“Hi, welcome to The Video Shop,” Vanessa calls out and gives the customer, a man in his late twenties, her brightest smile. He smiles back, and she’s back to explaining the tabs on our screen. I feel bad because I haven’t really been paying attention. I know it all stands for something and will come in handy, but how hard can it be to check out a DVD, and I know more about computers than any of these kids. Byron and Henry both worked the counter last weekend with no issues. Not that it’s a competition, but I’m ready.
“Hey, Lacey, Henry, can you come help me?” Jessica calls from the back door. We both look up at the mention of our names and then at each other warily. We go back, and Jessica has large window posters spread out over the table in the lounge. She smiles at us almost like she’s testing the waters to see how we really will work together. I pep talk myself into being on my best behavior. I need this job, at least until I can find something else.
“These posters need to be put up in the window. Henry, grab the ladder, and Lacey, bring the posters.” She opens the closet to reveal a ladder, and Henry grabs it and we follow her back out to the floor. She shows him how to take down the older ones and hangs the first one while I hold the ladder. I swear I catch Henry looking up her skirt. He blushes when he looks at me guiltily. Finally, she climbs down, and we move the ladder to the next spot. Henry climbs up as I grip the legs of the ladder. He pulls the poster down with ease and passes it to me where I lay it out over the rack of DVDs. I hand him up the next poster and watch him as he attempts to slide it into the gripper with some difficulty.
“Stop watching me; you’re going to make me fall,” he snaps.
“I have to watch you to make sure you don’t fall,” I return. Our eyes lock on each other, and then he smirks. I roll my eyes, and l look out the window but only see my reflection. I move out of the way just as he comes down, but he still bumps into me. He huffs and pushes the ladder to the next poster. I pick up the stack and follow.
“See what happens when I don’t watch you,” I snark. Henry looks at me a little surprised at the bite in my voice before he actually laughs at me. I fume, clenching my hands into fists at my sides. Best behavior; best behavior; best behavior, I chant in my head. Fighting all the time with Chase last spring has sharpened my snippy skills, but it’s still not any fun to be laughed at.
“Whatever,” he says as he gains composure and moves to the last poster that he hangs in record speed. In the back room we put the old posters on the table, and he returns the ladder to its spot. When we emerge, Chase is standing by the back door appearing to be debating between a teen comedy and a horror movie, neither of which he would ever choose. He looks at me with his eyebrows furrowed before his gaze falls on Henry, and his eyes narrow.
“Hey, Chase,” Henry says noncommittally after initially flinching to see him there. Chase just looks at him and gives him no reaction. I try to fight the smile that’s threatening the corners of my mouth for lack of any other reason other than embarrassment. Boys are Neanderthals.
“Hey, Lacey,” Chase says. His gaze is still empty, but again I know it’s only because he’s trying to hide a strong emotion. I wonder which one it is—contempt, hate, rage, or disgust.
“Hi,” I smile, not believing the relief I feel, despite everything, that he’s here.
“You get off soon, right?” he asks as he puts both videos back and follows me further down the new releases. I hand him an edgy murder mystery that I know he hasn’t seen yet and that he’ll like. He looks at the back of it.
“Yeah, you have pretty good timing; in fact, if I didn’t know you any better I’d think you planned this.” This earns me a smile and a wink. He follows me to the check out. Vanessa perks up like she does every time he’s come near her. She is boy crazy if I ever saw it, and to her Chase is a celebrity. The first time he came in, she couldn’t believe that he was my best friend. She kept asking me all kinds of questions, like “boxers or briefs?” UM HELLO, not that kind of friends. “What’s his favorite ice cream?” Moose tracks, but I didn’t tell her that. “Does he have a girlfriend?” This earned her a frown. “When was the next gig?” This one I could answer and did, with “this Friday.” She frowned, complaining that she had to work. Probably because Henry, Byron, and I weren’t since we were on the same schedule through training.
“Do you want to check your friend out?” she asks as she leans on the counter, batting her eyelashes at him, and showing him a peek down her shirt as she reaches to slide the DVD across the counter and brushes his hand in the process. I roll my eyes at him, and he clears his throat to hide a laugh, but, in typical boy fashion, still sneaks a look. His face darkens though when he realizes that I watch him do it, and he looks away. I check him out with a little help from Vanessa once she’s over her googly eyes, and he pays. Then as he’s leaving, he motions toward the door with his head.
“I’ll be . . .” I wave him off, knowing he’s waiting for me. I begin my closing duties, zooming through them as fast as possible. Then at nine-thirty sharp, I’m out the door. He’s parked his car by mine and is leaning against the driver’s side door watching me as I approach. I let out a deep sigh, glad my shift is over.
“Want to go get a coffee?” he asks as I lean against his door, taking my refuge in his eyes. He smiles sympathetically at me, and I can’t help it or stop myself; I take the only step between us and give him a hug because I didn’t realize how tense I was until I walked out of the door just then. He squeezes me and asks, “So that’s a yes?” and I nod. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Henry glaring at me as he and Byron get into their car. Byron says something, and Henry laughs, bitterly, loudly. Chase squeezes me again and whispers, “Let’s get out of here.” I don’t argue with him. I circle the car and climb into his passenger seat. Just before he opens his door, I watch him reach into his front pocket and pull out his lit up phone. Then he hits a button and shoves it back into his pocket. I want to ask him who it was, but he’s stoic and quiet, so instead we drive in silence. He hits the drive-thru before heading back to my car. He parks on the other side now since the parking lot is empty, and so I won’t have to go so far to get into my car, I imagine. We sip our coffee in silence, but I feel a strange tension building as he holds his eyes forward and blows his coffee. He takes a sip and then winces because it’s still hot. “Were you able to turn in any of those applications?” he asks, watching me out of the corner of his eye.
“Two places flat out told me they weren’t hiring; one said they might call me. I still have three others to fill out, but I’m not working in a workaurant or restaurant,” I say, the last part defiantly. He shrugs as if it doesn’t matter, and I can feel some of the tension release.
“What were you and Henry talking about when you were hanging those signs?” he asks, this time not looking at me at all. His jaw is set like he’s expecting me to say something he won’t like.
“Were you out here watching us then?” I asked, feeling a tad bit private-eyed.
“I was getting ready to come in. . . Don’t look at me like that,” he says, shaking his head.
“Like what?” I ask, my eyes widening just before they narrow and I smirk.
“Like I’m some stalker.” He rolls his eyes at me, and we both chuckle.
“Just wait till all your Cate’s Asses find out,” I say, looking out the window. Cate’s Asses are all the fan girls and groupies the band has acquired. Jade and I came up with the name one night when she was venting about how Evan now has all these girls throwing themselves at him. A.J, Thax, and Stain eat them up and spit them out, almost literally, but Chase keeps his distance and doesn’t give any of them the time of day. Evan, on the other hand, flirts a little. I think it’s harmless, but it causes some knock down drag outs between Jade and him. I sometimes wonder if he does it just to get a reaction.
“I just worry about you. Can I worry?” I can feel his eyes on me, and when I turn toward him, I blush a
t the intensity that I see in them.
“I don’t want you to worry; I can handle Henry,” I say, trying to wave him off.
“That’s the other thing that scares me,” he says more under his breath, and I barely hear him, so I choose to ignore it. The tension completely eases, and we sit there until our coffee is gone, well after my curfew has passed, and still talk about everything and nothing. He admits to how nervous he gets just before he goes on stage. I don’t tell him that I already know this just by the way his eyes dart around and by how jerky his movements are I can even tell the level of nervousness he is in. He says that this is what he wants to do for the rest of his life, perform music, and maybe restore old cars and sell them. We talk about video games, computer games, movies, and music—like I said everything and nothing. We talk like we haven’t seen each other in years and are catching up, repeating old stories, but still laughing just as hard as if we’ve never heard them before. We sit there until midnight just because I think neither one of us wants to leave each other. But finally we do hug our goodbyes. I text him when I get home to let him know I’m safe, one of his conditions not to follow me home, and we have a whole other conversation until the wee hours of the morning.
Lana
Lacey almost makes us late for school. I’m sitting at the kitchen table tapping my fingers, waiting for her to make an appearance. She finally does in a pair of skinny jeans and a knit shirt falling off her shoulder and a hoodie draped over her arm. Her hair is piled on top of her head, and she’s not wearing any makeup or her contacts. She probably thinks she looks sloppy, but she doesn’t, only tired. She grabs a toaster strudel sans icing and a black coffee in one of Dad’s travel coffee mugs. I follow her out the door, and we get to school with little conversation in the car, but it’s OK with me too.
The day is almost over before I realize I have no money to go shopping. Britt and I plan on hitting up Metropolis Mall in Plainfield before we get into our night. After school when I meet up with her, I ask her to take me to my dad’s office so I can get money. Both of my parents are pretty easy on me. They always made Lacey earn her money, but they baby me. I don’t mind taking advantage of it. We park in the alley behind the old house that my dad has converted to an office building. He rents the second floor to a small law firm. His office is across the street from my mom’s salon. I figure he’s my best shot. If he turns me down, I can always go over to my mom’s place. I tell Britt to stay in the car as I go to the back door. I open it and go in. I hate using the front entrance because the tiny brass bell dings really loud; it’s so annoying.
I walk down the hall and hear my dad and Krysta—arguing, I think. He tells her to shut up roughly, and I’m shocked. Their voices are coming from his office. Then I hear her yell out “Yes!” I go to the doorway and he is over top of her grunting and thrusting his hips, his pants at his ankles, his dress shirt only barely covering his ass. Her legs are wrapped around his waist, high-heel feet locked around him, and she’s yelling and throwing herself back against his desk. It takes a minute for it all to register. My dad. Is having sex. With skanky Krysta? I feel the bile rise into my throat as I stand there, eyes wide, cemented in my spot. They still don’t know that I’m there watching them; then I find my feet and can’t be there any longer or I’ll scream. I should scream anyway. It’s what he deserves, but instead I turn and run. I slam the door behind me not caring that it probably interrupts their sexcapade. I jump into Britt’s car and scream at her to drive while tears stream down my face. I should never have seen that; that should not have been happening.
“What happened?” she asks, as she crosses the street to go to my mom’s salon. I motion for her to go on, and then only shake my head in answering her question. I grab one of her menthols and light it with shaking hands. “Lana, you’re scaring me.” And I know that I am because she can’t take her eyes off me and almost runs off the road.
“I hate my dad,” I say bitterly before I take another shaky drag. I’d been doing so good, two days of no smoking. Britt had been disappointed when I told her but said she understood. Now she smirks as she watches me take deep drags.
“Don’t we all. What did he do? Tell you to get a job to earn money?” Britt laughs bitterly.
“Yeah,” I say, not ready to admit out loud what I saw. My head doesn’t really believe what my eyes are telling it just happened, so how can my head tell my mouth what to tell Britt. I can’t stop the tears from streaming, but I calm down after I toss the cigarette out the window. Finally, all I feel is numb, and I sit quietly. She drives until I’m done crying before she parks in front of Debbs.
“Ready?” she asks as she grabs her huge hobo bag. Seriously, I don’t know what all she has to carry that she needs a bag that big. I just open the door to get out. I’m not feeling this shopping trip now, not just because I have no money. I follow her in and around the racks as she grabs two of everything she likes. That’s weird to me, but I don’t say anything. She even grabs a couple of things in my size and hands them to me. Finally, when she has enough, as in about five outfits, we go to the dressing room. She motions for me to come with her into the largest dressing stall. I sit down, and she begins to change. I feel a little shy, but I am relieved that she doesn’t take off her tights and cotton camisole. She tries on the jeans and rambles on, debating with herself whether or not she likes them. Then she tries on the tops, only one of the double pieces she picked up. She doesn’t put on any of the tank tops. She looks good in a couple of shirts and decides that she likes them. Then it’s my turn to try on the things she got me. As I do, she begins messing with her bag. She takes out a pair of scissors, and the confusion is all over my face as she winks at me and begins.
“Oh Lana, I like this shirt so much on you,” she says louder than her normal tone as she snips the plastic tag off of one of the shirts. My jaw hits the floor, and she rolls her eyes at me. “You should think about that one; it’s so cute. Todd will think you’re a hottie.” Snip. There goes another tag, and she takes it apart and puts it in a pile.
“I don’t like Todd like that,” I say, my nerves unraveling.
“He’s so cute. If I wasn’t with Jake, I’d be hooking up with him.” Snip. “Here try this one, oh and these jeans.” Snip, snip. She continues until one of each of the double pieces and half of the tank tops are tagless. I turn, looking at my backside in these jeans through the mirror as she begins rolling the shirts into small, tight tube shapes. Then she unzips the side zipper in her hobo bag and starts stuffing them down under the lining and adjusting them so that the purse doesn’t look anything but normal. I change back into my regular clothes as she grabs one of the shirts for me and does the same, snip, roll, stuff. Then she takes the tags and stuffs them into her pockets when we are done.
“I’ve changed my mind. I’m not getting these shirts, but these jeans,” she says grinning and holding up the jeans she tried on. “These are perfect for tonight.” I nod as I tie my sneakers. We check out and she acts perfectly normal. I, however, cannot maintain eye contact with the cashier as they make small talk. “Do you have a restroom?” she asks as she throws her wallet back into her purse. The accommodating cashier points toward the back of the store. Britt hands me her bag of jeans and tells me to go on out, so I do and wait for her by her car. When she finally comes out, she pops her trunk and I follow her around as she places her bag in the trunk and begins quickly unloading her hobo bag into the Debbs bag.
We go to about five stores where she does the exact same thing spending a total fifty dollars but getting maybe a hundred and fifty in merchandise. She’s careful not to go to stores that have electronic tags, and if she picks something with an electronic tag she actually buys it, but she only gets a couple items like that. Then once we are done, and I think we’re ready to go get ready for our night out, she goes to the grocery store. As we walk up, she says I need you to keep track of how much we are spending. I nod OK and grab my phone to use t
he calculator. My stomach is in knots after seeing my dad and Mega; the image is burned into my brain. After witnessing Britt shoplift all those clothes, I’m in shock. I guess she feels we are close enough to share secrets like this. In the grocery store she has a list. All the small items she throws in her hobo bag until they equal the fifty dollars she’s spent. Then she continues shopping. When we check out, she asks the bag boy to double bag. Once we get to the car, she un-double a few of the bags and takes the things from under her lining and puts them in the bag. We go to her house. It’s the first time I’ve ever been there. She lives on the other side of state road 267, one of the main roads through Brownsburg; her house is a small ranch with white aluminum siding. The driveway is cracked and crumbling, and the yard is full of weeds. We walk in with our arms full of bags and find a woman lying on the couch smoking a cigarette and watching a Lifetime movie.
“Did you get my groceries?” she greets Britt. Her hair is matted like she’s been lying there all day, and she’s wearing a velour sweat suit. She’s super skinny like Britt, but unlike Britt, she has a ridiculous tan, like she uses a tanning bed every day. I survey the room. The walls are yellowed from years of nicotine smoke. In fact walking in, I notice a choking, stale cigarette smell. The carpet is dark brown and needs to be vacuumed.
“Yes, I got your groceries,” Britt says as her cheeks blush. “This is my friend Lana.” She motions to me with her head as she passes the woman on the plaid couch.
“Lana?” she questions with excitement. Then she looks at me, and her eyes light up. She almost dumps her ashtray as she jumps up to me. “Oh Lana, I’m so happy to meet you finally.” She directs the “finally” at Britt who turns and rolls her eyes at me as she sets the grocery bags on the counter that divides the living room from the kitchen. She wraps me in a tight hug and says, “I’ve been asking Brittany when she was going to bring you over so I could finally meet you. She just adores you.” I smile at Britt as she huffs.
Mia Castile - [The Butterfly Chronicles 02] Page 6