City Secrets (8 page)

“Great choices, girls!” Sienna said. “Those will be perfect. They've got a mix of prep and edge. I'll meet you up at the register so you can drop those off and keep looking.” Sienna left the dressing area, and I turned to Heather.

“I like these three,” I said. “But I'm not letting you get all of them. So help me pick one.”

Heather rolled her eyes. “Will you just shut up? You're getting them. So there.”

“Heather—”

“I'm not continuing this convo. We're doing skirts next. Forget pants. Boring.”

I took a breath, deciding not to argue. Heather and I gave our clothes to Sienna.

“We're doing skirts,” Heather said. “I think we can handle that.”

“Cool,” Sienna said. “Come find me if you need anything.”

Heather and I stuck together this time and looked through skirts. It didn't take us long to each find two that we loved.

“I think those'll look great,” I said, nodding at Heather's choices of a flirty black skirt with an inch of lace at the bottom and a crimson mini that would be fun with tights for a weekend night out.

“Duh, I chose them,” Heather said. She looked at mine. I'd
picked a ruffled black skirt and a sleek gray one that skimmed above my knees and was
so
soft. “Those don't look like they were handmade by your mom, so I think they're going to work for you.”

We tried them on and emerged minutes later with skirts in hand. “I love them both,” I said.

“Me too,” Heather said. “Let's check out on this floor and go to shoes. I'm bored with clothes now.”

“Okay,” I said. We gave our skirts to Sienna and I looked away from the register as she rang up the total.

“It's going to be—” Sienna started.

Heather reached into her pocket and shoved the AmEx at Sienna before she could say the number. “Doesn't matter. Charge it.”

Sienna swiped the card, Heather signed the receipt, and we grabbed our bags. Sienna hurried to the back room and brought us our purses.

“Thanks so much,” I said.

“Of course,” Sienna said. “Hope to see you back soon!”

“You will. And I'm sure you'll see my mother any day now,” Heather said.

Sienna hid a smile. “I'm sure I will. Bye, girls.”

Heather and I got in the much less crowded elevator and she pushed a button.

“Thank you,” I said. “That was really nice of you. You didn't have to—”

Heather gave me a look that made me close my mouth. “You're welcome,” she said. “But thank me again or argue about getting stuff and you'll wish you'd graciously accepted everything.”

The girl was scary sometimes.

The elevator doors opened and we stepped onto the next floor.

Shoes.

Everywhere.

Stilettos.

Flats.

Boots.

Sandals.

“I need new fall boots,” Heather said. She glanced down at my platform sandals. “And you obviously need new sandals and I'm going to just guess that you need boots.”

“I have boots . . . they . . .” I paused, thinking. Groan—Heather was actually right. My boots were scuffed and pretty worn. “I need boots,” I muttered.

Heather grinned. “Knew it.”

We went straight to the boots. I picked up a pair of
caramel-colored, butter-soft knee-high boots with a heel. A salesperson found my size, and I held one up to Heather.

“Thoughts, Shopping Yoda?”

Heather wrinkled her nose. “Please don't reference me to
Star Wars
or
Star Trek
. Whatever. But, yeah—I like those. Try them on.”

I slid my feet into the boots and stood. I walked over to a mirror and checked them out. They looked hot.

“Nice job, Silver,” Heather said. There was real approval in her tone. “You have to get them.”

She sat down and slid her feet into a pair of dark brown slouch boots with a chunky heel. “I have enough in black,” she said. She walked over to the mirror and stood next to me. We both looked at her boots.

“Those are awesome,” I said. “They would look great with skinny jeans.”

Heather nodded. “Yeah, they would, actually.”

We gathered our boots and moved to the sandals. We tried on a bunch of pairs before we both settled on the right ones. I loved a pair of T-strap sand-colored wedges that had a cute buckle on the ankle. Heather had found a pair of dressy black mules with a skinny two-inch heel.

We checked out, and again I ignored the price and let Mrs. Fox's AmEx get a workout.

Heather and I walked toward the elevator and she paused. “I was going to do accessories, but let's save that for another day. I don't want to, like, give you a shopping stroke.”

I smiled. “Thanks. But how about when we do accessories, you let
me
pick where we go? I did just shop with you for hours with very little argument.”

“Fiiine,” Heather said. “But if you try to take me somewhere with used jewelry, you'll be dead.”

“Deal,” I said. “No used jewelry. I think I can manage that.”

We got to the bottom floor and Heather pulled out her phone. “Let me text Paul. It'll take him two seconds to get here.”

She texted and we walked out of Barneys. We'd no sooner reached the spot where he'd dropped us off than the Foxes' car pulled up beside the curb. I opened the door and slid inside, remembering Heather's “I don't slide” from earlier, and she got in after me.

“Looks like you girls had a successful afternoon,” Paul said, glancing at our bags before easing into traffic.

“Totally,” Heather said. She turned to me. “Huh.”

“What?” I asked.

“I don't have to hide any of these clothes from my
mom. There's nothing in here that would freak her out.”

I thought about what she'd picked out. “True. That's funny. Maybe your tastes are more similar than you realized.”

Heather gave me a death stare.

“I take it back! I take it back,” I said, laughing. “Your mom
def
wouldn't have picked out the miniskirt.”

“So. True,” Heather said. She combed through her bag and gave it to me. “Put it in your bag and I'll get it from you later.”

I stuck the skirt between my shirts and sank back into the leather seat. I'd never be able to be one of those stuck-up socialites who shopped all day. I was tired! Shopping was oddly exhausting. All the trying on clothes and all the walking—we'd probably covered five miles inside Barneys.

We pulled up to Heather's building and I gathered my bags. Paul got out of the car and opened Heather's door. She exited gracefully and I waited for my turn to get out. I smiled my thanks to Paul, and Heather and I made our way to her door.

Heather punched in the code to her penthouse, and I followed her inside.

“That was so fun,” I said. “Thanks, really.”

Heather kicked off her shoes, shaking her head. “You're welcome. Stop saying it.”

We started out of the foyer and headed for the hallway.

“Girls?” Mrs. Fox called.

She walked into the foyer and eyed our shopping bags.

“What, Mom?” Heather asked. “We're just going to put our clothes away.”

“I want to see what you got,” Mrs. Fox said. She reached for Heather's bags. Heather handed over the bags.

Mrs. Fox took them to the family room and perched on the black leather couch. She only occasionally looked up at Heather. Her expression was blank, as if what she was seeing wasn't affecting her at all.

“Heather,” Mrs. Fox said, brushing back a lock of stray blond hair. “I'm glad you went shopping, but what about the color scheme we'd talked about for this year?”

Heather shrugged. “I didn't see anything pink or girly that I liked. Their selection was pathetic.”

I hated that Heather had to have this conversation with her mom. It was ridiculous for Mrs. Fox to want Heather to dress in clothes she didn't like. Heather wore pink at school, but she never dressed supergirly. And I was starting to get an idea why.

Mrs. Fox's eyes locked with Heather's—almost as if
she was trying to get a read on whether her daughter was lying. Finally, after what felt like a staring contest that lasted for hours, Mrs. Fox handed Heather the bags.

“I'll make sure you get proper clothes sent back to school,” Mrs. Fox said.

“Thanks, Mom,” Heather said. She gave what I knew was her fake smile, and I followed her out of the living room.

“Not,” Heather muttered once we got into the hallway.

We went to Heather's room and laid out all of our clothes on her bed. I didn't want to say anything about what had just happened. Heather would talk to me if she wanted to.

I stared at my shirts and skirts, thinking absently about how I couldn't wait to show them to Paige.
If we ever make up,
I thought.

“Now that you have decent clothes for the week,” Heather said, “we can be seen in public together. You can still borrow my stuff if you need something, but
do not
come in my room if I'm not in here.”

“I won't,” I said. “And thanks.”

Heather looked at her phone. “Let's get out of here and go get lunch. I'm starving.”

“Me too,” I said. “But we just got back. Are we allowed to go out again?”

Heather grabbed her purse off the bed and headed for her door. “No one cares what we do. You'll figure that out soon.”

I picked up my purse and followed Heather, wondering if it would take me till the day I went home to get used to how things worked around the Fox household.

 7 

“WHERE TO?” PAUL ASKED HEATHER AND ME after we'd buckled up in the backseat.

“The Shake Shack, please,” Heather said.

“The name alone sounds awesome,” I said. “What kind of restaurant is it?”

Heather glossed and then looked at me. “It'll make you feel at home because we get to eat outside and, like, don't you do that in Union?”

“Will you stop—” I started.

“I'm kidding,” Heather interrupted with a grin. “I mean, you
do
eat outside, but it's a famous NYC place that you have to visit. It's in the Flatiron District at Madison Square Park and you get to see a view of something pretty cool from there.”

“What?” I asked.

“You'll see.”

As if Heather ever gave me any answers. I watched out the window as we headed away from Park Avenue and toward Madison Square Park. I hadn't been there with Paige, but we'd talked about going.

I watched as we passed buildings that seemed to get taller and taller as Paul got us closer to the park.

“My apartment is barely a mile away,” Heather said.

“Do you ever walk here?” I asked.

Heather looked out the window, then back at me. “Sometimes. When I need to get out or whatever.”

Paul pulled up to the curb. “Enjoy your lunch, ladies,” he said, smiling.

“We'll be done in an hour,” Heather said. “Thanks.”

We got out of the car and I was almost overwhelmed by the mass of people, the smells of food, and the honks of horns.

“So we're on Twenty-third Street,” Heather explained. “And sometimes I walk up and take a right to hang out at Benvenuto Café. They have the best coffee around here.”

“That sounds so cool,” I said.

“Plus,” Heather said, “if you get the right window
seat, you can see”—Heather turned and looked up, pointing—“that.”

“Omigod, is that . . .” I paused, just staring.

“The Empire State Building.”

“Wow,” I breathed.

I stared at the building for a minute, not even caring that I was probably going to be run over by a stroller with three kids or knocked down by a jogger too involved in music to notice me. Heather didn't mock or sigh or yank me off the sidewalk. She let me gape at the gorgeous building until I had a mental picture I'd never forget. I hadn't been to the Flatiron District on my last trip and it was a completely new section of the city.