Ace of Spades Sneak Peek(15)

But this year, I will get everything I want, and Belle will soon be a thing of the past. I just need a chance to show Jamie how wrong she is for him.

I take my phone out and scroll down my list of contacts, landing on Sam. I tap out a message, something about his new haircut suiting him.

Within seconds, I get a response.

With a grin, I walk through the hallway with my head held high.

Like I said, I always get my way.



* * *



“Sweet-and-sour licorice or sugar mushrooms?” Jamie asks, holding up the two packets.

It’s after school, and Jamie and I are in the candy store that’s a few minutes’ drive from Niveus grounds, where we always go on Tuesdays, before making a stop at the twenty-four-hour Waffle Palace across the street. It’s like yesterday at the benches never happened.

“Sugar mushrooms look weird…”

“And licorice?”

“Licorice is begging God for diabetes,” I say without thinking.

He puts the licorice down and silently moves toward another section of candies.

“Didn’t mean it like that,” I say.

“Yeah, I know.” He pauses to survey what seem to be tiny candy pizzas.

I bite my lip, feeling bad. It’s been a few months since his diagnosis, and I always forget to stop myself from saying insensitive things. He was really depressed when his doctor told him, thinking it meant no candy ever again—which was, of course, the thing that bothered him most. When he realized it didn’t mean he had to stop it altogether, he went out and got this tacky tattoo of candy wrapped in red foil on his ankle.

Tuesday has become the day when he allows himself to indulge a little.

“Don’t feel bad or anything, I’m fine,” he says, the smile returning to his face. “If you want to feel bad, feel bad that they’ve run out of candy canes.”

“What a shame,” I say, which he playfully swipes my head for.

I can’t stand candy canes.

“I think I’m gonna get some licorice and one of those tiny pizzas.” He shows me his options like they are as important as college choices—which, knowing Jamie and his love of candy, wouldn’t be a surprise if they were.

“You do you,” I say, just wanting to get out of here. The days of me craving candy all the time ended in sophomore year, but this tradition makes Jamie so happy, and I like it when he’s happy.

I glance around the shop. It’s mostly filled with parents and their kids and elderly people. I look up at the walls, bursting with jars of candies. Licorice of all colors, glistening like jewels from the sugar that coats them, and others that appear dull in comparison. There are cola bottles, big and small, real and fake; egg-shaped candies; lollipops with bright wrappers.

“Let’s pay,” I say.

We walk up to the counter, and Jamie places the packets on the surface in front of the shopkeeper who, rather than concerning himself with Jamie’s candy and the twenty-dollar bill, stares at me, then my uniform, and then my face again.

His lips curl as he shifts to grab something—his phone—placing it on the counter next to Jamie’s unpurchased candy.

“What did you take?” he asks, and at first, I think I’ve misheard him.

“Sorry?”

“What did you take?” he repeats, pointing his index finger at me.

I glance behind me. Nobody’s there.

He is talking to me.

“I didn’t take anything—”

“I saw you!” he yells, which startles me. “What did you take?”

“I took nothing,” I say, raising my voice too.

There’s a pause, and then he’s moving from behind the counter. My legs shake a little, ready for flight.

“Show me your pockets!” he shouts.

How dare he treat me like I’m a thief?

“I did not steal your fucking candy. If I wanted some, I would just buy it.”

Jamie pulls at my arm and I turn to stare at him. His eyes look doubtful. My heart pulses faster; I can hear the sound of it in my ears.

“Just show him your pockets, Chi.”

I swallow, shifting to look at the shopkeeper.

He moves forward, roughly reaching into my coat pocket.

“See—” I start, but I’m silenced by a crinkling sound and a pack of licorice in his upturned hand.

“I’m calling the cops,” he says, shaking his head as he makes his way back to the other side of the counter.

My eyes water.

“I didn’t take it. I don’t know how it got there,” I say weakly, my voice breaking in a pathetic way I wish Jamie didn’t have to hear. How did it get in there?

The guy presses nine.

“I didn’t take it,” I repeat.

One.

“I’ll pay for it all, okay?” I hear Jamie say, pushing his twenty across the counter.

The man dials one again.

“Please, you can keep all the change,” Jamie persists.

The guy pauses, looking between Jamie and me, before putting the phone down and grabbing the twenty from the counter. The shop is silent now, the bystanders watching the scene unfold. My face feels hot as I watch the shopkeeper examine the bill.

“Thank you, sir,” Jamie says.

The shopkeeper looks at me and points again. “I’m tired of you people thinking you can get away with this shit. Don’t come back here, you hear me?”