“So your cousin has a black bob and is looking for trouble?”

“Exactly.”

I slide the box across the counter to him. “Tell your grandmother hi for me.”

“And she’ll know who ‘me’ is?”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

“Everybody but me, it seems.” He takes out his phone and pushes a few buttons.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m telling my grandma you say hi.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s cheating.”

“I didn’t realize we were playing a game.” He offers me his first smile of the day, and I’m suddenly glad he keeps that thing put away. It’s more disarming than any weapon. “Hi, Grammy. I got your doll. . . . Yes, a young lady at the store helped me with it. She told me to tell you hi. . . . No, not Susan.”

I laugh out loud.

“Her daughter. Dark hair, green eyes.”

I look down, surprised he knows the color of my eyes. His are brown with gold flecks. Not that I’ve noticed.

“Sixteen . . . ish?” He widens his eyes, asking if he guessed right. I shake my head no. “Seventeen?”

And a half.

“Caymen?” He raises his eyebrows at me. I shrug my shoulders. “Well, Caymen says hi. . . . Sweet? I don’t know about sweet, but she’s something.” He’s quiet for a while. “I am being nice. You should tell her to be nice. She wouldn’t even tell me her name. . . . No, not because I’m being mean.”

I love Mrs. Dalton.

I write down in the book the date and time the special order was picked up. Then for some reason I add the “ander” on the end of the “Alex” I had written before. I close the book and put it beneath the counter. He’s still listening intently to something his grandma is saying. He meets my eyes at one point and then holds up a finger. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet and a credit card without even looking at it.

“She already paid,” I whisper.

He nods and puts it away.

His grandma says something that makes him smile. The smile. What is it about that smile anyway? Maybe it’s his perfectly straight and white teeth that make it so amazing. But it’s more than that. It’s a little crooked, one side going up more than the other. And once in a while his top teeth bite his bottom lip. It’s a very unguarded smile, unlike the rest of his appearance, which is a fortress.

“Well, hey, Grammy, I gotta go. Caymen is staring at me, probably wondering if I’m ever going to leave her store so she can get back to work.”

It’s weird to hear him say my name. It makes him seem like more than just some random customer. Almost like we know each other now.

He pockets his phone. “Caymen.”

“Xander.”

“Does this mean I won the game?”

“I didn’t realize we were playing a game.”

He picks up the doll and backs away with his lower-lip-biting smile. “I think you did.”

Chapter 5

About a year ago my mom started booking little girl birthday parties in the back room of the store. It sounded ridiculous at the time (still does), but she had a vision of ordering unfinished dolls and then having the girls come in and pick out the finishing touches—clothes, hair color, eye color—so they could go home with their own personalized doll. At first my mom let them paint on the eyes, but that turned into Creep Show 101. So now I sit at the register painting eyes while my mom stays with the party in the back and helps them pick outfits and hair. On a good day we finish with a hundred dollars in our pockets. On most Saturdays we’re lucky to break even (my mom is a sucker and lets the kids pick more than the three allotted clothing items).

Today I think we made twenty bucks, and I’m wishing beyond anything that we would stop booking Saturday parties. But it makes my mom happy—some nonsense about the laughter of little children—so I don’t complain. The girls giggle their way out of the store, clutching their newly clothed dolls and touching everything as they go. My mom will spend the next two hours cleaning up the “party room” (formerly known as the break room).

I look up when Skye walks in, Henry tagging along behind her. “We missed you last night,” she says.

I search my memory but come up empty. “What was last night?”

“My band’s show at Scream Shout,” Henry says with a “duh” in his voice.

“Oh yeah. How’d it go?”

Skye smiles. “He wrote me a song.”

Henry sets down his guitar and plops down next to it. “We thought we’d do a repeat of the night.”

“Awesome,” I say, looking over the list my mom made of the doll clothes we were running low on and checking off the ones I’d already ordered.

“She sounds like she’s not excited, but she totally is,” Skye says to Henry.

“Totally,” I assure him dryly.

He strums a few chords. “Caveman has no life,” he sings. I throw my pen at him, but then I need it back so I walk to where it landed on the floor behind him and pick it up.

Skye laughs. “She has a life, Henry. It’s just a boring one.”

“Considering I’m with you half the time, Skye, I’d watch what you say.”

“Caveman has a boring life,” he sings. “She needs some toil and strife.”

“No, I’m fine with boringness, thank you.” In fact I’ve settled into my monotonous life pretty well, only feeling the urge to rip my hair out about once a week now.

Skye straightens a doll on the shelf beside her. “But seriously, Caymen, you should’ve come last night. Why didn’t you?”

“What time did you get home?” I ask.

“I don’t know . . . two-ish.”

“And that’s why I didn’t go. I had to work this morning.”

“It’s like she’s a grown-up already,” Henry says.

Who asked you?

“Play her a song, Henry. A real one.”

“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?”