“Why don’t you pick something out? She’s been wearing the same thing for a couple weeks.”
“You don’t want me picking something out.”
“Sure I do.” She pointed to the outfit I wore. I had layered one of the sheer silky shirts she had me buy over a different-patterned tank top I had picked up on my own. I hadn’t been sure if they went together but I thought it looked nice. Was she about to tell me it looked awful? “You’ll do a great job.”
I sighed, then walked the store. I picked a lacy skirt off the far wall and matched it with a summery-looking shirt. As I undressed the window mannequin, I said, “Linda, every summer I go to basketball camp for a week.”
“How fun. I didn’t know you played basketball.”
“Yes. I do. And camp starts in a few weeks.”
“Oh.” She pulled out her purse and dug through it, coming up with a little planner. She flipped the pages. “So what are the dates again?”
“August first through the eighth.”
She wrote something down. “Sounds good. I marked you down for that week off.”
“Oh.” Time off. I liked that idea better. “Thank you.” I continued to unbutton the mannequin’s shirt.
“You may not think you have style, Charlie,” Linda said, appraising the clothes I had hung on the hook next to me, “but that clothing combination isn’t a basic one. You picked up on the lace theme, not the color scheme. That says a lot.”
That compliment shouldn’t have made me so proud. I had probably seen a customer buy this outfit or something.
“Did I tell you that our business is up ten percent since we started stocking the makeup?”
“No, that’s great.” I folded the removed clothes and slid the shirt I had selected over the neck of the headless lady. Then I stared at the white, unbending arm, wondering how I was supposed to get that into the sleeve.
“It is great.” She put her purse back beneath the counter.
“Um . . .” I tried to twist the arm up and it popped off and clanked to the floor.
Linda looked up and laughed when she saw my face. “It pops right back on. You’ll get the hang of it. I’ll be right back.” And with that she disappeared into the back, leaving me with a one-armed mannequin.
I eventually realized the arms had to come off to fit the shirt on, but I had no idea how the skirt would fit over her wide stance. I laid her on her back and kneeled beside her, shimmying the lacy skirt up her legs.
This is how Skye found me when she walked into the store. “Hey, Charlie.”
“Hi. Linda’s in the back.”
We both looked at the half-dressed dummy on the floor then back at each other. Skye laughed.
“Any tips on mannequin dressing?”
“Surprisingly, I’ve never done it before.” She stepped forward and grabbed hold of the legs, trying to shove them together. “Oh. They don’t move.”
“Yeah.”
“Here. I’ll hold her neck and you shove her skirt on.”
“This feels so wrong,” I said as we both took our positions.
“She has no head, so she doesn’t know she’s being violated.”
I laughed and finally got the skirt to her waist. We hoisted her to her feet and both stared at her.
Skye tilted her head. “Are her arms lopsided?” She tried to move the right arm up and it popped off. “I broke her.”
“No, it goes back on.”
She swung the arm and smacked me on the butt with the mannequin’s hand.
“Hey, I have a head and am fully aware when I’ve been violated.”
Skye laughed, and I popped the arm back on and shoved the mannequin into the window before we messed her up even more.
“Thanks for rescuing me.”
“No problem.” Skye headed for the back and Linda, but stopped. “Oh, remember that band I was telling you about? My boyfriend, Henry’s?”
“Yes.”
She pulled a flyer out of her purse and pointed to a picture of a flattened toad on the front. “It’s this Friday. Right up the street. You should come.”
“Yeah. I’ll try. Thanks.”
“No problem.” I watched her walk into the back room. I wondered what she and Linda talked about. How did they have anything in common?
The sound of crinkling paper made me look down. I realized I had the flyer in a death grip. Maybe I should go to this concert. I was a sporting-event type of girl, not a loud-music event one. At least that’s what I had always thought. But here I was standing in this store, in these clothes, hearing the sound of laughter in the back room, and realizing that maybe there was more to me than I realized.
Chapter 18
Just because I decided I would go to the concert didn’t mean I had to go alone. I impulsively called Amber to go with me. I figured she was more the rock-concert type than anyone else I knew.
She was on her way to my house, but I was up in my bedroom, trapped by the sounds of my brothers downstairs. It should’ve been easy for me to march down there in these clothes that I’d been wearing at work for weeks and tell them I was going out. It wasn’t. They still hadn’t seen me like this. And I felt like a fraud. Like this was just me playing pretend. Like they’d call me out on that fact.
Their laughter carried into my bedroom even though I had the door tightly shut. They were loud. I looked at my outfit one more time—a pair of skinny jeans and a shirt that showed more of my chest than I was used to showing. My hair hung down my back and actually looked shiny and full today with the help of some tips I’d learned from Amber.
I threw my shoulders back and headed for the door. I could do this. The door handle felt like a weight in my hand, too heavy to turn. Defeat wasn’t usually a feeling I let myself live with, but this time I knew I was beat. I walked to my closet, retrieved an oversized sweatshirt, and threw it on. Then I grabbed an elastic band from my desk, pulled my hair back, and went downstairs.
“Charlie!” Gage said the minute I’d reached the landing. “Hurry, get over here. I just bet Braden I could throw five pieces of popcorn into your mouth in under thirty seconds.”
“What?”
“Stand over there.” He pointed to a spot ten feet in front of him.
I looked at Braden, who was sitting on the couch, his feet on the coffee table. One side of his mouth lifted into a smile. Why did his smile make me want to do this? “He can’t do it,” Braden said.