City Secrets

by Jessica Burkhart

  “Back there,” Heather said, pointing, “are banks and a few other businesses.”

  We entered another section of the concourse. In front of us was a Hallmark store that looked packed. Maybe everyone was getting cards to send home to share details about their NYC trip.

  And the stores were endless. We passed a vitamin store, a drugstore, and at least a dozen restaurants. One looked particularly cool—it was called Just Salad and the people in line gave instructions to the employees about how they wanted their salads. They took their trays through different stations, and when they reached the last section, their salad bowl was taken. The lettuce and other veggies were chopped, and then the salad was tossed with the person’s choice of dressing.

  We kept walking and weaved through the concourse.

  “Will we be able to find our way out?” I joked. “This place is huge.”

  “Look at that,” Heather said. She pointed to an exit sign. “How convenient.”

  We took the stairs out of the concourse and ended up back near where the ice rink would have been if we’d been here during winter.

  “And the tree is set up right here too,” Heather said. “That’s when it gets really crazy with tourists. Like, they should be banned-from-the-city crazy.”

  I grinned. “Good luck with that ever happening.”

  We passed a giant Nintendo store and I saw tons of kids and teens inside playing games on the giant TV screens and carrying around Nintendo memorabilia. Jacob would love that, I thought. I’d never be able to drag him out of the store.

  “Did you see that restaurant we passed called Channel Four?” Heather asked.

  “Yeah, it looked cool,” I said.

  “Everyone calls it C-Four,” Heather said. “It’s a place where lots of people who work in book publishing, TV, or other businesses in Rock Center come for lunch or dinner. They have the best chili ever there.”

  “Mmm,” I said.

  “It’s almost time for Paul to pick us up,” Heather said. “But I wanted you to see one more thing.”

  We walked a few more blocks and I saw lights that were bright even in the daylight.

  “That is so awesome,” I said.

  Two vertical signs with the hall’s name stretched up, and a horizontal banner was lit up with RADIO CITY MUSIC HALL. Just being in the city gave me a different energy.

  In that moment, it started to hit me where I was. I was in New York City, standing in front of the Radio City Music Hall.

  “Paul’s over there,” Heather said, tugging on my forearm. “We’ve got somewhere even cooler to go.”

  We walked to the car and I couldn’t imagine anything more amazing than everything I’d just seen.

  “Hi, Paul,” Heather said when we got in the car. “We’d like to go to Dylan’s, please.”

  “Wonderful,” Paul said. “I think Sasha will enjoy that.”

  “I was going to take you to Times Square, but I figured that Paige had to have at least taken you, right?” Heather asked.

  “Yeah, we did go there,” I said.

  “Good ’cause the place we’re going is waaay better than insane Times Square,” Heather said.

  “What is Dylan’s?” I asked. “I’ve never heard of it. Is it a clothing store or something?”

  “Not even close,” Heather said. “Just wait.”

  Paul pulled up to the curb, and Heather told him she’d text him when we were almost done.

  We got out of the car and I looked around for a Dylan’s sign.

  “This way,” Heather said. I followed her and we came up to a store with a front made entirely of glass. Colors radiated from inside and I looked at the black sign above the door. DYLAN’S CANDY BAR.

  I looked at Heather. “Are you kidding me?”

  Heather grinned, proud of herself. “They’ve got more than five thousand different kinds of candy.”

  “Oh. My. God. Why are we standing out here?!”

  Laughing, Heather and I opened the door and stepped inside.

  Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was one of my favorite books, and now it felt like I’d stepped into a page from the novel. I smelled so many kinds of chocolates, gummy bears, mints, and other scents that I couldn’t distinguish one candy from the next.

  The displays showing off oversize lollipops and giant chocolate bars were whimsical and colorful. The entire store was an explosion of color. Giant plastic jelly beans and candy bars hung above displays.

  I saw dozens of plastic bins—each held one color of M&M’s. Other bins held candies I’d never seen. I couldn’t stop wandering. A wall was filled with Pez dispensers and every possible flavor of Pez.

  I walked down an aisle that had displays of traditional candies—Snickers, Mr. Goodbar, Twix, and a zillion others—and it took all my strength not to grab a bag and fill it with candy.

  “Come see this,” Heather called, waving at me from a couple of aisles over.

  I weaved through an aisle containing nothing but gummies and stood next to Heather. We both peered up at a glass case. Behind the case, black stars on white paper made the glass box look even cooler.

  In front of a tiny container of Skittles, a name tag said ashlee wright. The next box over had chocolate-covered cherries and the name of an Oscar-winning actor.

  “These are all people who have stopped in the shop and told Dylan about their favorite candies,” Heather said. “Pretty awesome.”

  “So cool,” I said. “I love it!”

  I kept reading the names, and it was fun to find out which celebs loved certain candies.

  Heather pointed behind me. “They do have clothes here,” she said. “They’re in the most amazing colors and they have candy or candy sayings on them.”

  “I have to see that,” I said.

  Heather led the way to the apparel section. We went down clear stairs that looked as if they had candy trapped underneath them. I had to concentrate on watching where I was stepping instead of staring at the amazing steps.

  Heather hadn’t exaggerated about the colors of clothing. There were T-shirts, hoodies, tank tops, and pajamas in candy colors. I touched a cotton candy pink shirt that said i ♥ candy on the front.

  “You should get that,” Heather said. “It’s cute.”

  She’d picked up a sky blue T-shirt with a conversation heart on it that said kiss me.

  “Only if you get that,” I said. “I love it.”

  We kept looking through the clothing and accessories. There were necklaces, bracelets, and even rain boots—and everything was candy themed.

  “We obviously can’t leave without getting candy,” Heather said.

  “Obviously,” I said. “I so need chocolate.”

  “And I’m really in the mood for something sour. Let’s meet by the giant chocolate bunny in fifteen, cool?”

  “Done.”

  Heather and I split up, and I grabbed a plastic bag like grocery stores use for fruit and veggies and picked up the scoop for peanut butter M&M’s. I poured a half scoop into the bag and knotted it shut.

  I picked up a couple of Snickers bars, a rainbow lollipop the size of my face, and a bag of gummy worms. I couldn’t resist grabbing a few different kinds of Airheads. Then I checked the clock on my phone. Time to meet Heather.

  We reached the enormous bunny at the same time. Heather had picked up a couple of boxes of Junior Mints, two bags of red licorice, and a few different candy bars.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “So ready,” I said. “I love it here, but I want to get out so I can start eating!”

  Giggling, we headed for the checkout and awaited our inevitable sugar rushes.

  12

  STOP SAYING SORRY

  BACK IN THE CAR HEATHER LEANED FORWARD toward Paul. “I want to take Sasha to Dad’s work.”

  I turned to Heather, half a gummy worm hanging out of my mouth, and looked at her as if she’d had a stroke or something. “You want to go to your Dad’s office?”

  Heather nodd
ed. “Yeah. He’ll be happy to show off his office, and you haven’t been to Wall Street yet. The Financial District is at the tip of the island.”

  “How long will it take to get there?” I asked.

  “I’m not psychic, Silver. It depends on traffic. But probably, like, twenty minutes,” Heather said.

  Twenty minutes to freak out about being in an office (read: small space!) with Mr. Fox. This seemed like a bad idea, but maybe Heather really thought it would help her relationship with her dad if she brought her friend to his office. That did kind of make sense.

  “Have you visited his office lately?” I asked.

  Heather shrugged. “I went to the office Christmas party, but that was the last time.”

  I tried to swallow, but my throat was dry. Mr. Fox was intimidating away from work—I couldn’t imagine how he’d act at his job. He’d probably—no, definitely—be even more intense in business mode.

  “This is the Financial District,” Heather said once we were surrounded by imposing buildings. “Different from Midtown, huh?”

  I looked out the car window and couldn’t tilt my head enough to see the tops of the buildings. Each building was taller than the one next to it, and they all seemed to have a thousand gleaming windows. Men and women in suits and business clothes hurried up and down the sidewalks, carrying briefcases. I watched the women walking in high heels, wondering how they managed to walk so fast in heels like that on the NYC sidewalks. I’d fall on my face after one step.

  “Here we are,” Paul said. “I have to run an errand for your mom, Heather, then I’ll be back waiting for you both, whenever you’re finished.”

  “Thanks,” Heather said.

  We got out of the car and walked up to a revolving door. Heather walked through first, and I followed her. Inside the lobby, it was freezing. But it wasn’t just the temperature that made the building feel subzero—it was also the lack of decor in the room. Everything looked so cold, and as if nothing was supposed to be touched. A glass table in front of a leather couch had business and financial magazines spread across it. There weren’t any paintings on the white walls, and it didn’t feel like a welcoming place.

  Heather headed for a counter, where a burly security guard was eyeing us.

  “Names?” he asked. He stared at us like we were kids who didn’t belong in the building. A gold badge pinned to his white shirt said r. curtis. I tried not to shrink back behind Heather.

  “Heather Fox and Sasha Silver,” Heather answered. “We’re here to see Mr. Fox, on the eleventh floor.”

  “Hold, please,” the guard said. He flipped through a giant binder and ran his finger down a list of names. His big fingers punched the buttons on a phone.

  “Hello, Eileen,” he said. “I have Heather Fox and a friend to see Mr. Fox.”

  He listened, nodding. “Thank you. I’ll send them up.”

  Mr. Curtis slid a clipboard toward us. “Sign your names here, and note the time.”

  Heather printed her name and wrote down the time. I did the same and handed back the clipboard.

  Mr. Curtis got out from behind the desk and walked us up to an electric arm that blocked the elevators. He ran his plastic security pass over a blinking red light, and a beep sounded. The arm moved out of the way, and Mr. Curtis motioned for us to walk through.

  “Thanks,” Heather said. We walked toward the elevators, and Heather pushed one of the up buttons. The floor was white marble mixed with gold flecks, and it was a gorgeous space.

  “Whoa,” I whispered. “So high-tech.”

  Heather shook her head. “That guy must have been new. Usually they ask for a photo ID, scan it, and make you carry this printed-out sticker that you have to present if a guard asks for it.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep.”

  “Scary.” I couldn’t imagine working in a building like this.

  The elevator chimed and the doors opened. Heather and I stepped inside the red-carpeted elevator, and she pressed the button for the eleventh floor.

  “I hope your dad isn’t mad that we’re here,” I said.

  Heather stared at me. “Did we not go over this, like, five minutes ago? He’s all about ego—he’s going to want to show off his office. Plus it’ll probably get me on his good side for once, so just go with it.”

  “Okay,” I said. I did want to help with her dad if I could.

  I watched the numbers climb, and it felt like we’d just stepped into the elevator when it stopped at the eleventh floor. The doors slid open, and Heather and I walked down a short hallway to another lobby. This one was much smaller, and a woman sat behind a counter with a Bluetooth piece in her ear.

  “Yes, Mr. Simon,” she said. “I’m scheduling your four o’clock lunch right now.” Her fingers were moving so fast over the keyboard in front of her—I had no idea how she did it and talked at the same time. Heather and I stopped in front of the desk and waited.

  The woman pressed a button on her earpiece and looked up at us. “How may I help you?” she asked.

  “We’re here to see Mr. Fox,” Heather said.

  “Ah, right. Miss Fox,” the receptionist said. “I called your father but got his voice mail. His schedule is clear at the moment, though, so feel free to wait in his office.”

  “Thanks,” Heather said.

  She turned away from the counter, and we walked down a gray-carpeted hallway. There was an office every few feet, and most of the doors were closed. I could hear people talking on their phones through the closed doors and the constant clicking of computer keys. Heather and I passed a small kitchen with a sink, espresso maker, and fridge.

  “His office is right down here,” Heather said as we sidestepped a woman taking a sip of a steaming cup of something as she hurried down the hallway.

  We turned a corner and Heather paused for a second, then walked toward an open door.

  “Dad?” she said, peering into the office.

  I looked over her shoulder and saw that the office was empty. Behind Heather I stepped inside and looked at Mr. Fox’s office. He had a giant, dark wooden desk with a leather chair. There was a slim computer monitor on the desk, and a giant mug of black coffee was next to the keyboard. A yellow legal pad had numbers scrawled on it, and a pile of papers were stacked in a neat pile at the end of the desk. A metal file cabinet was next to a black bookcase that was full of thick binders. Heather walked over and looked out the window.

  “Nice office,” I said. “It’s, um, big.”

  But what I wanted to say was that the office was as impersonal as the lobby. There wasn’t a plant, or anything that made it feel inviting. Then I realized what else was missing. There wasn’t one family photo.

  Not of Heather.

  Or her mom.

  Or the Fox family.

  No posed pictures. No smiling photos from a family vacation. Nothing.

  It had to hurt Heather’s feelings to come to her dad’s work and not to see one picture of herself anywhere. Both of my parents had family pictures in their offices at work. Dad even had one of me hugging Charm—he was part of the family too.

  There were two chairs in front of the desk, and Heather sat down in one. I perched on the edge of the other chair, wringing my hands. I just wanted this to be over!

  “Dad’ll probably show us around the floor,” Heather said. “I’m sure he’ll want to introduce us—well, you, really—to some of his coworkers.”

  Fingers crossed they weren’t as intense as Mr. Fox.

  Footsteps approached the doorway, and Heather and I stood and turned to face the door.

  “Please step into my office,” Mr. Fox said. A man in a suit and red tie stepped inside, briefcase in hand. I wondered if he was one of Mr. Fox’s coworkers.

  “Hi, Dad,” Heather said with a smile when he walked through the door.

  Mr. Fox’s dark brown eyes narrowed when he saw us. “Heather?” he said. “What are you doing at my office during work hours?”

  Heather’s s
mile started to slip, but she managed to keep it on her face. “I wanted to show Sasha where you work,” she said, her tone light. “She hasn’t been to the Financial District before, and it’s kind of cool that you work on Wall Street and everything.”

  Mr. Fox looked at the man, who stood off to the side. “I apologize, Henry. I’ll be right with you.”

  “Heather,” Mr. Fox said, taking her by the arm. “I’m with a client right now. You should have known better than to show up unannounced at my office. You and Sasha need to leave.”

  Heather swallowed, nodding. Her cheeks flushed, but she managed to keep her composure. “Sorry we interrupted.”

  Heather turned and I was right behind her on the way out of Mr. Fox’s office.

  I wanted to scream at Mr. Fox. He was without a doubt the worst father on the planet. I understood that he had a meeting, but he could have asked us to wait a few minutes. And he didn’t even introduce his daughter to his client. He’d treated Heather like a random kid who’d showed up in his space—not his daughter who’d been trying to make an effort with her dad.

  “Heather,” I said. I touched her elbow as we walked down the hallway. “Are you okay?”

  Heather shrugged. “Whatever. Shocker. I should have expected it. Like he couldn’t have taken five minutes to show us around. Or say sorry that we came down here to see where he works.”

  Her tone was angry, but there was a wobble to her voice. He’d gotten to her—not that she was going to admit that her feelings were hurt.

  “Sorry.”

  “Stop saying sorry, okay?” Heather looked at me, and her eyes were slightly pink. “I’m not sorry. Just annoyed that I wasted my time. I do have more important things to do, you know, than come to Wall Street and sit around waiting for my dad. And I’m over talking about it.”

  I just nodded.

  We got in the elevator, and this time it seemed to take forever to get back to the ground floor.

  Heather flew out of the elevator the second the doors opened, and I almost had to jog to keep up with her. We walked past security, ignoring the sign-out sheet and the guard. Heather pushed the revolving door so hard, I had to wait for the second space to come around because the one behind her went by too fast.