For a second, I wonder if I can stop this. Maybe if I don’t sign my own name, it’ll pause this whole ordeal.
“Dante?” Charlie says from the bed. Her voice is thick with concern.
I turn and face her, and she must notice the struggle in my features, because her mouth opens, and her eyes widen.
“What is it?” she asks. “Did I do something wrong?”
I can’t stand the sound of her voice. I can’t stand the way she’s looking at me. And I can’t stand the crap she makes me feel.
I slam the pen down and sign my name before I can think.
It’s over.
It’s done.
My lips pull up into a halfhearted smile, and I glance back at Charlie. She’s waiting for me to tell her it’s okay. So I do.
“You did the right thing.”
She nods her head and smiles, but her eyes find the floor. Then it’s like something occurs to her. She hops up from the bed and runs to the bathroom, limping and bumping into me on the way.
“Where you going?” I yell.
I scour the room thinking I missed something, then go after Charlie. Inspecting herself in the mirror, she turns her face from side to side. She seems excited at first, but then her mouth slopes downward.
She glances at my reflection. “It didn’t work.”
I lick my lips. “I think you have to actually ask for it to happen.”
“I did, though.”
“When?”
“When I was out there,” she says. “Right after you signed.”
I rub the back of my head. “I didn’t hear you say anything. Maybe you have to say it louder.” Or maybe you have to fax it in? Or mail it via sea turtle. Who effin’ knows.
“You think I have to say what I want out loud?” she says. “That’s kind of embarrassing.”
“You didn’t say it aloud?”
“No, I just…prayed for it. To God, you know.”
Oh, no.
“I think,” I start. Careful, Dante. “I think you have to say it aloud so there’s, like, a witness. It’s probably why we both had to sign.”
Yeah, that sounded good.
She hmphs, then walks past me into the room. “Okay, so I’ll just say it aloud.”
“Okay.” I sit across from her, and though I still feel a twinge of guilt, I can’t help being excited to witness this. She’s going to be beautiful. Charlie Cooper…is going to be beautiful.
She folds her hands in her lap, closes her eyes, and opens her mouth.
Chapter Twenty
I Want
“I want—”
I lean forward, nearly falling off the bed. I can’t wait to hear her say the words: I want to be beautiful.
“I want,” she repeats.
Come on! Come on!
“I want to have beautiful hair.”
“You want what?”
“Beautiful hair,” she repeats. “I want to have beautiful hair.” She lifts a lock of frizzy-fried blond hair and grimaces.
I’ll admit better hair could do wonders for the girl, but what about the rest of her? Why not get rid of the bad skin or crooked teeth? Or her limp, for that matter? “Don’t you just want to do everything at once?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No way. I don’t want to go too fast. I need time to think about what I want.”
Great. The last thing I need is her dragging ass on this. “Maybe you should just ask to be beautiful, and the things that need changing will change.”
She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she stares at her hair. “Why isn’t anything happening? It still looks the same.”
I glance at her hair. It does look the same. “Maybe you have to say it louder. Try again. And while you’re at it, go ahead and ask for a few other things.”
She presses her lips together, then takes a breath and nearly screams, “I want beautiful hair.”
Nothing happens.
I sigh and fall back on the bed. Why can’t anything on this assignment ever go right? “Why do you even want better hair?” I ask. “Why not bigger boobs or something?”
“Dante!” Charlie throws a pillow at me. I grab it in midair and throw it back. She laughs and falls back on the other bed. “I guess I always wanted to be one of those girls that can do the hair toss.”
“The hair toss?”
“Yeah,” she says. “That thing where the girl smiles all flirty-like, then tosses her perfect, shiny hair over her shoulder? I want that.”
I glance over at her. My breath catches in my throat. Her hair is…glowing. As calmly as I can, I ask, “Why else do you want to change your hair?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “Ooh, yeah, I do! I want to do all those cool styles.”
Charlie sits up, and her hair glows brighter. She doesn’t even notice. She’s on a roll now, and her cheeks burn red.
“I want to do those messy buns and low side ponies and maybe have cute, sideswept bangs.”
Brighter and brighter. And now…now it’s changing. Growing longer and fuller.
“I’ve always wanted to do all those things, but with hair like mine, it’s a lost cause.” She pulls her hair from behind her head and gazes at it. “My hair’s always just…it just…”
I start laughing.
Her eyes go big, and then she runs into the bathroom.
“Ahhhhhh!” she squeals. “My hair! Oh, my gosh, my hair!”
She races back into the room and swirls around. Her hair sprays out in a thick, shiny blanket. The color is a perfect shade of blond, like she walked right into Bergdorf and asked for their very best.
Charlie rolls her arms beneath her hair and lets it fall in a wave down her back. “It’s gorgeous,” she breathes. “Don’t you think?”
For a moment, I forget all about the contract and just relish the grin on her face. Though her smile is less than perfect, it does something to me, makes my chest tighten in a good way. It also makes me feel as if I did the right thing. Then her soul light flips on, and like I don’t even have a choice, a seal floats from my chest and attaches to her light. It’s smaller than the one I gave her at the mall, and I realize then that it’ll take a lot of beauty wishes to completely collect her.
But judging by the happy dance she’s doing around the room, that won’t be a problem.
Chapter Twenty-one
Shiny, Perfect Hair
The next morning, I pick Charlie up, and we go to our early morning breakfast. She’s left her hair down, and it is…stunning. I never thought good hair could do so much for one person. I suggest she audition for a shampoo commercial.
She laughs.
I don’t.
“Where we headed?” I ask.
“You didn’t make reservations for our date?”
I’d have spit out my coffee if I’d had any. A date? Damn, Princess Cooper got some overnight confidence. When I glance at her, I see she’s smiling. My shoulders relax.
“Thought you’d know best,” I respond. “I’m basically a tourist.”
“Metro Diner it is,” she says.
“Metro? They’re really taking liberty with that word.”
Charlie giggles and tosses her hair over her shoulder.
Oh, sweet Joseph. She just tried out the Hair Toss.
Inside Metro Diner, we grab a table near the back. A waitress who clearly ate a water buffalo for breakfast waddles to our table.
“Order?” she says.
I open my mouth to answer, but Charlie beats me to the punch. “Two Greek omelets with extra feta, salsa on the side. And two large OJs.”
Big Bertha scribbles the order down and turns to go.
I grab her arm. “Hold on there, sweetheart. I’m sure the omelets and orange juice are to die for. But I’m also going to need black coffee and two sides of bacon.”
She stares at me like I’m the least interesting thing she’s seen next to exercise.
“You do have bacon, right?” I ask her blank stare and heavy breathing.
Sh
e nods and waddles-slash-thunders away.
“Food’s pretty healthy here, huh?” I ask Charlie.
“Like you’d care.” She snorts. “Exactly how much bacon do you eat?”
“Enough to put your Skittles addiction to shame.”
The bacon comes out burnt, and the coffee tastes like a donkey’s ass, but the Greek omelet is actually pretty awesome. We eat our breakfast, and Charlie flips her hair at the end of every sentence. Which is saying a lot.
At one point she stops and stares at me.
“What?” I ask.
“It’s just…so you can eat and stuff?”
“Yeah, so?”
She glances around and leans toward me, boobs pressed against the table. “But you’re dead.”
“Damn straight.”
“Then how do you eat?”
I wipe my mouth with the paper napkin. “My body was scavenged before I could start to…umm…”
“Decay?” she says, her nose scrunched up.
“Yeah, exactly. Then they placed this cuff on my ankle, and I was back in business.”
She peers out the window, thinking. “So you’re like a living person? Blood flowing? Heart pumping?”
I nod. “Yep. I was just out of commission for a few days during the funeral and burial. Then the next thing I knew, I was gasping for air.”
“You were alive again,” she says, filling in the pieces.
“I wouldn’t say alive, exactly.”
She tongues the inside of her cheek. “But you are alive.”
“No, Charlie. I’m not. I’m dead. All this—” I beat my chest. “—it’s artificial.”
She takes a small bite of her omelet and tries to change the subject. I’m glad she asked her questions and that I answered without screwing up—without exposing who I really work for. I watch her wash down the omelet with radioactive orange juice and realize she still doesn’t know about her ability. That she can undo my seals with her blasted pink ones. I have questions of my own, questions I want answers to, but they aren’t going to come from her. And for that I’m thankful.
After breakfast, I drive Charlie to school and suffer through three hours of mind-numbing classes before lunch. When the bell rings, I follow her out of economics and into the cafeteria. We didn’t see Annabelle and Blue when we got to school this morning, and even I’m a little excited to see their reaction—to see if they’ll even notice.
Blue’s face changes the moment he sees her. His eyes narrow, then widen, and his lips parts.
Guess he notices.
Charlie does the Toss, and his mouth stretches into a smile.
“Hey, Charlie,” he mumbles. “Did you…do something?”
She slowly lowers herself down into the chair across from him, tucking one leg beneath her. It’s hilarious watching Charlie attempt grace, but I give her mad props for bringing the confidence. If she only knew how much that same confidence could improve her overall appearance…
“What are you talking about?” Charlie asks coyly. “I didn’t do anything.”
Annabelle glances up from a magazine, and her jaw drops. “Holy mother of God, what did you do to your hair?”
Charlie laughs, but it has a ring of nervousness to it. I can tell she doesn’t know how to respond.
“My friend flew in from L.A. to visit family,” I say. “She’s a stylist.”
Charlie chimes in. “Yeah, and she did my hair.”
Annabelle gets up from the table and walks to our side. She runs her fingers through Charlie’s hair, and her eyes get all crazy, like she might be packin’ a chainsaw. “What did she put in it? No. No, I don’t care. Just…how do I get it?” Annabelle eyes me. “You will tell me.”
“Don’t know. She’s super weird about her trade secrets.”
“That’s okay,” she says. “I don’t need to know. Just tell me I’m next.”
“Sorry,” I say, my palms turned up. “She’s flying back this afternoon.”
Annabelle acts like I just ran over her cat, which I would if I saw it. She lifts Charlie’s hair to her nose and breathes in.
“Okay, that’s enough.” I pull Charlie’s hair away from Annabelle and point her to her seat.
Annabelle stomps back to her chair like she’s seriously considering kidney-punching someone, or burning the school down. Something.
“Anna, your hair is beautiful the way it is,” Charlie says.
Annabelle points her plastic fork at Charlie. “You will not talk to me.”
Charlie leans forward, her face pulled together. “Are you being serious?”
Annabelle rolls her eyes. “No. But you better call me next time Jesus comes to Peachville.”
Charlie laughs, but at the same time, she gives me a look from the corner of her eye—like we’re sharing the secret that Jesus really did come to this country bumpkin town.
“What are you reading?” I ask to change the subject.
Annabelle holds up First Shot Magazine. “They did an entire issue on black-and-white movies. I thought I’d see what they put in here.”
“You dig those old movies, huh?”
“It’s my favorite thing next to basketball. Speaking of, we’re playing after school today. You in?” Annabelle grins, then she yelps and glares at Blue. “Seriously? That hurt.”
“Nah,” I say. “I got stuff to do.”
“Shame,” Blue says under his breath.
I crack my knuckles and zone in on his mumbling mouth. I’m so over this crap. “You know what, I changed my mind. I wouldn’t mind kicking some ass today.”
“Yeah.” Annabelle nods. “That’s what I’m talking about. Charlie, you want to come? He’s going to need directions to his final resting place.”
Charlie shoots a glance at me, no doubt startled by the final resting place. “Sounds good,” she says. “What time?”
“Seven o’clock.”
Blue stares at Charlie. “You’re going to come?”
She shrugs. “Sure, ’bout time I check you guys out.”
I’m surprised Charlie hasn’t gone before. Then again, I guess it’s not fun if you don’t have a prayer of playing. With her limp, I doubt anyone’s let her near a court.
As lunch period wraps up, I spot a beauty queen strutting toward our table. When she does the hair toss, I realize Charlie’s still an amateur.
“Hey,” Hot Girl says to Charlie.
Charlie gazes up at her. “Hi.”
Hot Girl shifts for a second, like standing there is physically painful. “My friends and I were just wondering if you got your hair done or something.”
Charlie’s eyes shine. “Yeah, I did. Thanks for noticing.”
“Uh-huh,” Hot Girl says. “Where did you go?”
Charlie points to me. “His friend from out of town did it.”
The girl shakes her head. “Tragic. I can’t find a hair stylist to save my life in this crap hole.” She sighs. “Thanks, anyway.”
As the girl walks back to her table, Charlie turns to face us. Her eyes are the size of watermelons.
Hells, yeah, I think. That was perfect.
Chapter Twenty-two
B-ball or Bust
When Charlie and I arrive at the Rec, Blue and Annabelle are already on the court. I’m surprised to see there’s no one else waiting to play. I guess the citizens of Peachville aren’t big into physical fitness. Which makes me wonder what they are into—I’d guess cattle herding. Or pig farming. Something real intellectual like that.
Annabelle is trying to spin the basketball on the tip of her finger and doing a fairly impressive job. It rotates several times before tipping over and thumping against the floor. She chases after it and notices us walking toward her.
“Hey, hey!” she says. “Look who showed. Ready to get your ass handed to you?”
She’s talking crap, and I’m loving it. In my book, it’s all part of the experience. Playing clean isn’t my style.
She tosses me the ball, and I catch it with one h
and. Basketball is one of many sports where having gigantor hands helps. I take the ball, dribble it behind my back, then drive it to the rim for a reverse layup.
Annabelle laughs. “Oh, so you think you’re hot, do you?”
“Girl, I got swag for days.”
Charlie claps like she’s enjoying this and settles on the floor near the wall. Then she proceeds to twist and untwist her shiny new hair like she couldn’t be happier.
“How do you guys play?” I ask. “One on one?”
“Yeah,” Annabelle answers. “Blue and I’ll play first, then you’ll play the winner. We play to fifteen. Cool?”
“Works for me.” I walk over to where Charlie’s sitting and lean against the wall.
Annabelle takes the ball to the three-point line, and Blue stands a few feet away, ready to guard her. She smiles at her opponent, fakes to the left, and makes a beeline toward the basket. The ball thumps against the ground as she dribbles. Then she lifts it smoothly into the air, and it swishes through the net. She throws her arms up and whoops. Then she holds out a finger and says to Blue, “That’s one, busta.”
Annabelle tosses the ball to Blue, and he takes it to the top of the key. I cringe, thinking how brutal his game will be, but before I can imagine his flailing fundamentals, he pulls the ball above his head and shoots it calmly into the air.
And it hits nothing but net.
From almost twenty feet away.
Damn!
Annabelle sneers. “Never saw that coming.”
For the next few minutes, I watch the game unfold. It doesn’t take long to identify their strengths. Annabelle’s a master of the inside game, and Blue’s got pinpoint accuracy from behind the arc. It’s clear Blue better understands the fundamentals, but he’s losing ground because he lacks aggression.
Though he’s afraid to throw his weight around, he manages to win the game by a couple of points. Annabelle accuses him of cheating and slumps down beside Charlie.
She eyes me and waves a sweaty hand toward the court. “You’re up, big boy. Sorry I couldn’t be the one to shut you down.”
I hop up, eager to show what I’m packin’. It’s been too long since I’ve given my red sneakers a workout.