The Distance Between Us (5 page)

My mom walks by my room then backs up. “I thought you left already.”

“No, and I don’t have to leave if you need me.”

“Caymen, I’m fine. Now get out of here. You look amazing.”

As I walk the five blocks to Scream Shout, I take in my surroundings. Old Town looks like it belongs in a western movie. All the storefronts are made of vertical siding or red brick. Some stores even have saloon-style swinging doors. The sidewalks are cobblestone. The only things missing are the horizontal posts to tie off the horses in front of the stores. Instead there is a wide street and diagonal parking curbs. The ocean is several blocks away, but on a quiet night I can hear it and I can always smell it. I take a deep breath.

Two doors down from our doll store is a dance studio, and I’m surprised to see the lights all on this late at night. Wide-open windows on a dark night make everything inside as clear as on a movie screen. There is a girl inside, probably my age, dancing in front of a wall of mirrors. The graceful movements of her body prove she’s been studying for years. I wonder why some people seem to be born knowing what they want to do with their lives and others—mostly me—have no idea. I sigh and continue my walk to the club.

Scream Shout is packed with locals tonight. I recognize some people from school and nod hello. The stage can barely be called that. It’s more like a rickety platform. Mismatched tables fill the area around it and a bar lines one wall. There are so many people I actually have to search out Skye.

“Hey,” she says when I join her. Her hair is extra pink tonight, and I feel drab standing next to her.

“Hi. It’s crowded tonight.”

“I know. So cool. You must’ve made a good impression on Tic because he was just asking if I thought you’d show up.” She nods her head to a door off the side of the stage where I assume the band is getting ready.

“Must we call him that?” I haven’t decided what my impression of Mason is. But it must’ve been something or I wouldn’t be standing here, giving up sleep.

“Yes, we must, Caveman.”

“Please. Not you, too, Die.”

She laughs. “I know, they’re pretty awful, aren’t they? It makes me laugh when you call Henry Toad, though.”

“How’s it going with Toad anyway?”

“Pretty good.” Skye is extremely loyal. Henry would have to do something blatantly horrible for her to break up with him at this point. Not that he would. Aside from his heinous abuse of nicknames, Henry is decent.

I look back at the stage, waiting for its occupants. “I’m guessing tonight you’re going to be madly in love with him because he’s about to go all rock star on you.”

“For sure.” She smiles. “And you are about to fall madly in love with Tic because his voice is like honey.”

She’s right. About the honey part at least. As he starts to sing I can’t take my eyes off him. His voice has a soft, raspy quality to it that makes me want to sway with the beat. When I hear Skye giggling beside me I’m finally pulled from the trance.

“I told you,” she says when I look at her.

“What? I was just listening. It’s rude not to listen.”

She laughs again.

When the last song is over Mason jumps off the stage and disappears into the back with the other guys. Henry comes out first, and he and Skye make out for a while right in front of me. Gross. Why do I suddenly wish I had someone to make out with? I’m good at being alone. I’ve pretty much mastered it. So what’s changed? Xander’s lip-biting smile flashes through my mind. No. I shake the image away.

Just when I’m sure that if I take a saliva sample from Skye’s mouth it will come back with Henry’s DNA, I say, “Okay, enough.”

Skye pulls away laughing and Henry pretends like he just realized I was standing there. Right.

“S’up?” he says, then leans over to the bar and asks for some ice water. He takes it and we search for a table. There are no open ones so we just stand in the corner talking.

Eventually Mason comes out and throws one arm around my neck. His T-shirt is sticky with sweat and almost reverses the effect his singing had on me. “Hey, Caymen, you came.”

“Here I am.”

“How’d we do tonight?”

“Really good.”

“Did you bring any old ladies with you?” He looks around like this is a valid possibility.

“Almost, but she canceled on me last-minute. I guess some metal-head band was playing downtown tonight.”

“Which band?” Henry asks, and Mason starts laughing.

“It was a joke, idiot,” he says.

“Don’t call me an idiot.”

“Then don’t act like one.”

Henry pouts, and Skye says, “You’re not an idiot, babe.” Then they start making out again. Ugh. Seriously.

“Do you want something to drink?” Mason asks, leading me toward an abandoned table.

“Yes, please.”

I sit down and he comes back with two bottles of beer. He holds one out for me.

I put up my hands. “Oh, I don’t drink. I’m seventeen.”

“So? I’m nineteen.”

“My mom says before I turn eighteen she still has the right to murder me.” My mom always tells me to blame it on her if I am ever in an uncomfortable situation. It seems to work well.

He laughs. “Okay, that’s cool.” He sits down next to me.

I watch him drink for a minute then say, “I’m going to get some water.”

“Oh.” He jumps back up. “Sit. I’ll get it.”

I watch him walk away and can’t decide if I’m feeling fluttery because I’m talking to the lead singer of a band or if it’s Mason. When two other girls approach him at the bar and he turns to talk to them, I realize it’s the first option. After all, I hardly know him. This makes me feel really shallow.

The bartender hands him my glass of ice water but Mason continues talking.

I stand, suddenly. I need to go. I have an early morning.

I walk to where we had left Skye and Henry and tap her on the shoulder. “Hey, I’m leaving.”

She pulls away from Henry. “Wait.” She looks around and spots Mason. “No, don’t leave. He always gets bombarded by girls. It’s not his fault.”

“I’m not worried about him. That’s not why I’m leaving.” At least that’s what I’m trying to convince myself. “I just have to work in the morning. I’ll see you soon.”

I walk away to say good-bye to Mason and hear her say, “Wait, we’re walking you.”

As we pass Mason I wave and mouth bye. But Skye says out loud, “We’re walking Caymen home.”

He gives me the wait motion with his hand and nods politely to the girl in front of him, finishing up whatever conversation they were having. He sets the ice water he’d ordered on the bar, then he’s by my side. “I’m coming, too.”

Henry and Skye walk in front of us, talking quietly. Mason drapes his arm around my shoulder. I’m learning quickly that he’s a touchy kind of guy. We’re silent for a block.

“I didn’t realize you had to leave so early,” he finally says.

“Yeah. I have work in the morning.”

“We play again next week.”

I’m not sure if he is inviting me or making small talk so I just nod.

“Thanks,” I say when we get to the shop and I pull the keys out of my pocket.

He leans toward me, and because it never crosses my mind that he would try to kiss me no matter how touchy-feely he is and with witnesses, I don’t back up fast enough and am shocked when his lips meet mine. They’re surprisingly soft. “Oh, uh . . . wow,” I say, pulling back.

He doesn’t back up and his eyes meet mine. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

His smoky voice makes my heart patter to life and again I’m shocked at my reaction to him.

“Okay, see you.”

Skye smiles at me like that was the most exciting occurrence ever. I just want to escape.

Chapter 8

T
he store doesn’t open until nine, but like clockwork my eyes pop open at six Saturday morning. I try to go back to sleep but my body won’t have it so I stare at the ceiling for a while thinking about the night before. What happened? Did Mason mean to kiss me? Had I turned toward him when he was going in for a hug or something? My brain feels the need to disassemble and then reconstruct the night in a way that makes sense.

It comes up with two logical possibilities. One, it was an accident and he was too nice to say so. Or two, he was really friendly and kissed everyone. Now that I have some reasonable explanations, I feel better. I just hope we don’t run into each other for a while.

After an hour of unsuccessfully trying to go back to sleep, I roll out of bed and shower before my mom takes over the bathroom. I pull on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and slide my feet into fuzzy black slippers. With wet hair I go to grab a list of orders I had left downstairs the day before so I can enter it into the computer.

I cross-check it with the list my mom had made one more time. We still have an hour until opening so, with plenty of time to finish getting ready, I tuck the list into my pocket and head for the computer. Before I make it to the bottom step, I hear a knock on the front door. My hand immediately goes to my wet hair and my brain immediately thinks it’s Mason. This scenario doesn’t fall into either of the explanations my brain had come up with. Overly affectionate rock stars don’t show up on the doorstep the morning after. We’re not open yet so the blinds are still drawn over the glass. I don’t have to open the door.

A second later the shop phone rings.

Mason doesn’t have the shop phone number, does he? Would Skye have given it to him? I pick it up before my mom gets the chance to answer upstairs. “Hello, Dolls and More.”

“A week ago someone warned me not to buy the blueberry muffins at Eddie’s, but I didn’t listen and bought them anyway. Now at odd hours I get these insatiable cravings.”

I’m so relieved at who’s on the line that I let out a weird laugh/sigh combo then quickly clear my throat. “They’re laced with addictive substances.”

“I believe you now.”

I smile.

“So are you going to let me in? It’s kind of cold out here. I’ll share.”

My eyes dart to the door.

“I think this muffin might even have your name on it. . . . Oh no, sorry, that’s my name.”

“I . . .”

“You wouldn’t want me to die of hypothermia, would you?” he says.

“I don’t think it gets cold enough here for that.” I shuffle on my slipper-clad feet to unlock the door then hold it open for Xander.

“Hi.” His voice echoes in the phone I’m still holding to my ear. I push the Off button.

It’s been so long I had almost forgotten how good-looking . . . and rich he is. But it clings to him along with the cold air as he walks inside. I relock the door and turn to face him. He’s holding a brown Eddie’s bakery bag and two Styrofoam cups with lids on them. “Hot chocolate.” He lifts the cup in his right hand. “Or coffee.” He lifts the one in his left. “I only took a tiny sip out of each so it doesn’t matter to me.”

Nice. Maybe Rich is a communicable disease. I point to his right hand. “Hot chocolate.”

“I thought you might be a hot chocolate girl.”

I take the hot chocolate from him and try not to register my shaking hand as I do so. That would imply his showing up out of the blue on my doorstep is tripping me out.

My gaze travels the length of him. It irritates me that this early in the morning Xander can look so . . . awake. If I saw him in the middle of the night with bedhead and sleepy eyes, would he still look so perfect?

“Your stare can make a guy insecure.”

“I’m not staring. I’m observing.”

“What’s the difference?”

“The intent of observation is to gain data and form a theory or conclusion.”

He tilts his head. “And what theory have you formed?”

That you’re at least one step removed from normal.
A chunky black ring on his pinky finger knocks against a rocking chair as he turns to glance around the dark store. I raise my eyebrows.
Maybe two steps.
“That you’re a morning person.”

He holds his arms out to the sides as if to say,
You caught me
. “I’ve made an observation as well.”

“What’s that?”

“You have very wet hair.”

Oh. That’s right. “Yeah, well, you gave me no warning. I don’t wake up looking perfect.” Like some people.

A realization comes over his face and I wait for him to express it. He looks over his shoulder toward the back. “Do you
live
here?”

“Yeah, there’s an apartment upstairs.” Now I’m confused. “So if you didn’t know I lived here, why did you knock on the door before opening?”

“Because I assumed you had to come in early to get everything ready to open.”

“This is where proper amounts of observation would’ve come in handy.”

He laughs.

“You have no idea how many nightmares a porcelain-doll store can fuel. I have been murdered in a variety of ways by angelic-looking dolls over the years.”

“That’s really . . . morbid.”

I laugh. “So what are you doing here?”

“I’m getting Eddie’s. Isn’t that obvious? And since you introduced me to the poison, I thought it only right that I share in the bounty.”

“You like to look at the dolls, don’t you? You miss them when you’re away.”

He offers one of his stingily given smiles. “Yes, I miss this place terribly when I’m away.”