Charlie gawks at me like I’ve gone bat shit. “What’s a Bergdorf?”
“You’re kidding me, right? This place doesn’t have a Bergdorf?” She shakes her head. “What about Nordstrom, or maybe a Versace?” More head shaking ensues. I take a deep breath and spin in a circle. I spot a Neiman Marcus. It’ll have to do. “Let’s go in there.”
“Nice,” she says as we head over to the store. “I usually just get my stuff at Target. They have cute clothes.”
“Oh, Charlie.” This time I can’t help myself. I rub her back and laugh. She smiles up at me with a look of awe. For some twisted reason, I think of my mother. This is the way I always wanted her to look at me.
The moment I enter the store, I come alive. I flag down an associate and tell him I need his help. The guy has dark, slicked-back hair and a black leather jacket over a starched shirt. He reminds me of a preppy James Dean. As I pile clothes into his waiting arms, his pupils dilate and take on a wild shade of cash. Commission makes people crazy. I bet psych wards have a whole wing dedicated to rehabilitating commission-paid peeps.
I’m about to ring up when I see Charlie eyeing a bright red dress. She may be an uggo, but that dress would turn anyone into a rock star. “Grab the dress,” I yell across the store. “My treat.” Charlie takes the dress off the rack and holds it against her. Over my shoulder, the associate holding my clothes snorts. “What?” I ask him.
“No, nothing,” he says with a laugh.
I laugh, too, but in a different way. “No, really. What’s funny?”
The guy thinks we’re sharing the same joke, so he opens his fat mouth and says, “That dress was made for a lot of people…”
“And?”
“And you know, she’s not really one of them.” The guy realizes I’m not laughing anymore. “I don’t mean to say—”
“I know what you mean to say. You just said it.” I take the clothes out of his arms and throw them. “Changed my mind. I don’t need this off-brand crap.” His jaw drops open, and I have an urge to shut it with my fist. I’m the only one here who’s allowed to judge. He’s lucky his mouth didn’t earn him a seal.
I head toward Charlie, and right as we’re about to leave, the guy decides he’s not going to let me embarrass him. “Not my fault your girlfriend’s a train wreck.” My head snaps around. Already her eyes have that glassy, watery appearance.
Oh, no, you didn’t. Oh, yes, he did. One seal for you, coming right up. His soul light flips on, and—ah, snap!—look how many seals this guy has. He’s pulling some serious recreational badness after hours. Spotting a few of my fellow collectors’ colorful seals amidst the small black ones is more proof that Boss Man’s had Peachville scouted for some time, searching for something big. I briefly wonder why I never knew about it before.
Leaning back, I smile wide. Sealing this soul is going to be jolly good fun. I toss a seal his way and relish in the crackling sound it makes when it adheres to his light. He’s maybe one or two seals away from being collected. I do hope I get the pleasure of bringing this one in. He’ll go on living after he’s collected, of course, but as soon as he dies, he’ll meet up with his soul in a happy little place called hell.
“Come on, Charlie. Let’s go.” She follows me out but doesn’t say anything. I sit down on a bench near the fountain and motion for her to sit beside me. The dude was out of line, and also a bit off-base. I mean, Charlie’s definitely not a looker, but who’s to say she won’t be when she grows out of her bad skin? Or finds the right hair stylist. Or hires an orthodontist and gets LASIK and puts on some weight and gains a morsel of confidence. I’ve seen it happen. High school dork morphs into cute college prep. “You know that guy’s just being a prick, right?”
“Yeah. It’s not a big deal.” Charlie acts like she’s watching the kids play, and she even manages a half smile. I’m surprised how well she’s handling the whole thing. A lot of girls would break down over something like this.
“You know what we should do?” My body rushes with energy. “Something crazy. I have an idea.” I take her hand, and we move to the exit closest to where we parked. “See that kiosk right there?” Charlie nods. “Let’s take something?”
Her eyebrows pull together. “Like, steal it?”
“Steal is an ugly word, Charlie. What we’re doing is letting loose. Something you should do more often.” I take her head in my hands and turn it back toward the kiosk. “You see, when you live life—I mean, really live it—you don’t care what anyone says about you because you’re suddenly, exhilaratingly alive.” She gazes at me, transfixed. “Do it, Charlie. Just try it out. If you hate it, we can return whatever you took. No one will know the difference.”
She gives a wicked smile, and I bite my upper lip to stifle a laugh. I could get used to having a sidekick gone rogue. I’m all set to give her advice on how to approach the kiosk, but she slips away before I can. She moves toward the cart of knickknacks, stealth as a leopard despite her slight limp.
As she approaches her destination, I slide my hand into my pocket and absently squeeze and release my lucky penny.
Like a pro, Charlie scouts the guy who mans the cart, determines his coordinates, estimates how much time she has.
Then it’s done.
With a subtle sweep of her small hand, she stuffs something into her pocket and makes her way toward me. Charlie presses her lips together, and her eyes become enormous. She’s trying to stop herself from laughing, and so am I.
As we head toward the exit, I turn around and see the guy staring at us. He takes a step forward and stops. Crap, he knows. He didn’t catch her in the act, so he’s not sure what to do. If he accuses her and he’s wrong, it’ll cost him his job. He waits too long, and now it’s too late.
Charlie and I burst through the double glass doors, and she erupts with laughter.
“Holy crap,” she says. “That was crazy!” She pulls her stolen hairpin out of her pocket and shows it to me. I raise my open hand over my head, and Charlie tries to jump to give me a high five. She’s too short, and it makes me double over and laugh, too. The sight is so ridiculous.
“What now?” I say.
Some of the excitement in Charlie’s face falls away. “I should really get home. My grandma will wonder where I am. And oh, man. Her car. We’ve got to go.”
“Come on, we’re on a roll,” I plead. “Let’s do something else.”
Charlie wraps her arms around herself. “No, I really need to go. I’ve never skipped school before, and I’ve certainly never stolen anything. Especially not my grandma’s car.”
“Like I said, we didn’t steal her car. We borrowed it.”
“Yeah, Dante. Hanging out with you has been, like, so fun.” She puts her hands on her hips, a sign that I shouldn’t push my luck. “But I need to go home now.”
“All right, let’s get you home. Keys.” Charlie tosses me the keys, and I somehow catch her disastrous throw.
I let her walk in front of me while I think about what I’m about to do. I’m not sure why I’m hesitating. There’s no time to hesitate. Ten days. That’s all I have. And there’s no gray line for theft.
I stare at Charlie until a shining light engulfs her small frame. It’s so bright, so devastatingly bright. I point my finger and release a seal. It attaches to her soul and stays there.
And damn it if she doesn’t turn around at this very moment…and smile.
Chapter Six
Watchful Eyes
I pull up in front of Charlie’s house and kill the engine of her grandma’s ’90s Lincoln. Right now, I’d like to find a hotel and call it a day. But this job isn’t your typical nine to five. So I turn to Charlie, who’s busy destroying her nails, and say, “Want me to come inside for a while?”
She takes her fingers out of her mouth. “My grandma still isn’t home, or she’d be outside with a butcher knife already.”
Good. “That’s too bad. Where is she?”
“Her friend Ilene usually picks her
up on Friday afternoons so they can gossip,” she says. “That’s why she wasn’t here when we came by earlier.”
“Does your grandma work?” I ask.
“No. She used to be a cosmetologist. She even did makeup for movie stars when she was younger, but she doesn’t work anymore.”
I inspect the big white house in front of us with its black shutters and red door. It’s nowhere near the size of my parents’ crib, but it still must have cost some cash. I’m guessing money’s tighter now that Grams is retired.
“Want to see what my grandma has stashed in the fridge?” she asks.
“Definitely.”
We climb out the car, but instead of heading inside, Charlie walks across the street to the densely treed area facing her house.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
She pulls napkins out of her backpack and unwraps the leftovers she stashed from lunch. “These raccoons used to get into our trash, but my grandma bought these heavy-duty lids to keep them out. It worked, but I feel kinda bad for them, you know?” Charlie tosses the food toward the trees and heads toward the house. “If my grandma found out I was feeding them, she’d freak.”
“Your secret is my secret.” Even if you are a hippie nut job.
Charlie unlocks the front door and goes in, but I stop in the doorway. I turn around. Then I turn around again.
I feel something. No, I sense something. And it sure as hell isn’t raccoons.
Across the street, it’s so thick with brush, I can’t tell if something’s there. I take a few steps forward and listen. I don’t hear anything, but I know it’s him.
A collector.
The sensation never lets me know how many collectors are near, but reason tells me there’s only one. Feeling like an idiot, I say, “Max?” But there’s no response. There are only six of us, yet this guy’s sportin’ shadow. Why won’t this dude reveal himself? I know the only thing that can kill a collector is to remove his cuff, but right about now I’d like to give other alternatives a shot. I run through the collectors in my head. In addition to me and Max, there’re Patrick, Anthony, Kincaid, and Zack. And I can’t imagine why any of them would follow me. In fact, I’d think they’d be afraid to. Not only do I have Boss Man’s ear, but I’m the one who performs their continued training. And there’s no secret why that is: I’m the best.
I walk back toward the house, glancing over my shoulder the entire way. When I get to the door, Charlie is there. “It’s nothing,” I say before she asks. “Let’s raid the kitchen.”
Charlie and I dig out three bags of chips, one can of artichoke dip, and two cans of orange soda. We chow down, and I try to shake the odd feeling that a collector was outside her house. But I can’t. I don’t understand who it would’ve been, or why they came here.
As I watch her tip back her drink, all I can think is, Why Charlie?
I’ve got to get this assignment moving quicker, and I know how to do it. The thought makes me gag, but I know it’ll work, and I don’t have much choice. If another collector is watching on the sly, then it’s time to bring out the big guns. I’d like to show him how smoothly I operate.
“Hey, Charlie,” I say, taking the orange soda out of her hand and setting it down. “Let’s hang out in your room.” Her blue eyes widen, but she doesn’t protest as I take her hand. “Come on.”
“You want me to bring up the chips and stuff?” she asks. “I’m addicted to the Cheetos, but I wish my grandma would buy the puff kind, you know? I always ask her to, but…” Charlie rambles at Mach speed. She’s nervous. And she should be. I doubt this girl has ever visited first base…or even been to a game.
I lead the way up the stairs and push her bedroom door open. The pink overload blinds me as I enter the room. Though I’ve seen it before, I’m still not prepared for how loud it is.
I sit on her bed and shove some of the pillows onto the floor. She doesn’t seem to mind, which surprises me. Charlie takes her stolen hairpin out of her pocket and grips it in her hand. She stares at it as though it might suddenly sprout teeth.
“Why so glum?” I ask in my seduction voice.
She rolls her tongue over the inside of her cheek and says quietly, “I want to return it.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do,” she insists.
I bite down, not at all happy she’s killing my vibes. Ready to drop the subject, I hold my palm out. “Give it to me,” I say. “I’ll return it.”
She hands it over like she’s happy to be rid of it. I stuff it in my pocket, where it’ll stay. That seal of hers ain’t going nowhere. It’s not like you can rob a bank one day, then return it the next and expect a full pardon. Please.
Charlie smiles, thinking her sin is absolved, and plucks a porcelain figurine off her window ledge. She tosses it back and forth between her hands. The way she does it seems…careless.
“That one your favorite?” I ask, trying once again to pull game.
“What?” Charlie peers at me, then down at her hands. “Oh, yeah. It’s beautiful.”
No, it’s ridiculous.
“Actually, it’s pretty dumb, isn’t it? All this pink and lace and little girl propaganda.” She sets the ornament down gently as if she feels bad for what she said. “My grandma decorated this room before I got here. I didn’t want to hurt her by changing it, but this place really is over-the-top girly.”
My shoulders tense. I hate that I don’t know as much about her as I thought I did. It makes me feel unsettled. It’s been a long day; I shouldn’t have to do background work at this point. But it is what it is.
“How would you decorate it?” I lean back on the bed and cross my arms beneath my head.
Her eyebrows inch upward. “Well, first I’d get rid of the damn figurines. I want a room that says I’m seventeen, not seven. Then I’d pull these pink drapes off my bed.” Charlie grabs the drapes, tugs them off, and wraps them around her shoulders. “And oh, the paint. The pink has to go. Instead, I want one bright red accent wall.”
“Really, red?” So the girl does have some taste.
“Heck, yeah. It’s my favorite color of all time.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. It’s so bold, so powerful, so…everything I’m not.” She jumps onto the bed and stretches her arms to touch the ceiling. Her shirt rises just a bit, and I catch a glimpse of firm white belly. It’s almost as blinding as the room. “And here! Here I’ve always wanted storm clouds. I know it’s cheesy, but I still want them.” Charlie starts jumping up and down, and my body bounces with her movements. “And a softer bed! One I can get better height with.” She jumps higher and higher, her words stilted by her movements. “I believe. Jumping. On beds. Is good. For. The soul.”
Watching her makes me laugh, even though I’m frustrated that she’s killing my panty-dropping moves. She reaches her hand down and says, “Come on.”
“Come on what?” I ask.
“Jump with me.”
“False. Not happening.”
Charlie grabs my arm and pulls until I’m sure it’s going to rip out of its socket. For a tiny thing, she’s pretty strong. “Fine. Whatever.” I stand up on her bed. “This is stupid.”
“Oh, really?” Charlie jumps up and down real slow at first, then faster and higher. “Is it stupid?”
“Very.” I try jumping a little. My mother would never have let me jump on my handmade-in-Tuscany bed. As I start to get some height, I find the experience to be pure awesomeness. Will I ever admit it? Nope. But Charlie probably doesn’t need an admission since I’m grinning like an idiot.
She grabs my hands, and we jump around in a circle, laughing like hyenas. I’m about to fall off the edge when Charlie’s grandma walks into the room. “What in heaven’s name are you two doing?” Her words are stern, but her smile says she’s happy I’m here and that Charlie has a new friend. “I see some wild animals got into the kitchen and didn’t clean up.”
Charlie drops down onto the bed, then bounces off th
e side. “Sorry, Grandma. I’ll take care of it.”
“No, no.” Grams waves her long red nails toward us. “I wouldn’t want to disturb your circus act. You guys hang out. I’ll make dinner. Just…door open okay, Charlie?”
Charlie’s face flushes, but she nods.
After her grandma leaves, I say to Charlie. “I should probably go.” There’s no way I can pull a Don Juan now, and I’d rather not be roped into staying for dinner. I’ve had enough Charlie for one day, even if it wasn’t the worst day I’ve ever had.
She says she’ll walk me to the door, but I tell her I can see my way out. As I’m halfway down the stairs, she sticks her head out of her room. “Hey,” she says. “What are you doing tomorrow morning?”
I press my lips together and shake my head.
“If you want to come by around eight, I’ll show you something awesome.” I nod, but my brain is screaming, 8:00 a.m.! What?!
I’m at the bottom of the stairs when Charlie adds, “Wear tennis shoes.”
I pull my mouth up to one side and point down at my red sneakers as if to say, Would I ever take these puppies off?
She laughs. “You okay walking home? I could drive you.”
Charlie knows how to drive? “Nah. I live close by, remember?”
She waves like a pageant queen and sidesteps into her bedroom.
I laugh to myself before moving to open the front door, then remember to mind my manners. I back up a few feet and stick my head into the kitchen. Grams is standing at the sink tossing back her plastic water bottle of rum. My eyes fall to the countertop near her right hand. A dozen brown prescription bottles lay open. Goose bumps rise on my arms, neck, legs—and everywhere else on my body.
Sick. People. Freak. Me. Out.
I’m dead. This shouldn’t bother me, but my mind is already supplying terrible diseases she’s carrying. Things like the Ebola virus. Also, I’m no doctor, but I’m fairly certain you’re not supposed to party with booze and pills in the same sitting. I think back to when I first met Charlie. She asked if I was from the pharmacy. Does she know Grams is hopped up on enough meds to bring down a rhinoceros?