The Distance Between Us

sure the old ladies would love a rock concert,” I say.
    He lowers his brow. “Yeah, Henry seemed to think . . .” He trails off as he eyes a porcelain baby inside a bassinet. “Maybe I got the wrong store.”
    “No. It’s fine. Just put them right here.”
    He walks over and sets a small stack on the counter then gives me a once-over. He must like what he sees because he says, “You should come,” pointing to the flyer.
    The flyer has a picture of a toad that looks like it just met the grill of a semitruck. Who designed that thing? Across its belly it says, “Crusty Toads.” Then at the bottom it reads, “Friday night, ten o’clock, Scream Shout.”
    On the tip of my tongue something sarcastic about the flyers is ready to spew forth, but then I stop myself. “Yeah, I’ll try.”
    “That sounds like what you really mean is that it’s the last thing you want to do.” He blinks hard, reminding me how he got his nickname. “I’m the singer. Does that make you want to go more or less?”
    I smile. “Maybe a little more.”
    “I’m Mason.” Much better than Tic.
    “Caymen.”
    Please don’t turn it into a nickname.
    “Good to meet you, Caymen.”
    Five points.
    “So what are the chances I’ll actually see you Friday night?”
    I look down at the flyer again then back up at him. “Pretty decent.”
    He tugs on his lip ring. “Tell the old ladies that it’ll be rockin’.”
    “I will.”
    Just as he starts to leave my mom comes in the back door and he stops.
    “Hi,” she says.
    “Mom, this is Mason. Mason, my mom, Susan.”
    “Hi, Susan, good to meet you.”
    “You, too.” She points to the ceiling. “Caymen, I’ll be upstairs making some phone calls if you need me.” Her shoulders are slumped, and she reaches for the banister of the stairs.
    “Everything okay?”
    “Yeah . . . I . . . yes, I’m fine.”
    I watch her go then look back to Mason.
    He taps the stack of flyers on the counter. “See you Friday.” He gives me a single wave as he walks out the door.
    I bite my lip and stare at the toad on the paper. I need a new outfit or a new haircut. Something new. I make sure no one is coming through the front door then go into my mom’s office to see if she’s written my paycheck yet. She usually leaves it in an envelope in her desk. It’s not much and I’ve told her a million times I feel weird about being paid, but she insists.
    In the right-hand drawer is the balance book, bulging with receipts and loose papers. I pull it out and flip to the end where I’ve seen her pull my paycheck from several times. There’s nothing there. I start to shut the book but a flash of red catches my eye. Scanning down the page, my eyes stop on the last number, a red “2,253.00.” That’s more than we spend in a month. I know. I do the bills sometimes.
    My heart thumps out of control and guilt constricts my breathing. Here I was rooting around for my paycheck and my mom can’t afford to pay me. We’re beyond broke. No wonder my mom’s seemed stressed recently. Does this mean we’re going to lose the store? For just one second I think of a life without the doll store.
    For that one second I feel free.

Chapter 7

    I stare at the long mirror hanging in my room. Even when I back up as far as I can I can’t see my entire body. My room is too small. I had straightened my hair, put on my best jeans and a black T-shirt, and laced up my purple boots. Nothing new. I wrestled with the fact that this wasn’t a good idea at all. In eight hours from this minute I have to be awake and getting ready for work. Knowing how bad-off the store is makes me feel guilty. Like I haven’t done enough. For the hundredth time I tell myself that I don’t have to stay long. Just make my appearance and leave.
    My mom walks by my room then backs up. “I thought you left already.”
    “No, and I don’t have to leave if you need me.”
    “Caymen, I’m fine. Now get out of here. You look amazing.”
    As I walk the five blocks to Scream Shout, I take in my surroundings. Old Town looks like it belongs in a western movie. All the storefronts are made of vertical siding or red brick. Some stores even have saloon-style swinging doors. The sidewalks are cobblestone. The only things missing are the horizontal posts to tie off the horses in front of the stores. Instead there is a wide street and diagonal parking curbs. The ocean is several blocks away, but on a quiet night I can hear it and I can always smell it. I