“That sounds like a challenge,” he says with a laugh.
“No, it’s not, Toad. Don’t do this.” Would it be wrong if I sicced one of the dolls on him?
“Don’t worry. I’ll be sly about it. I won’t tell him you want to go out with him or anything.”
“Well, that’s good considering I don’t want to go out with him.”
Skye sings the word “Anxiety.”
Henry laughs again and stands up. “No worries, Caveman, you’ll be okay. Just be yourself.”
Not the “be yourself” line. I loathe that line. As if Myself and Tic have met before and gotten along, so all I have to do is make sure Myself is there this time. So illogical.
“You ready to go, Die?”
“Yeah. I’ll see you soon.” She smiles a really sneaky smile and I groan. This is so not cool. They are going to send some guy named Tic into my store and there is nothing I can do about it.
Chapter 6
After a week of anxiously looking up every time the bell on the door rings, I start to think maybe Skye had talked Henry out of the horrible threat of sending Tic into my store. But then it happens one Monday afternoon. A guy walks into the doll store holding a stack of papers.
He has short, curly black hair and mocha skin. A lip ring draws even more attention to his large lips. He’s wearing jeans tucked into army boots and a T-shirt that says, My band is cooler than your band. In a tortured sort of way he’s actually very attractive. And way too cool for me. I wonder why Skye’s not dating this guy. He seems like a far better match for her.
“Hey,” he says. His voice is raspy, like he just woke up or needs to clear his throat. “Henry told me you guys would be willing to put some flyers on your counter for our next show.” He looks around.
“I’m sure the old ladies would love a rock concert,” I say.
He lowers his brow. “Yeah, Henry seemed to think . . .” He trails off as he eyes a porcelain baby inside a bassinet. “Maybe I got the wrong store.”
“No. It’s fine. Just put them right here.”
He walks over and sets a small stack on the counter then gives me a once-over. He must like what he sees because he says, “You should come,” pointing to the flyer.
The flyer has a picture of a toad that looks like it just met the grill of a semitruck. Who designed that thing? Across its belly it says, “Crusty Toads.” Then at the bottom it reads, “Friday night, ten o’clock, Scream Shout.”
On the tip of my tongue something sarcastic about the flyers is ready to spew forth, but then I stop myself. “Yeah, I’ll try.”
“That sounds like what you really mean is that it’s the last thing you want to do.” He blinks hard, reminding me how he got his nickname. “I’m the singer. Does that make you want to go more or less?”
I smile. “Maybe a little more.”
“I’m Mason.” Much better than Tic.
“Caymen.”
Please don’t turn it into a nickname.
“Good to meet you, Caymen.”
Five points.
“So what are the chances I’ll actually see you Friday night?”
I look down at the flyer again then back up at him. “Pretty decent.”
He tugs on his lip ring. “Tell the old ladies that it’ll be rockin’.”
“I will.”
Just as he starts to leave my mom comes in the back door and he stops.
“Hi,” she says.
“Mom, this is Mason. Mason, my mom, Susan.”
“Hi, Susan, good to meet you.”
“You, too.” She points to the ceiling. “Caymen, I’ll be upstairs making some phone calls if you need me.” Her shoulders are slumped, and she reaches for the banister of the stairs.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah . . . I . . . yes, I’m fine.”
I watch her go then look back to Mason.
He taps the stack of flyers on the counter. “See you Friday.” He gives me a single wave as he walks out the door.
I bite my lip and stare at the toad on the paper. I need a new outfit or a new haircut. Something new. I make sure no one is coming through the front door then go into my mom’s office to see if she’s written my paycheck yet. She usually leaves it in an envelope in her desk. It’s not much and I’ve told her a million times I feel weird about being paid, but she insists.
In the right-hand drawer is the balance book, bulging with receipts and loose papers. I pull it out and flip to the end where I’ve seen her pull my paycheck from several times. There’s nothing there. I start to shut the book but a flash of red catches my eye. Scanning down the page, my eyes stop on the last number, a red “2,253.00.” That’s more than we spend in a month. I know. I do the bills sometimes.
My heart thumps out of control and guilt constricts my breathing. Here I was rooting around for my paycheck and my mom can’t afford to pay me. We’re beyond broke. No wonder my mom’s seemed stressed recently. Does this mean we’re going to lose the store? For just one second I think of a life without the doll store.
For that one second I feel free.
Chapter 7
I stare at the long mirror hanging in my room. Even when I back up as far as I can I can’t see my entire body. My room is too small. I had straightened my hair, put on my best jeans and a black T-shirt, and laced up my purple boots. Nothing new. I wrestled with the fact that this wasn’t a good idea at all. In eight hours from this minute I have to be awake and getting ready for work. Knowing how bad-off the store is makes me feel guilty. Like I haven’t done enough. For the hundredth time I tell myself that I don’t have to stay long. Just make my appearance and leave.
My mom walks by my room then backs up. “I thought you left already.”
“No, and I don’t have to leave if you need me.”
“Caymen, I’m fine. Now get out of here. You look amazing.”
As I walk the five blocks to Scream Shout, I take in my surroundings. Old Town looks like it belongs in a western movie. All the storefronts are made of vertical siding or red brick. Some stores even have saloon-style swinging doors. The sidewalks are cobblestone. The only things missing are the horizontal posts to tie off the horses in front of the stores. Instead there is a wide street and diagonal parking curbs. The ocean is several blocks away, but on a quiet night I can hear it and I can always smell it. I take a deep breath.
Two doors down from our doll store is a dance studio, and I’m surprised to see the lights all on this late at night. Wide-open windows on a dark night make everything inside as clear as on a movie screen. There is a girl inside, probably my age, dancing in front of a wall of mirrors. The graceful movements of her body prove she’s been studying for years. I wonder why some people seem to be born knowing what they want to do with their lives and others—mostly me—have no idea. I sigh and continue my walk to the club.
Scream Shout is packed with locals tonight. I recognize some people from school and nod hello. The stage can barely be called that. It’s more like a rickety platform. Mismatched tables fill the area around it and a bar lines one wall. There are so many people I actually have to search out Skye.
“Hey,” she says when I join her. Her hair is extra pink tonight, and I feel drab standing next to her.
“Hi. It’s crowded tonight.”
“I know. So cool. You must’ve made a good impression on Tic because he was just asking if I thought you’d show up.” She nods her head to a door off the side of the stage where I assume the band is getting ready.
“Must we call him that?” I haven’t decided what my impression of Mason is. But it must’ve been something or I wouldn’t be standing here, giving up sleep.
“Yes, we must, Caveman.”
“Please. Not you, too, Die.”
She laughs. “I know, they’re pretty awful, aren’t they? It makes me laugh when you call Henry Toad, though.”
“How’s it going with Toad anyway?”
“Pretty good.” Skye is extremely loyal. Henry would have to do something blatantly horrible for her to break up with him at this point. Not that he would. Aside from his heinous abuse of nicknames, Henry is decent.
I look back at the stage, waiting for its occupants. “I’m guessing tonight you’re going to be madly in love with him because he’s about to go all rock star on you.”
“For sure.” She smiles. “And you are about to fall madly in love with Tic because his voice is like honey.”
She’s right. About the honey part at least. As he starts to sing I can’t take my eyes off him. His voice has a soft, raspy quality to it that makes me want to sway with the beat. When I hear Skye giggling beside me I’m finally pulled from the trance.
“I told you,” she says when I look at her.
“What? I was just listening. It’s rude not to listen.”
She laughs again.
When the last song is over Mason jumps off the stage and disappears into the back with the other guys. Henry comes out first, and he and Skye make out for a while right in front of me. Gross. Why do I suddenly wish I had someone to make out with? I’m good at being alone. I’ve pretty much mastered it. So what’s changed? Xander’s lip-biting smile flashes through my mind. No. I shake the image away.
Just when I’m sure that if I take a saliva sample from Skye’s mouth it will come back with Henry’s DNA, I say, “Okay, enough.”
Skye pulls away laughing and Henry pretends like he just realized I was standing there. Right.
“S’up?” he says, then leans over to the bar and asks for some ice water. He takes it and we search for a table. There are no open ones so we just stand in the corner talking.
Eventually Mason comes out and throws one arm around my neck. His T-shirt is sticky with sweat and almost reverses the effect his singing had on me. “Hey, Caymen, you came.”
“Here I am.”
“How’d we do tonight?”
“Really good.”
“Did you bring any old ladies with you?” He looks around like this is a valid possibility.
“Almost, but she canceled on me last-minute. I guess some metal-head band was playing downtown tonight.”
“Which band?” Henry asks, and Mason starts laughing.
“It was a joke, idiot,” he says.
“Don’t call me an idiot.”
“Then don’t act like one.”
Henry pouts, and Skye says, “You’re not an idiot, babe.” Then they start making out again. Ugh. Seriously.
“Do you want something to drink?” Mason asks, leading me toward an abandoned table.
“Yes, please.”
I sit down and he comes back with two bottles of beer. He holds one out for me.
I put up my hands. “Oh, I don’t drink. I’m seventeen.”
“So? I’m nineteen.”
“My mom says before I turn eighteen she still has the right to murder me.” My mom always tells me to blame it on her if I am ever in an uncomfortable situation. It seems to work well.