Good, then let’s do this.” Jerom clapped his hands and we lined up. The score was tied at seven with five minutes left. My socks were soggy with mud and my hands slipped off my knees as I crouched down, but I was going to catch this ball. I took off after the snap and Jerom threw a perfect pass. I caught it and ran. Someone grabbed hold of the back of my shirt and I shook him free, nearly sliding across the slick grass.

When there were no defenders between me and the orange cones, I started calling out my own plays. “She hurdles a puddle and spins into the end zone. Touchdown!” I turned around and held the ball in the air like a trophy. “Oh yeah! We are the best!”

“Stop gloating,” Braden mumbled, picking himself up off the ground. “It’s annoying.”

“Sore loser,” I coughed under my breath. He was just like my brothers—he hated to lose.

He put me in a headlock and rubbed his knuckles across my scalp.

A whiff of wet grass, sweat, and dirt filled my nose. “Ugh. You smell. Get off me.”

“That’s the stench of victory.”

“More like the stink of failure.”

He let me go right above a mud puddle, making sure to throw me off balance. I landed on my hands, splattering mud all over my face.

“You are dead.” I jumped on him from behind, digging my knee in his lower back.

He let out a yell-laugh. When I slid off, I went to the sidelines, found his sweatshirt, then wiped my face clean with it. I headed back toward the field, where some guys were huddled together, including two of my brothers—Nathan and Jerom. “What are we all standing around for? Let’s finish this thing.”

Jerom and Nathan both shot me a warning look of silence. It wasn’t until I got closer that I realized one of the guys, Dave, was on the phone.

“No girlfriend emergencies right now. We’re in the middle of the game,” I said, and Dave looked up but his eyes didn’t focus on me.

“Charlie, shush,” Nathan said. “Something’s going on.”

Several more guys crowded in. “What’s up?” Braden asked from right behind me.

I shrugged. “I don’t know, I’ve been shushed.” Over Braden’s shoulder I could see Gage by the starting line tossing the ball in the air over and over. He caught my eye and put his arms out in the “What’s taking so long?” gesture. I just shook my head.

Finally, Dave hung up the phone and said, “I have to go. It’s my grandma.”

“Did you explain to your grandma that we’re in the middle of a game?” I asked.

“She died.”

“Oh.”

A round of groans and apologies went around the group. Dave looked like he was in shock, his eyes glassed over.

“How old was she?” I asked.

He absently ran his hand along his shoulder. “Seventy-something. I’m not sure.”

“What happened?”

“She’s had cancer for about a year. We knew this was coming. We just weren’t sure when.”

“That sucks.” I rubbed my hands together and looked around. Everyone just stood there, not sure what to say. “Should we finish the game, then?”

Braden elbowed me in the side.

“What? It will get his mind off it. And we only have five minutes left. We can’t quit now.”

“Charlie,” Jerom said in his official big-brother scold, at the same time Nathan took one of my arms and Braden took the other, dragging me away from the group.

“What’s the big de—” I couldn’t finish my sentence because Braden clamped his hand over my mouth.

“We, of all people, should understand this,” Nathan said under his breath. “Show a little empathy.”

I bit down on Braden’s finger and he let go. Then I yanked free of their hold. “What should I understand about some lady dying of a disease she’d been fighting?”

Braden reached out, probably trying to cover my mouth again. I stepped out of his reach.

“Shhh!” Nathan hissed, looking over his shoulder. “You should understand that—”

“Fine. Whatever. Tell Dave I’m sorry.” With that, I turned and ran, taking the path around the park, then farther. Why should I understand what Dave was going through? Because someone in his life had died, like someone in my life had? Our situations were nothing alike. My mom had been thirty-one when she died. I hardly got to know her at all. I got a measly six years with her. Six years I didn’t even remember.

The tightness in my chest made it hard to breathe, which made it hard to run. And that made me angry. Running was never hard for me. I forced myself to run until I could breathe normally again. It took a while.

By the time I got home, the sun was high in the sky and I was covered in sweat. Braden stood in my front yard. His wet-from-a-shower auburn hair looked black. He was a little taller than my brothers, which made him lankier, yet his broad shoulders made it obvious he was an athlete. “Hey, feel better?” he asked.

“Smell better?” I said with a smile.

“So that’s a yes?”

“I’m fine. Apparently, I’m just a jerk, but we all knew that.”

Braden cringed. He hated the word jerk. It’s what we all called his dad—well, what Braden called him, and we all agreed. It was as if he felt that word belonged to his dad and was too big of an insult to assign to anyone else.

“So is Dave okay?”

“Jerom drove him home, so I’m sure he’s fine.”

“What’s up with Jerom? Two years in college and suddenly he’s all fatherly?”

“Your brother has always been a good listener.”

He has? And why would Braden know that? I pointed to his driveway and the white work truck parked there. “Your dad got off early today?”

He waved his hand through the air, swatting away the question that apparently didn’t merit a verbal response, then turned back to me. “What are you doing right now?”

“Showering.” I reached my front door then turned around. “See ya.”

He stopped me by saying, “We’re going out for my mom’s birthday tonight. I figured I better go to the mall and find her a present.”

“Probably a good idea.”

My hand was on the doorknob when he asked, “Any ideas for what to get her?”

“You’re asking me?” I laughed. “Funny.”

“I could use a girl’s opinion.”

“Then you better go find one.”

“Well, opinion or not, you want to come?”

“To the mall?” I turned around. He had a look in his eye. Braden may have been a wild card, but I could still read him most of the time, and right now he felt sorry for me. Pity made me angry. “Look, Braden, I’m fine, okay?” And apparently if I needed to talk, Jerom’s ear was available.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Fine.” His eyes seemed to say, Perhaps you do have a cold, cold heart, Charlie. I couldn’t have agreed more.

Chapter 3

Nathan was in charge of dinner that night and had just pulled some sort of pasta-and-meat dish out of the oven, timing it perfectly with my dad’s arrival. Kiss-up. As my dad walked into the kitchen from the garage, he found where I sat at the table and narrowed his eyes at me. I wondered which one of my brothers had tattled and why my dad was so upset about it. For heaven’s sake, what was everyone’s problem? If I had started crying over Dave’s grandma my life would’ve been a whole lot easier right then. Maybe I needed to practice some fake waterworks.

My dad was a nice guy and most of the time a pushover, but when he was in his full police garb and had that look on his face, he terrified me. He hung his keys on a hook by the door, then unbuckled and hung his utility belt as well, the heavy flashlight banging the wall as he did. “Charlie . . . ,” he said in a tired voice.

I’m sorry.” Then I made sure to give all my brothers a death glare. Gage played all big-eyed and innocent.

“You should be, but that’s not going to be good enough this time.”

“This time?” Had I been insensitive to the relatives of a different dead grandma before?

My dad approached the table and plopped a pink copy of my speeding ticket in front of me. Oh. This was worse than being insensitive. This was about breaking the law.

I tried to talk my way out of it. “I didn’t know the speed limit and I didn’t see him. He was hiding down a side street. Isn’t that illegal, like entrapment or something? Nathan? Isn’t that illegal?”

Nathan hid a smile and brought a pitcher of ice water to the table. Nathan was starting his first year of college next year. His ultimate goal—lawyerhood.

My dad leveled a hard stare at me. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“I’m sorry.” I should’ve been honest. It was always worse when he found out about things from an outside source.

“This is the second ticket in as many months. And that’s not counting the ones you got out of by using my name.”

I ducked my head to hide the heat I could feel on my cheeks at having been caught. I didn’t need my brothers making fun of me for blushing. My dad was right. I had been pulled over multiple times. I used his name every time.

“Do you know how embarrassing it is when my kids get speeding tickets? When I have to find out about those speeding tickets from a coworker?”

“I’m sorry.”

“But worse than the embarrassment you caused me is the blow to my bank account.” His finger came down hard on the pink slip, landing on a number written in his own handwriting that read $264.00. My eyes widened. “Yeah, that’s a lot of money.”

I nodded.

“You’re paying for it.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I don’t think you learned your lesson last time because I paid for your ticket. So, you are paying not only for this ticket, but also the last one, and the extra hundred dollars a month you are going to cost me in insurance.”

“But I don’t have that kind of money.”

“Then find a job.”

“How? Basketball camp starts in about seven weeks, and then there’s school and soccer after that.”

“Dad,” Gage piped in, using his winning smile in my defense this time. “Charlie’s just a little girl. Don’t make her work. She’ll never survive.”

Okay, so that wasn’t exactly the defense I was looking for.

“Gage. Stay out of this,” my dad said.

He saluted. “Yes, officer.”

My dad turned his hard stare on Gage, but just like the rest of us, he couldn’t stay mad at Gage either. So he turned back to me. “Figure it out, because it’s my final decision.” With that, he left the kitchen and went to his room to change. My brothers all stared at me and then, as if they’d counted to three, started laughing at exactly the same time.

“Yeah, it’s so funny,” I said. “As if you’ve never been pulled over before.”

Nathan raised his hand. “Never.” Of course not.

“Twice,” Jerom said.

I looked at Gage. Of all my brothers, he and I were not only the closest but the most alike. “A few times,” he said, “but I always got out of tickets. You gotta act a little more innocent, Charlie. You can’t be belligerent with the cops. They don’t like it.”

“How do you know I was?”

They all laughed again. This round of laughter was cut off by the ringing of a cell phone, from where it sat being charged on the counter. Gage jumped up and slid across the island to answer it before it went to voice mail.

My dad came back, and the change in his clothes seemed to change his demeanor as well. He kissed the top of my head. Maybe this meant he was rethinking the whole job thing. “You should probably start looking first thing tomorrow,” he said. Then he looked at Gage and snapped, “Off the phone.”

I sank down farther in my chair and spooned myself some of Nathan’s pasta creation. My dad said a prayer (being a cop for the last twenty years had put the fear of God in him). Then we all dug in. Dinner in our house was like a race. If you didn’t eat fast, you missed out on seconds. I didn’t feel much like seconds anyway.

I lay on my bed, feet up on the headboard, and threw a tennis ball against the wall over and over. There was a single knock on my door, and then someone I assumed was Gage let himself in. He was the only one who never waited for an answer. I tilted my head back and saw an upside-down version of Gage right before he took a flying leap and landed on my head.

I grunted my disapproval and he rolled off.

“So, a job, huh?”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I think this day should go down in history as the day Dad decreed one of his offspring must seek employment.”

“Seriously. Whatever happened to ‘School is your job’ or ‘Sports can pay for college so I consider that your job’?”

“Apparently, someone by the name of Speed Racer changed that.” He paused and—just like Gage to always see the positive in something (which was one of the only ways we weren’t alike)—said, “Finding a job is way better than getting grounded. If you were grounded, all the indoor air your body isn’t used to breathing would dry out your pores and cause you to wither up and die.”

Okay, maybe not positive, per se, but close to it.

He pushed his bangs off his forehead. “Well, for what it’s worth, I offer you my job-hunting prowess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A million dollars,” the little girl said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right.”

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

“Okay, thanks. I’m Charlie.”

“Good to meet you.”

I waved and walked out of the store.

“How’d it go?” Gage asked.

“Not hiring.”

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

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

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

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

“Mobile?” Gage asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want a job, right?”

Not really. “Yes.”

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

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

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

“Yes. My dad.”

“What’s your name?”

“Charlie.”

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

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

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

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

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

Of course there’s a catch.

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

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

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

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

“What’s today?” she asked.

“Wednesday.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

“How’d it go?” Gage asked.

“I got a job.”

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

“Yeah.”

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

“You have no idea.”

Chapter 5

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

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.”

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

“Yeah, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Surrender,” he said again.

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

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

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

story continious......😁

I held my hand above the fence, then he walked straight to me. “You okay?”

He sat down and leaned his back against the boards. I did the same. “My dad just came home . . . drove home . . . drunk out of his mind. I almost wish your dad had seen him driving so he could’ve hauled him in.”

“Why does he feel the need to wake you and your mom up when he’s like that?”

“Because apparently he remembers everything he hates about us when he’s drunk and has an overwhelming desire to share his feelings.”

“That sucks.” The night was warm, and I let it fill my lungs. I pulled on a string hanging off the bottom of my cotton pants. “So you come outside when he’s like this?”

“Usually. I find that if I walk away he eventually cools down. My mom still hasn’t learned that lesson after all these years.”

We went quiet, leaving only the sound of muffled yelling coming from his house. “Is she . . . he won’t hurt her . . . will he?”

“No,” Braden said darkly.

I leaned my head back against the fence. His parents either went to bed or stopped screaming because I couldn’t hear them anymore.

Braden’s voice was lighter when he asked, “And what brings you out on this fine evening?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Really? The soundest sleeper in the universe couldn’t sleep? Why?”

“Stupid job messed with my schedule. I didn’t get a chance to run tonight.”

“Oh yeah, the job. I heard about this miraculous event. How did it go?”

“It was sheer torture. I’m counting down the days until I earn the five hundred bucks necessary to be done with this sentence.”

“Didn’t your dad say something about a hundred bucks a month after that too, though? For insurance or something?”

I groaned. “You’re right. I guess I’ll have to earn another couple hundred and hope I can plea-bargain after that. I think when school starts, that will be a huge argument against having a job.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure out something.”

Stillness took over for a while, and just when I started to think he’d fallen asleep there against the fence, he said, “You playing ball tomorrow?”

“Of course. You?”

“Yeah. Are you playing for the team this year at school?”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Uh-huh. Can’t wait for it to start. Talk about exhaustion. School, basketball, gym, homework, bed—now that’s a schedule my body likes.”

“Why?”

Crap. The problem with talking to his disembodied voice was that it made me less guarded. It didn’t feel like I was talking to anyone but the sky. “I just like to sleep good. None of this waking-up-at-three-a.m. crap.”

“Heck yeah,” he said in his best imitation of me (which wasn’t very good). Every time I substituted a bad word with a milder one, he made fun of me by doing his own bad-to-less-bad word substitution. His taunts weren’t going to pressure me into changing things. I was more scared of my dad’s no-cussing rule than I was of Braden laughing at me for it.

“I knew you were going to say that,” I said.

“Oh, really? You knew I was going to say ‘Heck yeah’?”

“Well, some variation of it.”

“You think you know me so well, huh?”

“Yep. Every last annoying habit.”

He gave a single laugh. “Well, it goes both ways. Actually, I probably know you better.”

“You think you know me better than I know you?”

“Yes,” he said confidently. “Because I see you every day, and when I don’t see you, I hear Gage talk about whatever lame thing you guys did.”

“And you don’t think Gage talks about all the lame things you guys do without me?”

“Okay, game on.” That was his competition voice. As he said it, I realized I knew it so well. His voice in general was so familiar to me. I was surprised I could picture his expressions as I listened to him talk. Right now he’d have a smug smile on his face. “We will prove who knows more about the other. We go back and forth stating facts. Whoever runs out first loses.”

“You’re on. I’ll start. You have swampy brown eyes.”

He laughed. “Oh, wow, you’re really starting with the basics.”

“Yep. I said I knew everything. That’s part of everything.” The truth was, I wasn’t sure I did know everything about Braden. As Gage’s best friend, he was as familiar to me as a brother, but in some ways, he was a mystery to me. But I assumed I was the same for him, so I had confidence that I knew him at least as well as he knew me.

“Swampy? Really? You make them sound nasty.”

“Yes, they are swampy.” His eyes were awesome—brown interlaced with green. It was like they couldn’t quite decide which color team they wanted to play for. “Your turn.”

“Fine. You have steel-gray eyes.”

“Oh, I see how you are. Stealing my facts.”

“Yeah, we should be able to match the other person’s fact. If I didn’t know your eye color and you knew mine, I should’ve lost right there. So now you have to match my fact.”

I nodded. “Okay. I get it. Evolving rules. So you’re up then.”

“Right. You suck at math.”

I gasped in mock offense. “Rude . . . but true.” Okay, so I needed to think of a subject in school Braden was bad in. Problem. Braden was an excellent student. So my match could’ve been that he didn’t suck at any subject, but I didn’t want to praise him after he just slammed me. “Oh! Got it. You suck at choir. Supporting evidence: You volunteer for the solo in the seventh grade Christmas program. You forget the song. You sing the few words you remember completely off-key.” I laughed, remembering the cringe-worthy moment. “I think we still have that on home video somewhere.”

“Ouch.” He probably grabbed his chest then, but he had at least half a smile on his face. Braden was good at crooked smiles. “For the record, your brother volunteered me for that solo when I was absent and I beat him for it after the fact. But yes, I suck at choir.”

“My turn,” I said, conjuring up a mental picture of Braden so I could think of my next fact. I almost said he had a scar through his right eyebrow, but that suddenly seemed so personal. Maybe I shouldn’t know that about him. Especially since it was barely noticeable. “You hate to lose.”

“That’s a wash.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, so do you, so those facts cancel each other out. Well, actually, you really don’t like to lose and I just sort of don’t like to lose, so you’re probably right. I should probably think of something you just sort of don’t like.”

“Whatever, punk! You know you hate to lose as much as I do. And the proof of that will come when I beat you at this game and you cry like a baby.”

The arguing renewed in his house and we both fell silent. He sighed. “I guess I should probably go back inside and try to steer him toward sleep.”

“Does that work?”

“Sometimes.”

“Good luck.”

“Yeah.” After he walked a few shuffling steps away, I heard him whisper, “This isn’t over. I will beat you.”

“Never,” I said with a smile.

The next morning when Braden walked in the back door and through the kitchen, where I sat eating breakfast, we both pretended the night before hadn’t happened. I picked up the basketball I had been propping my feet on and threw it at the back of his head as he walked by. He turned around and walked back to where I sat at the bar. He smeared his finger across the top of my peanut butter toast and then stuck the big glob in his mouth as he walked away.

“Gross,” I called after him. I wasn’t sure why we’d both decided to pretend it didn’t happen, but I was relieved he didn’t mention the late-night chat by the fence. It almost made it seem like it took place in a different reality.

Chapter 8

Saturday morning at work was busier than I would’ve liked, but I didn’t see anyone I knew, so that was good. Linda taught me to use the register, and by Tuesday she had the nerve to leave me alone for an hour while she had dinner. I told her if I gave away all the money in the register it was all on her. She told me she trusted me and my math abilities. I didn’t mention that I sucked at math.

Thirty minutes into my alone time with the register, Skye came running in from the back. Her hair was now platinum blond with streaks of green. She had on a flowy, robelike shirt, much like one of the shirts Linda had me buy that I hadn’t dared to wear yet, and was holding a pair of boots in her hand, calling, “Mama Lou!” She slid to a stop on the hardwood floor and looked at me. “Hi, Charlie. Where’s Linda?”

“Eating.”

Her shoulders slumped. She held up one of the boots. “Do you see that?”

I wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted me to see. I obviously saw the big black boot she held up, so there must’ve been some detail about it I was supposed to notice, but for the life of me I didn’t see anything but a boot. “Uh . . . no?”

“I tried on the left boot at the thrift store. This is the right boot. I didn’t even notice it was missing two lace hooks right in the middle. A total rookie mistake.”

I smiled at her use of a sports analogy.

“You don’t know how to fix it, do you?”

I still didn’t even know what she was talking about. “Duct tape?”

She laughed.

“Linda can fix shoes?”

“I don’t know. She always has some creative solution for my problems. How long has she been gone?”

“About thirty minutes.”

“Maybe I’ll wait.” She wandered over to a hutch and started squirting herself with a glass bottle that I thought was just for show.

I straightened some hanging shirts. “I think I saw you the other day, walking with someone holding a guitar case.”

“Henry. My boyfriend. He plays for a local band. Well, I shouldn’t call them local anymore—they’re getting some statewide gigs. It’s pretty amazing. They still play here sometimes, though.” She picked up a different glass bottle and walked over to me. “Can I use your arm? I don’t want to mix scents.”

I held up my arm and she twisted it, palm up, then sprayed a small amount on my wrist.

She put her arm next to mine. “You’re tan.”

“My mother was Mexican.” I bit down on my tongue, hoping she didn’t catch the was I threw in there. I didn’t want to have to explain that word. Especially not when I kind of told Linda my mother was alive.

“Ah. Well, that makes sense.” She smiled, then smelled my wrist and curled her lip. “No on that scent.” She replaced the bottle, then sighed. “I think I will try the duct tape idea after all. It could look really good with these boots.”

“Will you be able to get them off?”

She laughed. “Eventually.” She headed toward the back.

I wondered why she always came that way. She obviously had a key, but if she was coming from her shop a couple of doors down, wouldn’t it be just as easy to walk in the front door?

“Thanks for the good idea, Charlie.” She paused for a moment. “By the way, you look really cute.”

She left, and I looked down at my outfit—a pair of jeans and a satiny black shirt with a little lace around the neckline. I had worn my tennis shoes in to work and Linda immediately called a friend, who brought over a pair of black sandals. Apparently I had committed a fashion foul with my shoes. All I cared about was that the sandals were super comfortable.

A while later, Linda came back into the store carrying a handful of colorful leaflets and ads.

“What are those?”

She spread them out on the counter next to the register. “Makeup ads.” She held one up. “I think I’m going to carry some designer makeup in the store. A girl came by the other day and asked if I’d be interested. I think it will drum up some business. What do you think?”

“I have no opinion in these types of matters. I’m clueless. But I guess it can’t hurt to offer a bigger variety of items.”

“Exactly. Hopefully we’ll get crossover traffic. I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. The girl is going to come in and do a demonstration. She’s thinking about offering weekly makeup classes to draw people in. You get to be her blank canvas for the class.”

She said it so casually that I didn’t catch the meaning at first.

When I realized what she’d said, my hand froze above the ad it had been reaching for. “Wait, what?”

“You’ll just have to sit there. You won’t even have to say a word.”

“No way. Nuh-uh. You should have Skye do it. She was just in here a little while ago.”

“I would, but Skye works on Saturdays. Plus, I think you’d be better at it.”

“In what universe? No way.”

She took a breath and then closed her eyes. Holding her hands about an inch from her body, she ran them from her head to her waist, then opened her eyes like nothing had happened. “Just think on it. I will give you a split commission for whatever we make from the class.” She swooshed her hands back and forth in front of me as though clearing away some invisible dust, hoping to give her idea a clear lane to my brain. “Just think on it.” She handed me one of the makeup pamphlets.