguywhobringsittome.SometimesIforgetyour

nameandcallyouhotchocolateguy.”

Helaughsalittle,andIfindmyselfwishingIcouldseehisfacesoIcouldwitnesshowhiseyeslight

upwhenhesmiles.

“AndI’vemissedyourwit.”
“Understandable.”Myheartbeatsheavilyinmytemples.“Ineversaidthankyouforlettingmeborrow

thecamera.”

“Sodoesthismeanyou’redonewiththewebsite?What’stheaddress?Iwanttoseethesoul-sucking

dolls on my screen.” Some papers shuffle on his end and I wonder if he’s reaching across a desk or
somethingtogetonhiscomputer.

“No.Imean,thereisnoaddress.Mymomdoesn’twantit.”
“Oh.Why?”
“I’mnotsure,actually.Iwasgoingtosurpriseher,showherwhatI’ddone,andsheflippedoutonme.

Totallyshutdown,saidshedidn’twantit.Itwassounlikeher.”

“Whatdidyouputonit?”
“That’sthething.I’donlyshownherthebannerandourcontactinfo.IwastellingherhowIwantedto

putherpictureupaswell.”

“Isshecamerashy?”
Ipropmyfeetuponthewallandletmyfreehanddriftabovemyhead.“No.”
“Maybe she just doesn’t want that on the internet, her face along with where you live. It’s basically

likeyou’repostingyouraddressonthewebsitealongwithherface.Icanseewhythatmightfreakherout,
abunchofstrangersknowingwhereyoulive.Isthereawaytodoitwithoutthepersonalinfo?”

Ihadstoppedbreathing.Iknowthisonlybecauseblackedgesintomyvision.Itakeabreath.Isshe

worriedaboutabunchofstrangersfindingoutwhereweliveoroneveryspecificperson?Myfather.

“Youokay?”

Ihum,nottrustingmyvoice.Mywholethroatistight.I’mnotsurewordscouldmakeitthroughatall.
“Yousure?”
Iswallow.“Yes.Ithinkyoumightberight.”Consideringhowmuchmythroathurts,I’msurprisedby

hownormalmyvoicesounds.

“Ioftenam.”
“Doyouthinkhe’stried?”IttakesmeamomenttorealizeI’dsaidthatoutloudandanothermomentto

realize that Xander has responded back and is now waiting for my answer to a question I didn’t hear.
“What?”

“Isaid,‘doIthinkwho’striedwhat?’”
Iforcemyselftositupandthenstand.Lyingdownwasmakingmythoughtstoofree.“Thesestrangers

youreferto.Doyouthinkthey’dtrytofindusfortheirsinisterpurposes?”

“Whatsinisterpurposesarethose?”
IleanagainstthebackcounterandwithablackpendoodlearoundhisphonenumberIhadwrittenon

thecalendar.“Youknow,thethingsstrangersneedpeoplefor...eatingtheircandyandfindingtheirlost
dogs.”

“Idon’tbuyit,youknow.”
“Youshouldn’t.Thosearetheirploystolureyouintothecarsotheycantakeyouaway.I’mgladyou

wouldn’tfallforit.”

“I’mtalkingaboutyourhumor.Iknowthatsometimesyouuseittohidethings.”
“Yougivemewaytoomuchcredit.IreallyamasshallowasIseem.”
“Hardly.Andtheanswertoyourquestionisyes.Yes,Ithinkyourfatherhastriedtofindyou.What

fatherwouldn’twanttoknowhisdaughter?”

“The kind that would run away at even the thought of me.” I don’t know why I’m talking about this.

There’sareasonIavoidthissubject.Itfeelsasthoughsomeonehaspokedeveryinchofmyskinwitha
needle,leavingmerawandexposed.

“Ifhehadknownyouhe’dhaveneverbeenabletoleave.”
Iclosemyeyes.Whatkindofmancouldrunawaylikethat?Justleavemymominthatstate.Thekind

that was scared out of his mind. Scared what I would do to his future. I did ruin futures: my mom is
evidenceofthat.Hewasjustakid,really,withafuturesofullofpossibilitiesandthemoneytomakeit
happen.HeprobablywasalotlikeXander.WhichiswhywhenmymomsawXandershecouldn’thelp
butseeherpast.“Couldyouhaveleft?”

“Never.”
Ican’tdecideifthatmakesmefeelbetterorworse.
“That’swhatmakesmethinkhe’stried,Caymen.Aregretlikethatdoesn’tgoaway.”
Assumingheregretsitatall.“Howhardcanonegirlbetofind?”
“Maybeyourmomhasn’ttoldyouabouthisattempts.”
“Mymomwouldn’tkeepsomethinglikethatfromme.”AsIsaythatmyeyescollidewiththeboxon

the calendar where she had written “small business association meeting.” Maybe she was keeping
somethinglikethatfromme.Andifshewas,thenmaybeXanderwasright.Maybeshewaskeepingalot
ofthingsfromme.“WhatareyoudoingWednesdaynight?”

“I’mprettyopen.”
“Careerday.Sixthirty.Meetmehere.”
“It’smyturnforcareerday.Ihavesomethingplannedfortomorrow,remember?”
“Okay, fine. Tomorrow you. Wednesday me.” I clear my throat. “Unless that’s too much. You aren’t

goingtogetintroubleforseeingmesomuch,right?”Iwanttoadd,“Girlfriendscangetsojealous,”butI

don’tbecauseI’mafraiditmightsoundbitter.That’sthelastthingIwanttocomeoffas.

“No,ofcoursenot.Ialreadytoldyoumyparentslikeyou.”
I don’t doubt that anymore now that I know his parents don’t think he’s dating me. “Tomorrow

afternoonwouldbebetterthanmorningforme.”

“Howabouttwo?”
“Soundsgood.I’llseeyoutomorrow,then.”
“Caymen?”
“Yeah?”
“Youdon’thavetohangup.IfyouneedtotalksomemoreIhavetime.”
Theknotinmystomachloosenswiththesuggestion,andjustasI’mabouttoopenmymouthagirl’s

voicesoundsonhisend.

“Xander,what’stakingsolong?Areyouonthephone?”
“Yes,sorrytomakeyouwait.I’llberightdown.Givemefiveminutes.”
“Who’reyoutalkingto?”sheasks.
“Afriend.”Adoorshutsandthenhisvoiceislouderinthereceiver.“Sorryaboutthat.”
“That’sokay.Soundslikeyouhavetogo.I’llseeyoutomorrowattwo.Bye.”Ihangupbeforehecan

stopme,proudmyvoicesoundedcasualbecauseitfeelslikesomeonehastheirhandsclampedaroundmy
throat.Nomorephonecalls.Theydon’thelp.

Chapter28

waitonthecurb.Everyminutethatpassesaftertwoo’clockfeelslikeaneternity.Ithinkthatmaybehe’s

changedhismind.MaybeSadieNeweltoldhimhecouldn’ttalktofriendslateatnightandtakethemon
“careerdays.”

At2:07hiscarroundsthecorner.Heparksandstepsout.
“Hi,”hesays.
“Hi.” My body still reacts to him like it always has, my heart picking up speed, tingles spreading

throughmyarmsandupmyneck.

Helooksovermyshouldertotheshopandthenbacktome.“Youready?”
Inod.
Heliftsahandtomyelbow.“Areyouokay?”
Imeethiseyesandwanttosay,“No,Istillfeellikecrap.Mymomiskeepingsecrets,I’llprobablybe

homeless in a month, my dad ran out on me, and you have a girlfriend we’re both pretending doesn’t
exist.”

Ijustsay,“Yeah,whywouldn’tIbe?”
Hemustnotbelievemebecausehepullsmeintoahug.Iclosemyeyesandbreathehimin.
“I’mhere,”hesaysintomyhair.
“Forhowlong?”Iwanttoask.“You’reagoodfriend,”Isayinstead,andthenuntwistmyselffromhis

arms.

TherideisaquietoneuntilXanderpullsintotheairport.
“Um...”IwatchaplanetakeoffthenturnmyshockedgazeonXander.“Areweflyingsomewhere?”
“You’renotafraidofflying,areyou?”
“Idon’tthinkso.”
“You’veneverbeenonaplanebefore?”
“No.”AndmaybeIamafraidbecausemypalmsstarttosweat.
“Really?”Hestudiesmeforamomentasthoughtryingtofigureoutapuzzle.
“YouknowItoldmymomI’dbebacktonight,right?”
“Yes.Youwillbe.”
“Okay.”
It wouldn’t have surprised me if Xander stepped into the cockpit of the private jet we boarded and

starteduptheengines.But,thankfully,hedidn’t.Therewasapilotwaitingforus.

We settle into seats that face each other. He grabs a bottle of water from a cabinet beneath his seat,

takesasip,andhandsittome.Thenheretrievesoneforhimself.

“Pre-sippedbeverages?Thisflightissoaccommodating.”
I’mrewardedwithasmile.Itdoesn’tlastlongenough,though,andItrytothinkofsomethingelseto

saytobringitback.It’sagooddistraction,andI’vemissedhissmile.Ishouldtellhimthat.Idon’t.

Hisattentionisonthescreenofhiscellphoneandhestartstextingorwritinganemailorsomething.I

slipoffmyshoesandbringonefootbeneathme,tryingtogetcomfortable,tryingtoforgetI’msittingona
planethat’sabouttobeairborne.

Heshiftsoveralittleandpatsthespacenexttohim.“Youcanputyourfeetuphere.”

“Youdon’thaveafeetphobia?”
“Doessuchathingexist?”
“Sure,it’sarealcondition.Therearegroups,therapists,thewholenineyards.”Islidemyfeetontothe

seat next to him, my ankle brushing against his thigh. “No shallowness of breath? No rapidly beating
heart?”

He rests one hand on my foot as he continues to mess with his phone. His eyes meet mine in

amusement.“Arethosetheindicators?Imighthaveanissueafterall.”

Whydoeshehavetosaystufflikethat?Beforehim,IthoughtIknewifaguywasflirtingwithme.But

hesaysthingssosubtly,sosmoothly,thatit’shardtotellifit’spurposefulorifhe’sjustplayingalong
withmyjokes.

Maybe I should just ask him, straight out. What does your girlfriend think of me? That’s a fair

question.“Xander?”

“Yes?”
“What...”
Heputshisphonedownandgivesmehisfullattention.
“Whatareyoudoingonyourphone?WordsWithFriendsorsomething?”I’msuchawimp.Onceit’s

outintheopen,maybehe’llstarttreatingmelikehehasagirlfriend.

Andthat’snotwhatIwant.Thisisaproblem.
Helaughsalittle.“No.I’mlookingatsomeproposalsforthewebsitebeforeIlosemyconnection.I’m

sorry,though.I’llgetoff.I’mbeingrude.”

“No.It’sfine.”TheenginesoutsidethewindowstartupandIgotense.
Heputshisphoneawayandgrabsholdofmyankle.“Theworstpartistakingoff.Oncewe’reinthe

skyit’spainless.”

“Whataboutlanding?”
“Okay,thesecondworstpartistakingoff.”
The cabin lights dim and the plane lurches forward, heading toward the runway. Xander’s thumb

drawspatternsaroundmyankle.Ishouldbenervousabouttheplane,butallthenerveendingsinmyleg
arebuzzingwithhistouch.Iwatchthelightsgobyastheplanepicksupspeed,thenclosemyeyesasthe
pressureofthetakeoffpushesmebackagainsttheseat.AsweleveloffintheairIrelax.

Hereleasesmyankle.“See.Easyascanbe.”
“Nowwejusthavetoland.”
“Exactly.”
Ilookaround.“Therearebathroomsonplanes,right?That’snotjustinthemovies?”
Hepointsbehindme.WhenIstandandstarttomovepasthimtheplanehitssometurbulenceandsends

meoffbalance.IcatchmyselfonXander’sshoulders.

“Ipaythemwelltodothatatjusttherighttime,”hesays.Hisnot-flirtingisreallyirritating.
Iaminchesfrombeinginhislap.I’djusthavetorelaxmylegsalittleandI’dbesittingonhim.The

temptationtodojustthatisveryreal.Hesteadiesmewithahandtomywaist,onlyhedoesn’tpushto
helpmebackup.Hejustleavesitthereagainstmywaistandmeetsmyeyes.

Nowmythroatistightfordifferentreasons.Andthentheplanejerksagain,anditmighthavebeenmy

imagination,ormyweaklegs,butIcould’veswornthatinsteadofbracingmewiththathandonmywaist,
heactuallypulledmeforward.BecausenowIaminhislap,myhandsstillonhisshoulders.

“Hi,”hesays.
“Sorry.”
“Forwhat?”

“Forthefactthatyouaresuchabigflirt.”
Helaughs.“You’retheoneinmylap.Iwasjustsittingheremindingmyownbusiness.”
“Justtheplane,then?”
“Ofcourse.”
Itrytostandup,buthepullsmebackdownagain.
“Man,theplaneisreallybumpytoday,”hesays.
“Funny.”Onlyit’snotfunnyatall.Asurgeofangergoesthroughme.Hehasagirlfriendandheisa

huge flirt. I don’t want to be the dirty little secret. If that’s what he thinks I am, he has another thing
coming.“Letmeup.”

Hemustsensetheseriousnessthathastakenovermyvoicebecausethistimehehelpsmestand.Ishut

myselfinthebathroomlongenoughtoregainmycomposure.AftertonightIneedtobedonewithXander
Spence.Isayitinmyheadandthenagainoutloudtothemirror.“IamdonewithXanderSpence.”I’mso
convincingthatIalmostbelievemyself.

Ireturntomyseat.
“Areyoucold?Hot?Hungry?”heasks.
“No,I’mgood.”
“Theseatleansbackifyouwanttosleeporanything.”
“Isthisalongflight?”
“No,aboutanhour.”
Ican’tfigureouthowfaranhourwilltakeusfromourcurrentlocation.Inacarthatwouldn’tgetus

pastOakland,butintheairit’sdifferent.

“Anyconclusions?”heasks.
“What?”
“Haveyoufiguredoutwherewe’regoingbasedonyouramazingobservationskills?”
“No.”ItbothersmethatheknowsmewellenoughtoknowIwasevaluatingthatverything.Ileanmy

seatbackandpretendtosleeptherestoftheflight.DuetomynewfounddeterminationIhavetosufferthe
landingwithouthishelp.

“That’smybrother,”hesays,pointingtotheguywavingatusasweexittheplaneontothetarmac.Iturn
aroundandtrytogetbackontheplane.“Ohstop,”hesays,grabbingmyhand.“You’lllikehim.”

“Lucas.”Theyembracewithasinglepattotheback.“ThisisCaymenMeyers.”
Lucas turns to me and shakes my hand, a sincerity in his smile. And that’s the other thing that’s

weirdingmeout.Friendornot,whydoeshisfamilyactlikethisissonormal?Liketheydon’tcarethat
Xander picked up some girl off the street and is now hanging out with her, flying her around in the
family’sprivatejet?Somethingisn’taddingup.

Lucas and Xander start catching up on life as though they haven’t seen each other in months. Maybe

theyhaven’t.

“IsDadmakingyouflyhomeforthebenefit?”XanderasksaswecometoablackSUVparkedonthe

street.

Lucas sighs. He doesn’t look at all like Xander. His hair is blond, while Xander’s is brown. His

complexion is fair, while Xander’s is olive. But they both have the same air about them. “Yes. Do you
thinkIcouldhireabodydouble?”

“YouknowthisisMom’sbaby.ItalkedonceatthebreakfasttableabouthowIwasdreadingitandshe

almost broke down in tears. Now I pretend like it is the most exciting thing ever. That works better.”
Xanderopensthepassenger-sidedoorandwaitslikeheexpectsmetogetinthefront.Ismile.“Youcan

sitbyyourbrother.”Iopenthebackandclimbin.

“Momjuststresses,”Lucassayswhenwe’vealltakenourseats.
“Iknow.”
“IsScarlettgoingbecauseIdon’tknowifIcanputupwithherthisyear?”
“Idon’tknow.Shewasatourhouselastnightanddidn’tsayanything.I’msureMomtriedtoconvince

her. She talked to Mom and Dad without me for a while.” Xander glances my way and smiles, and I
realizeScarlettmust’vebeenthegirlwhointerruptedourphonecalllastnight,notSadie.“ButI’msure
she’ll have some gossip about everyone at the benefit. She’s like our own personal source of awful
information.Itwouldn’tbethesamewithouther.”

Lucaslooksoverhisshoulderatme.“Weshouldn’ttalkaboutitlikethisorwe’llscarepoorCaymen.

Don’tworry.You’lllikeit.Lotsofcreepyoldmenwhowillwanttodancewithyou.Lotsoffoodthat
lookslikeitmightcrawloffyourplate.Andthebandissoexcitingtheydon’tevenneedaleadsinger.”

“I’minthatband.I’mgladyoulikeit,”Isay.
Lucasstutters.“No.Imean,yes.Thebandisgreat.Iwasjustbeingstupid.I’msorry.”
Xanderlaughs.“She’sjustkidding,Luke.She’snotintheband.”
Lucasshakeshisheadandmeetsmyeyesintherearviewmirror.“Yousaiditwithsuchastraightface

Ithoughtforsureyouwereserious.”

“She’sreallygoodatsarcasm.”
ItapthebackofXander’sheadrest.“Ithoughtweagreedontheword‘exceptionally.’”
“I’mtryingnottoencourageyou.”
“Anddoesitwork?”
Lucassmiles.“Maybethebenefitwon’tbeasboringasIthought.She’ssittingatourtable,right?”
“Caymenissmart.Sherefusestogowithme.”
“What?”LucaspunchesXanderinthearm.“Hasthateverhappenedbefore?DoIneedtowritethis

down somewhere?” He looks around and then ends up grabbing his phone from the center console and
holdingittohismouthlikearecordingdevice.“AgirlrefusedtogosomewherewithXander.Alertthe
media.”

“Whatever,”Xandersays.
“Andwhilewe’reonthetopic.Twoweeksinarow?Prettyimpressive,bro.Imustbetooboringfor

themtocareaboutthesedays.”

“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”Xanderasks.
“Starz.” He rolls his eyes with a sigh when Xander looks oblivious. If I didn’t know exactly what

LucaswastalkingaboutImightlookoblivious,too.“Themagazine.You.Frontpage.”

“Seriously?”Hesoundsmoreangrythansurprised.
“Yes.TheyhaveyoudatingSadieagain.”
“What?”Hepointspastthelightwherewe’restoppedandtotheQuickieMartontheoppositecorner.

“Stopthere.”

Lucas shrugs and obeys the directions, parking the car. Xander barely waits for it to stop moving

beforehejumpsoutanddisappearsintotheglowingstore.

Chapter29

hile we wait in the car Lucas turns all the way around in his seat, resting his arm across the back.

“What’sthatabout?”

Myheartisracing.Thegirlfriend“secret”isout,andIwonderwhatXanderisgoingtosayordonow.

“HemustbemadthattheyprintedsomethingabouthimandSadie.”

“You’reprobablyright.Ijustthoughtheknew.”
“Me,too.”
MinuteslateraStarzmagazineisslappedagainstthewindownexttome,makingmejumpinsurprise.
“Youreadthis?”heyellsthroughthewindow.Icanbarelyhearhim.
Heopensthedoorandclimbsinnexttomewithoutwaitingformetoscootover.“Youreadthis,didn’t

you?”

He’spracticallyontopofme.Islidedowntheseattomakeroomforhim.
“Drive,Lucas,”hesays,pullingthedoorshut.Thenhiseyesarebackonmeandthere’sfireinthem.
“Areyoumadatmeforreadinganarticle?Masonshowedittomelastweek.”
“Lastweek!Caymen,whydidn’tyousaysomething?”
“Whatdidyouwantmetosay?‘Wow,yourgirlfriendishot?’Wasn’tfeelingthatgenerous.”
LucaslaughsandXandershootshimalookthatshutshimup.
“That’sthepoint,though.She’snotmygirlfriend.”
“Butthearticle...”Ipointtothemagazinehe’sclutchinginhisfist.
“This”—he flicks the face of Sadie on the front of the magazine— “is an old picture.” He studies it

closer.“Lastyear.”

“Andshecalledyoutheotherday....”
“Shecalledme?No,shedidn’t.”
“Imayhaveansweredit....Shesaidshe’dcallback.”
Hepullsouthisphoneandscrollsthroughsomescreens.Thenhegruntsasiftosay,Ohlook,thereshe

is.

HepressesthespeakerbuttononhisphoneandamessageleftbySadieNewelbroadcastsinthecar.

“Hey,Xander.Whereareyou?DidyouseeStarzmagazine?Thoseidiots.What’stheplan?Ineedyouto
workyourmagictomakethatdisappear.Tellmeyourfatherwillhitthemhard.”Shesoundsirritated.

Xanderhangsupthenslowlyturnshisgazetome,oneeyebrowraised.
“Oh”isallIcanthinkoftosay.
“Oh?”
“What do you expect me to say? I saw an article. I knew you were in LA that weekend. I’m sorry I

thoughtalljournalistswerehonest.”

“WhatIexpect,”hesays,leaningclose,“isforyoutoaskme.”HiseyesaresointenseIwanttolook

away...orneverlookaway,Ican’tdecide.

Myheartispumpingfast,andI’msorelievedthatheisnotwithSadieNewelthatIalmostthrowmy

armsaroundhim.Joke.Ineedajoke.Fast.“Maybeyoushouldgivemealistofalltheactressesyou’ve
datedandinwhatyear.ThatwayI’llknowifit’sanoldpictureoranewone.”

“Icangetyouthatlist,”Lucassays.

IdragmyeyesawayfromXanderandontoLucas.“Couldyouincludeanyheiressesorbillionaires’

daughtersaswell?Anyonenewsworthy,really.”

“Itmighttakemeawhile.That’sanextensivelist.”
I know he’s joking with me, but the words hit home, reminding me that I wouldn’t come close to

makingthatlist.

Xandersighsandleansback.“It’snotthatlong.”Heputshishandovermineontheseatbetweenus.I

trynottosmiletoobig.

WepulluptotheredbrickbuildingsofanexpansivecampusandI’mconfused.“Wherearewe?”
“UNLV.”
“Isthisyourpitchforcollege?”
“No. You’ll see.” It’s so funny how excited Xander gets to take me on these career days. Maybe

Xandershouldbealifeplannerorsomething.Doesthatcareerexist?

It takes me the whole walk through the sprawling campus to realize something. “You go to school

here,”IsaytoLucas.

“Yes,Ido.”
It surprises me. Not that UNLV is a bad school. I just thought he would be at an Ivy League. I still

haven’tfiguredoutwhywe’rehere,though.

Afterpassingalotofbuildingsthatlooksimilartooneanother,wefinallyenterone.Attheendofthe

hallheknocksonadoor.Amanwithglassesanswerswithasmile.“Hello.Comein.”

Itakeintheroom.Microscopes,burners,vials,glasscases,petridishes.Thesciencedepartment.The

man—aTAmaybe?—says,“Ihearyoumightbeinterestedinstudyingscience.”

Mylungsfeelclosetobursting.“Yes.”
He goes on about all the different careers a degree in science can lead to. Medical, crime-scene

investigation,researchanalysis,andonandon.Almosteveryonehementionssoundsinterestingtome.

“Followme,”hesays,andleadsmetoamicroscope.“Iwasjustgettingreadytoanalyzethisblood

sample.WhatI’mlookingforistoseehowmanywhitebloodcellspersquareunitthereare.Ifyou’lljust
lookthroughthescopeandcountformeI’llseeifmynumbermatchesyours.”

Idoasheaskedandrelaymynumber.Hewritesitinaboxonthepapernexttothemicroscope.Then

hegoestoaglasscaseandpullsoutavial.Heletsmeinjectaneedleintoitanddropadifferentdropof
blood onto a slide and analyze that one as well. Next he shows me some different bacteria they were
growing in dishes and tells me what each was taken from and the results. He also shows me some old
policefilesthatthestudentswereworkingontoassessDNAandcauseofdeath.

I know I must have an awestruck look on my face because when I glance over at Xander he has the

biggestsmileIhaveeverseen.

“Areyoumajoringinscience,Lucas?”Iask.
“No.I’manarchitecturemajor.Thisisjustoneofmyclasses.AndRickhereismyroommate.He’sthe

TAforDr.Fenderman.”

“HasDr.Fendermanluredushereforfutureuseastestsubjects?”
“Yes,thenextstoponthetouristhecage.”
“Cool. Does he happen to be testing any vaccinations? These boys need to catch some debilitating

illnesstogetoutofgoingtoabenefit.”

“My sympathies,” Rick says. Has everyone in the world gone to a benefit besides me? Rick clips

anotherslideinplaceandIpeerthroughthemicroscope.LucasandRickstarttalking,andasI’mstudying
theslideIfeelatickleonthebackofmyneck.

“Are you having fun yet?” Xander asks. I feel him now, close behind me, the heat from his body

sendingachillupmyspine.

“Yes.Thisisamazing.”
“I’veneverseenyousohappy.”
I’ve never felt so happy. I’m still looking through the lens at the slide, but I’m not seeing anything

becauseXander’sbreathlightlytouchesthebackofmyneck.Mybodyreactstohim,almostinvoluntarily,
leaningbackagainsthischest.

Hewrapshisarmsaroundmyshoulders.“Youshouldmajorinscience.Notnecessarilyhere,butthe

fieldsuitsyou.Icouldseeyoulookingallcuteinawhitelabcoat.”

Ismile.“It’sagoodidea.Maybeinayear.”I’mdefinitelytakingatleastayearofftohelpmymom.
“Caymen.”Hisvoiceisdisapproving,likeheknowswhatIamthinking.“That’samistake.”
“Yeah,well,Idon’thavemanyoptions,Xander.”
“Youhaveasmanyoptionsasyougiveyourself.”
Ilaughalittle.Hehasasmanyoptionsashegiveshimself.Therestofusarestuckwithwhat’sgiven

tous.“Whydoyoucare?”Iwhisper.

For a second I think he didn’t hear me because I’m facing away from him, his arms still wrapped

aroundmyshoulders,butthenhesays,“BecauseIcareaboutyou.”Iclosemyeyesforonesecondandlet
myselffeelthosewords,feelhim.

I want to let this happen, but something is still holding me back. I thought it was his girlfriend. But

that’s obviously not an issue anymore. It’s my mother. I haven’t told her. And I feel terrible for that. I
didn’twanttobehisdirtylittlesecret,butIhavemadehimmine.I’mgladmybackistohimbecauseI
canfeelthedisgustformyselfwrittenallovermyface.Iwigglemyarms,forcinghimtodrophis,and
lookattheclockonthewall.“Isitreallyeightalready?Webettergo,Xander.”

“Beforeweleave,there’sthislittleMexicanjointonTheStripthatIhavetotakeyouto.It’snotfar.

Amazingfood.”

Chapter30

“

ohetookyouonaplaneandflewyoutoasciencedepartmenttogiveyouatasteofcollegelifeand

yourrebuttalis...?”Skyeistryingtomakemedosomethingoverthetopforournextcareerday,but
howamIsupposedtotopthat?

“Um, actually, he’s coming over tomorrow night because my mom has this business associations

meeting....”Idon’tknowhowtofinishthatthoughtandgrabasmalljewelryboxoffashelf.Ithasfake
jewelsgluedalloverthewoodenlidandisaperfectexampleofwhyIcallthisplaceObviousGarbage.

Skyeisbusyarrangingoldbooksonashelf,herbacktome.“Idon’tgetit.Howisthatacareerday?

Areyougoingtotakehimtothemeeting?Lethimseehowsmallbusinessownersargue?”

“No.” I put the jewelry box down. “No, actually, I think my mom isn’t going to the meeting. I think

she’sgoingoutwithsomeguy.Abehind-my-backdate.”

Sheturnsaroundnow,handsonherhips.“Wait.Areyousayingthatyouandyourmomarebothdating

peoplebehindeachother’sbacks?”Shelaughs.

“No.I’mnotdatingXander.”Yet.NotuntilIworkupthecouragetotellmymom.I’vegivenmyself

oneweektodothat.

She rolls her eyes. “You two are the most in-love not-dating people I’ve met. Hold on.” She walks

towardthebackofthestoreandcallstoLydia,theowner.“Thebooksareinorderandthesignisflipped.
Doyouneedmetodoanythingelse?”

“No.Haveagoodnight.I’llseeyoutomorrow.”
Skyehooksherarmaroundmyelbowandleadsmeoutthebackdoor,cuttingacrossthealleytothe

back of the doll store. “Where’s your mom?” she asks, pointing to the empty space where our car is
normallyparked.

“Sherantothestoreafterweclosed.”
“Soanyway,backtocareerday.Idon’tgetwhatyou’regoingtodowithXander.”
“NeitherdoI.Iwasplanningonspyingonmymom.ButIcanseeit’sabadidea.”
Shelaughs.
“Ihadoneotherideaforacareerday.”
Wewalkupthestairstomyapartment.
“ItalkedtoEddielastweekandhesaidhe’dteachushowtomakehisfamousmuffins.”
Skyemakesaface.“Why?”
“BecauseXander likes them.He likes allfood, really. Everywhere wego we endup at his favorite

restaurant. I thought maybe he could talk to Eddie, see if owning his own restaurant is something he’d
enjoy.”

“Aww,” Skye says. “Now that’s thoughtful. And sweet.” She walks to the fridge once we’re inside.

“Andyoupretendnottolovetheguy.”

Ismileasshedigsthroughthecontentsofthefridge.Thelightontheansweringmachineisblinking.I

hitthebutton.“Onenewmessage,”theroboticvoicesays,followedbyalady.“Hi,Ms.Meyers,thisis
Tina from Dr. Saunders’s office. We went ahead and scheduled that ultrasound for you on the fifteenth.
Pleaseshowuphalfanhourearlyandmakesureyoudrinkallthewaterwetalkedabout.Ifyouhaveany
questionspleasedon’thesitatetocall.”

Ihearthefridgeclosebehindme.
“Ididn’tknowyourmomwaspregnant,”Skyesays.
“Pregnant?What?”
“Ultrasound.That’swhattheydoforpregnantpeople.”
Mybrainisjustbarelyregisteringthewordsshesaid.“No,she’snot.”
“Oh,thenwhyisshegettinganultrasound?”
Therehavetobeotherreasonspeoplegetultrasounds.“Idon’tknow.”
“Hasshebeennauseous?Tired?”
I think back. She hadn’t been eating very well lately. Maybe it’s because she’s been sick to her

stomach.Andshehasdefinitelybeentired.Inod.

“Soshe’sprobablypregnant.”Shenodsherheadtowardtheansweringmachine.“Plustheyaskedher

todrinkallthatwater.That’swhattheytellpregnantpeopletodosotheycangetmeasurements.”

Ishakemyheadbackandforthoverandover.
“It’skindofexciting,though,don’tyouthink?You’regoingtohavealittlebrotherorsister.”
“Exciting? Yeah, right. No. She’s not pregnant. That’s ridiculous. She doesn’t even have a . . .” I

realize I was about to say “boyfriend.” It’s very possible that she does have a boyfriend. “She’s not
pregnant.”Butifshe’snotpregnantthenwhatisshe?Anxietywashesoverme.Issomethingwrongwith
her?Peopledon’tgetultrasoundsjustbecause....Dothey?Maybeonceyou’reolderthat’sastandard
procedure.

Skyemovesinfrontofmeandpetsmyshoulders.Imust’vegonecompletelycatatonic.“It’sprobably

notabigdeal.Evenifsheispregnantit’snotabigdeal.”

“She’snotpregnant,”Iinsist.“She’stoooldtobepregnant.”
Skyelaughs.“She’sonlythirty-five.”Herphonechimesandshepullsitoutandsmilesafterreading

thetext.“It’sHenry.ThebandishangingoutatScreamShout.Youwanttogo?”

I look at the now-solid light on the answering machine. Then I glance at the door. I can’t catch my

breath. When will my mom be home? I need to ask her about this. But will she tell me? She’s been
refusingtotellmeanythingforweeksnow.

It’snothing.Mymomisfine.Standardprocedure.“Yes.I’llberightdown.Givemeoneminute.”
Shehesitatesbutthenleaves.IscribbleanoteaboutspendingthenightatSkye’sandleaveitonthe

counter.Ipackafewthingsinmybackpackandlockthedoorbehindme.

WewalkintoScreamShoutandit’spracticallydeserted.Thebartenderpointstothedoorofftotheside
ofthestagewhenSkyegiveshimthequestioningshoulderraise.Thenshemarchesacrossthecluband
straighttothedoor.Musicfromabackroomseepsdownthedimhall.Wefollowthesound.Thebandis
sittingoncouchesinasmallbackroomandlookupwhenweenter.

HenrygreetsSkyebysingingasoft“There’smybeautifulgirl,”accompaniedbyafewstrumsofhis

guitar.

Shesmilesandslidesintothesmallspacebetweenhimandthearmofthecouch.
Masonwinksatme.“Hey,Caymen.”
“Hi.”Ithrowmybackpackagainstthewall,findsomefloorspace,andsettlein.Ijustwanttomelt

intothefloorandfadefromexistenceforawhile.Itseemstoworkastheguysstartgoofingaroundwith
lyricsandmusic.Ilettheblendedmelodiesbouncearoundinsideme.

Derrick,thedrummer,randomlysingsabouthisday.Howhedroveinhiscarandlistenedtotheradio.

Howhewenttothestoreandpickedupsomemilkandonandon.Istoplisteninguntilheasks,“What
rhymeswith‘firehydrant’?”

MasongetsseriousandIthinkhe’sgoingtosaysomethinglike“Don’tbeanidiot.Whyareyousinging

aboutafirehydrant?”Butinsteadhesays,“Idon’tknow,‘wiretyrant’?”

“What’sawiretyrant?”Henryasks.
“Youknow,someonewhohoardsallthewire.It’sarisingepidemic.”
Igiveasmalllaugh.
“Howabout‘tiredrant’?”Skyesays.“Ifyoudrawitout,itrhymesgoodenough.”
“Thisisourtiredrantaboutauselessfirehydrant,”Henrysings.
Masonlaughs.“ThisisourtiredrantaboutHenrythewiretyrant.”
“Howcanarantbetired?”Iask.“Aren’trantsbynaturelively?”
Henry strums a chord, looks up at the ceiling for a minute while playing several more chords, then

sings,“I’msotiredofthesameoldrantwhenwhatIreallyneedisasecondchance.”

Masonpointsathim.“Yes.Let’scallthissong‘FireHydrant.’”
They laugh, but Derrick starts writing on a notepad as they yell out more lines about making up and

starting over. I don’t believe I just witnessed the birth of a song that started out with the words “fire
hydrant.”It’sweirdtoseesomethingcreatedfromnothing.IthinkaboutmyselfandhowXanderistrying
to create something out of my nothing life. How he kind of has. He took the ridiculousness, the fire
hydrant,frommysongandmademerealizeitcouldbesomethingmore,somethingdifferent.

AfterthedayIhad,thisthoughtmakesmehappy.Istartshoutingoutlineswiththem.Theygetprettyfar

onthesongbeforeridiculousnessisreintroducedwhensomeoneyells,“Andwhywon’tyoujustletme
eatturtlesoup?”

Skyegaspsinoffensebuttheneveryonelaughs.

Atteno’clockthelaughterhasnotceased.We’vegottenpastlaughterandintoslaphappystupidity.Skye
isonthefloordrapedacrossme.“Ibettergetyouhome,littlegirl,”shesays.“It’saschoolnightforthe
underageone.”

“I’mspendingthenightatyourhouse!”Iyell.
“Youare?”
“That’swhatmynotetoldmesoitmustbetrue.”
“Yay!Slumberparty.”
“Weshouldtoiletpapersomeone’shouse,”Isay.
“Yes.WeshouldTPsomeone’shouse.Whose?”
“Idon’tknow.”ThenIraisemyhandlikeshe’sateacher.“Xander’s!”
Shelaughs.“WhowantstoTPXander’shouse?”
Theguysjustlookatusandgroan.
“Wedon’tneedyou.”Istand.“Let’sgo.”
Skyerunsahead,butjustasIclearthedoor,I’mtuggedbackbymyarm.Iwhirlaroundandface-plant

againstMason’schest.We’restandingjustoutsidethedoorinthedimcorridor.

Hekissesmycheek.“Youleftwithoutsayinggood-bye.”
Istepbackandmeethiseyes.“I’m...”
Heblinkshard.“YouandXander,huh?”
“Ithinkso.”
“Areyousureyoufit?”
Iknowexactlywhathemeans,butasanimageofXanderpopsintomyheadInod.
Heshrugsalazyshrug.“Youknowwheretofindme.”Withthathedisappearsbackintotheroom.

Chapter31

kyeandIeachholdtworollsoftoiletpaperandstareatthegatedfenceofXander’shouse.“Isn’tittoo

earlytoTP?”Skyeasks.“It’snotevententhirty.Thehouselightsareallon.”

“It’snevertooearly.Therealquestionishowarewegoingtogetinside?”Itrytosqueezethroughtwo

wroughtironbarsandmythighgetsstuck.Istartlaughing.

“Haveyoueverbeenthisirresponsibleinyourlife?”Skyeasks.
“Idon’tthinkso.”
“Thesillyyouisfun.”Skyetakesmebythearmpitsandtriestopullmeout.She’salaughingmess.

FinallyshetugsmefreeandIlandontopofher,bothofusfallingtotheground.

“Let’sjustTPthebarsofthegate.”
“IsXandergoingtofindthisasfunnyaswedo?”sheasks.
Ihavenoidea.“Forsure.”
It’sdark,butwemanagetowraptoiletpaperaroundthebars.Whendidbeingimmatureprovideso

muchentertainment?IttakesmeaminutetorealizeIcanseemytaskbetterandanotherminutetorealize
it’sbecausesomeoneisshiningaflashlight.Theflashlightholderclearshisthroat.“Ladies.Youenjoying
yourselves?”

“Yes, very much,” Skye says, and we both turn around to a security personnel of sorts giving us a

disapprovingstare.

“Howcute.It’sarent-a-cop,”Skyesays.
He lowers his brows. “A rent-a-cop who knows the number for the police station. Let’s go have a

wordwithMr.Spence,shallwe?”

This news should’ve introduced some somberness into the evening but it doesn’t. Maybe because it

didn’tseemrealwhenwewerestandingthereholdingtoiletpaperinthedark.Itseemsalotmorereal
standingonMr.Spence’sporchwithhimscrutinizingus.ThenhowcomeIstillcan’tstoplaughing?

“Whatwouldyoulikemetodo,sir?”Rent-a-copasks.
Mr. Spence looks at me again and tilts his head. I wonder if he’ll remember having met me before.

Why would he? I’m just a name he met weeks ago. So when he says, “Caymen? Right?” the smile is
shockedfrommyface.

Inod.Ofcourseheremembersme.Iamthesymbolofhisson’srebellion.Iamthelastgirlonearth

Mr.Spencewouldapproveof.Mynameandfaceareprobablyingrainedinhismemory.

“Areyouprankingmyson?”
Inodagain.
Helaughs.“I’llbehonest.Noneofmykidshaveeverbeentoilet-papered.Isthatwhatit’scalled?”He

turnstotherent-a-cop.“We’refine,Bruce.”Thenbacktoushesays,“Whydon’tyougirlscomein?”

MychesttightensinpanicasIlookatthetoiletpaperrollsstillgrippedinmyhands.“No.That’sokay.

We’llgonow.Ifyouloanmeatrashbagwe’llevencleanupthemess.”

He waves off the suggestion. “No. We have grounds-keepers for that. And I insist. You must come

inside.”

“It’slate.We—”
“Caymen?”

Xander’s voice is like an instant heat wave. My cheeks go warm. He comes to the door wearing

pajamabottomsandaT-shirt.Evenhispajamaslookexpensive.Helooksatthetoiletpaperinmyhands
andthenovertoSkyeandhertoiletpaper.

“Itwasadare,”Iblurtout.“Weweren’tsupposedtogetcaught.”SkyestartstogiggleandIjoinher.
Hiseyestwinklewithaheld-inlaugh.“Comein.Tessmadehotchocolateearlier.Ithinkthere’ssome

left.”

I’m not sure if I’m supposed to know who Tess is but I don’t ask. Holding toilet paper is enough

humiliationforonenight.“No,thanks.Really,wewerejustleaving.”

“Iinsist,”hesays.
SkyegivesasnortlaughandI’mprettysureit’sbecauseXanderjustsoundedexactlylikehisdad.I

cantellshe’sholdinghertonguetoletmedecidehowthisisgoingtoplayout.IlookbetweenXanderand
hisfather,whoarebothstaringatmeexpectantlywiththesamecrossedarms,thesametilttotheirbrows.
SeeingsuchanobviousresemblancemakesmewonderifI’manythinglikemydad.Imaylooklikemy
mom,butI’mnothinglikeher.

“Fine.Justforaminute.It’slate.Wehonestlydidn’tmeantointrude.”

Thekitchenishuge.Marblecountertopsinaneutralshade.Amassiveisland.Thefridgeisbiggerthan
anyfridgeI’veeverseeninahouse.Italmostlookslikeagrocerystorefreezersection.

Hisdadfollowsusintothekitchen.“Tesshasactuallyleftforthenight,butI’msureyoukidscanfind

yourwayaround.”

Tessmustbethecook.
“Goodnight.Alexander,don’tmakeittoolate,”hesays,thenleaves.
Xandergoestothestove,whereakettlesits,andpicksitup.“Empty.”
“We’refine.”
“No,Igotthis.Ithinkthereisthepowderstuffsomewherearoundhere.”Helooksthroughcupboards.

He’s obviously not going to stop until we are drinking hot chocolate, so I go to the stove and grab the
kettle, fill it with water, and then stare at the knobs. Skye comes over to help me decipher them. After
turningseveralandpushingafewbuttons,wegetoneoftheburners’flameson.

Xander is still searching for the hot chocolate. He looks like a stranger in his own kitchen, opening

doors he obviously has no clue what’s behind. Finally he snatches the container out from behind a
cupboardwithaloud“Aha.”

“Haveyoueverlookedinsidethesecupboardsinyourlife?”Iask.
“Ofcourse.”
“Let’splayagame,then.Skyenamesakitchenitem.Whoeverfindsitfirstwins.”
“Winswhat?”
“Braggingrights.”
“Thisismyhouse.IthinkI’llwin.”
“Proveit,richboy.Tessisn’theretomakeyourbottleforyou.”
“Oh,youaresoon.”
Ismile.Iknowmywayaroundakitchen.Andifacooksetitupshewouldbesmartandpractical.

Cookingutensilsbythestove,glassesbythesink.Ihavethis.InodtoSkye.

Shesmiles.“Okay.We’llstarteasy.Spatula.”
Xander runs to the island and starts tearing through the drawers. I go to the stove and pull open the

drawersoneithersideofit.RightawayIfindthespatulaandturnaroundholdingitup.

“FirstroundtoCaymen,”Skyesays,andXandersnapshisheaduptolookatme.Hegrowls.

“Okay,seconditem.Cerealbowl.”
Igiveagruntofindignation.“Sonotfair.Youknewhe’dknowwherethatis.”Andofcoursehedoes.

Cupboardbesidethepantry.

“Tiebreaker,”Skyecallsout.“Findmeastrainer.”
IlaughatthelookonXander’sface.It’salookthatsays,Idon’tevenknowwhatthatis.Iracetoward

thesink.Itwillbeunderneathoneofthecupboardsthere.WhenIreachforthecupboardapairofhands
grabmywaistandpullmeback.ThenhecutsaroundmeandyanksopenthecupboardIwasgoingfor.I
joltforwardandsettleinnexttohim,tryingtopushhimasidewithmybody.

“Cheater,”hesays.
“Me?You’rethecheater.”He’sstandingfirm.Ican’tpushhimoverandhe’ssearchingtheshelves.
“It’slikeabowlwithholesinit,”Skyecallsout.
“Myownbestfriendisagainstme.”IwrapmyarmsaroundXander’swaistandtrytopullhimback.

ThekettleonthestovewhistlesandSkyeremovesitfromtheburner.

“Gotit!”Xanderholdsthestrainerintheair.Ijumpupandtrytograbitandhekeepsitjustoutofmy

reach.WhenItrytopullhisarmdown,heputshisfreearmaroundmyshoulder,pinningmeagainsthis
chest.“AndthewinnerisXander.”

“Cheaters!Thebothofyou!”
Heclearshisthroat.“I’dliketodedicatethiswintomysupremeknowledgeofthekitchenlayoutand

toolsthereinthatIhaveusedonmanyoccasions.Ifitwasn’tfor—”Hestopsmid-sentenceandthensays,
“Oh,hi,Mom.”

IimmediatelydropmyhandsthatarepushingagainstXander’schestandtrytotwistoutofhishold.

Hesetsthestraineronthecounterandsecuresmewithbotharms.“Mom,thisisCaymenMeyersandher
friendSkye.”

IturnmyheadtowardherbecausemybodyisstilltrappedinXander’sgrip.I’mafraidofwhatI’llsee

onherface.AfraidthiswillbethemomentwhenIfinallymeettheresistancetothisrelationshiponhis
end. But she has a pleasant look on her way-too-young-to-be-Xander’s-mother face. Her hair is blond.
Her eyes are blue. Now I see where Lucas gets his looks from. Xander didn’t inherit a thing from his
mother.Butthenshesmiles,perhapsbecauseIstartstrugglingagainstXander,andIseethatheinherited
hisbestfeaturefromher.

“Goodtomeetyou,girls.Caymen,I’veheardsomuchaboutyou.”
“Hello,Mrs.Spence.Yoursonwon’tletmegobecausehe’sacheater,butit’sgoodtomeetyou.”
Xanderreleasesme,andIbackawayfromhimafewsteps,tryingtokeepmyexplosionofgiddiness

tomyself.

Mrs.Spencepicksuparolloftoiletpaperfromthecounterandscruncheshernose.
“AskCaymenaboutthat,”Xandersays.
Great,nowIhavetoexplaintohismotheraboutmyvandalism?“Yoursoncalledmewithatoilet

paperemergency.Irushedrightover.”

ShelooksconfusedsoXandersays,“She’skidding,Mom.”
“Ah,yes.Thedryhumoryouweretellingmeabout.”
Jeez,howmuchdidtheytalkaboutme?
“Well,I’mgladyou’vegottenmyseriousboylaughing.”ShesqueezesmyarmandthenpatsXander’s

cheek.“I’mofftobed.Don’tbeastranger,Caymen.”

“Night, Mom.” After his mom leaves, Xander moves to the mugs and scoops a few spoonfuls of

powderedchocolateintoeachthenpoursthehotwater.“Thisisn’tasgoodasEddie’sbutIhopeit’lldo.”

“Doyouhaveabathroomsomewhere?”Skyeasks.“Orten?”

Hesmiles.“Theclosestoneisthroughthatarch.Firstdooronyourright.”
“Thanks.”
Sheleavesandit’sjustXanderandmestandingsidebysideatthecounter.Hishippressesagainstmy

sideashereachesforaspoon.Thenourhandsbrushaswereachforthesamemug.Webothpullback
fromit.

“Goahead,”wesayatthesametimeandthenlaugh.Hetakesasipofthehotchocolateandthenslides

themugtome.

Theentiresidesofourbodiesaretouching—shoulders,elbows,hips,thighs—allthewaydowntoour

feet.Icanfeeleverytinymovementhemakes.

“You’rekillingme,”hesaysbreathlessly.
“I’msorry.”Itakeonestepaway,andhegrabsmebytheelbowandswingsmetofacehim.Nowthe

entire fronts of our bodies are touching. I take a sharp breath as heat pours down me. He backs me up
againstthecounter.Hispalmpressingintomylowerbackfeelslikeitcouldsingeahandprintontomy
skin.

I’mstaringashardasIcanatthecollarofhisT-shirt.
“Caymen?”
“Yes?”
“Youlookterrified.Doesthisscareyou?”
“Morethananything.”
“Why?”
“BecauseIdidn’tbringmymints.”
“Andnowtherealanswer...”
“BecauseI’mafraidthatonceyoucatchme,thegame’sover.”Idon’tbelieveIadmittedthatoutloud

tohimwhenIhadn’tevenadmittedittomyself.Buthecalledmeout.Healwayscallsmeout.

Hisfingertracesmycheekboneandmyheartslamsintomyribcageasthenervesfrommycheekall

thewaydownmyarmsbuzztolife.

“Ididn’trealizewewereplayingagame,”hesays.
Ismile.Thatwasthesamelinehehadusedduringoursecondmeeting.Ilookathim,andasifthat’s

allhe’dbeenwaitingfor,hislipsmeetmine.WhentheytouchIfeelelectrified.Hekissesmegently,his
lipsaswarmashishand.

JustwhenI’mabouttogointoattackmode,IhearSkyeclearherthroatandsay,“I’mjustgoingtotake

myhotchocolatetogo,then.I’llbringyourmugbackanothertime.”

IpullbackandtrytopushXanderaway,notwantingtoberude,buthedoesn’tbudge.Skyegivesme

thewaytogosmileandIrealizeshe’snotoffendedatall.

“I’llgiveheraridehome,”Xandersayswithoutlookingawayfromme.Hiseyesareonfire.Weboth

listenasSkyeleavesthekitchen.Thenhetakesmebythewaistandliftsmeontothecounter.Iwrapmy
legsandarmsaroundhimandpressmylipstohis.Theactionismoreintensethistime.Myneedmore
obvious.

Heanswersback,histonguefindingmine,hishandspullingmeascloseaspossible.Hetastesgood,

likesaltychocolate.IletmyhandsexplorehisbackthroughhisT-shirt.Ifindhisspineandoutlineeach
vertebra.Arushofemotionscoursesthroughmybody,andI’msurprisedwhentheonethatoverwhelms
meisintensesadness,theoneemotionI’vebeensuccessfullyrepressingallnight.

IammomentsawayfromtearssoIburymyheadinhisneck,hopingtosuppressthem.Hefreezes.He

triestobackup,probablysohecanlookatme,butIclingtightlytohim.Herubsahandupanddownmy
back.

“Caymen? What is it? I’m sorry. Was that too fast?” He takes me by the waist and slides me off the

counter.

“No.It’snotthat.”
“I’msosorry.”
“No, you didn’t do anything. This is really bad timing for my denial to lift.” I’m not sure if he

understoodwhatIsaidbecausemyemotionsaremakingmyspeechthick.

“Talktome.Whathappened?”
“Willyoujustholdmeforaminute?”I’mtryingtogetmyemotionsincheckbeforeItrytoexplain.
Hemustrealizehehaddroppedhishandstohissidesbecausehetakesadeepbreathandthenwraps

them back around me. There is not a millimeter of space between us. His presence is the only thing
keepingmetogetherwhilethethoughtsIshould’vebeenthinkingallnightfinallysurface.

Whatifmymomispregnant?Havingababyisgoingtoruinus.Wecan’taffordit.Andwhatkindof

guy is Matthew? Is he going to run when he finds out? How can my mom have made the same mistake
twice? If I thought I had a tiny bit of hope of leaving the doll store and starting a life of my own, this
wouldmakethatalmostimpossible.

AsingletearescapesandIswipeitawayquicklywiththebackofmyhand.
“You’rescaringme,Caymen.Whatisit?”
“Mymom.”
“Issheokay?”Hesoundsalarmed.
“Shemightbepregnant.”

Chapter32

ander curses under his breath. “Man, Caymen, I’m sorry.” That’s all he says for a while. His fingers

createatrailonmyback:across,down,over,up.Theyrepeatthepatternoverandover.“Whendidyou
findout?”

“Tonight.”Isigh.“Ormaybeshe’snot.AndI’mwishingsobadshe’snot.Butifsheisn’tthatmeans

somethingelseiswrongwithherandthatI’mahorribledaughterforthinkingevenforasplitsecondthat
I’dratherherbeanythingbutpregnant.”

HepushesmeoutbytheshouldersandIlethim.Whenwemeeteyeshesays,“WhatcanIdo?”
“MakethisalladreamthatIcanwakeupfromtomorrow.”
Hepullsonhisbottomlip.“IfeellikeItookadvantageofyoutonight.I’msorry.HadIknownIwould

havenever—”

“Stop,”Iinterrupt.“Don’tsaythat.I’vebeenwantingtokissyouforweeks.WaybeforeIfoundout

aboutmymom,backwhenyouusedtowalkmetoschool.”

Hiseyesflickertomylipsthenbacktomyeyes.“Youwantedtokissme?”
“‘Want’isthecorrectword.Iwanttokissyou.”Ileanforwardandbrushmylipsagainsthis.
Hepullsbackalittle.“NowI’dreallybeajerkifwekissed.Comeon.Let’stalk.”Heleadsmedown

thehallbymyhandtoalargetheaterroom.Severaloverstuffedreclinerssetondifferentlevelsfaceabig
whitescreen.

“Wow,”Isay,spinninginacircle.“ThisiswhereweneedtowatchTheShining.”
Heliftsonesideofhismouthintoahalf-smilethengoestoabookshelffullofDVDsandpullsoutthe

onewithJackNicholsonstickinghiscreepyfacethroughagapinadoor.

“Yougotit?”
“Idid.YousaidweweregoingtowatchitsoIgotit.”
Iplopdowninarecliner.“Well,putiton,then.”
Heshakeshishead.“Nottonight.Tonightwetalk.”Hereplacesthemovieandsettlesintotherecliner

nexttomine.

“WhatwereyoudoingbeforeIgothere?”
“Letmerephrasethat:tonightwetalkaboutyou.”
“Canwejustworkuptoitfirst?I’mnotgoodatthingslikethis.”
Henods.“Okay,beforeyougothere?Let’ssee,Iwasworkingonahistoryassignment.”
“DoyougotoDaltonAcademyorOceanside?”They’rebothprivateschools.I’msurehegoestoone

ortheother.

“Dalton.”
“Dalton...that’syourgrandma’slastname.”BeforeIevenfinishthesentenceIfeelstupidforsaying

it.“Duh.That’snotacoincidence.”

Helaughs.“Thanks,bytheway.”
“Forwhat?”
“Forremindingmewhatit’sliketobetreatedlikeanormalperson.It’sbeenalongtimesinceI’ve

beenaroundsomeonewhodidn’tknowwhoIwas.”

Itiltmyhead.“Wait,whoareyou?”

Hetugsonmyhairwithasmirk.
“Yourparentsarereallynice.”
“Whentheygetwhattheywant,yestheyare.”
“Sohaveyoubeenworkingonthewebsiteforyourdad,then?”
Hedrawsoutasigh.“That’sthething.Ihave.Iknow,Iknow,Ishouldn’t.”
Iholdupmyhands.“Isaidnothing.”
“So I had all these great ideas for the website to make it fresh and exciting and my dad completely

disregardedallofthem.Hesaid,‘No,cleanandclassic.’”

“Foryourclientelethat’sprobablybetter.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Imean it’s notlike teenagers aregoing to book roomsat your hotels.It’s businessmen and wealthy

people.Cleanandclassicworkforthem.”

Hecloseshiseyesforasecondthensays,“You’reright.Whydidn’thejustsaythat?”
“Maybehetried.Youdon’tlistentoyourdadverywell.”
“Because he wants to shape me into this perfect little version of him and I feel smothered. I’m not

him.”

“Isn’titfunnythatyouwanttobenothinglikeyourdadandIwishIknewifIamevenatinybitlike

mine?”

“I’msorry.I’mbeinginsensitive.”
Itouchhisshoulder.“No,you’renot.Igetwhatyou’resaying.Youdon’twanttobedefinedbyyour

father.Especiallywhenfromtheoutsideyouaresosimilartohim.Butyouaren’thim.You’llalwaysbe
different.”You’llalwaysbeamazing.Whyisitstillsohardtosaythatlastsentenceoutloud?

Hetakesmyhandinhisandrunshisthumbalongthebackofit.“Yourfatherwouldbesoproudofyou.

Ofwhoyouare.”

My entire throat closes with the comment and my eyes fill with tears. I keep them at bay but am

surprisedbythestrongreaction.ByhowmuchIneededtohearsomeonesaythat.“HelivesinNewYork.
He’ssomefancylawyerthere.”

“You’velookedhimup?”
“Ihadto.Imightneedakidneyoneday.”
Helaughs.
“WhenIwastwelveIreadthisstoryaboutsomeguywhohadn’tseenhisfatherinyearsandthenhe

endedupgettingcancer.Hisfatherwasabonemarrowmatch.Savedhislife.”

XanderstaresatmeforsolongIstarttofeeluncomfortable.“Youdon’thavetobeonyourdeathbedto

reachouttoyourfather,youknow.”

Irubatmyforearm.“Hewalkedawayfrommymom.”
Henodsslowly.“Youfeellikewantingtoseehimmeansbetrayingyourmother?”
Ilookupatthelightbutanothertearescapesanyway.“Helefther.”
“Herrelationshipwithhimdoesn’thavetodefineyours.”
“Heleftme,too.”
“I’msorry.”Herunsthebackofhisknucklesalongmycheek.“Andwhataboutyourmom?Whyisher

possiblepregnancysodevastating?”

“YouthinkI’moverreacting?”
“Ididnotsaythatatall.IknowI’dbeupsetifitweremymom.Ijustdon’twanttoprojectmyreasons

ontoyou.Tellmewhat’sgoingthroughyourhead.”

“I’m angry and hurt and ashamed all wrapped together into one emotional mess. I just don’t believe

shewoulddothisagain.”Ipullmykneesupontothechairandturnsidewaystofacehim.“Ifeelguilty
andselfishforwishingapersonoutofexistencebutIdon’twantthischange.”

“You’llworkthroughthosefeelings.You’llmeltwhenyouholdthebabyinyourarms.”
“No,Iwon’t.Idon’tlikekidsandkidsdon’tlikeme.We’vecometothisgeneralconsensuslongago.”
Hesmiles.“Well,atleastyouhavealongtimetogetusedtotheidea.”
“Ifit’strue.”Isighandsqueezemyeyesclosed.
Histhumbmakessmallcirclesonthebackofmyhand.“It’ssonicetohaveyouhere.Inmyhouse.You

shouldcomehereeveryday.”

I laugh. “I’m best in small doses. Speaking of, I should probably get going. We have school

tomorrow.”

“No way. You have to stay at least another hour.” He pulls me into the chair with him. “Thanks for

talkingtome.Iknowit’shardforyou.”

Irestmyforeheadagainsthis.“Thanksforlistening.”
“Westillonfortomorrownight?”
Tomorrow night? Oh! Career night. My mom supposedly going to the business association meeting.

ThereisnowayI’mgoingtomissthatnow.“We’restillon.”

“Andwhatabouttonight?”heasks,wrappinghisarmstightlyaroundme.
Mystomachseemstotakeflightwithoutme.“Whatabouttonight?”
“Whatshouldwedoforthenexthour?”
Ipretendtoconsider.“Workonyourwebsite?”
“Ha-ha.”
Imakemyfaceserious,whichishardconsideringthesmilethatwantstotakeuppermanentresidence

there.“No,really,youshouldgetitdone.”

Hetiltshishead,studyingmyface.“Areyoubeingserious?”
“No,”Isayagainsthislips.

Chapter33

opentheshopdoorwhileholdingthebellsteadyandyankXanderinside.

“Whatthe—?”
“Shh.”Ilistenforseveralheartbeatstomakesuremymomdidn’tcomebackinsidethroughtheback

door.Shehadjustleft...late.IhadtoldXandertocomeatsixthirty,awholehalfanhouraftershewas
supposedtoleave,butastheminutestickedbyIrealizeditwouldbeaclosecall.Itactuallyworkedout
betterthiswaybecausenowwecanfollowher.Before,Iwasjustthinkingwe’dhavetofindher.

WhenIfinallytakeabreathandlookupatXander,he’sstaringatmeinthedarkroom.Ihaveonehand

onhischestandhavehimpushedupagainstthewalljustinsidethestore.Mybreathfalters.

Hisbreathshouldn’tsmellsofamiliaralready.Iletitwashoverme,closingmyeyes.ThenIfeelhis

lipsbrushagainstmine.IwanttogetlostinhiskissbutIknowwedon’thavetime.

“Comeon.”Igrabontothefrontofhisshirt,pullhimtothebackdoor,thenopenitacrack.Luigi’sis

oneblockbehindus,andIseemymomroundthecornerattheendofthealley.

“Caymen,”Xandersaysfrombehindme.“Canyoufillmeinhere?”
“Alittledetectivework.Privateinvestigatorsorsomething.”Ireachintomybackpocketandpullout

thefewpicturesIhadtakenofMatthewwithXander’scamera.I’dprintedthemout.Thequalityisreally
badsinceourprinterisancient,buttheimageisclearenough.

“WhatamIlookingat?”
Islipoutsideandhefollows.“Ineedtofindouteverythingthereistoknowaboutthatguy.”
“Okay...whatdoweknowsofar?”
“Nothing.”
Heclearshisthroat.“MissScientificObserverhasnoconcretefacts?”
“I have a feeling.” That if my mom is pregnant I need to know everything I can about the potential

father.

“Dofeelingsprovetheoriesnow?”
“Shutup.”
Helaughsandgrabsholdofmyhand.ItsurprisesmeandImustjumpbecausehesqueezesitwitha

chuckle. It’s weird holding his hand. I think about the picture I saw in the magazine of him and Sadie
holdinghandsandwonderifsomeoneiswaitingintheshadowsnowtotakeapictureofus.

Almost as if he read my mind he says, “We moved here to get out of the spotlight. Los Angeles is

awful.Wehadnoprivacytherewhatsoever.”

Inod,notsurewhattheproperresponsetothatis.
“But considering this isn’t exactly the thriving metropolis of California and how spread out our

businessis,wetravelalot.Myfatherdragsmealongonsomeoccasions.Liketomorrow.Ihavetogoto
FloridauntilFridayandthenIhavethebenefitonSaturday.”

He’s not asking my permission . . . is he? He’s just telling me because . . . because why? We’re

togethernow?

“IguessmypointiswhencanIseeyouagain?”
“Oh.Nextweek?”
“You’llpencilmeinonthereallybigcalendar?”

“Idon’tknow.Itmightbebookedsolid.MysuperbusylifeandIwillhavetocheck.”
WhenweroundthecornerIcanseetheredandwhiteawningofLuigi’sItalianRestaurant...andthe

backofmymomassheclosesthedoorbehindher.Hmm.That’snotwhatwassupposedtohappen.She
wassupposedtomeetupwithtall,dark,andcreepy.

“Whatnow?”Xanderasks.
“Wewait.”I walktoa smallpatchof grassonthe cornerof theblockthat givesusa goodviewof

Luigi’sbutisn’tinfullviewofthewindow.Isitdown.“Worriedaboutruiningyourjeans?”Iaskwhenhe
hesitates.“It’snotwet.”

“No...it’sjust...arewespyingonyourmom?”Hesitsdownnexttome.
“Yes,”Iadmitwithawince.
“Caymen,Iknowyou’reupset,butisthisreallytherightwaytogoaboutit?”
Ipointtothepictureshe’sstillholding.“Ineedtoknowabouthim.”
Heflipsthroughthepicturesagain.“Isthishim?Thefatherof...”Hecan’tevenfinishthesentence.

It’slikehe’sasashamedasIam.Iwonderifhe’severknownanyonewhogotpregnantoutofwedlock.

“Yes.”Ileanbackonmypalms.
Henodsoncethenlooksaround.“Sohowlongarewegoingtowaithere?”
IglancetowardLuigi’s.“Idon’tknow.”Maybeshe’sgoingtoseeMatthewafterthemeeting.Itakethe

pictureshe’sstillholdingbackandlookthroughthemagain.

“SoyouthinkI’dmakeagooddetective?”
“What?”
“Tonight.Your‘careernight.’”Heactuallydoesairquotesandmanagestomakethemlooksomewhat

classy. “That’s what you said tonight was, right? You’re supposed to be finding me suitable options to
explore.IsdetectiveworksomethingyouthinkI’dbegoodat?”

“Yeah.Sure.”
“BecauseI’msogoodatobservationsandreadingintocluesandinterpretingsignals?”Hepicksatthe

grass,pullingafewbladesfree.Helookssohurt.

Mywarninglightgoesoff,tellingmetobackup,fixthis;tellhim,“No,itwasaboutmeandmymom

andIjustneededyourhelp.”Iopenmymouth,butit’stoolate.

Hestandsupandbrushesoffhishandsthenholdsoneouttome.“I’llwalkyouback.”
“I’mstaying.”
“Okay.”Hestartstowalkaway.
“I’msorry,”Isaytohisback.Hestops.“I’vebeensoself-absorbedandlame.You’vedoneallthese

amazing things for me and I haven’t done anything for you. I took you grave digging. You took me to
UNLV.”

Heturnstofaceme.
Ipointupthestreet.“IwasgoingtotakeyoutoEddie’s.Hewasgoingtoteachushowtomakehis

famousmuffinsandtellushowhestartedhisbusinessandstuff.Ithoughtyoumightlikeitbecauseyou
lovefoodandIcouldseeyouowningyourownrestaurantorsomething.Butthenthishappenedand...”

Heclosesthedistancebetweenus,takesmyfaceinhishands,andkissesme.
Ican’tbreatheforamoment,andthenallIwanttodoisbreathehimin.Eat,sleep,anddrinkXander

Spence. I can’t get enough. I don’t know how I existed without him because his energy feels like my
sustainingforceinthismoment.

HepullsawayalittleandItakeagulpofair.Iliebackonthegrassbecausemybonescannolonger

holdmeup.Heliessidewaysnexttome,proppinghimselfuponhiselbow.

“Iboughtadress,”Isayinmystateofbliss.

“Um...howexciting.”
“IfyouwantmetoIcangotothebenefitwithyouonSaturday.”
“If?”Heshakeshishead.“Iwouldloveforyoutocometothebenefit.Ijustthoughtyouweredeadset

againstit.Yes.Come.”HekissesmeagainandIlaughagainsthislips.Iburymyfingersinthehairatthe
backofhisneck.HesqueezesmysideandIlaughagain.

Ididn’thearanyfootstepsorthejinglingofkeys.AllIhearissomeonecleartheirthroat.Isituptoo

fastandbloodrushesupthebackofmyhead,causingtheedgesofmyvisiontoblurforamoment.But
blurryornot,Icanstillseemymom’sfacestaringdownatus,filledwithanger.

Chapter34

or some reason I giggle. Maybe because I still can’t control the happy pounding of my heart. Maybe

becauseI’mstillsoangrywithmymomforallthesecretsshe’sbeenkeepingthatseeingherangrywith
mebringssomesatisfaction.OrmaybebecauseIhaveabsolutelynoideawhattosay.Whateverthecase,
agigglesoundsfunnyintheotherwisestillnight.“Hi.”

She looks at Xander, starting at his freshly cut hair and ending on his expensive shoes. Then her

contemptuouslookisbackonme.“I’llseeyouathome.”Andwiththatshewalksaway.Isuckinmylips
tostopmyselffromlaughing.WhensheroundsthecornerIliebackandpullXanderdownwithme.Ikiss
himbutheresists.

“Caymen,wait.”
“What?”
“Shedoesn’tknowaboutus?”
“Youknewthat.”
“No.Ididn’t.IthoughtafterIintroducedmyselftoherthatyouwouldtellher.”
Ifeelawful.That’sexactlywhatIwassupposedtodo.WhatIwasgoingtoforcemyselftodobefore

theansweringmachinemessageofdoom.“Whywouldyouthinkthat?IpretendedlikeIdidn’tknowyou.”

“Ithoughtyouwerejokingaround.Ithought...”
IamnotdoingwelltonightintheMakingXanderFeelSpecialcategory.Irunmyfingersuphiswrist

andthenpushourpalmstogether.“I’msorry.Mymomhasahistorythathasjadedherabit.AndIwas
goingtotellherbuttheneverythinghappened.I’lltellher.”

“Ithinkyoujustdid.”
Igiggleagain.
Onecornerofhismouthliftsintoahalf-smile.“SoisEddie’sopenrightnow?Let’sgoeat.”

Xanderleansagainsthiscar,lickingthelastbitofmuffinoffhisfingers.“Ididn’trealizeyouhadsuchan
inwithEddie.Thewholeback-door-after-closing-secret-knock.Youcould’vetoldmethismonthsago.”

“Idon’tsharethefewadvantagesIhave.”Itosstheemptypaperbagintooneofthetrashcansthatline

ourstreet.WhenIturnbacktofacehimhepullsmeagainsthim.Iletoutalittleyelpofsurprise.

Heburieshisfaceinthecrookofmyneck.
“Ishouldprobablygo.Mymomiswaitingpatientlytoyellatme.Bettergetitoverwith.”
“Isshegoingtobeokaywiththis?Withus?”Hisvoicecomesoutmuffledagainstmyneck.
I trace patterns in his hair with my fingers and smile. “She’ll be fine once she gets to know you. I

mean,howcanshenotlikeXanderSpence?”

“Thisistrue.”Hekissesmeoncethenreleasesme.
Istarttowalkawaythenturnback.He’sleaningagainsthiscarwatchingmego,asweetsmileonhis

face.Istumblebutthencatchmyselfwithalittlelaugh.“HavefuninFlorida.”

Thedollstoreisdarkbutthestairsinthebackarelit.Itakeadeepbreathandwalkupthemslowly,not
readytofacetheangerIsawburninginmymother’seyes.I’mtoohappy.Idon’twantmymomtoruinthis
after-kisshighI’mon.Maybeshe’llbeasleep.Maybethiswillblowover.Ilaughatmyself.That’llnever

happen.

The door lets out a whine as I open it. I can almost feel the tension hanging in the air waiting to

combust. My mom sits stiffly at the kitchen table. The room is dim; only the under-cabinet lights shine
ontothecountertops.Ifliponalight.

“Howlong?”isthefirstthingshesays.
“Acouplemonths.”
“He’stheboyyou’vebeenspendingtimewith?”
“Yes.”
“WhataboutMason?IthoughtyouandMason...”
Ishakemyheadno.“We’rejustfriends.”
Shestandstofaceme.“Wheredidyoumeethim?”
Iknowshe’snolongertalkingaboutMason.She’sbacktoXander.“Here.”
“Youmethere.”Shepointsatthefloor.
“No,actuallyitwasdownthere,”Isay,pointingtothedoor.Maybenowisn’tagoodtimeforajoke

becauseherwholefacetightens.

“YouknowthattheDaltonsare...”It’slikeshecan’tevensaytheword.
“Beyondrich?Yeah,Iknow.”
“Caymen...”Sheletsoutalongsigh.
“What’stheproblem?Welikeeachother.”
“Peoplelikehimdon’tendupwithpeoplelikeus.”
Isigh.“Mom,please.Thisisn’ttheeighteenhundreds.”
Shelaughsanironiclittlelaugh.“Thericheryouare,theslowertimeprogresses.”
Igiveafakegasp.“Soareyousayinghe’llbeseventeenforever?”
“Caymen,thisisn’tajoke.”Sherunsherhanddownherface.“WhatwillMrs.Daltonthink?”
I stare at her now-clenched fist, my state of euphoria finally gone. “What does this have to do with

Mrs.Dalton?”

“Youmethergrandsoninthestore.She’llthinkwe’reunprofessional.”
“IthinkMrs.Daltonlikesme.”
“Shelikesyouasthegirlwhowaitsonher,notasthegirlwhoisdatinghergrandson.”
Iblinkonce,thewordsshockedfrommymouth.Itfeelslikemymomjustsaid,“Xander’sfamilywon’t

thinkyou’regoodenoughforhim,andguesswhat?You’renot.”

“YouknewIwouldn’twantyoutoseehimandthat’swhyyouliedtomeaboutwhohewasinthefirst

place.”

Ican’tbelievemymom,whohasbeenkeepingsomanysecrets,hasthegalltoevenspeakrightnow.

“Mom,you’rebeingridiculous.Wehavefuntogether.Can’tyoujustbehappyforus?”

“That’sallitisforhim,though.Fun.Can’tyouseethat?Youarejustalittlebitofexcitementforhim,

Caymen,somethingdifferent,untilhe’sreadytosettledownforreal.”

“Wait,didIgiveyoutheimpressionthatIwanthimtoproposemarriage?Iwasgoingtowaitatleast

anotherthreeweeksbeforeIaskedhimaboutthat.”

Shecompletelyignoresmysarcasm.“He’shavingfun.It’sexciting:datethegirlwholivesabovethe

dollstore.Anadventure.Buthe’snotplayingforkeeps.He’sgoingtobreakyourheart.”

“Wow,nowonderwhymydadnevercametoseeme.”
“Yourfatherneverwantedtoseeyou!That’smypoint,Caymen.Don’tyougetthat?Heleftus.”
I’m breathing hard, my chest rising and falling in large movements and yet it feels like no oxygen is

reachingmylungs.“Awesome.YouthinkIcanblackmailhim?Showupathisworkscreaming,‘Daddy’?

LikeWillFerrellinElf?”

“Caymen,jokingaboutitisn’tgoingtohelpeitherofusfeelbetter.”
It feels like someone is squeezing my heart in her fist. “Elf is no joking matter. That movie is a

classic.”

Mymomletsoutaheavysigh.“I’mhereifyou’dliketotalkabouthowyou’rereallyfeeling.AndI

can’t stop you from seeing Xander, but if you trust my judgment or care about my opinion at all, you
won’t.”

She doesn’t want to know how I’m really feeling. She just wants me to stop seeing Xander. “Your

opinionhasbeennoted.”IleavetheroomhopingIcanbreatheagainsoon.

Chapter35

aturdayIwaitoutsidethestore.MymomandIhavebarelyacknowledgedeachotherallweek,andI

don’t want her to use this occasion as an excuse to restate her horrible opinions about Xander so I’m
interceptingthatpossibility.Ishiftuncomfortablyonmyheels(whichareactuallySkye’sheels).Idon’t
wearheelsalot.ButtherearesacrificesI’mwillingtomakeforXander,andapparentlyIcanadd“heels”
tothegrowinglist...rightafter“relationshipwithmother.”

HepullsupinasleekblacksportscarandIbitemylip.Ihadbeenkiddingabouthimhavingmore

thanonecar.Whydoeshehavetofitsomestereotypessowellanddisregardtheothers?It’slikehe’sbent
onprovingmymomrightonthesurfacesosheactuallyhastomakeanefforttorealizeshe’swrong.She’s
notgoingtomakethateffort.

Hestepsoutofthecar,andmyheartletsmeknowthatitstilllikesXander,alot.Helooksamazingin

asuit.Hishairisslickedbacktonight,makinghimlookolderthanheis.Hisskinhasahealthyglowfrom
histriptoFlorida.

“Imissedyou,”hesays.
“Me,too.”
“Youlookgorgeous.”
Eventhoughthedressfitsmewellitmakesmeself-conscious,huggingmeinalltherightplaces.And

thefactthatIboughtitatathriftstoreisn’thelping.Thedressestonightaregoingtobetwiceasfancyand
ahundredtimesmoreexpensive.“Ifeellikeafraud.”

“Why?Haven’tyoubeentoalifetime’sworthofthese?”
“Ohyeah,tons.”Ihithisarm.
“Well,you’relucky.Mymomforcesmetogo.”
“She’srighttoforceyou.Itwouldbeacrimetodeprivetheworldofseeingyouinasuit.”
Hetugsonthebottomofhisjacket.“Youlike?”
“Yes.Alot.”
Hewrapsonearmaroundmywaistandpullsmeclose,showeringmewithanarrayofscents,from

toothpastetoaftershave.Myheelsmakemestumbleabit,butIleanintohimandcatchmybalance.Ihug
him and for a second worry that my mom is watching through the window, but his scent and his arms
remindmewhatI’mfightingfor.This.Him.Itfeelsgoodtohavehimhugme.Allthethingsmymomsaid
abouthimandmeseemtodisappearinhisarms.

Hekissesmycheek.“Yousmellgood.”
“You,too.”
Heglancesovermyshouldertotheshop.“Arewegoingin?”
“No...no.”Ihughimtighter.IwishIcouldtakehiminside.Iwishmymomwouldgettoknowhim,

accepthimlikeshedidMason.

“Okay.”Hewalksmetotheothersideofthecarandopensthepassenger-sidedoor,helpingmein.
Afterheclimbsinaswell,hestartstheengineandthengivesmealonglook.“What’swrong,babe?”

Xandergrabsmyhandandputsitonhisknee.

“Isthatthepetnamewe’regoingwith?Babe?”
Hebacksoutoftheparkingstallandstartsdriving.“Youdon’tlikeit?”

“It’sokay.Itmakesmethinkofthepig,though.”
“Areyouputtinginarequest,then?”
“I’vealwaysbeenpartialtosweetie,mostlybecauseI’mnotsweetsoitmakesmelaugh.”
“Howaboutdollface?”
“Ha!Onlyifyouwantmetocringe.”
“Okay,howaboutSubjectChanger.Thatfitsyouwell.”Hesqueezesmyhand.“Nicetry,butwhat’s

wrong...dollface?”

Isigh.“MymomandIhadahugefight.”
“Aboutme?”
“Soarrogant.Doyouthinkeverythingisalwaysaboutyou?”
“Whatwasitabout?”
“You.”
He smiles. I love his smile. I don’t want to talk about my mom. I want to talk about his smile or

kissing.Icouldtalkaboutkissing.

“Whatisitaboutmeyourmomdoesn’tlike?”
“Mainly that you’re rich. If you could just change that one thing, it would make my life a whole lot

easier.”

“I’llworkonthat.”
“Thanks.You’resoaccommodating.”
“Soshewantssomethingdifferentforyou?”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Differentthanherpast?”
“Right.Basicallyshedoesn’twantmetomeetarichguy,getpregnant,andhavetherichguyrun.”
“Sheattributesthattohismoney?”
“Iknow,it’sridiculous.”
“Soisthatwhatstartedthewholeliving-above-a-doll-storething?”
Ithinkabouthowmyfather’sparentsgaveherthemoneytostartthedollstore.“Yes,actually.”
“Sowait,haveyoulivedthereyourwholelife,then?”
“Yes.”
“Wow,she’sextreme.”
Whatdoes“extreme”havetodowithlivingaboveadollstore?“Insomeways,Iguess.”
“Ithoughtmymomwas,butyourmomwinstheprize.”

The ballroom at the hotel is the most beautiful room I have ever seen in real life: big chandeliers,
patternedtilefloors,thickceiling-highcurtains.XandersteersmetowardatableatthefrontandItakea
deepbreath.WhatwasthatlameadviceHenrygavemebeforeImetMason?Ohyeah,bemyself.Iwasn’t
surethatwasgoingtoworkhere.MaybeIcouldpicksomeoneelsetobeforthenight.

Then I see Mrs. Dalton, and I want to run and hide. Any other time in any other situation and her

presence would’ve put me at ease, but after what my mom said, my hand feels hot in Xander’s, like a
spotlightisbeingshoneonourclaspedfingers.

I stare at her too long because our eyes meet. Sweat beads along my forehead and I wipe at it. She

smilesandwaves.

“Ithinkwe’rebeingbeckoned.”Hewinksatmewithhiswordchoice.Iwanttobeplayfulbackbut

I’mtoonervous.

“Caymen,”Mrs.Daltonsays.“Ididn’tknowyouwerecoming.It’ssogoodtoseeyou.I’mgladtosee

thatAlexhasworkedhischarmonyou.”

“Itwashard,Grammy.Thisgirlwasn’teasytosway.”Hekissesmyhand.
“Mostthingsworthhavingaren’t.”
Itmightjustbeme,butthatdoesn’tsoundliketheresponseofsomeonewhoismadhergrandsonis

datingthehelp.

“Youtreatherniceorelse.”ShepointsatXanderwiththewarning.
“Aren’tyousupposedtobesayingthattoheraboutme?Iamyourgrandson,afterall.”Hebendsover

andkisseshercheekandwhisperssomethingthatmakesMrs.Daltonlaugh.

“Whatdidyousaytoher?”Iaskafterwewalkaway.
“Itoldherthatyouarefullycapableofgivingandcarryingoutyourownthreatsandyoudidn’tneed

additionalbodyguards.”

“Thisistrue.”
“I’msupposedtomingleforalittlewhilebeforewesitdown,butinsteadIwilldancewithyouthen

we’llfindourtable.”

“No.”
“Youdon’twanttodancewithme?”
“No,Imean,sure,I’lldancewithyou,butdon’tpicktonight,yourmom’sspecialnight,tobethebad

son.She’llblameitonme.”

He laughs. “No, she won’t. My mom has actually commented recently about how much more

responsibleI’vebeen.Sheattributesthattoyou.”

“I didn’t realize I was such a good influence on you, considering I’ve been the queen of

irresponsibilitylately.”Accordingtomyownmother.

“Comeon,they’replayingoursong.”
I listen for a minute. A live band in the corner is playing some classical piece, and as Lucas had

mentionedthereisnoleadsinger.“Thisisoursong?”

“Well,it’syourband,remember?Soreallyanysongtheyplayisours.”
“So true.” Wearing heels makes me the perfect height to nuzzle against his neck. I unbutton the three

buttonsofhissuitjacketandslidemyhandsinsidetohisbackasweswaytothebeatalongwithsome
othercouples.

Hestartsmakingupridiculouswordstothesongandsingingthembadlyinmyear.
“Youshouldgrabamicrophone.Thebandneedsyou.”
“What?YoupreferthesmoothvoiceofTic?”
“Yes.”
Helaughs.“Me,too.”
Awoman’svoicecutsthroughourbanter.“Helloagain,Caymen.”
Xanderstopsandturns.“Mother.”Hehugsher.
Thenshesurprisesmewithahugofmyown.Herhairisblondandstyled.Hereyebrowsareshapedto

perfection,andshemustgetsomethinginjectedintoherskintomakeitsosmooth.“It’sgoodtoseemy
sonsmilingsomuch.Asmilelooksgoodonhim,don’tyouthink?”

“Icallithissecretweapon.”
Xanderfurrowshisbrow.“Youdo?”
“Mostly in my head but sometimes behind your back.” I give Mrs. Spence a sideways glance. I’m

beingmyself;hopefullysheisn’tputoffbysarcasm.ShehasasmileonherfacesoIthinkI’msafe.

Xanderpullsmeagainsthisside.“Ohwell,thatexplainsalot.”
“Ijustcamebytosayhello.Ican’tstay,though.Someonehastorunthisevent.”Thenshetrailsahand

downmyshoulder.“Butlet’stalklater,youandme.I’dlovetogettoknowyoubetter.”

InodandsmileeventhoughIwanttosay,“Thatsoundsliketorture.”
AssheleavesXandertakesmyhandandpullsmecloseagain,swayingwiththemusic.“Now,notthat

Iexpectyoutoremembertheirnames,butletmepointoutallofmyfamilymembers.”

Notonlydoeshestartnamingoffalotofpeopleintheroom,butheassignsaridiculousshortstoryto

each.“Andthat,”hesays,pointingacrosstheroom,“ismycousinScarlett.”

“Ah,thedoll.”Itiltmyhead.“Yes,shedoeslookalotlikethatdoll.”
“Right?”Helaughs,andit’salmostasifsheknowswe’retalkingaboutherbecausenotonlydoesshe

seeXander,butshestartswalkingourway.

“Scarlett.”
Shegiveshimalimp-lookinghandshakeandthenkissestheairbyhischeek.
“ThisisCaymen.”
“Hello.I’veheardsomuchaboutyou.”
I give Xander a sideways look. Does he talk about me all the time? And what is the appropriate

responsetothatstatement?“SoundslikeXanderneedstogetoutmoreifI’mthetopicofinterest.”

ScarlettoffersasmileaboutaswideasherdollcounterpartandthensqueezesXander’sbicep.“Did

youseewhoyourbrotherbroughttonight?”

“No, we haven’t been over there yet.” Xander cranes his neck, obviously trying to scope out his

brother’sdate.

“Don’tifyoucanavoidit.MajorCinderellacomplex.”
Xanderlaughs.“Seriously?Lucas?”
“Itdoesn’tsurprisemewithwherehegoestoschool.”Shecurlsherlip.
Has Xander not told anyone in his family that I’m poorer than dirt? But if he had wouldn’t he try to

coverupwhatScarlettjustsaidinsteadofsoundinglikeheagreeswithit?

“Anyway,goodtomeetyou,Caymen,butBradleyjustwalkedinandIhavetogo.”
Wewatchherwalkaway,andIwaitforhimtosmooththingsovernowthatshe’sgone.Maybesayhis

cousinisatotalstuck-upsnob(whichsheobviouslyis).Buthedoesn’t.Heoffersmehiselbowandsays,
“Let’sgosit.”

HeleadsmestraighttowardLucasandIsay,“IthoughtScarlettsaidweshouldavoidthem.”
“Wecan’tavoidthemallnight.It’sassignedseatingandI’mhungry.”
“Caymen,” Lucas says, standing and giving me a one-armed hug. “I didn’t think you were coming

tonight.Youthoughtyou’dgiveboredomatryafterall?”

“Yeah,well...”Idon’tevenknowwhattosay.I’mstillinshockfromwhatXanderandScarlettjust

said.

Hegesturestoagirlonhisright.“ThisisLeah.”Leahdoesn’tstandbutsmilesupatme.
“Goodtomeetyou.”
XanderpullsoutachairformeandIsitnumbly.
“Where’sSamuel?”Xanderasks,lookingaround.Therearetwonamecardsleftatthenowtwoempty

seats.

“He’sonhisway.”
Samuel arrives less than five minutes later, and like when Lucas and Xander saw each other at the

airport, Xander and Samuel hug like they haven’t seen each other in ages. Lucas joins in. Next Samuel
introduceshisdateandweexchangepleasantries.

“Samuel,”Xandersays,puttingahandonmylowerback.“ThisisCaymenMeyers.”
“The Caymen Meyers?” He smiles big and I’m struck by how different each of the brothers looks.

Xanderdefinitelygothisdad’sdarkerlooksandtheotherslookfairer,liketheirmom.

“I’veheardsomuchaboutyou,”Samuelsays.
“I’msorry.”
Weallsitdown,andSamuelholdsuphisemptyglassandgesturesforapassingserverwhocomes

andfillsit.“So,Caymen,you’rerelatedtotheMeyersofSCMPharmacy?”

Istarttosayno,butXanderbeatsme.“Yes,they’rehergrandparents.They’reontheguestlisttonight.”

Helooksaround.“Theyhaven’tarrivedyet,butassoonastheydoIwillforceCaymentointroduceme.”

Samuelcontinues,“Mydadhasalotofrespectforyourgrandfather.Hesaysanymanwhocanturna

profitlikethatonmid-levelstoresmustbeagenius.I’dliketopickthebrainofashrewdbusinessman
likehimmyself.”

I’m too stunned to think. Is this why Xander’s family has been perfectly fine with me? He’s been

pretendingI’mrich?

Chapter36

“

don’thavegrandparents.”

LucasandXanderlaughthenLucassays,“Shesaysthingswithsuchastraightface,howdoyouknow

whenshe’sjokingornot,Xander?”

“She’salwaysjoking.”
Samuelsmilesandthensays,“Ihadn’trealizedtheMeyershadanyrelativeslivingaroundhereuntil

Xandertoldme.”

Xandernods.“Ididn’trealizeeither,butGrammytoldme.”
Noneofthismadeanysense.Mrs.Daltonmustbeconfused.WhydidshethinkIwasrelatedtothese

superrichMeyerspeople?Justbecausewehadthesamelastname?

Iswallowhardandscanthetablesaroundus.ThenIeyethedoor,watchingthepeoplecomingin.Ina

wayIhadbeenjokingaboutnothavinggrandparents.Idohavethem,twosets.Ijustdon’tknowthem.My
mom’sparentsdisownedherwhenshegotpregnantwithme,andmydad’sparentspaidhertokeepher
mouthshut.Ihavetheshrewdestgrandparentsinexistence.Meyersismymother’slastname,butitisa
commonone.Mymomcan’tpossiblyberelatedtotheSCMPharmacyMeyers.It’sjustacoincidence.I
stareatMrs.Daltonfromacrosstheroom.ThesweetMrs.Daltonsmilesatme.

Everyone at the table is looking at me, and I realize someone must’ve asked a question. A hand

squeezesmykneeandIjump.IlookdownandfollowthepathofthehanduptoXander’sshoulderand
thentohisconcernedeyes.“Areyouokay?”heasks.

“No...yes...Ijustneedtousetherestroom.”
“It’sthroughthosedoorsandtotheright.”Hestandsandpointsthenkissesmycheek.“Don’tescape

outthewindoworanything.We’rejustabouttogettothesuperboringpart.Youwon’twanttomissit.”

Itrytolaughbutnothingcomesout.Thebathroomisawelcomerelief,andIshutmyselfintooneofthe

stallsandtrytowrapmybrainaroundwhatjusthappened.XanderthinksI’mrich.HethinksIcomefrom
arichfamily.Thisiswhyhisdadhadnoproblemwithmeoncehefoundoutmynameandhisbrothersact
likeIamtheirequal.AsobescapesandImuffleitwithmyhand.

“Richboysarestupid,”Isay,forcingmyselftogetangrybecauseIcan’taffordtobehurtrightnow.I

stillhavetogethomewithmydignity.

IstarttoleavethebathroomandalmostgetadoortothenosewhenitfliesopensofastI’mbarelyable

tostepoutoftheway.

“Sorry,”thegirlsays,rushingpastme.Sheturnsonthesinkandstartsscrubbingataspotonherwhite

button-up shirt. When I notice her black skirt I realize she must be on the waitstaff. She looks close to
tears.

“Areyouokay?”
“IjustgotredwinesplashedonmyshirtandIdon’tthinkit’sgoingtocomeout.”Shescrubsharder

thenreachesforthesoapdispenser.“Mybosswillmakemegohome.”

“Wait. Don’t use soap. Here, I have something.” I reach into my purse and pull out a little bottle of

peroxidesolution.Wedon’tgetalotofstainsonthedollsinourstore,buteveryonceinawhilealittle
kidwithstickyhandsoracoffeedrinkerwilldosomedamage.Thissolutionisamiracleworker.Idab
someonhershirtandthenblotitwithaclothtowelfromthecounter.“See,lookatthat.Magic.”

Sheinspectsitandthenpullsmeintoahug.Probablyrealizingsheshouldn’tmaulguests,shepushes

awayfrommewitharedface.“I’msorry.It’sjust...Thankyousomuch.”

“It’sjustabottleofstainremover.”
“Well,Iappreciateit.”
“You’rewelcome.”
Shelooksdownathercleanshirtonelasttime.“Ibettergetback.”
“Youbetter.”
She leaves and I lean against the tiled wall. Her “crisis” distracted me for a moment, but it didn’t

erasewhatiswaitingoutsidethedoor.

Ihavetogetoutofhere.Ican’tfaceXanderwhenItellhimthetruth.Iheadbacktotheballroomand

nearlytripoveraladywithaheadsetinthehallholdingaclipboard.

Istarttowalkaroundherbutthenstop.“Areyoutheeventplanner?”
Shesmileslikesheisobviouslytrainedtodotoguests,butIseetheobvioussignsofstressbehindher

eyes.SheprobablythinksIhaveacomplaint.“Yes,canIhelpyou?”

“XanderSpencesaidmygrandparentsarehereandIcan’tfindthem.Couldyoutellmewhichtable

they’resittingat?Meyers.”Ipointtoherclipboardasifshedoesn’tknowwheretheseatingarrangements
arelocated.

“Ofcourse.”Sheflipsthroughthepages,runsherfingersoverasheet,andthensays,“Ah.Herethey

are.Tablethirty.I’llpointitouttoyou.”

“Thankyou.”
It feels like I’m walking underwater. My legs move in slow motion; my head pounds with pressure.

OnceinsideIbackupagainstthenearestwallandshefollowssuit.

“They’rerightthere.She’sintheturquoisetop.Doyouseeher?”
Ifollowthelineofherfingertotheladyinturquoise.“Yes.Theresheis.Thanks.”
“No problem.” The event planner walks off quickly, probably responding to the tiny voice I heard

yellinginherear.

Theirbacksaretome,butthewomaninturquoisehasshoulder-lengthdarkhairandthemannextto

her,adistinguishedsilver.Istayontheedgeoftheroomandwalkslowlyaround,waitingforthemoment
when I will see their faces. I finally do. I wait to get hit with instant recognition, with a feeling, but
nothinghappens.Asmallamountofweightliftsfrommyshoulders.

Thewomanlooksupandwelockeyes.Shegetsthelookonherfacethataddstheweightplusanother

twotonsofitbackon:recognition.Hermouthformstheword“Susan.”Icanseethatallthewayacross
theroomwhereIstand.Myfaceburnstoseemymom’snameonherlips.

Mrs.Daltonwasn’tconfused.TheseMeyersaremygrandparents.
Thewomangrabsontoherhusband’sforearmandhelooksatherinconfusion.Idon’twaittoseehow

thatplaysout.Ispinonmyheeltomakeabeelineforthedoor—butrunstraightintoXander’schest.

“There you are. The appetizers just arrived at the table. It’s caviar and crackers with some sort of

Greeksalad.Doyoulikecaviar?”

“Idon’tknow.I’veneverhaditbefore.”Whathehadsaidearliertodayaboutmymombeingextreme

andthe“living-above-the-doll-storething”hitsme.Hethinksmymomhasdonethisonpurpose.Toshow
mehowtheotherhalflives.AndI’mjustnowrealizingthatinawayshehas.Mymomgrewuprich.This
iswhysheknowswaymorethansheshouldabouttheinsandoutsofwealthyliving.Mymom...

Sheliedtome.Mylifeisalie.No.Herlifeisalie.Mineisthetruth.Wearebroke.Weareliving

breathtobreath.Oneextrabitofoxygenconsumedcouldbetheruinofourstore.

“What’swrong?WhathaveIdone?”Xanderasks.

I must be shooting death rays because I’m so angry. “You only liked me because you thought . . .” I

can’tevenfinishthesentence.I’mtooangry.Notjustathim.Ateverything.Atmymom,thesituation,the
grandparentsIdon’tevenknow.“Ihavetogo.”

I whirl around in time to see another familiar face standing there. One I don’t care to see. Robert.

SeeinghisfacemakesmewishIhadpouredsodaonitlasttime.

Xanderhasgrabbedmyelbow.“Wait.Talktome.”
“Idon’tthinkIevercaughtyourname,”Robertsays.
“Inevergaveit,”Igrowl.
“Whereisyourboyfriendtonight?Mason,right?He’sareallygoodsinger.”
Xander’shandonmyelbowtightens.“Robert,nowisnotagoodtime.”
“Ijustsawherattheconcertlastweek.Ihadn’trealizedsheandMasonweretogether.”
“We’renot,”Isay.
“Whatdoyoumean?”Xanderdropshishandfrommyarm.
“Theywereallovereachother.”
“No.Weweren’t.”OutofthecornerofmyeyeIseemygrandmotherabouttoreachus.“Ihavetogo.”
“Caymen.”Xander’seyeslookhurt,butI’mhurtaswell.Toohurttothink.Toohurttodefendmyself

againsthisjerkofafriend.Ijustneedtoleave.

AndIdo.

Chapter37

havecompetingfeelingsbattlingformyattentionasIwalkintothestore.Oneistheextremeamountof

angerIfeeltowardmymomforlyingtomemywholelifeabouteverything.Theotherfeelingisanintense
brokenheartthatmakesmewanttorushintomymother’sarmsandtellhershewasrightaboutrichguys
andIneedhertomakemyhurtgoaway.

She’s sitting like a statue behind the cash register, like she’s been waiting for me. The lights are off

withonlyafewglowingshelves.Thelookonherfaceisalmostaslifelessasthedollsthatsurroundher.

“I’msorry,”shesays.“I’vebeenunfair.”
“Theyweretheretonight,”Icroak.Mythroatstillhurts.
“Who?”
“Yourparents.”
Shock,followedbydevastation,makesherfacecrumple,andsheleansherheadontothecounterin

frontofher.I’mtoobusyfeelingsorryformyselftofeelbadforher.Iwalkbyher,upthestairs,andinto
myroom,makingsuretoshutthedoorfirmly.

I’ve seen lots of broken dolls in my life. Some with damage as small as a missing finger but others

withdislocatedlimbsorcrackedskulls.NoneofthatcomparestohowbrokenIfeelrightnow.It’smy
ownfault.Ialwaysknewhewaspartofanentirelydifferentspecies.WhydidIletmyselfthinkIcouldbe
apartofthat?

Ichangeoutofmyclothesandintosomesweatsthencurluponmybedandfinallyletthetearsthat

havebeenbuildingupinsidemyheadcomeoutinheavingsobs.

There’sasmallknockonmydoorandIignoreit.Itdoesn’tstopherfromcomingin.Whywouldit?

She obviously has no respect at all for my feelings. I push back the tears again and try to control my
breathing.Shesitsonthebedbehindme.

“There’sreallynogoodexplanationastowhyIkeptmyparents’identityfromyou.Iguessmaybea

smallpartofmethoughtyouwouldwanttheirlifestyle.ThatIcouldn’tgiveyouenoughandyou’dgolook
forthemforwhatyouthoughtyouweremissing.”

IfshehadjustleftmealoneIcould’vekeptitin,butthefireinmythroatisreadytospewout.“Why

didyouleavethem?”Ipushmyselftositting.“Whatdidtheydo?”

“Caymen,no.Theydidkickmeout.Disownme.Iwasalwayshonestaboutthat.ButI’msorry.Itruly

am.Icould’vebeenmoreopen.Iwasangryandhurtandpridefultowardmyparents.Ididn’tgivethema
chancetomakeamendsevenhadtheywantedto.Ijustdisappeared.”

“And you made me feel horrible about keeping Xander a secret. You made me feel worthless. Like

Mrs.Daltonandherfamilyhatedme.”

“I’msosorry.”
“Mrs.Daltonknowswhoyouare?Idon’tunderstand.”
“Sheknowsmystory,butIdidn’tthinksheknewmyparents.Shemust’vebeenkeepingmysecretthis

wholetime.”

“Ijustdon’tknowifIcanevertrustyouagain.I’mangry.”
“Iunderstand.Ihopeyoucan,butIunderstand.”
“AndXander.He’snotperfectbuthewaskindandtreatedmewellandyoudidn’tevenwanttogive

himachance.He’snotmydad.AndI’mnotyou.I’mnotgoingtogetpregnantandrunoff.”

Shenods.“Iknow.”Mymomgrabsherstomachandtakesasharpbreath.
“What’swrong?”
“Nothing, I’m fine. I just need . . .” She stands, wobbles a bit, and then steadies herself against the

wall.

Istandaswell.“Youdon’tlooksogood.”
“Ishouldgotobed.”Shestumblesforwardandcatchesherselfonthebackofmydeskchair.
“Mom.Somethingiswrong.”
Shegrabsherstomachagainandrushesoutofmybedroom.
Ifollowherstraightintothebathroom,whereshebarelymakesitintimetovomitinthesink.Thesink

isnowbrightred.“Mom!Isthatblood?”

Shewipesathermouth,smearingbloodacrossherwrist.Thenshecoughs.
“Hasthateverhappenedbefore?”
Sheshakesherheadbackandforth.
“Okay,we’regoingtothehospital.Now.”

Ipacethehall,waitingforthedoctortotellmewhat’sgoingon.I’vebeenherefortwohours.Whenhe
finally comes out I feel close to collapsing. He looks around and I’m wondering what he’s waiting for
whenhesays,“Justyou?”

“Justme?”Idon’tunderstandhisquestion.
“Isanyoneelseherewithyou?”
“Oh.No.Justme.”Ifeelbad.MaybeIshould’vecalledMatthew.Heshouldbehere.Hehasarightto

know.ImakeavowtofindhisnumberandcallhimassoonasI’mdonetalkingtothedoctor.“Please,is
mymomokay?”

“She’s doing better. We’re running some tests, trying to rule some things out. We’ve given her

somethingtohelphersleep.”

“Andum...”Idon’tknowhowtosayit.“Isthebabyokay?”
“Baby?”Hiseyesgetwide,andhelooksathisclipboard.“Didshetellyoushe’spregnant?”
“No.Ijustthoughtitwasapossibility.”
“No.She’snot.Butwe’llrunafewmoreteststoverify.”
I’m ashamed for the tiny bit of relief I feel. I’m not ashamed for long, though, because with that

possibilityalmostcompletelyoffthetableIrealizethatmeanssomethingmoreseriousiswrongwithher.
Theworrythattakesoverdoesn’tleaveanyroomforshame.“Isshesick?”Ichokeout.

“Yes,andwe’retryingtofigureoutwhat’scausingit.We’veruledoutsomebigthings,sothat’sgood.”

Hepatsmyshoulderasifthatwillmakewhathe’ssayingfeelbetter.“We’llknowsomethingsoon.”

“CanIseeher?”
“She’sasleepandsheneedstostaythatwayfornow.Ipromisetocallyouassoonassheshowssigns

ofwaking.”Hepausesandlooksaroundagain.“Youreallyshouldn’tbealonerightnow.”

ButIamalone.MymotherisallIhave.“Idon’thaveacellphone.”
“Whatnumberwouldyoulikemetoreachyouat,then?”
TherehadbeenmanytimesinmylifewhereIwasupsetthatIdidn’thaveacellphonelikeeveryother

teenagerIknow.Butnow,wantingtojustgositinthewaitingroomandfallasleepontheoutdatedcouch,
is the only time I’ve felt I might die without one. Maybe I should go to Skye’s. But what if Skye isn’t
there?Andherhouseistenminutesfartherawaythantheshop.Beingtenminutesfartherawayfromthe
hospitalisnotanoption.Igivehimtheshopnumberandleave.

Igoimmediatelythereandthenupstairs,whereIsitexpectantlybythephone.Thisisn’tgoingtowork.

Ineedtokeepmybrainbusy.There’salwayssomethingtodoonthesalesfloor.Inallmyyearsofliving
atthedollstore,Ihadnevercleanedshelvesatoneo’clockinthemorning.BythetimeIgettothefront
window, one wall’s worth of shelves is sparkling and I am sweating. I start on another wall. About
halfwaythroughthesecondshelfIfindanameplaquewithoutadoll.Carrie.Isearchtheshelves,butshe
isn’tthere.Mymommust’vesoldhertodayandforgottentoputthenametaginthedrawerforournext
order.

We didn’t need to order Carrie, though. She’s popular: I knew we had at least two backups of her.

She’sasleepingbaby,anewborn,withapeacefullookonherface.Everyonelovesher.EvenIthinkshe
isprettycute,whichisasmallmiracle,seeingashownearlyallthedollscreepmeout.

Igototheback.Threeboxeswith“Carrie”writtenontheendaresidebysideonthesecondshelf.

ThatshelfislowenoughformetoreachwithoutassistancesoIgrabtheboxdown.RightawayIknow
it’s empty by its weight, but I dig through it anyway, confirming my belief. I grab the next box down.
Empty.Ipulldowneverybox,nomatterwhatthenameontheend.Soonthefloorislitteredwithpacking
peanutsbutnotasingledoll.

Inowknowhowlongittakestopulldownawholewallofboxesandsearchthroughthem.Forty-five

minutes.Isinktothefloorandputmyforeheadonmyknees.IalwaysthoughtIshoulderedalotofmy
mom’sburdens,didmorethanmyfairsharearoundthestore,keptthisplacerunning,butit’smorethan
obvioussheshoulderedthemalone.Whydidmymomshuteveryoneout?

Iamdoingthesamething.
Igrabthecordlessofftheshelfanddial.
Itringsfourtimes.“Hello?”thesleepyvoiceanswers.
“Ineedyou.”

Chapter38

henSkyewalksintothestockroomshegasps.“Whathappened?”

“Imadeamessofeverything.”
Shesitsonthecouchandpatsthecushionnexttoher.Icrawltohersideandlaymyheadinherlap.

Sheplayswithmyhair,braidingandunbraidingasection.

“I’mahorribleperson.IthoughtI’dratherdiethanhavemymombepregnantagain.NowIfeellike

I’mdying.”

“Talktome.”
“Mymomissick.She’sinthehospital.Theywouldn’tletmestay.”
“Soshe’snotpregnant?”
“No.”
“What’sMatthew’sdeal,then?”
“Idon’tknow.Maybethey’rejustdating.Ishouldcallhim,shouldn’tI?”Myheadhurts.“Idon’thave

hisnumber.”

“Don’t worry about it. Your mom is going to be okay. She’ll be able to call Matthew herself

tomorrow.”

Inod.
She runs her hand down my hair a few times. “So where’s Xander? Did he run to get you food or

something?”

Isqueezemyeyesshut,notwantingtothinkabouttheotherhorriblepartoftheevening.“He’sgone

forever.”

“What?Why?”
“HethoughtIwasrich,Skye.It’stheonlyreasonhelikedme.”
Shecoughsandadjustsherpositiononthecouch.“Um...nooffense,buthehasbeenhere,hasn’the?

Whywouldheeverthinkyouwererich?”

“Becauseheknowsmygrandparents.Mymom’sparents.Andapparentlytheyaresomeoftherichest

peopleinCalifornia.”

“What?”
“Theyweretheretonightatthebenefit.”
“Wow.That’scrazy.”
Ipushmyselftositting.“Itiscrazy,right?Ishouldbemadaboutit.Atmymom.AtXander.”
“You’remadatXanderbecauseyourgrandparentsarerich?”
“No.Becausethat’stheonlyreasonhelikedme.”
“Isthatwhathesaid?”
“Well,no.But...”Irunmyhandsdownmyface.“Buthowiseitherofusevergoingtoknowforsure

one way or the other? Even if he claims he would’ve kept dating me either way, we’ll never know
becausehedidknowandwecan’tproveanythingnow.”

Skyetakesmyhandinhers.“Noteverythinghastobeproven.Maybeyoushouldjusttrusthim.”
“And what about my mom? Should I trust her, too? Because she lied to me my whole life. And I’m

angry. And I feel guilty for being angry because she’s sick.” I flop back on the couch and stare at the

ceiling.

“Iunderstand.I’dbeangry,too.Butdon’tyouthinktheydeservetoknowshe’ssick?”
“Who?”
“Herparents.”
Inod.Iknowshe’sright.“Tomorrow,willyoucallXanderandgettheirinformationforme?”
“Youdon’twanttotalktohim?”
Ipressmypalmstomyeyes.“No.Andpleasedon’ttellhimwhat’sgoingonwithmymom.Thelast

thingIneedisforhimtofeelsorryformeandcometoseemeoutofguilt.”

“Yes,ofcourseI’llgettheirinfoforyou.”Shemovestothefloorandlaysherheadnexttomineonthe

couch.“Whydon’tyoutrytosleep.I’llwatchthephoneforyou.”

“Ican’tsleep.”
“DoyouwantHenrytocomeover?Hecanplayhisguitar.Maybedistractyouforawhile.”
“It’sthreethirtyinthemorning.Don’tyouthinkhe’sasleep?”
Shelooksatherphone,whichconfirmsthetime.“Probablynot.He’sanightowl.”
“Ithinknightendsattwo.Hemustbeanearly-morningowl.”
“Whydoesnightendattwo?”
“Idon’tknow.That’susuallyaslateasIcanstayupsoitmustbewhennightends.”
Shelaughsandfiresoffatextmessage.“Ifheanswershe’sawake;ifnothe’sasleep.”
“Wow,that’saprettyscientificwayofdeterminingwhethersomeoneisawakeorasleep.”
Sheplayfullytapsmyhead.“I’mgladyouhaven’tlostyoursarcasm.”

SometimeintheearlymorningIdecideHenryisaniceguy.I’mgladSkyewasabletoseepasthispointy
nose.Ifallasleeptohisguitarplaying.

WhenIopenmyeyesIseeSkyeacrosstheroomonthephone.Igofromhalfasleeptofullyawarein

onesecond,springingoffthecouchandnearlytrippingoverHenry,whoisasleeponthefloor.Shesees
mecoming and wavesher hand atme, shaking her head.Then she mouths“Xander,” and I immediately
turnbackaroundanddropontothecouch.Hopefullyshe’sgettingmygrandparents’infowithouttoomuch
trouble,andthenhecancompletelyridhislifeofme.

“No,”Skyesays.“She’sasleep.”
Whattimeisitanyway?IreachdownandtwistthewatchonHenry’swristsoIcanreadit.Tenthirty

inthemorning.Wow.Igotatleastfivehoursofsleep.Thenhowcomeitstillfeelslikesomeonebashed
myfaceinwithabat?Andwhyisn’tSkyeoffthephoneyet?Howlongdoesittaketowritedownaphone
numberandaddress?

“Xander,please,”Ihearhersay.She’stoonice.Iwould’vehadthenumberbynow.MaybeIshould

callthehospitalwhileI’mwaiting.IlookforthephonebutthenrealizeSkye’sonit.Whydidn’tsheuse
her cell? What if the hospital is trying to call right now? My anger toward Xander is coming back full
force.

“No,”Skyesayswithasighthatsoundstoosweet.I’mabouttostandupandtakethephonefromher

whenshesays,“Thankyou,”andwritessomethingonthepapershe’sholding.“Yes.Ofcourse,I’lllether
know.”Shehangsupthephone.

“Letmeknowwhat?”
“Thathewantedtotalktoyou.”
“Goodtoknow.Idon’twanttotalktohim.”
“I know.” She hands me the paper and then squats beside Henry, running a hand over his cheek.

“Henry.Wakeup.”

Ikickhislegandhejerksawake.“Sometimesyouhavetobealittlemoreforceful,Skye.”
She rolls her eyes but smiles. I say she should be more forceful, but I wouldn’t change her for the

world.

AnhourlaterI’mstandinginthehospitallobbywaitingforsomeonetohelpme.Nobodyhadcalled,but
afterSkyehadtoleaveforworkandIcalledmymom’sparentsandfilledthemin,Icouldn’twaitaround
anylonger.Finallythereceptionisthangsupthephoneandsays,“She’sinroomthreeohfive.Takethe
elevatortothethirdfloorandsomeonewillbuzzyouintothewingfromthere,okay?”

“Thanks.”
I’m anxious. I just want to see my mom. If I see her, I know I’ll feel better. Most of my anger has

changedtoworry,buttheangerstilllingersthereandIwantittoleave.ThemomentI’minherroomand
seeherface,palebutpeaceful,Ibreatheasighofrelief.Ipullachairtoherbedsideandforcemyselfto
takeherhand.“Hey,Mom,”Iwhisper.Shedoesn’tstir.

Idon’tknowhowlongIsitthereholdingherhand(Anhour?Two?),buteventuallythedoctorcomes

inandgesturesformetostepintothehall.

“Sorry I couldn’t let you see her last night, but we had her downstairs and it’s a lot harder to have

visitorsinthoseroomsbecausethey’reshared.Butwehadhermovedupherelatelastnight.”

“Sowhat’sgoingon?”
“We’restillwaitingonafewmoretests.Hasyourmombeentiredalotlately?”
“Yes.”
Henodsasifhesuspectedasmuch.“Ihaveahunchastowhat’sgoingon,butwhatwe’regoingtodo

isthreadacameraintoherstomachsowecantakealookaround.Theultrasounddidn’tshowmemuch,
andI’dlikeacloserlook.”

“Okay.Isthatdangerous?”
“No.It’sacommonprocedurewithminimalriskthatwillhopefullygiveussomedefinitiveanswers.”
“Doessheknow?”
“Shehasn’twokenupyet.”Imust’vegottenascaredlookonmyfacebecauseheadds,“Whichisno

cause for alarm. We gave her something to help her sleep that should be wearing off pretty soon. Then
we’lltalkwithherandyoucantalkwithher,andifsheagreestoitwe’llplanontheprocedureforfirst
thinginthemorning.”

“CanIstayherenow?”
“Ofcourse.LikeIsaid,nowthatshehasaprivateroom,you’rewelcometostay.Youcanevensleep

intheroomifyouwant.”

“Yes.Thankyou.”
As I’m preparing to reenter the room, I see my grandparents round the corner. Why isn’t my mom

awaketodealwiththis?Thesepeoplearestrangerstome.Irubmyarmsandthengiveasmallwave.

“Caymen,right?”Mrs.Meyers?Grandma?Thewomansays.
“Yes.Hi,I’mCaymen.”
She covers her mouth for a moment as she takes a small breath of air. “You look so much like your

mother did at your age.” She touches my cheek. “Except you have your father’s eyes. You are so
beautiful.”

Ishiftfromonefoottotheother.
Themangrumblesatherunderhisbreaththenholdsouthishandtome.“Hi,I’mstrangeroneandthis

isstrangertwo.Areyouuncomfortableyet?”

Igiveahalfsmile.

“The only thing that is going to make her uncomfortable is your twisted sense of humor, Sean. He’s

kidding,honey.”

“I know.” Could a sense of humor be genetic? I point to the door. “She’s not awake yet, but you’re

welcometoseeher.”

Thewomantakesseveraldeepbreathsfollowedbyseveralrapidones.
“ShouldIgetyouanoxygentank,Vivian,orareyougoingtobeokay?I’msurethere’sanextraone

lyingaround.”

Shehitshimonthechest.“Justletmehaveaminute.Ihaven’tseenmydaughterinseventeenyears,

andnowI’mgoingtoseeherinahospitalbed.Ineedtoletthatsinkin.”

“Thedoctorthinksheknowswhat’swrongandsaidshe’sgoingtobe...”Istartedtosay,“okay,”but

thenrealizehehadn’tsaidthat.Maybeshe’snotgoingtobeokay.

“Caymen,” Sean says. “Can you point me in the direction of this doctor? I have some questions for

him.”

“Sure.That’shim,actually,talkingtothenurse.”
“Thankyou.Gooninwithoutme,youtwo.I’llseeherinaminute.”
Heleaves,andVivianstandsatthedoor,doingherweirdbreathing.“Youshouldgoinbyyourself.I’ll

waitouthereforawhile,”Itellher.

Shenodsbutdoesn’tmove.Iholdopenthedoorforherandthatsetsherinmotion.Willmymombe

madifshewakesuptoseehermothersittingbyher?AfterthewayshecrumbledinthedollstorewhenI
toldheraboutherparentslastnight,Ihaveafeelingshe’swantedthisforalongtime.

MygazedriftsdownthehalltowhereSeanistalkingtothedoctor.I’mgladtohavesomeoneelseon

mysidedealingwiththeimportantthings.IfSeanisasshrewdasXanderandhisbrothersdescribedthen
Iknowhecantakecareofbusiness.

Mygrandparentsarerich.Weird.
SoonSeanisbackbymyside.“Sohowlongdoyouthinksheneedstoworkthroughseventeenyears

ofissues?”heasks,lookingathiswatch.“Doyouthinktenminuteswaslongenough?”

Ismile.“Mymom’sasleepsothatwillprobablycutsometimeoff.”
Hebreathesinthroughhisteeth.“No,Vivianisreallygoodatarguingwithherself.”Heturnstome.

“Theyprobablyneedmoretime.Haveyoueatenyet?”

“Don’tyouwanttoseeher?Youhaven’tseenherinseventeenyears.”
“Ihaven’tseenyouinseventeenyearseither.”
Myeyesstingandhegetsblurry,butI’mabletoblinkbackthetears.
“Ihavesometimetomakeup,don’tI?Willtenminutesbeenough?”
“Iwasthinkingfive,butwe’llseehowyoudo.”
Hesmiles.“Ah,soyou’remygranddaughterafterall.”

Chapter39

he rest of the day is spent watching my mom go from sheer happiness to anger to tears to happiness

again.It’squiteacycleandthedoctordoesn’tlikeit.Hekicksusalloutbytheafternooneventhoughhe
hadsaidIcouldspendthenight.Mymomdoesn’tfightit,though,whichmakesmerealizesheprobably
needstherest.

“Thatwentwell,”Seansaysoutinthehall.
Vivianshootshimalook.“Caymen,weliveafewhoursaway.Doyouthinkwecouldstaywithyou

whileyourmomisrecovering?”

“Wecouldgetahotelroomifit’stoomuchtrouble,”Seanaddsquickly.
“Our place is really small. I don’t know how comfortable you’ll be there. I’m sure you’re used to

muchbigger.”

Seanthrowshishandsup.“Shethinkswe’respoiled,Viv.Wecan’thavethat.”
“Stop,”Viviansays.“We’llbefineeitherway,honey.Whatwouldyouprefer?”
I’dprefertheystayatahotelbutthatsoundssorudeandmaybecompanywouldbenice.“Youcanstay

withme;that’sfine.”

AswewalktotheparkinglotSeanclearshisthroat.“SoXanderSpence,huh?He’salittletoopretty

formytaste,buthe’sfromgoodstock.”

“It’snotaboutyourtaste,thankgoodness,”Vivianchimesin.“Heseemslikeareallyniceboy.”
“We’renottogether.”
“Oh.Wejustassumedbecauseoflastnight.”
“Thingshappened.It’sfine.”Sothisiswhathavinggrandparentsisabout?Morepeopletogiveyou

datingadvice?

Vivianputsanarmaroundme.“Ididn’twanttosayit,buthe’stooprettyformytaste,too,honey.”
Myautomaticdefend-Xander-at-all-costsidecomesoutandIsay,“Onceyougettoknowhimhe’s..

.”Istopmyself.Idon’tneedtodefendXanderanymore.

Viviangivesmyshoulderasqueeze.“It’sbeenalongtwenty-fourhours,hasn’tit?”
“Yes.”

Icantelltheythinktheapartmentissmall.EspeciallywhenSeanopensthehallclosetdoorthinkingit’s
goingtoleadintoanothersectionofthehouseandhastostopwithajerk.

“It’splentyforthetwoofusandyouknowwehavethewholedollstoredownstairs,sowhenitgets

toocrampeduphere,wehaveroomtospreadout.”

I don’t know her well enough, but it seems as though Vivian feels guilty for the way we live. But I

meantwhatIsaid:sureourhouseissmall,especiallywhencomparedtowhatothershave,butgrowing
up,Ineverfeltdeprived.Iwasalwayshappy.ItseemsonlylatelyI’vestartedseeingeverythingIdidn’t
have.

Vivianinsistsonshoppingandcomeshomewithmorefoodthanwe’llbeabletoeatinamonth.She

putsherselftoworkfindingahomeforeverythingshebought.Thenthedreadedquestionsstart.

“Soyousaidyou’reasenior,right?”
Inod.

“Sowhatareyougoingtostudynextyear?”Seanasksinnocentlyashereadsthelabelofacanofcorn

Vivian had bought. It’s obvious he’s avoiding eye contact because what else would be in a can of corn
besidescorn?Doeshesomehowknowthisisabadsubjectforme?

“I’m not—” I start to say, “I’m not sure,” but I can’t. Not because I’m embarrassed to admit it or

becauseIneedtohelpinthestore.Afterdiscoveringalltheemptyboxesinthebacklastnight,IrealizeI
haven’tbeenmuchhelpatall.Mymomhastofigureoutwhatthestoreneedsandmehoveringisnotgoing
tohelp.Ineedtomoveforward.“I’mgoingtostudyscience.I’mnotsurewhereyet.”

“Whatareyougoingtodowithasciencedegree?Areyouinterestedinmedicine?”
“No,Ithinkcrime-sceneinvestigation.ButIdon’tknowyet.”
“That’sagreatfieldtodoundergraduateworkin.Youcangoinsomanydirectionsfromthere.The

optionsarelimitless,really.”

Inod.“Yes,theyare.”
ThephoneringsandIpickitupquickly,thinkingitmightbemymomorthedoctor.Butit’saman.“Is

Susanin?”

“No.She’snot.CanIleaveheramessage?”
“CanyoutellherMatthewcalled?”
“Matthew.No.Imean,yes,Ican,butshe’sinthehospital.”
Heletsoutascoffinglaughthatcatchesmeoff-guard.“Isthatherexcusethistime?”
“What?”
“Listen,tellyourmomthatifshepaysherbillsI’llstopcallingher.”
“Areyouabillcollector?”
Seanlooksatme.
“Havehercallme.”
SeangesturesformetogivehimthephoneandIdo.Hewalksoutthedoor,shuttingitbehindhim.Itis

nicetohavebackup.

Chapter40

ymomgripsmyhandtightly.

“Thedoctorsaidit’sjuststandardprocedure,Mom.Noneedtobenervous.”
“Butyouhaven’tbeensarcasticwithmeallmorning.Youthinkthisisserious.”
Ilaugh.“I’mjusttootiredtobesarcastic,plusyourdadismakingmefeelsounoriginal.”
Shesmiles.“Doyoulikethem?”
“Yes.”It’sallIcansay.Nowisnotthetimetorehashhowsheshouldn’thaveliedtomemywhole

life.Mygrandparentsaredefinitelynotthemonstersshepaintedthemtobe.I’vejustbarelymanagedto
keeptheangerfromspillingout.

“Iknow,”shesays,seemingtoreadmymind.“Istolethemfromyou.Imadethedecisionformyself,

butIhadnorighttomakeitforyou.I’msosorry.”

Isqueezeherhand.“We’llmakeupthetimewhenyou’reallbetter.Sostopplayingsickalready.Ifyou

wantedyourparentsbackyoucould’vedonesomethinglessdramatic.”

Shesmiles.“SoI’mnotgoingtodie.”
“Iloveyou,Mom.”
“Iloveyou,too,kid.”
Sean and Vivian had already talked to my mom so I take the elevator downstairs to join them in the

waiting room. When I round the corner I see they aren’t alone. I recognize the back of Xander
immediately,ifbynothingelsethanhisextremelygoodposture.IfViviandidn’tlookatmewhenIcame
in,Icould’vebackedoutwithouthimseeingme,butherlookmakeshimturn.Myheartstammersinmy
chest.Ibackoutanywayandwalktowardthefrontofthehospitalandoutintothecoldday.Theleafless
treesthatlinetheparkinglotlookblackagainstthewhitesky.

“Caymen,”hecalls.“Wait.Please.”
Istoponapatchofyellowinggrassandfacehim.“What?”
“Ialmostforgothowinsecureyourstarecanmakeaperson.”
Iwaitforhimtoexplainwhyhe’shere.
“Okay.IguessIhavethefloor.”Hetakesadeepbreath.“Thisismefacingfailure.Thisismeputting

everythingonthelineeventhoughIknowImightlose.AndI’mterrified.”

Iswallowhard,fightingtheinstinctIhavetocomforthim.
“Butlikeyousaid,anythingworthhavingisworththerisk.”Helooksatthegrassthenbackupagain,

almost like he prepared a speech and this is the start of it. “I’m so sorry. That night. The night of the
benefit.Iwasstupid.Ididn’tknowyoudidn’tknowyourgrandparents.AndthenwhatRobertsaid...”

“Robert?”ThememoryofRobertthatnighthitsmymindwithajolt.Ihadforgottenabouthiminallthe

otherthingsthathadhappened.“Ididn’t...MasonandIwerenevertogether....”

“I know. Skye explained. It caught me off-guard, and I thought that’s why you were running away.

Because you were guilty. But Robert is a jerk. I don’t know why I believed him for a second. I should
haverunafteryoutomakesureyouwereokay.Wewereokay.”

It’strue.Robertisajerk.
Helooksdownathishandsthenusesthemtorakehisfingersthroughhishair,lookinglesscomposed

than I’ve ever seen him look. “I understand you were in shock about seeing grandparents you’ve never

seenbefore,butwhyhaven’tyoureturnedanyofmycalls?”

“YouweredatingmebecauseI’mrich.”
“What?”
“Andyoucandenyitallyouwant,butwe’llneverknowonewayortheotherwhetherit’strueornot.

Becauseyoucan’tunknowit.”

“Ifoundoutlessthanamonthagoaboutyourgrandparents.Mygrandmothertoldme.Ididn’tknowat

first.”

“Youcan’tunknowit,”Isayagain.
“But...”Hewrinkleshisnoseandthenlooksupinfrustrationatthesky.
“Butwhat?”
“Don’thatemeforsayingthis,but...you’renotrich.I’veseenhowyoulive,andwhenIfoundout

aboutyourgrandparentsIthoughtthatmaybeyourmomwantedtomakesureyousawhowtheotherhalf
livesorwhatevertogiveyouperspective.ButwhenIrealizedyoudidn’tevenknowyourgrandparents,
whenIfoundoutyouwereseeingthemforthefirsttimeatthebenefit,thenIknewyoudidn’thavemoney.
Caymen.Youarepoor.AndIstilllikeyou.Alot.”

Iletoutalaughandhesmiles.Thewayhe’sinchingforward,Icantellhe’sreadytoputthisbehindus.

ButI’mnotquiteready.Istillhavequestions.“Butyourcousin.ShetalkedabouttheCinderellacomplex
andyoudidn’tevensayaword.”

“MycousinisaspoiledbratandIhavelearnedit’sbestnottoarguewithher.Butyou’reright.Idida

lotofthingswrongthatnight.Ishould’vestoodupformybrother’sdate.Andyou.Ishould’vepunched
Robert so hard that he’d never want to say my name again, let alone use it to get him further ahead. I
shouldn’thaveletyouleave.Ishould’vedrivenyouhome.Ishould’vescrewedthebenefit.”

“Don’tscrewbenefits.”
He stops suddenly, becoming very still. I’m confused. I was sure he was coming to some sort of

powerful conclusion that I really want him to make. Something that’ll make me say, “It’s okay. Love
conquersall.”Butinsteadheoffersmehislower-lip-bitingsmileandIalmostrushintohisarms.Forthe
firsttimesinceIwalkedawayfromhimtheothernightmyheartfeelswhole.

“Whyareyousmilinglikeyou’vewonorsomething?”
“Because you were just sarcastic with me. ‘Don’t screw benefits,’ you said. You’re sarcastic when

you’reinagoodmood.Andifyou’reinagoodmoodthenyoumustnotbetooincrediblyangrywithme.”

“Youandmymom.Youthinkyouhavemypatternsofsarcasmdown,huh?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sarcastic all the time, Xander, good mood or not, so there’s no need to draw up a chart or

anything.”

Hegivesanairylaugh.“DoyouknowhowmuchI’vemissedyou?”
Iclosemyeyesanddrawinadeepbreath.Thereitis.Thelinethatmakesmewanttoforgivehim.

“HowdidyouknowIwashere?Howdidyoufindoutaboutmymom?”Iholdmybreath.Theanswerto
thisquestionseemssoimportanttome.Didhedecidetocomefindmeafterhefoundoutaboutmymom
orbefore?Isoneedtheanswertobe“before.”

“Well,whenIcalledthedollstoreyesterdayandSkyewouldn’tletmetalktoyou—”
“IthoughtSkyecalledyou,”Iinterrupted.
“No, I called you and Skye answered, and all she wanted was your grandparents’ information. I

beggedhertoletmetalktoyoubutshewouldn’t.SoIwenttothedollstoreanditwasclosed.Thatmade
menervous.I’dneverseenthestoreclosedduringthedaybefore.SoIwenttothatantiquestorenextdoor
tolookforSkye,findoutwhatwasgoingon.Shewasn’tthere,buttheownerlady,whoIthinkmightbea

littlecrazy,bytheway—”

“Weusetheword‘eccentric’buteitheroneworks.”
“Shetoldmeaboutyourmom.Shewasn’tsurewhichhospitalshewasat,soIstartedatCommunity

and then came here.” He takes one step forward and gives me his secret weapon of a smile yet again.
“Canwehugyet?”heasks,butdoesn’twaitformyanswer,justpullsmeupagainsthim.Idon’tfightit
andwrapmyarmsaroundhiswaist.SilenttearstraildownmyfaceandIrelaxintohim.Ineededhim.

“Iloveyou,”Iwhisper.
“Whatwasthat?Ididn’thearyou.”
“Don’tpushme.”
“Iloveyou,too,”hesays.Heputshischeekagainstmine.“Somuch.”

Chapter41

epullsawayfirsteventhoughIhavegrabbedahandfulofthebackofhisshirtandclutchittight.“How

isyourmom?Isshepregnant,then?”

“No.”
“That’sgood...right?”
“No. I was selfish. A baby would’ve been good news. This is awful. They’re trying to figure out

what’swrong.”

Hetucksapieceofhairbehindmyearandwipesatearfrommycheekwithhisthumb.Hetriesagain

to back up but I have grabbed another fistful of his shirt. He chuckles and gives up, wrapping his arms
backaroundme.“We’llfigureitout.Myfatherknowssomeofthebestdoctorsintheworldand—”

That’swhenIletgoandtakeonestepback.“No.You’renotheretosolvethisproblem.Thelastthing

IneedisforyourparentstothinkIstarteddatingyoubecausemymomissickandIwantedyourhelp.
SeanandVivianhavethingsundercontrolandeverythingisgoingtobefine,”IsayeventhoughI’mnot
sureIbelieveit.

“WhatcanIdo,then?Doyourgrandparentshaveaplacetostay?BecauseI’mkindofinthebusiness

ofputtingpeopleupforanightortwo...”

Ismile.
“Areyouguyshungry?When’sthelasttimeyouate?MaybeIcangetsomefoodforeveryone?”
Igrabhishand.“Xander.”
“What?”
“Pleasedon’tleave.Whenthedoctorcomesout...willyoujust...behereforme?”
“Ofcourse.”Hesqueezesmyhandandwewalkbackinsidetogether.
Seanraisesoneeyebrowwhenheseesus,probablythinking,Didn’tweallagreethatthisboyistoo

pretty?

“Hasthedoctorcomedownyet?”Iask.
“No.”
“ThisisXander,bytheway,”Isay,raisinghishandslightlyinmine.“ThesearetheMeyerses...butI

guessyouallalreadymetatthebenefit.”

Sean’s stare goes between Xander and me, and it seems as though he’s keeping himself from giving

some sort of grandfatherly admonition. I wonder if that’s hard for him, to keep an opinion to himself.
Maybehe’slearnedathingortwoaboutteenagersinthelasttwentyyears.Heobviouslydidn’thavea
cluewhenmymomlivedwithhim.

FinallyViviansays,“Xander,wejustmethersotakegoodcareofher.”
“Ofcourse,ma’am.”
“Caymen,”mygrandfathersays,takingVivian’shandinhis,“I’mgoingtofeedthislady.Didyouneed

anything?”

“No, I’m good.” I find a chair in the corner and Xander sits next to me. A television hanging in the

cornerbroadcaststhenewstooquietlyforanyofustohear.

SeanandVivianwalkouttogether.Iwatchthem.Howisitpossiblethatonedayit’sjustmeandmy

momandthenextdayIhavethreepeoplewhocaresomuchaboutme?

Afearjoltsthroughme.IsthisGodsettingmeup,makingsureIwon’tbeleftalonewhensomething

happenstomymother?Ilookattheceiling.Istillwantmymom,Isayinmyhead.Pleasedon’ttakeher
fromme.

“Caymen?”Xandergrabsmyhand.“Youokay?”
“I’mjustscared.”
“Iknow.Me,too.”Hestretcheshislegsoutinfrontofhimandleanshisheadbackagainstthewall.

Thenhebringsmyhandtohislipsandrestsitthere.

Ilaymyheadonhisshoulder.“Okay,sodetectiveisout,althoughImustsaythatyou’remuchbetterat

observationthanIam.”

“Onlyforcedobservation.”
Irunmyfingeralongaveininhisforearm.“Andnoforthemusicproducing?Henrywouldloveyou

forever.”

He smiles. “It would be fun, but it takes money to produce music. For what my completely amateur

opiniononmusicisworth,IthinkCrustyToadsarereallygood.They’lldofine....Canwetalktothem
aboutthelogo,though?Whodesignedthatthing?”

“Seriously.It’sbad.Butmaybesobadthatit’sgood?”
Hescruncheshislipstogether.“Idon’tknow.”
“Okay,sonomusicproducing.Thatleadsusbacktothisfoodthing.Youloveit.”
“Ido.”
“WillyoubemadifIsaysomething?”
“WhywouldIbemad?”
“Becauseyoumightnotwanttohearit.”
Hesighs.“Okay.Tellme.”
“Ithinkyourdadmightberightaboutyou.Ithinkyouareamultitalentedperson.Andsomeonewho

candealwithmanyproblemsatonce.Plusyouhavethisquietcharm.Maybethehotelisyourfuture.It
fitsyouwell.”Iholdmybreath,waitingforhimtogetdefensive,totellmeIdon’tknowhimaswellas
heknowsme.

Hisshouldersrisethenfall.“You’reright,Ididn’twanttohearthat.”
“I’msorry.”
“Butyoumayberight.Ithinkmoreaboutthehotelthanapersonwhodoesn’tcareaboutitshould.”
“Caymen.”
Myheadwhipstowardthenewvoiceintheroom,andI’mimmediatelyonmyfeetwhenIseeit’sthe

doctor.“Yes?Howisshe?”

“Thingswentwell.TheproblemiswhatIthoughtitmightbe.Shehasbleedingulcersinherstomach.”
“Whatdoesthatmean?Thatsoundsserious.”
“Itis.Andit’sagoodthingwecaughtit.It’satreatableconditionbutonethatisgoingtotaketimeto

recoverfrom.Timeinastress-freeenvironment.”

“Definitely.”Maybetimeawayfromthedollstore.Itakeabreath.“CanIseeher?”
“Yes.Shewasaskingforyouwhenshecameto.”
ThedoctorturnsandIstarttofollow.WhenXanderdoesn’tfollowIlookback.
“I’llwaithere,”hesays.“I’llfillinyourgrandparentswhentheycomeback.”
“No.Pleasecomewithme.Mymomwillwanttoseeyou.”Ihadtoldherwhathadhappenedbetween

Xander and me at the benefit, and my mom seemed sadder than a person who didn’t like Xander
should’ve.AtthetimetherewasnothingIcouldsaytocomforther,butnowthatwe’retogether,hopefully
thatwillmakeherhappy.

“Caymen,I’llbefine.”
Iwalkback,grabhishand,anddraghimwithme.“Thisisn’taboutyou.”
Helaughs.

Istepintotheroomalone,leavingXandertowaitinthehall.MymomreachesherhandouttomeandIsit
byherbedside.

“SoIguessI’maballofstress.”
“Notyou,justyourstomach.”
“I’msorry.”
“Don’tbe.Iwishyouwould’veconfidedinmemore.Letmehelpoutmore.”
Shegivesahalfheartedlaugh.“More?Caymen,youdidmorethanIhadtherighttoaskfor.”
IstareattheIVneedleinherarm.It’ssurroundedbypurplebruising.
“Thestoreis...”
“Inbigtrouble?Yeah,Iknow.”
“I’mworkingonalternativeoptions.Maybeanonlinestoreisthewaytogo.But,Caymen,thisismy

responsibility.Notyours.IthoughtI’dleaveittoyouatonepoint,butit’snotyourpassion,isit?”

Ilaughthenputmyforeheadonthebedbesideher.“IonlytriedsohardbecauseIknewhowimportant

itwastoyou.”

Shepatsmyhead.“Youareanamazingdaughter.Youdoalotofthingsjustforme,don’tyou?”
“That’swhatfamilydoes.”
“Caymen,ifyouwanttomeethimyouhaveeveryrightto.”
Myeyessnaptohers.“What?Who?”
“Yourfather.It’suptoyou.Youwon’thurtme.”
Inod.I’mstillnotsurewhatIwantwithmydad,butitfeelsgoodtohavethechoice.
“Soifthedollstoreisn’tyourdream,whatis?”
“College.Sciencemajor.”
“Perfect.”
“Xander’shere.Inthehall.”
“I knew he’d be back. How could someone stay away from you for long? Bring him in. I have an

apologytomake.”

Ismile.Thefirmgripmymotherhasonmyhandhelpsmerememberhowstrongsheis.Isqueezeback

thenstepoutintothehall.

“Issheokay?”
IhugXander,nuzzlingmyfaceintohisneck.“HowcanIfeelsoperfectlyhappywhenmymomisin

thehospitalandthedollstoreisintrouble?”

“Becauseyouknoweverythingisgoingtobeokay.Thisislikethecalmafterthestorm.Everythinghas

settled,andeventhoughitleftdestructioninitswake,youknowtheworstisover.”

“Niceanalogy.”
“Thanks.”
“Youreadyforyourafter-the-stormtalkwithmymom?”
“ForsomereasonI’mnotasconfidentasIwasthefirsttimeImether.”
“You’lldofine.Allmomslikeyou,remember?”
Hebendshisknees,wrapshisarmsaroundmywaist,andstandsup,liftingmeoffthefloor,mytoes

brushingthetile.“AslongasherdaughterlovesmeIcanfaceanything.”

“Evenredrum?Becauseafterthiswe’regoingtoyourhousetowatchTheShining.”

“Nowthatmyfutureishotels,isthatreallyagoodidea?”Icanfeelhissmileagainstmycheek.
“Don’tworry,youcancoveryoureyes.Iwon’tmakefunofyou...toomuch.”

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AbouttheAuthor

KASIEWESTliveswithherfamilyincentralCalifornia,wheretheheattriestokillherwithits115-
degreestretches.ShegraduatedfromFresnoStateUniversitywithaBAdegreethathasnothingtodowith
writing.Visitheronlineatwww.kasiewest.com.

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