The color in his face has changed to a sickly shade of gray. “Thanks,” he mumbles, and rushes by me and out the door.
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’m sorry.” I walk to his side and rub his shoulder. My mom always does that when I vomit. It doesn’t help much but I like to know she’s there.
“I’m okay. How much do you think Humiliation pays? Because I’m obviously really good at it.”
“Never seen a dead body before, huh?”
“No . . .” He wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his sweatshirt and straightens up.
“Note to self: Xander has a sensitive stomach. Stay away from career fields involving anything gross.”
At the car he pulls off the sweatshirt, nearly taking the shirt underneath with it and then steps out of his shoes. He throws them in the trunk, exchanging them for his nice ones. Trying not to let my gaze linger on the strip of still-exposed skin above his jeans, I tug off my sweatshirt as well.
“Do you want me to drive?” I ask, noting his still-too-pale face.
He hesitates for a moment.
“You don’t trust me with your baby?”
“It’s not that. . . . Okay, it’s that.”
“Rude.”
He gets into the car.
I climb in the passenger seat. “You’re really not going to let me drive it? You let that valet guy drive it at the hotel.”
“That was in a parking lot. And if you wrecked it we couldn’t be friends anymore. Then where would you be?”
“Don’t you have three others just like it?”
“Four, actually, but who’s counting?”
I think he’s kidding, but then again . . .
He starts the engine and pulls away from the curb. I look at the clock on Xander’s dash. Five. It’s hard to believe four hours had passed.
Xander moves into the right lane and starts to turn.
“Where are you going?”
“I thought we could get dinner. There’s this French place over here that I love.”
He’s obviously feeling better. “I shouldn’t. My mom’s been stuck at the store all by herself half the day. I should get back and help her clean up.”
“One more hour won’t hurt.”
“I should go back.”
He continues his path down the wrong road. “Come on.” He throws me his smile. I swear the thing could end wars.
“Okay. Then home.”
“Of course.”
It’s not until I’m out of the car and walking up to the fancy French restaurant that I think about the layer of dirt coating my skin. Xander had smashed dirt into my hair and I can still feel some caked against my scalp. I self-consciously try to comb it out with my fingers. When we step inside, the people waiting in the lobby are all dressed up. I’m sure the hostess, who’s dressed up herself, is about to turn us away. Xander has a streak of dried dirt across his forehead, after all.
But she offers Xander a gleaming white smile. “Mr. Spence. Your party is already here.”
“Really?” He tilts his head at her. “Then lead the way.”
“Did you have plans?” I ask as we walk behind her toward a back room.
“Apparently plans were made without me.”
I have no idea what that means, but when we get to the back room a dozen well-dressed, perfectly put-together people laugh when they see him. One guy stands and then addresses the hostess, “See? Didn’t we tell you we were with Xander Spence?”
“I shouldn’t have doubted you,” she says, then to Xander adds, “I’ll make sure the waiter comes to take your order.”
“Thank you.” Xander steps into the room and walks around to an empty chair.
“You look like you’ve been doing community service,” someone comments, pointing to his flannel shirt and dirty face.
Xander’s confidence isn’t shaken. His posture is still as straight as ever, his presence bigger than the room. There’s a twinkle in his eye when he says, “So which fool is using my name to avoid waiting?”
The guy already standing, with glasses I’m pretty sure aren’t prescription and a tan he probably pays for weekly, bows. “That would be me.”
“I should’ve known.”
“It’s going on your tab, too,” the guy adds.
Xander looks around and then spots me still by the entrance. “Everyone, this is my friend Caymen. Caymen, these are people you probably don’t care to know but who I sometimes call my friends.”
There are several shouts of disapproval followed by laughs.
I’m not sure I’m ready for this kind of initiation. I’m barely getting used to Xander. So when he pulls out the chair he’s standing behind and gestures for me to sit, I want to go screaming out of the restaurant.
My stomach twists in tight knots over and over. It doesn’t help that one of the girls on the end is glaring at me. Xander seems oblivious to the fact that I’m coated in mud and underdressed.
“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’m impressed I stopped it in time. I point back the way we came and mutter, “Bathroom,” before I disappear without waiting for his response. Just when I’m almost out of hearing range, a voice says, “You taking in strays now, Xander?” followed by more laughter.
My jaw twitches as it tightens more. Why am I so angry? This only confirms everything I already know about the rich. Xander may be a slight exception, but those people in there are the rule. I change my direction and head to the hostess station instead.
“Can I borrow your phone?” I ask her when she turns my way.
“Of course.”
I call Skye and she agrees to pick me up. Then I go back to face the room one last time. I watch Xander as I approach, before he notices me. He’s listening to someone across the table. He has a small smile on his face, but it’s nowhere close to bringing world peace. It almost looks like a practiced smile.
I tell myself to behave when I reach the private room. None of them acknowledge me so I don’t feel any obligation to do different. I reach Xander and lean over. “I have to go. I’m not feeling so great.” I feel slightly guilty for lying, but then I remember the “stray” comment his friend made and the feelings are gone.
He starts to stand. “I’ll take you home.”
“It’s okay, I called Skye. I’ll see you later.”
“Caymen—”
“No, really. Stay. Have fun.” I push on his shoulder, forcing him back down, then leave the room.
Chapter 18
I grab hold of the shop door and yank, but my arm jerks to a stop.
“Is it locked?” Skye asks.
For the first time I notice the windows are dark. I cup my hand over my eyes and press my nose to the window. My mom isn’t there. Digging the keys out of my pocket, I unlock the door.
“Mom!”
No answer.
“Don’t you normally close at seven on Saturdays?” Skye asks.
“Maybe it was slow.”
Skye looks confused and she has every right to be. We’ve never closed early. She doesn’t say anything about it but rounds a baby cradle and leans against the counter.
“I’ll be right back.” After looking in the party room and stockroom and not finding her, I go to the register and open the drawer. Empty. She must’ve taken the deposit. But why would she close early just to do that? I wasn’t that late.
I rush upstairs and into the apartment.
“Mom!”
I’m greeted with silence. The answering machine we’ve had since I was a little girl doesn’t have the red blinking light of a missed call. But on the counter right next to it is a note.
Caymen,
I had a 5:30 doctor’s appointment. Since you weren’t here, I decided to close the store and take the deposit on the way to my appointment. Don’t worry about reopening. It’s been slow anyway. Hope you had a fun day.
Mom
I reread the note. It’s hard to tell from a piece of paper if someone was angry when they wrote it. I turn it over and run my hand along the back side to see how deeply the words are pressed into the page. Then I hold it up to the light to see if the handwriting looks rushed or angry. It seems to check out as being written by an average-tempered person. I sigh and place the note back on the counter then look around feeling a little lost.
I go back downstairs. Skye’s on the phone so I grab the shelf cleaner from under the counter and start cleaning.
When Skye hangs up she says, “Henry is coming over.”
The bell on the door dings.
“Like right now.”
I let out a laugh. “That was fast.”
Henry waves then looks up. “Why’s it so dark in here?”
I point to the overhead lights. “The lights are off.”
Skye laughs sweetly. “I’m sure he meant why are the lights off.”
I’m distracted. “Oh. Right. We closed early. So what are you guys up to?” I look back and forth between Skye and Henry. They obviously had plans before I intercepted Skye for a ride.
“Henry came over so we could all hang out with you.”
“Oh. Cool.”
Henry flicks at his cheek twice, making a pinging noise. “Um . . . you also invited Tic over tonight. He’ll be here in a little while.”
“What?”
Again he pings his cheek. “We told Tic you invited him to come hang out at the shop.”
“Wow, that was nice of me. Why would I do that?”
Skye smiles. “Because after he kissed you, you were smitten.”
“Is that why I haven’t talked to him in two weeks? Because I was smitten?”
She shrugs her shoulders.
“Tell me you didn’t tell him that.”
“Just relax. Come on, we’ll chill in the back and then you won’t feel like we’re standing around waiting for him.” She pulls me to the stockroom.
“So you did tell him that?” I sink onto the couch in the back room and think about damage control while Henry and Skye talk about some show the band is playing in a couple of weeks. Before I come up with any good plan, the bell on the front door rings and my heart stops.
“We’re back here,” Skye calls out.
What was I going to say? Tic, hey. We kissed? What? Hmm, I don’t remember that.
I look up as footsteps shuffle into the room. “Xander!” Yes, I yelled his name but otherwise remained frozen. He had showered and was perfectly clean and back to his normal self. Looking at him like that makes me feel the layer of dirt on my exposed skin. I rub my arm. Why didn’t I shower?
Xander nods to Skye and Henry then says, “Caymen, you forgot this in my car.” He holds up my sweatshirt. “And I brought food since you didn’t stay and eat.”
That seems to be his theme: Showing up with food. Hot chocolate, muffins, and now French.