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CHAPTER 6

 

 

I hoped so badly that the guys never, ever came to visit me at work. This was my wish the next day as I stood in front of what had to be the most awful mirrors in the world—they showed three angles simultaneously—trying on the bajillionth outfit for Linda. I looked ridiculous.

We were behind some large flowered screens at the back of the store, so at least people walking by on the street outside couldn’t witness my humiliation.

“These clothes fit you well,” she said, adjusting the flowing top that hung a little too low in the front for my taste. I was used to the high neck of a T-shirt. And I always thought jeans were meant for comfort. These jeans felt like they were attempting to hold my thighs in place.

“This is why models are so tall. Because clothes look good on tall people. It’s completely unfair.” “Okay, I think I’m done playing dress-up forever. Which ones do you want me to buy?”

“Well, that’s up to you, Charlie. Which ones speak to you?”

I coughed as I got a big whiff of the incense she had lit for this “experience.” I waved my hand through the air. “Not a single piece of clothing spoke to me.”

She placed a finger on my forehead. One thing I was learning rather quickly about Linda was tha she didn’t understand the concept of personal space. Not that I had a lot of personal space in my life, but generally strangers granted me that much. “Find your center. Feel your aura,” she said, her finger still on my head.

“Neither me or my aura know how to pick out clothes. Which ones do you like?”

“Okay. That’s very practical of you. We are never fair judges of ourselves. An outside observer is much more likely to accurately tell us what looks the best on us.” She studied all the clothes I had tried on.

A movement to my right caught my eye and I looked over.

“Mama Lou, how old is this Chinese food?” Skye, the girl with the pink-tipped hair who had referred me to Linda, walked out from the back room, holding up a container and tilting it so we could see the noodles inside. I didn’t even know she was here. “Oh. Hi, Charlie. Cute outfit.” She pointed at me with a fork.

I tugged on the bottom of the uncomfortable shirt, wondering if it was see-through. The material felt so thin. “Thanks.”

Linda looked up in surprise. “Skye. When did you get here?”

“Just now. I came in the back door.” She plopped down on a red circular ottoman next to the mirrors and lifted a forkful of noodles.

“I’m not sure how old that food is. At least a few days.” Skye sniffed it, then put it in her mouth.

Linda started separating the clothes I had tried on into two piles. “To buy now.” She pointed at one pile. “To buy later.” She nodded toward the other. Then she looked at the outfit still on my body. The mirror in front of me assured me the top wasn’t see-through, but it felt so light. And it had a flower pattern on it. I could confidently say that I had never worn anything with flowers on it before. Well, maybe when I was five.


“And to wear now,” she said, referring to the outfit I wore.



“Uh . . . I don’t know that my aura is ready to jump right in with flowers.”

She laughed like I was kidding but then threw me a striped shirt, which I changed into quickly. “Let me ring this stuff up, then you can start work.”

It felt like I had been hard at work for the last hour trying on those clothes. It was exhausting, and hoped I never had to do it again. I checked myself out in the mirror again. I didn’t look like me.

“You look great,” Skye assured me through a mouthful of noodles.

When I came out from behind the screens Linda smiled. “So nice.” She sighed like she had jus performed some miracle and was pleased with the results. At least, until her gaze reached my face and hair. I could tell she wanted to say something, but it was one thing to tell someone to change her clothes; it was a whole other thing to tell someone her face could use some work.

She positioned herself behind the register, and I watched as the number on the tiny black screen got bigger and bigger.

“Skye,” Linda called. “I got some more colored dye in.”

Skye leaped off her low stool and headed for the hutch in the corner. “Green. Nice. I’m coming back after closing so you can help me.”

Linda helped her dye her hair? Skye’s parents must’ve been really laid back. Well, Skye looked older than I was. Maybe she didn’t live with her parents.

Linda tucked the receipt into her drawer, probably so she could deduct it from my paycheck later. “Sounds good,” she said. “So scoot on out of here. I need to train Charlie now.”

“Fine. Fine.” Skye headed toward the back, and a thought suddenly occurred to me. “Are you and Skye related?”

“Oh, no. Her mother left when she was young.” A look of pity passed over Linda’s face as she gazed toward the back of the store where Skye had just left. “She just needs an extra helping of love. That’s all.”

My breath caught. Is that how Linda saw the motherless of the world? Lacking somehow? I didn’ say anything, but I didn’t need to. Linda filled the silence by showing me how to fold shirts, organize racks by sizes, and properly hang pants.

The two hours went by pretty fast, and I changed back into my normal clothes then collected my bag of new clothes and car keys. Linda said, “So, I’ll see you Saturday at ten a.m., Charlie.” Sh paused, thoughtful. “Is that a nickname?”

“Short for Charlotte. But Charlie fits me better.”

“It does.” She pointed to the bag of clothes. “You can wear them home, you know, they’re completely machine-washable.”

“Oh, yeah . . .” I shrugged my shoulders. “If my brothers saw me in these clothes, they’d never le me live it down.”

“We live in our own minds, child.”

Not in my house. In my house, we were always getting in each other’s heads. It was hard enough keeping the guys out without giving them extra ammo. “I guess.”

She had a set of keys in her hands and she followed me to the door, obviously about to lock up. “What about your mom? I’m sure she’d love to see you in those clothes.”

That look of pity Linda had given when talking about Skye’s motherless state flashed through my mind. I knew that look well. I’d seen it before. It was the look that always came after the line My


mom died when I was six. That was my go-to line. That was usually followed by an apology from the listeners and then the look. Sometimes the look lingered for months, every time they saw me. It was hard to say which was worse: the look, or when the look finally went away, the memory of my story fading into the recesses of their minds. How could they forget when I couldn’t?

I hadn’t seen that look directed at me in a while. Most people just knew. We lived in the same house and went to the same schools pretty much my whole life.

I opened my mouth to avoid the question when “My mom’s like me. She doesn’t know a thing about fashion” came out. My face flushed hot and I stepped outside without turning back. Did I really jus pretend my mom was alive? Not only that, I gave her my fashion sense. I knew that wasn’t even true. I’d seen enough pictures of her to know she always looked gorgeous. The picture my mind always went to was my mom in a long yellow sundress, standing on the beach looking out at the waves.

But I didn’t know much outside of pictures. I used to ask my dad questions about her, but as I go older I noticed the sad looks that accompanied the answers and stopped asking. I stopped asking long before I could start asking questions that really mattered. I wondered if I’d ever get the motivation or courage to start asking again.


UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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Date: 2015-02-03; view: 586


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