“I gotta go.” I push away and turn to leave.

“Caymen,” he says, stopping me.

I turn back. “Yeah.”

“The employee who doesn’t know how to use an iron?”

“Yeah.”

“He wasn’t fired. I know that bothered you so I . . . He wasn’t fired.”

Why does this news make me want to cry? “Good. Maybe he should attend the next career day I host where we’ll learn how to properly iron all your T-shirts.”

“I’ll extend the invite.”

That afternoon as I’m sitting behind the register doing homework and my mom is wiping down counters, she chuckles.

“What?” I ask.

“Mrs. Dalton’s grandson.”

“Xander?”

“Yes, Xander. He was funny this morning.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask hopefully. Maybe he really did make a good impression on my mom. Maybe it wouldn’t bother her after all to know we hang out.

“I don’t believe he wanted you to throw away his trash. And then, after you left, he was telling me how much he liked your name and how he had just been to the Cayman Islands last year. He asked how often I went as though everyone in the world goes wherever they want whenever they want.”

I’m usually the one making fun of the rich and she’s the one telling me to watch myself. For years it made me angry because I knew she felt the same way. And now Xander is the one she chooses to pick on? A lump forms in my throat and I don’t think I can talk through it. I try anyway. “He seemed nice, though.”

She shrugs.

Every defensive bone in my body is shaking.

“Are you seeing Mason today?”

Her abrupt change in subject renders me speechless.

“I really like the sentiment of his tattoo. I’m not a huge fan of tattoos in general—they are just so permanent—but I like its message.”

“Acceptance?” I ask, waiting for her to realize how ironic that is after what she had just said.

“Yes, a beautiful message. I’m sure he meets a lot of people that don’t accept him at face value. I’m so proud of you for being able to look beyond that.”

“Beyond what exactly, Mom? His skin color?”

“What? No. This has nothing to do with his skin color. Geez, Caymen, what do you think I’m talking about?”

“I don’t know; that’s what I’m trying to figure out.” I know what she’s talking about—his lip ring, his tattoo, his tic—but I’m too irritated to give her a break. Can she really not see the hypocrisy in what she’s saying?

“I’m going to do my homework upstairs.”

“Okay.”

I make it to the door when it hits me—she suspects there’s something going on between me and Xander. That’s why she said what she did. Why she put down Xander and built up Mason. It’s her subtle way of steering me the way she wants me to go. That has to be it. I want to turn around and ask her if I’m right. But what does it matter when he has a girlfriend?

Upstairs I pass the counter on the way toward my bedroom and see another pink-enveloped bill. All my irritation is immediately coupled with worry. I’m not sure which emotion is worse.

Chapter 25

I look through the rack at the Salvation Army with Skye, trying not to think too hard.

Skye sighs. “I guess I just don’t understand what happened.”

“What’s there to understand? He has a girlfriend. I’m pretty sure that’s the end of the story.” I haven’t seen him in a few days and whenever he’s away I’m able to think more clearly about things.

“But the way he looks at you is just . . .” She stops, maybe realizing this isn’t helping matters at all. “I’m sorry. Moving on.” She holds up a shirt and raises her eyebrows at me.

“Not your color.”

She puts it back. “Speaking of moving on, what about Tic? He totally likes you.”

“Mason likes whoever is in front of him at the moment.”

“Okay, so he has the attention span of an insect, but I think he could settle down.” She holds up another shirt and I nod, so she adds it to the growing stack over her arm. “He really is an amazing guy if you get to know him. They’re performing at The Beach tomorrow. It’s a big deal for them. You should come.”

I should go. Mason really is a good fit for me. My mom likes him; my best friend likes him; I know I could’ve liked him by now, too, if someone else wasn’t in the way.

My hand stops on the black dress. The one I had found when I was here with Xander. I’m surprised it’s still here. It’s amazing. I pull it out and run one hand along the hand-sewn beading.

Skye gasps. “That is gorgeous.”

I put it back on the rack and move the next piece of clothing, a hideous spandex jumpsuit, in front of it.

“Oh no way,” Skye says, coming to my side and freeing the dress. “You are so getting this.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Why? Where would I ever wear it?”

“That’s not the point. You find something like this and you buy it. This is the kind of dress you plan an event around.”

I bite my lip. “I don’t have forty dollars.”

“I do. I’m buying it for you. It will be my I’m-sorry-you-got-screwed-over-by-a-rich-guy gift.”

I laugh a little. “I’ll pay you back.”

Skye was right. The Beach (a club that named itself way too literally) is a much bigger venue and I’m amazed by how many people have shown up to hear Crusty Toads play. The waves roll in behind the huge stage, and the salty wind only adds to the performance. It’s a great concert, but I’m already planning my early-exit strategy. It’s not like we’re going to get to talk to the band after the show with this many people vying for their attention.

Skye has made some awful flattened-toad T-shirts, and I am wearing one against my better judgment.

“Two more songs and I need to go,” I yell to Skye as Mason sings in his honey-smooth voice.

“I knew you would try to leave early so I made plans for us after the show.”

“Plans? What do you mean?”

She nods her head up to the stage. “The guys want to hang out.”

I glance up at Mason and he catches my eye. He sings right at me for two lines and I can see how girls might stalk him after something like that. My heart stutters. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

Skye giggles. “Of course you will.”

When the last song is over I expect Mason to disappear behind the stage for a while like he did after the last concert I went to. He doesn’t. He drops his microphone, jumps off the stage, and weaves through grasping hands and straight to me.

By the time he reaches me my heart is in my throat.

“Hi.” That single word is said with so much rasp and emotion that I realize why he’s such a good performer.

“Hi.”

He takes my hand and squeezes. “Don’t leave.”

“Okay.”

Then he does. He heads back to the stage and slips around it, through a line of burly men and out of sight. I watch him the entire way and then shake myself out of the trance when he’s gone.

“Told you he’s crazy about you.”

I come back to my senses and see that the little stunt drew a lot of attention. So many people are staring at me. “I need some water,” I say.

“Will you get me a soda?” she asks, and hands me a five.

I tromp through the sand in my bare feet, wondering why I didn’t just leave my shoes in the car instead of checking them in. They were going to take forever to collect. A guy sitting at the bar looks vaguely familiar. And considering he’s staring at me as I walk up, he must recognize me as well. I can’t place him, though, and my mind scans through all my classes at school. I can tell his brain is performing a similar task when finally his eyes light up with recognition. Now he has the advantage because I still can’t place him.

“Xander’s little friend, right?” His remark reeks of arrogance.

The moment he says it I realize he’s Robert from the restaurant. The one I thought had called me a stray. I’m beginning to think Xander covered for him. “Yes. Hi.” I lean into the bar and order bottled water and a soda.