“Okay.”
As he starts to play Skye grabs the paper from my hands and puts it on the counter. “Just take a little break.” She drags me to the floor in front of Henry. While he sings she looks over at me. “Oh, someone asked about you last night.”
“Where?”
“At Scream Shout.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, some kid who looked like he could’ve owned the place. Dressed like a fancy-pants. Super white teeth.”
For some reason this news sends a jolt of fear through me. “Xander?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. He didn’t say his name.”
“What did he say?”
“Well, I overheard him talking to some guy behind me. He said, ‘Do you know a girl named Caymen?’ The guy said he didn’t. When I turned around to tell him I knew you he was already walking away.”
“And he left?”
“No, he stayed for a while, listened to Henry play, ordered a soda. Then he left.”
Xander was looking for me. Not good. Mr. Rich and his completely over-the-top lifestyle need to stay away. “Was he alone?”
“No. Some girl was with him. She had short dark hair. Looked like she was bored.”
His cousin maybe? I shrug.
“Who is he?”
“Just the grandson of some customer.”
“The rich grandson of some rich customer?”
“Yeah.”
“We should have more rich friends. It would take our entertainment to the next level.”
“What are you talking about?” I point to Henry. “This is completely high-class. We have our own personal musician.”
“You guys aren’t even listening to my song,” Henry complains.
“Sorry. It sounds great, babe.”
He stops playing and returns his guitar to the case. “Caveman, I’m going to do you a favor.”
“Please don’t.”
“Hear me out. I’m going to set you up with a friend. We can double.” He looks at Skye. “Tic. He’s the lead singer of Crusty Toads.”
Skye gets a huge smile. “Oh yeah, he’s so cool. You’ll love him, Caymen.”
“Tick? As in a blood-sucking insect?”
“No, as in a twitch. A tic.” He blinks hard, imitating what I assume is a twitch. “It’s not his real name.”
“No kidding,” I say.
“It’s true. But I forgot his real name. Seriously, you guys would be perfect for each other. You’ll like him.”
I stand and grab my paper again. “No. I don’t want to go out.” And I definitely don’t want to go on a blind date with someone named Tic who Henry thinks is perfect for me.
“Please, please, please,” Skye begs, tugging on my arm.
“I don’t even know the guy. I’ll feel pathetic.”
“We can change that. I’ll send him in your store one day this week to say hi,” Henry says.
I whirl on him. “Don’t you dare.”
“That sounds like a challenge,” he says with a laugh.
“No, it’s not, Toad. Don’t do this.” Would it be wrong if I sicced one of the dolls on him?
“Don’t worry. I’ll be sly about it. I won’t tell him you want to go out with him or anything.”
“Well, that’s good considering I don’t want to go out with him.”
Skye sings the word “Anxiety.”
Henry laughs again and stands up. “No worries, Caveman, you’ll be okay. Just be yourself.”
Not the “be yourself” line. I loathe that line. As if Myself and Tic have met before and gotten along, so all I have to do is make sure Myself is there this time. So illogical.
“You ready to go, Die?”
“Yeah. I’ll see you soon.” She smiles a really sneaky smile and I groan. This is so not cool. They are going to send some guy named Tic into my store and there is nothing I can do about it.
Chapter 6
After a week of anxiously looking up every time the bell on the door rings, I start to think maybe Skye had talked Henry out of the horrible threat of sending Tic into my store. But then it happens one Monday afternoon. A guy walks into the doll store holding a stack of papers.
He has short, curly black hair and mocha skin. A lip ring draws even more attention to his large lips. He’s wearing jeans tucked into army boots and a T-shirt that says, My band is cooler than your band. In a tortured sort of way he’s actually very attractive. And way too cool for me. I wonder why Skye’s not dating this guy. He seems like a far better match for her.
“Hey,” he says. His voice is raspy, like he just woke up or needs to clear his throat. “Henry told me you guys would be willing to put some flyers on your counter for our next show.” He looks around.
“I’m sure the old ladies would love a rock concert,” I say.
He lowers his brow. “Yeah, Henry seemed to think . . .” He trails off as he eyes a porcelain baby inside a bassinet. “Maybe I got the wrong store.”
“No. It’s fine. Just put them right here.”
He walks over and sets a small stack on the counter then gives me a once-over. He must like what he sees because he says, “You should come,” pointing to the flyer.
The flyer has a picture of a toad that looks like it just met the grill of a semitruck. Who designed that thing? Across its belly it says, “Crusty Toads.” Then at the bottom it reads, “Friday night, ten o’clock, Scream Shout.”
On the tip of my tongue something sarcastic about the flyers is ready to spew forth, but then I stop myself. “Yeah, I’ll try.”
“That sounds like what you really mean is that it’s the last thing you want to do.” He blinks hard, reminding me how he got his nickname. “I’m the singer. Does that make you want to go more or less?”
I smile. “Maybe a little more.”
“I’m Mason.” Much better than Tic.
“Caymen.”
Please don’t turn it into a nickname.
“Good to meet you, Caymen.”
Five points.
“So what are the chances I’ll actually see you Friday night?”
I look down at the flyer again then back up at him. “Pretty decent.”
He tugs on his lip ring. “Tell the old ladies that it’ll be rockin’.”
“I will.”
Just as he starts to leave my mom comes in the back door and he stops.
“Hi,” she says.
“Mom, this is Mason. Mason, my mom, Susan.”
“Hi, Susan, good to meet you.”
“You, too.” She points to the ceiling. “Caymen, I’ll be upstairs making some phone calls if you need me.” Her shoulders are slumped, and she reaches for the banister of the stairs.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah . . . I . . . yes, I’m fine.”
I watch her go then look back to Mason.
He taps the stack of flyers on the counter. “See you Friday.” He gives me a single wave as he walks out the door.
I bite my lip and stare at the toad on the paper. I need a new outfit or a new haircut. Something new. I make sure no one is coming through the front door then go into my mom’s office to see if she’s written my paycheck yet. She usually leaves it in an envelope in her desk. It’s not much and I’ve told her a million times I feel weird about being paid, but she insists.
In the right-hand drawer is the balance book, bulging with receipts and loose papers. I pull it out and flip to the end where I’ve seen her pull my paycheck from several times. There’s nothing there. I start to shut the book but a flash of red catches my eye. Scanning down the page, my eyes stop on the last number, a red “2,253.00.” That’s more than we spend in a month. I know. I do the bills sometimes.
My heart thumps out of control and guilt constricts my breathing. Here I was rooting around for my paycheck and my mom can’t afford to pay me. We’re beyond broke. No wonder my mom’s seemed stressed recently. Does this mean we’re going to lose the store? For just one second I think of a life without the doll store.
For that one second I feel free.
Chapter 7