In Plain Sight (6 page)

I have to get a job. Even if my parents decide to disown me for it. I’m eighteen, and legally an adult, so if I want a job I should be able to get one. It’s ironic, really. Most of the time teenagers are ridiculed for being lazy and a drain on their parent’s finances, yet here I am desperate to help pay my own way and I’m constantly being told not to.

I want to go to college. I want to get a job I enjoy and then provide for myself in the way I want to. If they’re not going to let me, then maybe I won’t bother telling them.

By the time I get dressed and eat some lunch on Sunday, my parents aren’t even home. They’re out shopping for things we don’t need, or dining somewhere that’s too expensive.

I dress in a pair of khakis and a dark blue polo shirt, put on my best shoes and attempt to do something with my hair. I should probably get a haircut first, but I hate the idea of looking like every other guy in school. In my group of friends, my shaggy annoying hair is about the only thing that’s mine.

When I look as trustworthy as businesslike as I can get, I head out in search of a job.

I know beggars can’t be choosers, but I’d really rather avoid a job in food service. I don’t want to be responsible for making people’s food, or coming home smelling like grease, especially if I might actually keep this a secret from my parents.

After asking around at a few stores and being told they’re not hiring, I pull into Marty’s Fine Furniture, a big store inside a warehouse. They have annoying flashy commercials advertising their furniture as being the best quality around. Just thinking about it puts their jingle in my mind and I have to think of other songs so it doesn’t get stuck there.

I head inside and find a manager on the store floor. His nametag says his name is Eric, and he tells me they’re hiring furniture assemblers. When I cock an eyebrow, he explains that all of their supposedly “fine furniture” is shipped to them in boxes, and that the only thing that really separates them from other furniture stores is that they assemble it for you before you buy it.

It sounds easy enough, and the job pays well, plus he said the hours are flexible if I’m in school.

I ask for an application and only feel a little bit guilty about going behind my parent’s backs. Eric has to help a customer, so he tells me to take my time filling out the application and just get back with them whenever I’m done.

I sit on one of the kitchen tables on display at begin filling out the form. This place is huge, and there are different departments for different rooms in each house. The kitchen section has about five billion different tables to choose from, from nice looking stuff to weirdo furniture that I can’t picture anyone ever buying.

I’m almost finished with my application when I hear a voice that sounds familiar.

“Where are you? This place is a maze,” a girl says. It’s Maddie, the same girl from yesterday, the one who’d left me hanging after I tried to get her number. Being rejected by a gorgeous girl was definitely a first for me, and that only makes me want to know her more.

I look up and find her standing just a few feet away, her back to me, while she talks on the phone. “I have no idea how this damn phone works,” she says, looking at the screen of her Samsung Galaxy and then putting it back to her ear. “Why is everything so complicated?”

She sounds frustrated, maybe even pissed off. But I can’t just pretend I haven’t seen her. She’s way too pretty for me to ignore. Today she’s wearing a pink dress that goes down to her ankles. She has a slight sunburn on her bare shoulders, like she went swimming yesterday.

“Okay, lime green couch. I’ll look for it and you better be there,” she says, before looking at the phone for a few seconds and then shoving it into her purse.

I flip my application over in case anyone wants to walk by and get a peek at my social security number, and then hop off the barstool and stride over to her.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” I say in a dorky accent that immediately makes me feel like a jackass. Pretty girls kind of do that to me.

Her eyes widen and then she flinches when she recognizes me. “Hey,” she says, gazing down at my clothes. “You work here?”

“I’m applying for a job, but they haven’t hired me yet.”

“Well, good luck,” she says, looking out at the vast warehouse of furniture and customers all around us. “I need someone to tell me where the lime green couch is.”

“Looking for someone?”

She nods, squinting her eyes as she searches for the couch. “My mom. This place is so big I lost her.” She pats the purse around her shoulder. “And this new phone is so stupid it took me forever to figure out how to call her.”

“You seem like you’re having a bad day,” I observe. I get the urge to pat her shoulder and tell her it’ll be okay, but if she wouldn’t give me her number, she probably
definitely
won’t be okay letting me touch her.

“Just too many changes,” she says, almost absentmindedly.

I reach back and grab my application. “Come on, I’ll help you look for the couch.”

“Totally not necessary,” she says, holding up a hand.

I take her hand and push it back down to her side. Her skin is soft and she smells like coconuts and sunshine, and I definitely don’t want to let her go, but I’m also not some creep.

“Helping out a customer will look really good on my application,” I say, holding up the paper. She grins and it makes my insides hurt because she’s so freaking cute. Not at all like the girls I’m used to at school. Her smile is all innocent and sweet, not sultry and filled with hidden gold-digging motives. “Let’s go find it,” I say again, and this time she doesn’t object.

Maddie walks slowly, taking in her surroundings as she goes, one hand wrapped around the purse strap over her shoulder. I’m such a damn idiot, I’m going over a million ways to maybe ask her to hang out sometime after this. She already turned me down for her number, but I don’t want to give up.

There’s something sweet about her, the way she smiles at little kids as we walk by, and the way she lets other people walk in front of her as we’re weaving in and out of traffic. Most girls don’t have that kind of common courtesy—at least not the girls I know. They’re all about themselves, and expect everyone to bow down in front of them.

“So, are you looking forward to starting school?” I ask, just for something to say.

“Not really,” she says with a snort. “I mean, who would be?”

“Touché.” I rub my eyebrow. “Here’s the living room area,” I say, pointing out the obvious like the idiot that I am. “Now all we need is a lime green couch . . .”

“There she is,” Maddie says, heading toward a woman who looks a lot like her, only older. She’s sitting on the lime green couch and that thing is even uglier than I’d imagined. I mean, who buys a lime green couch?

When her mom sees us, her face lights up and she stands up and rushes over to us. “Maddie, I found the
cutest
bookshelf. I think you’ll love it.”

“I don’t really need a bookshelf, Mom,” Maddie says, lifting an eyebrow. She turns to me. “This is uh, Colby, right?”

My heartbeat quickens because she remembered my name and I nod like an excited puppy.
God, Colby, get it together.
“Yeah, I go to Maddie’s new school.”

Maddie clears her throat. “So, I’ll see you around,” she says, clearly trying to dismiss me.

“Oh, don’t make him leave,” her mom says, flashing me a grin. “Let him come help us shop.”

Her mom turns to me and holds out her hand to shake mine. “I’m Rose,” she says, giving me a sweet smile. I notice the massive diamond ring on her finger, and my heart drops into my stomach. That ring has to be expensive. Which means . . .

“Now let’s go find some things! Money is no object,” she says, waving as us to follow her as she spins on her heel back toward the area with bookshelves. “We deserve the best of the best.”

There it is. An ache rises in my chest as I blindly follow along, even though I really don’t want to anymore. Maddie sure seemed like a nice girl, but I was wrong about her. She’s one of the wealthy, the elite, just like Maria. She’ll probably start school and then be best friends with the M’s in no time.

Sure, my parents put up a good front, but we’re broke. I can’t take her on the fancy dates she’ll be expecting, and I can’t buy her designer purses anytime she wants. No matter how much I might like her, I know there’s no point in even trying.

There’s no way she’ll want to date a guy like me.

There’s a weird shift in Colby’s demeanor after a few minutes of furniture shopping with Mom. Mom’s not being rude or anything, so I don’t know what’s making him act so weird. He’s been overwhelmingly nice ever since I met him yesterday, so I can’t understand why he’s suddenly staring at the floor, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but next to me.

My chest tightens. Maybe he finally figured out who I am, and he knows I’m not actually new to the school, just new to the neighborhood. But that can’t be it because there’s no way he knows me. Colby Jensen has never even been within fifty feet of me at school. We don’t have any classes together, and I don’t think Jacoby is close friends with him. So I’m just being paranoid.

Still
, I think to myself as Mom starts fawning over a plush chaise lounge chair that we absolutely don’t need,
did I really expect anything else?

Colby isn’t my friend. He won’t like me when we return to school, so why am I actually excited that he wanted to walk with me in the store? It’s better if I keep my distance. We aren’t the type of people who could ever be friends, after all. He comes from money and popularity and I come from a dead broke single mom.

I feel like screaming because I’m so stupid, and I’ve so easily let an attractive guy pull down my protective walls. I take a deep breath and try to build them back up again, this time reinforcing them with invisible shields. No cute guy can break through them again, I’ll make sure of that.

While Mom rattles on and on about how she definitely needs to buy one of those lounge chairs, I turn to Colby.

“You can go,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Thanks for helping me find her, but this is boring and all. Plus, you have a job application to turn in.”

He nods, his eyes not meeting mine. He seems to be lost in a dream world. “Yeah, okay.” He gnaws on his bottom lip and then starts to walk the other way. “Nice seeing you again.”

“He was cute,” Mom says after Colby has safely walked out of earshot. At least my mom knows to be private about some things. She runs her fingers over a fringe tassel hanging off a couch. “Does he work here?”

“No, he goes to my school,” I say, glancing back at his retreating form. He’s halfway across the store now, reading over the application in his hand.

“You should date him,” Mom says all matter-of-factly, like it’s totally a normal thing to say.

I snort. “I don’t even know him.”

“You’ll get to know him as you date him,” she says, pointing a finger in the air as if to punctuate her point. “That’s the whole reason people date.”

I shake my head. “He doesn’t like me.”

Mom’s lips turn downward. “Well then he’s an idiot and you can do better.”

#

One time I saw this TV game show that took place in a store kind of like Wal-Mart. It was big and had tons of different items from clothing to electronics, and the game show contestants had to answer a series of trivia questions. Each question was worth a few seconds of time, and by the end of the round, all their awarded time got added up and they could take a shopping cart around the store, filling it with whatever they wanted until their time was up.

I used to daydream about being on that show, even though I was just a kid and didn’t really know many answers to the trivia questions. My sisters weren’t born then, so I would fantasize about getting lots of toys for myself, my own TV, new clothes. After a while, I
just
daydreamed about getting new clothes, probably because Brian Richard started making fun of me for only having three outfits to wear to school each day.

Shopping with Mom today makes me think of that game show. Mom snags a sales person from helping another customer and starts rattling off items she wants to buy for our new house. It’s technically Landon’s house, but she calls it our house and says we should consider it ours as well.

“We are going to be a family soon,” Mom says, gazing at her massive engagement ring. “And not just a courthouse wedding family, but a real family. I’m going to have a real pastor marry us, right in the back yard.”

“When is that happening?” I ask as we look at bookshelves, even though I don’t need one. I don’t even own any books.

“Soon,” Mom assures me. “I was hoping you’d be my Maid of Honor, of course, and also I’d love it if you help me plan the wedding. We just want something small, just family only.”

“I’d love to help you,” I say. Oddly, I find that I really mean it. Our new life is a lot better than our old one, and Mom really loves Landon. I want this to work out for them. It’ll be a much better home life for my sisters than I had growing up.

When we’re finally done shopping, we follow the sales person up to the front desk where he tallies up all of Mom’s impulse buys. Since it’s all furniture, we arrange for it to be delivered next week and that means we get to walk out of the store empty-handed, which is weird for how much money she just spent.

It didn’t escape my notice that my mother, who has no credit cards anymore because her credit sucks, is now sporting a shiny new platinum Visa card with her name on it.

“Landon gave it to me,” she says with a wink when she catches me eyeing it.

“So,” Mom says, clapping a hand on my back as we step out into the parking lot. She slides her sunglasses on her head and turns to me. “This is the start of our new life, so I think we really need to celebrate it big.”

“Isn’t that what we just did?” I say, hooking my thumb over my shoulder to point at the furniture store.

Mom rolls her eyes. “No, silly. I’m talking about me and you. You’re my oldest, and you’ve been with me through all the hell we’ve been through. Emma and Starla really have no idea, do they?”

My chest aches with the memories of my crappy childhood. Mom tried her hardest, but we never made it a whole week without worrying about money, bills, or food. “I’m glad their life will be better,” I say, letting my head lean against Mom’s shoulder for a second. “I’m really happy you met Landon.”

“Me too, honey. And he truly loves me. He didn’t even tell me about his wealth until we’d been dating a while, so he knew I wasn’t just some gold-digger.” Mom’s eyes get big and she gazes off in the distance. “I fell in love with him for who he is, and he did the same to me.”

“I’m really happy for you, Mom.”

She grins and reaches for the keys to her new car. “I want to do something fun and drastic. I know! Let’s get our nails done. Hair, too.”

I hate myself for getting excited at the idea of something we could never afford to do a few days ago. But . . . “That sounds fun,” I say, unable to hide my grin.

At a nearby salon, Mom and I sit in these fancy massage chairs with tubs of hot water at the bottom. Professionally skilled nail techs scrub the callouses off our feet and trim our toenails and paint them and everything. It is amazing.

I knew people got pedicures, but I just figured that meant getting their nails painted. I had no idea how much went into it. It’s so relaxing I could die.

Mom doesn’t stop grinning in my direction, and when both our feet and hands look like a movie star’s, she turns to me, giving me a coy look.

“I think we should do something drastic to our hair.”

“Like what?” I say. My hair is brown, a little longer than my shoulders, and very very plain. I’ve never had a real haircut before—at least not one in a salon. Mom has a pair of hair shears and she’s the one who gives us basic hair trimming when we need it.

We pay for our manicures and pedicures and then head over to the hair salon next door. “Hmm,” she says, gazing at the photos of hair models all over the wall. “I’m thinking I should get some highlights, and maybe a nice trim to get rid of my split ends.”

“Okay, I’ll do that too,” I say, suddenly eager to sit in one of the chairs and have someone else with actual talent do my hair for a change. As much as I’m trying not to be materialistic, I’m really having fun.

But maybe that’s okay. This is our “new life” as Mom keeps saying. Maybe I’m allowed to have fun.

Our stylist’s name is Bae, and she’s tall and beautiful and has an amazing Jamaican accent. She loves mom’s highlight idea, but when it’s my turn to explain the style I want, Mom says, “Are you sure you want the same as me?”

“You don’t have to choose right away,” Bae says thoughtfully while she plays with my hair in front of a mirror. “We can do your mom’s first, then you can decide.”

“I don’t really know what else to do,” I say, shrugging. “I mean, anything will be better than my boring hair now.”

“What do you suggest?” Mom asks Bae. “We’re celebrating starting our lives over new and fresh, so I think Maddie should do something big and bold.”

Bae purses her lips while she thinks it over. “Do you go to RCHS?”

I nod and her eyes light up. “They don’t have a hair dress code in that school, so you could do a wild color if you’d like.”

Mom’s lips form an o. “Ooooh, you should, Maddie! I think that would look so cool! Maybe a rainbow of colors?”

Bae nods.  “I could do that.”

I bite my lip. Drastic hair colors? I’ve never even considered it. But we
are
starting over, and this
is
a new life, no matter how much I might still think of myself as poor trailer trash.

Plus, Colby thought I was a new girl.

What if I really become a new girl?

My lips twist into a smile and I turn to Bae. “Yes, let’s do it. Only I’m thinking pink. Can you do pink?”

Bae nods, twisting a strand of my boring brown hair around her thin finger. “Totally, honey. I can do as pink as you want.”