Where the Stars Still Shine(52)

Obsolete desktop computer models sit beside newer laptops, but as I scan the shelves I don’t see mine. A man comes into the aisle. He’s older, his hair graying at the temples, and he’s liberally doused in the same cologne Frank put on in the morning. By the time he came to my room at night, it was faded and sour, but I remember the way the new scent would linger in the bathroom after he went to work. The memory brings an itch to my feet and I think about leaving. But this man is wearing a polo shirt with the name of the shop stitched on the chest.

“Need help?”

“I, um—I’m looking for a specific laptop.” There’s a tremble in my voice as my heart struggles to calm itself down. “One that would have been brought in about a week ago by a woman with short super-blond hair and”—I gesture at my mouth—“really red lipstick. It’s, um, white—”

“I remember.” He nods. “Sold it. That model always goes quick.”

I’m not surprised the laptop is already gone, but I can’t stop the sinking feeling I get. Greg doesn’t spend much time in the Airstream, but every time he comes out for a little visit, I worry this will be the time he notices the computer is missing. I can’t hide it forever. “Could I, um—can I give you a number to call if you get another one?”

The man gives me the “wait a minute” sign with his index finger. “Hang on.”

He goes into the back, leaving me alone with the lingering and unsettling scent of his cologne. Five minutes later, he returns with a white laptop that from the outside looks the same as mine.

“This one’s newer.” He opens the lid. The keyboard is identical, but the track pad doesn’t have a button along the bottom the way mine did. Still, it’s close enough that Greg might not notice. He’d have to sit down to use it to see the difference. “Just came in last night.”

“How much?”

“Two-fifty.”

I press the power button to boot up the computer. The pawnbroker just stands there, and though I don’t look at him, I can feel him watching me. I don’t like it, but I think he’s keeping an eye on his merchandise, rather than on my merchandise. The laptop comes to life with a familiar chime. I open all the programs and type out a few nonsense sentences to test the keys: The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. Help, I’m a genie trapped inside this computer! Set me free and I’ll grant you three wishes!

That last one makes him chuckle a little.

I turn off the computer. “Would you take one hundred?”

“Two-fifty. Firm.”

Two hundred and fifty dollars means I won’t have much to spend on Christmas presents, but Mom didn’t leave me much choice. I hand over the cash and he gives me the laptop, the power cord, and a dirty pink neoprene carrying case that I throw in the trash on my way out of the store. Then I feel bad for tossing away a carrying case just because it was dirty. Who have I become that castoffs aren’t good enough for me? I go back to fish it out of the trash, but the pawnbroker is watching, which makes me feel suspicious and stupid, and the broken door chime keeps going off every time I open the door. Finally, with my face as pink with embarrassment as that dirty old laptop case, I just leave.

It’s still early and I have no other plans, so I stash my new computer in the wire basket attached to my bike and ride to the bookstore. The breeze cools both my cheeks and the irritation I’m feeling toward my mom.

The chalkboard sign outside the bookstore is empty, and I’m greeted by angry, bone-rattling bass as I open the door. The throw pillows on the couch spell SUCK IT, and Ariel is standing on a stepladder, shelving books in a new section called asses for the masses. Most of the books in the section are legal thrillers and mysteries by stratospherically famous authors, so the implication is not lost on me. I’m not sure it’s a statement she should be making when she’s trying to sell these books to customers. Then again, I’m the only one in the store.

“Hey!” She has to shout over the music as she hops off the stepladder. She leans over the checkout counter to lower the volume. “Need any help?”

I shake my head. “I’m just kind of looking.”

“Did you bring your application?”

“What?”

“I saw you take one the last time you were here,” she says. “Are you going to apply for the job?”

“I don’t know.” A sigh escapes me. “I mean, I have a job right now with a family business—”

“God, I know how that works.” Ariel hoists herself onto the counter, the zipper tabs on her green plaid bondage pants rattling against the wood. Her black T-shirt looks like it got caught in a shredder, but she pulls off the look. “My mom owns this place and I worked here through high school. Then I went away to college and I thought I’d escaped Tarpon Springs forever, and yet”—she lifts her arms like a TV game-show model—“here I am.”

She wants to escape. Alex wants to escape. I wonder if I’d lived in this town my whole life if I’d feel that way, too, instead of being the girl who wants to stop moving and just stay in one place for a while.

Ariel spins the artsy postcard display, making it wobble and squeak. “I need to get the hell out of here.”

“Would your mom be upset if you left?” I don’t think Theo would mind if I quit, but family is important to Greg. He might be disappointed. Yiayoúla, too. And I think Kat wouldn’t understand at all. But, really, the only thing the gift shop has going for it is its proximity to Alex.