Change Places with Me(4)

“When they’re well trained. No doubt Mrs. Moore spoils them terribly. You weren’t afraid of them?”

“I love animals,” Rose stressed. It seemed important that Evelyn realize this and remember it. “Did you sell that place today?”

“Yes.”

“That’s great! You found the right space for that person. This pasta—it’s amazing. What is it, just garlic and oil?”

“And a little red pepper, to give it a kick.”

Evelyn still had on work clothes—a crisp white blouse, black pants, gray blazer, flats. That gorgeous hair spilled over her shoulders, and that smell of lavender, so exquisite. Rose noticed, too, lines around Evelyn’s mouth and eyes. When had Evelyn gotten older? Her skin had always been smooth as a lake. “You know, I saw a video the other day. There’s this new thing. You go into a special room and high-pitched sounds zap your skin, get rid of your wrinkles. Not that you’re all wrinkly or anything.”

Evelyn touched her face lightly. “I don’t mind wrinkles. Besides, people complain of hearing loss, after.”

“They didn’t say anything about side effects.”

“They never do, do they? Some of these new procedures—I don’t trust them—they pop up out of nowhere and you’re supposed to just put your life in their hands. . . .”

“Whoa,” Rose said. “Did I touch a nerve?”

“Sorry, that just came out,” Evelyn said. “Never mind.”

“Well, on a far more important subject, it’s time to cut my hair.”

“Cut it yourself, you mean?”

That was what she always did, a pair of scissors and a ruler for the bangs, which fell into her eyes, and occasionally she grabbed the ends, too, and took off an inch or so. “No, I want a real haircut this time, at Sassy Cuts. No bangs, but long enough so I could put it behind my ears if I want, or have it behind one ear and not the other.”

“That’s certainly specific. Let me give you some money.” Evelyn pulled her wallet out of her bag and gave Rose a few folded bills.

“I’ll pay you back. I’m thinking I could get a job.”

“Oh?”

“Not sure what yet.” Inside the bills was a small folded piece of yellow paper. Rose opened it. A receipt from a place called Forget-Me-Not, for $1,600. That spot on her jaw began to ache again, and she winced.

“Your cheek still hurts,” Evelyn said, concerned.

“It’s okay. What is this?” She held the paper up.

Evelyn glanced up quickly. “Oh, was something in there?”

“It says Forget-Me-Not.”

“It’s nothing.”

“You spent sixteen hundred dollars there. Yesterday. When I was at the zoo. The gorillas were so close, it was like I could touch them.”

“It’s a flower shop.” Evelyn took hold of the receipt.

“That’s a lot of money to spend at a flower shop.”

“I keep an account there. I send housewarming gifts to clients. It adds up.”

“Can I see it again?”

But Evelyn had already put it back in her wallet and snapped her bag shut.





CHAPTER 3


Belle Heights High School was enormous, bursting at the seams with over two thousand students, but on Monday morning Rose found something wonderfully energizing about all these personalities in one place. Overcrowding or not, there was something new to notice anywhere you looked—a girl with silver jewelry in her braids, a guy with a forehead tattoo that said If you can read this, you’re too close. Rose hoped it was a Sün-Fade tattoo; some things just weren’t meant to be permanent. She sighed, feeling so good—never mind that that strange red light had been there again that morning, behind her eyes and still there once she opened them. How could it be both inside and outside? But all she’d had to do was blink a few times and it was gone.

Morning classes went by in a flash, instead of dragging endlessly, and she talked to kids as if she fit right in, just like they did: “Tough math test!” “Did you finish that bio thing?” At lunch in the cafeteria, the student who worked the scanner looked at her, down at her tray, and back at her again. He had dark bushy hair and eyebrows so thick they almost formed a unibrow, and he was several inches shorter than Rose.

“Never thought you were the scuffin type,” he said. “A scone or a muffin, maybe, but not the combo.”

“It looked good,” Rose said.

“Garbo talks!”

“Garbo?”

“Greta Garbo—a silent movie star. Silent, like you—before now, that is. When she finally made a talkie, everybody got so excited to hear her voice, the posters said, ‘Garbo Talks!’” He picked up the scuffin and tossed it around like a baseball. “This thing is dry as dust. You’ll need this.” He put a pineapple juice stick on her tray. He was talking like they knew each other. They didn’t, really, but Rose smiled at him. “She smiles! Stop the presses!” He was starting to sound like someone in an old movie himself. “Except, let’s try a second take.”

“What?”

“That smile looks, well . . . kind of Photoshopped or something. Hey, sorry.” He put his hands up like he was surrendering.