“I’m pretty sure we can walk ourselves to the car.”

“So I’ll see you next Saturday?”

I want to say, “I don’t know, you better check with your girlfriend first. She just called; should we ask her?” But I don’t. I just nod. Because girlfriend or not, I want to see him on Saturday. Apparently I’m further from being over him than I hoped and I hate myself for being so weak.

Chapter 24

Monday morning as I say good-bye to my mom and grab my backpack for school there’s a knock on the door. I look over to see Xander standing there holding his two cups. My heart jumps to my throat. No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. He has a girlfriend. If I knew . . . My heart doubles its speed when he smiles. If more than my heart knew that we have something, I could open that door right now and face disappointing my mother.

“Who’s that?”

This is not a good time for this. My mom and I finally feel right again. I shake my head no, but instead of walking away Xander holds up a drink with a smirk as if to say, I’m not leaving so let me in.

I narrow my eyes and smile a little. All right, if he wants to play it that way. Game on. “Oh, that looks like Mrs. Dalton’s grandson. He came in the other day to pick up a doll for her. I’ll just tell him we don’t open until nine today and to come back later.”

“Oh no, honey. Mrs. Dalton is our best customer. Why don’t you let him in and see what he needs.”

Or there’s that. Crap.

I slowly unlock the door. “Hi,” I say when I open it. His familiar scent wafts in with the breeze and doesn’t help my already racing heart. I take a deep breath. “We’re not open yet. Did your grandma need something?”

He takes a sip of the drink then hands it to me. I cringe. That act alone is going to make my mom think he is the most obnoxious rich person in the world who wants me to hold his drink while he shops.

“I want to meet your mom,” he says loud enough for her to hear.

“Yes, my mom is much more knowledgeable about the dolls than I am.” I turn toward my mother. “Mom, he . . . um . . . I’m sorry, what was your name again? Wellington or something?”

A crease of confusion forms between his brows, but I can tell he also thinks it’s funny.

“No, that wasn’t your name. Um . . .”

“Xander.”

“Right. I knew it was something odd like that.”

“Caymen,” my mom says. “Sorry, my daughter is very dry. She’s just kidding.”

“Last time Xander came in he was really interested in the sleeping baby dolls. Didn’t you say they made your heart happy just to look at them?”

“I don’t recall saying that but it sounds like me.”

I laugh then quickly suck in my lips to stop myself. “Maybe you could show him our collection, Mom.”

My mom tilts her head at me, obviously confused. She’s going to call me out. She must sense I know Xander. I need to get out of here. I shake the full cup of hot chocolate in my hand, pretending it’s empty. “There’s a trash outside. I’ll just take care of this for you.” I turn back to my mom. “I’m going to be late. I’ll see you after school.”

“Have a great day, honey.”

I leave, flashing Xander a look of wide-eyed innocence. A sadness follows me out of the store, and I can’t decide if it’s because I just lied to my mom again or because I really do want my mom to know Xander. Not just know him but like him.

I’m ten steps from school when a pair of hands grabs my arms from behind, stopping me in my tracks. “You are the biggest brat. You know that, right?” Xander says in my ear. He lets go and I turn around, smiling.

“No, you are. I told you I didn’t want you to meet my mom yet. But you thought you’d do it anyway.”

“Yes, I did. I wanted to show you that all moms like me. And your mom is no exception: she loves me.”

My heart skips a beat. “Really?”

“I didn’t know it was going to cost me a hundred and fifty bucks to prove it but she’s smitten.”

Oh. Of course she loved him. He was a customer. “You bought a doll?” He isn’t holding a bag so I grab the lapels of his open jacket and look inside.

“It’s not on me, woman. I put it in the car.”

“Who did you buy?”

“You don’t honestly expect me to remember.”

“I know you remember.”

“Daphne.”

“You bought a Wailer?”

“Yes, I was feeling a little frustrated in there, and this screaming baby represented my mood very well. I’ll just give her to my grandma next year for her birthday.” He looks down. “You thought I stashed the doll in my coat?”

I realize I’m still holding tight to his jacket. “If your ego fits in there anything is possible.” Just as I’m about to let go, he puts his hands over mine, sandwiching them between his chest and his warm hands.

I’m now staring at the open collar of his name-brand shirt, trying to pretend that he’s not staring at me. Classmates walk by me, rushing to get to class, and I sense them looking at me.

“I thought you were out of town.”

He shrugs a little. “I’m back.”

“I thought we weren’t seeing each other until Saturday.” My voice comes out breathy.

“I couldn’t wait.”

My heart pounds loudly in my ears. “Whatever happened the other night, anyway?”

“With what?” he asks softly. Or maybe I can’t hear him because of the whole heart-pounding thing.

“The hotel crisis of the decade. Did you find a replacement shirt?”

“Yes. One trip down to LA is all it took.”

Right. LA, the place where he saw Sadie Newel. My good mood leaves quickly. “Is that all?”

He nods and I’m about to pull my hands away when he says, “Come to the benefit with me?”

“What?”

“It’s in two weeks. There’ll be dancing, schmoozing, sucking people dry of their money. It’s for my mom’s charity.”

“Another career day?”

“No.”

I meet his eyes. Isn’t that something he should take his girlfriend to? “I have plans that night.”

“Doing what?”

“Avoiding a benefit.” I smile. “I better go. I’m really late.” Why aren’t my feet moving?

“Bye, Caymen.” He lets go of my hands.

I drop mine to my sides but then surprise myself by giving him a hug. He hugs me back, and I linger there longer than I should. Why can’t I just walk away from Xander Spence and not look back? The tardy bell rings behind me.

“I gotta go.” I push away and turn to leave.

“Caymen,” he says, stopping me.

I turn back. “Yeah.”

“The employee who doesn’t know how to use an iron?”

“Yeah.”

“He wasn’t fired. I know that bothered you so I . . . He wasn’t fired.”

Why does this news make me want to cry? “Good. Maybe he should attend the next career day I host where we’ll learn how to properly iron all your T-shirts.”

“I’ll extend the invite.”

That afternoon as I’m sitting behind the register doing homework and my mom is wiping down counters, she chuckles.

“What?” I ask.

“Mrs. Dalton’s grandson.”

“Xander?”

“Yes, Xander. He was funny this morning.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask hopefully. Maybe he really did make a good impression on my mom. Maybe it wouldn’t bother her after all to know we hang out.

“I don’t believe he wanted you to throw away his trash. And then, after you left, he was telling me how much he liked your name and how he had just been to the Cayman Islands last year. He asked how often I went as though everyone in the world goes wherever they want whenever they want.”

I’m usually the one making fun of the rich and she’s the one telling me to watch myself. For years it made me angry because I knew she felt the same way. And now Xander is the one she chooses to pick on? A lump forms in my throat and I don’t think I can talk through it. I try anyway. “He seemed nice, though.”

She shrugs.

Every defensive bone in my body is shaking.

“Are you seeing Mason today?”

Her abrupt change in subject renders me speechless.

“I really like the sentiment of his tattoo. I’m not a huge fan of tattoos in general—they are just so permanent—but I like its message.”

“Acceptance?” I ask, waiting for her to realize how ironic that is after what she had just said.

“Yes, a beautiful message. I’m sure he meets a lot of people that don’t accept him at face value. I’m so proud of you for being able to look beyond that.”

“Beyond what exactly, Mom? His skin color?”

“What? No. This has nothing to do with his skin color. Geez, Caymen, what do you think I’m talking about?”

“I don’t know; that’s what I’m trying to figure out.” I know what she’s talking about—his lip ring, his tattoo, his tic—but I’m too irritated to give her a break. Can she really not see the hypocrisy in what she’s saying?

“I’m going to do my homework upstairs.”

“Okay.”

I make it to the door when it hits me—she suspects there’s something going on between me and Xander. That’s why she said what she did. Why she put down Xander and built up Mason. It’s her subtle way of steering me the way she wants me to go. That has to be it. I want to turn around and ask her if I’m right. But what does it matter when he has a girlfriend?

Upstairs I pass the counter on the way toward my bedroom and see another pink-enveloped bill. All my irritation is immediately coupled with worry. I’m not sure which emotion is worse.

Chapter 25

I look through the rack at the Salvation Army with Skye, trying not to think too hard.

Skye sighs. “I guess I just don’t understand what happened.”

“What’s there to understand? He has a girlfriend. I’m pretty sure that’s the end of the story.” I haven’t seen him in a few days and whenever he’s away I’m able to think more clearly about things.

“But the way he looks at you is just . . .” She stops, maybe realizing this isn’t helping matters at all. “I’m sorry. Moving on.” She holds up a shirt and raises her eyebrows at me.

“Not your color.”

She puts it back. “Speaking of moving on, what about Tic? He totally likes you.”

“Mason likes whoever is in front of him at the moment.”

“Okay, so he has the attention span of an insect, but I think he could settle down.” She holds up another shirt and I nod, so she adds it to the growing stack over her arm. “He really is an amazing guy if you get to know him. They’re performing at The Beach tomorrow. It’s a big deal for them. You should come.”

I should go. Mason really is a good fit for me. My mom likes him; my best friend likes him; I know I could’ve liked him by now, too, if someone else wasn’t in the way.

My hand stops on the black dress. The one I had found when I was here with Xander. I’m surprised it’s still here. It’s amazing. I pull it out and run one hand along the hand-sewn beading.

Skye gasps. “That is gorgeous.”

I put it back on the rack and move the next piece of clothing, a hideous spandex jumpsuit, in front of it.

“Oh no way,” Skye says, coming to my side and freeing the dress. “You are so getting this.”