“What?”

“I heard what your friend called me.”

He gives a single, bitter laugh. “That’s why you left? You should’ve eavesdropped a little longer because he was referring to my shirt. He calls flannel the ‘dog-catcher fabric.’”

My chest tightens and I think about saying sorry, but that’s not the only thing that bothered me tonight. “Well, thank goodness you’ll never have to wear it again.”

He pulls his keys out of his pocket. “Bye, Caymen.”

“Bye.” I don’t look back over my shoulder even though I want to so badly. I want him to stop me from walking away. And I’m angry with myself for wanting that.

He doesn’t stop me.

Back in the stockroom Henry is packing away his guitar and Skye is wrapping a scarf around her neck.

I don’t want to be left alone. My stomach hurts. “Where is everyone going?”

“Henry doesn’t like the offerings.” Skye points to the food on the table. “We’re loading up on some real food at the corner mart.”

“Real food as in nachos and day-old corn dogs?”

“Exactly,” Henry says.

I carefully add three seconds’ worth of Mountain Dew to my cup then move to the Powerade.

“What’s she doing?” I hear Mason ask.

Skye laughs. “It’s her special mixture. She spent all last summer on this experiment. She has now discovered the perfect formula of soda fountain mixture.”

“I’ll have to try it,” Mason says, the owner of the gas station trailing behind him as he walks. The owner doesn’t trust teenagers and he always follows us around telling us the “deals of the day” in a veiled attempt to make it seem like he’s not watching us. Right now he is telling Mason about the sale on beef jerky and Mason is messing with him by asking if he can mix and match different items. The only one amused by this is me. Skye is pumping mustard onto an oversized hot dog.

I finish up my last add-in and take a sip. Perfect. Skye may make fun of me but this was an experiment worth the effort. “How much would you pay for a shirt?” I ask suddenly, thinking of the hundreds of dollars Xander was about to spend on a replacement shirt for his “important customer.”

“I got this one for fifty cents at the Salvation Army,” Mason announces proudly, pointing with a stick of beef jerky to the band logo on his T-shirt. The owner intently follows the movement of the jerky with his eyes as if Mason is going to slip it up his sleeve.

“That’s awesome even for a thrift store,” Skye says with a nod, clearly impressed.

“Five bucks for these jeans,” Henry says. “I would’ve been willing to pay six though.” He lifts his shirt to show us a full view of his butt.

I laugh. Including the overly suspicious gas station owner, these are my kind of people.

Mason points and blinks at the same time, giving a loud “Aha!” that makes me jump.

“What?” I ask.

“That’s where I recognize him from.”

I turn slowly, following his finger to a Starz magazine on a rack behind me. In the corner on the front page is a picture of Xander.

Chapter 20

I probably shouldn’t have bought the magazine. I’m already irritated enough at Xander. But I did and now 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 reopening of one of the family’s hotels.

No wonder why he was confused I didn’t know what his family’s business was when we first met. He probably thought I was pretending not to know who he was. I blame it on our lack of cable. I may not have known exactly who he was, but I always knew he was a somebody. An article reminding me of the fact doesn’t change anything. I crumble up the thin magazine and throw it at the glowing television. Two seconds later my mom walks in the front door.

“Hi,” she says when she sees me on the couch.

“That appointment took forever.” It would be really obvious if I pick up the magazine so I leave it there and hope she doesn’t notice.

“Sorry. I ran some errands when I was done.”

I point over my shoulder. “I made you a sandwich. It’s in the fridge.”

The lighting changes as my show goes to a commercial, and I notice my mom’s eyes are red. I sit up and turn toward her. “Are you okay?”

“Of course. Just tired.” She disappears as she walks into the kitchen that is separated from where I sit by a single wall.

“Really?”

“Yes. I’m fine.”

I grab the magazine and shove it in my pocket.

After banging around in the kitchen for a while, she yells out, “Did you have fun?”

I walk the four and a half steps to the television and turn it off then wait for her to join me on the couch. “Yes. We went to Skye’s and did some grave digging. It was pretty cool.”

“That sounds great. I wish you would’ve had your friend come in. I wanted to meet him.”

No, you didn’t. You would’ve hated to meet him. “He has a doll phobia. Some childhood trauma.”

“Really?”

“Not really, Mom.”

“You are hilarious, Caymen.”

“You’re getting good at sarcasm.”

She laughs. “So is this friend a boyfriend?”

“We’re just friends.” But are we even that now?

“Well, if that’s all you’re looking for then you better watch it because you know the difference between a ‘boy friend’ and a ‘boyfriend.’”

I roll my eyes with a smile. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Just a little space,” she says. “Don’t go breaking hearts.”

“You’re like Socrates or something, Mom.”

“I am, aren’t I?” I hear a cupboard open and shut and prepare for her to join me on the couch when she says, “Thanks for the sandwich, sweetie. I’ll eat it tomorrow. I ate while I was out.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry to come in and then crash on you, but I’m heading to bed.”

“At eight o’clock?”

“It’s been a long day between manning the shop and running around town.”

I jump up and follow her down the hall. “Wait.”

She turns to face me. The hall light is off and we stand in shadows. “Yes?”

“Please talk to me. Something’s wrong.” My mom and I used to tell each other everything. The distance I feel between us is my fault, I know, because of all the secrets we’re keeping, but I need her to talk to me.

She looks at her hands and her shoulders rise and fall. She doesn’t meet my eyes when she says, “It’s nothing. Really.”

“Please, Mom. I know what nothing looks like and it’s not this.”

“I tried to secure a loan today. I was denied.”

I don’t need to ask but I do anyway. “A loan for what?”

She finally looks up. Her eyes are bloodshot. “To pay some bills I’ve gotten behind on.” She takes my 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’s hope for a few good months. We’ll just have to be more careful.”

“More careful?” How could we be more careful? We already spend next to nothing.

“Don’t worry, okay? It’s fine.”

I nod and she gives me a hug. It doesn’t stop me from worrying.

When she’s in her room I shut my bedroom door with a horrible pressure in my chest. The magazine digs into my thigh so I yank it out of my pocket and smooth it flat. “Are you even worth all this trouble, Xander?” I say to his wrinkled face.

Monday morning I take my time getting ready. I’ve been trying to figure out all weekend what to say to Xander. I’m tired of the feeling that’s settled onto my chest and threatened to stay.

When I go downstairs my mom is zipping up the green bank-deposit bag and tucking it into her purse.

“I thought you took the deposit Saturday night.”

She jumps. “You scared me.” She looks me up and down. “Wow, you look nice today. I haven’t seen you wear that sweater in forever. It makes your eyes stand out. Is this for the special boy at school?”

If I didn’t love my mom so much I would strangle her. “No, Mom, I told you we’re just friends.” And he doesn’t go to my school. And . . . wait, was she trying to change the subject? It almost worked. “So what’s going on with the deposit?”

“I didn’t take it Saturday.”

She didn’t take the deposit? My mom is anal about making the deposit. And didn’t she just say last night that we are behind?

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 unexpected flutter, the first one since fighting with Xander. I smile and step out into the cold.

Xander’s not there.

My walk to school feels twice as long as normal. Maybe because I keep looking over my shoulder or maybe because I’ve slowed down to give him time to arrive. He never does.

After school, while my mom is upstairs placing orders on the computer, I get out Xander’s camera that I keep stashed in the stockroom desk and take more pictures of the dolls. I’ve never felt more motivated to get the website up and running. We could obviously use the increase in traffic. As I stare at the lifeless eyes of Aislyn through the viewfinder, a thought comes back to me: my mom standing by the register that morning holding the bank-deposit bag and how she tried to avoid my questions about it.

I strap the camera around my neck and sneak into her office. The first thing I look for is the balance book. The red number is even bigger, over three thousand dollars. It shouldn’t surprise me; she had said as much. But it makes me worry even more. I open the side drawer where she keeps the bank bag and pull it out. It’s zipped shut and I stare at it for a moment, feeling the weight in my hands, not wanting to open it and find out if the money is still inside. I have no idea what it will mean if the money is still inside. That she’s still hiding things from me? Fast and painless. I slide it open and look in. Empty. Even though the money is gone, proving she made the deposit, I feel uneasy.

The bell on the front door rings, and I shove the bag back in the drawer and rush back out front.

A tall man with dark hair and a dark beard stands just inside the door. It takes me a second to place him, but then I remember he had been in the store a few weeks ago, talking to my mom.

“Is Susan in?” he asks, his eyes lingering on the camera around my neck.

“No, she’s not.” I could probably tell him she’s just upstairs, but the feeling of uneasiness I felt in my mom’s office has grown.

“Will you tell her Matthew dropped by?”

“Is there something I can help you with?”

His eyes twinkle and his mouth twitches into a smile. “No.” With that he backs out the door. He walks by the front window, and I wait for a few seconds then quickly step outside, staying close to the building 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, zooming in on the license plate and then up to his face. My heart nearly stops when his eyes meet the camera lens. The metal door handle digs into my back with my hasty retreat. He probably didn’t see me. I had zoomed in quite a bit.

Inside I pick up the phone. Just as I’m about to push the intercom button, I stop myself. I don’t want to tell my mom about Matthew over the phone. I don’t want to tell her about Matthew at all. It’s not that my mom has never dated anyone. She has . . . on occasion. But she always tells me about it. So I have to assume that whoever Matthew is, he’s not someone she’s dating. And if she’s not dating him, then who is he?