The Mall Read online

  Mom gestured toward the neon red-and-yellow wagon wheel sign.

  “Does Ponderosa Steak & Ale serve lunch?”

  This invitation had gone beyond bizarre and had crossed over into offensive.

  “Are you seriously considering taking your vegetarian daughter to eat at a steakhouse?”

  Never mind that their vegetarian daughter had considered employment at a steakhouse. But for all they knew, I was still working for America’s Best Cookie and dating Troy, and now didn’t seem like the time to correct either one of those assumptions.

  “Somewhere veggie friendly, then,” Kathy suggested. “Is there still a Panda Express in the food court?”

  “Not the food court!”

  Kathy sighed deeply. Frank pulled the Volvo up to the pedestrian drop-off and put it in park. Both parents looked at each other, then turned around in their seats to look at me.

  “We didn’t want to tell you here,” said Frank.

  “We didn’t want to tell you like this,” said Kathy.

  At that moment, I realized just how infrequently I saw eye to eye with my parents. Like, literally. Back-seat driving was all I’d ever done, so the from-behind perspective was far more familiar to me than the face-first view. Over the years, I’d made myself useful from this vantage point by warning Frank about the deepening sunburn on the nape of his neck or tracking the stealthy gray hairs that had escaped the pluck of Kathy’s tweezers.

  “We’ve decided to take a break from each other,” said Frank.

  “Two decades of living and working together have taken their toll,” said Kathy.

  The morning sun shined unforgiving light on the lines crisscrossing their middle-aged faces. When had Dad’s eyes gotten so droopy? What were those fleshy pouches sagging below Mom’s jawline?

  “We thought it over very carefully,” said Kathy.

  “And we’ve decided that our dental practice is easier to save than our marriage,” said Frank.

  They were both so calm. So calm that their calmness totally freaked me out.

  “What does that even mean?”

  They looked at each other again. Kathy solemnly nodded. Then Frank mirrored the gesture. How could this be happening? They talked about splitting up, yet they were still so totally in sync.

  “It means Worthy Orthodontics and Pediatric Dentistry will stay open for business as usual,” said Frank.

  “But your father is moving out,” said Kathy.

  And then one of them—I honestly can’t remember who—began explaining how Frank had already found another apartment, a condo actually, in Toms River, and how I would be welcome anytime …

  I tugged on the handle, but my parents had locked me inside.

  “Let me out!”

  “Cassandra…”

  “Let me out!”

  I pulled again, then pushed the door open.

  “Cassandra!”

  “Cassandra!”

  “Cassandra!”

  “Cassandra!”

  I escaped the wreckage, staggered across the parking lot, and stumbled into Macy’s, where I promptly knelt on the floor and puked my guts into the base of a plastic palm tree.

  14

  CINNABON APPETIT

  I arrived at work ten minutes late. Gia was in mid-pitch to a customer in a midnight-blue cocktail dress.

  “Now, Vicki, Bellarosa Boutique is a proud member of the International Formalwear Association,” she boasted. “We stand by our No Repeat Dress Guarantee…”

  This girl Vicki was getting a major head start on homecoming. Even in my dazed state, I knew three-quarter-sleeved stretch velvet with a multitiered ruffle skirt was not a summer style. I didn’t know who this girl was, but I envied her for setting her sights on such a trivial, easily achieved goal.

  “Cassie!”

  I expected Gia to chew me out for my tardiness. Late again? Really, Cassie? You’re worse than No-Good Crystal! Instead, she rushed over and pressed me to her bosom. That was when I should’ve figured out that I was even worse off than I thought.

  “It’s gonna be okay, hon,” Gia said, stroking my hair.

  “How—?”

  My question was interrupted by the girl in the dress. With her asymmetrical haircut and mix of silver hoops and diamond studs in both ears, I suddenly recognized Vicki as the Piercing Pagoda’s lone employee.

  “Toothy!”

  Toothy? I had no idea what it meant, but Gia did. Her head nearly snapped off her neck.

  “I will not tolerate disrespect in my store!”

  Toothy.

  My Odyssey of the Mind word association skills automatically kicked in.

  Toothy.

  Teeth.

  Dental.

  Dentists.

  Parents.

  Did everyone find out about Frank and Kathy before I did?

  “You can forget all about that dress,” Gia said to her customer. “I just remembered I promised it to someone else.”

  “Wha—?” Vicki was on the verge of tears.

  Drea arrived on the scene.

  “Let’s talk!”

  She pressed her nails into my upper arm and pulled me into the office. In the bright light of day, it seemed like an unlikely spot for an assignation. It felt like a million years had passed since Slade and I rolled around on that couch. As disappointing as our hookup was, I’d have gone back to that time of blissful ignorance in a heartbeat.

  Drea eyed the couch, then me.

  “You’re taking this worse than I thought you would,” she said. “You look terrible.”

  “How do you expect me to take this? Life as I know it is over!” I supported myself against the desk. “And how does everyone already know when I just found out myself?”

  “Word gets around,” Drea said. “Look, it’s not that tragic. Take it from me.”

  “It’s totally different.”

  Drea’s parents split up when she was just a toddler. She had her whole life to get used to D-I-V-O-R-C-E. I couldn’t even say the word in my head.

  Drea tipped back her head and laughed.

  “Name one person at Pineville High who’s had more rumors spread about their sexual exploits than me!”

  This was true. But I didn’t see how gossip about Drea’s alleged sluttiness had anything to do with my parents’ divorce. Unless …

  “Wait … People know about my parents’ sexual exploits?”

  “Your parents?” Drea recoiled. “Ewwwww! No!”

  “Then what are you talking about?”

  “You!” Drea looked at me like I was a simpleton. “And Slade!”

  “Me and Slade?”

  “Of course, you and Slade! What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about my parents’ separation!”

  “What?!”

  “My dad already has an apartment and is moving out!” Yelling hurt more than it ever had under Dr. Baumann’s care. “My parents are splitting up!”

  Drea immediately softened.

  “Oh, Cassie. I’m so sorry. I had no idea!”

  “Neither did I,” I croaked. “They just told me on the drive over here.”

  Drea filled a plastic cup from the water cooler and placed it in my shaking hands. I drank greedily, swallowing down the rawness in my throat.

  “But your parents are so good together.” Drea shook her head in disbelief. “Braces make happy faces!”

  “Well, I guess they don’t make happy marriages.”

  Drea hopped up next to me on the desk. “They’re really getting a divorce?”

  “I don’t know. I guess so. I fled the scene before I got the details.”

  We sat in silence. Me, perfectly still. Drea, swinging her legs back and forth. I couldn’t wear any but the thickest tights without getting runs. But Drea’s hosiery was of the sheerest denier.

  “So, if you didn’t know about my parents,” I said, “what did you think I was so upset about?”

  If I hadn’t been watching carefully, I wouldn�
��t have caught the grimace Drea forced into a grin.

  “I think it’s funny, actually!” she said brightly. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “What’s not a big deal?”

  “Slade went back to the Cabbage Patch after you hooked up,” she said. “He told everyone…”

  “Told everyone what? That we barely went past second base?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then what?”

  “He told them,” she said, “that you almost bit off a chunk of his junk.”

  I seriously thought I might puke again.

  “This isn’t funny, Drea!” I lowered myself to the floor and locked the trash can between my knees. “So, not only does the entire mall think I’m a slut, they think I’m an inept slut!”

  Drea laughed because she thought I was joking. But I wasn’t.

  “You really need to see the upside of this situation,” Drea said. “Until now, you weren’t hot enough to be someone worth gossiping about…”

  I couldn’t believe what Drea was saying. That only now was I worthy of horrible rumors? That I was too much of a loser throughout high school to even register?

  “You are so rude!”

  I heaved the trash can at the wall. Drea shrieked in shock.

  “Oh my Gawd, Cassie. You could’ve killed me!”

  “You’re lucky I didn’t aim for your face!”

  This was why Drea and I had stopped being friends in seventh grade. Not because she got boobs when I did not. Or a boyfriend when I did not. Or bad grades when I did not.

  It was because she made me feel hopelessly …

  Loserish.

  And I was tired of being around someone who made me feel that way.

  Then.

  And.

  Now.

  “Come on, Cassie, lighten up!”

  I grabbed a stapler and held it up menacingly.

  “Get out!”

  Drea’s eyes widened, and she backed out the door. If she knew what was good for her, she wouldn’t bother me for the rest of my day.

  * * *

  Four hours later, the door creaked open and the scent of cinnamon and sugar wafted inside.

  “A peace offering!”

  I didn’t know if I was still suffering from a post-mononucleosian calorie deficit or what. But I went straight to full drool at the inimitable scent of melted butter, caramelized sugar, warm dough, and—of course—cinnamon. I had to give her credit. Not only had Drea paid extra for the Pecanbon, but she had gone out of her way to present this thousand-calorie bomb on a real plate with a cloth napkin.

  This wasn’t a peace offering at all. This was a weapon of warfare.

  She set it down on my desk and stepped back with a flourish.

  “Cinnabon appetit!”

  I could tell by the way the icing dripped across the swirls and down the curves that the pastry was still warm. Drea was not fighting fair.

  “If you think you can bribe me with Cinnabon, you are sorely mistaken,” I said.

  Then I threw the whole thing—plate and all—into the same trash can I had hurled against the wall.

  “Well,” Drea said, dropping her smile. “That’s a waste.”

  “I’m done with this stupid treasure hunt.”

  “But why?” Drea asked. “We’re getting close, I can feel it—”

  “I don’t care! I only care about lying low and making as much money as I can before getting the hell out of here.”

  I’d been stewing all morning. I wanted to quit so badly, but even in my outrage, I knew the money was too good to give up. Gia was paying me seven dollars an hour—a whopping $2.75 more than the minimum wage I would’ve gotten at America’s Best Cookie. The odds of me finding another job this late in the season that paid nearly as much were nonexistent. Bellarosa was my final pit stop in Pineville en route to my real life in New York City. And now that my family had fallen apart, I had even fewer reasons to look back once I got there.

  “Please leave this office,” I said, trying to resume an air of professionalism. “I have a lot of work to do.”

  “Aren’t you even the least bit curious about the next clue?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m not helping you anymore. I’m done.”

  I resolved to do what I should’ve done from the start: Focus on the job and forget everything else.

  No more treasure hunt.

  No more Cabbage Patch.

  No more Drea Bellarosa.

  “Come on, Cassie,” Drea implored.

  “I mean it!” I said. “I want those dolls out of here. They’re creepy.”

  “They are not creepy,” she said, tickling Rey Ajedrez under the chin. “They’re cute.”

  “I don’t like them staring at me from the couch like that,” I said. “With their arms out, begging for hugs.”

  “Where should I put them, then?” Drea asked.

  “They’re just dolls!” I shouted. “What are you, ten years old?”

  Drea’s eyes narrowed. All I could see was mascara, liner, and more mascara.

  “You want to be a bitch? You get rid of them!”

  She walked away with the confidence of someone who knew I would do absolutely no such thing. There was no way I could toss Rey Ajedrez, Lustig Zeit, Pieds D’Abord, and the new baby into the trash. Maybe I was a bitch. But I wasn’t a monster. Emboldened by her success, Drea turned sharply at the exit to deliver her parting shot.

  “Silva Mundi!”

  The preemie’s name—the next clue—lodged itself deep in my brain. When Drea Bellarosa took aim, she did not miss.

  15

  THEM AND ME

  I sat in the passenger side of the Volvo for the first time in forever. It was weird to see my mom’s face in profile. From this side view, her nose looked more beak-like than I had remembered. I wondered if mine looked similarly avian at that angle, then cautioned myself against stepping in front of Bellarosa’s three-way mirrors to find out. I’d been through too much trauma in the past few days. I didn’t know how much more I could take.

  “Do you have enough room?” Kathy asked.

  “I’m fine,” I grunted.

  I knew she was going out of her way to be accommodating. But I simply wasn’t in the mood to make her feel better about her poor life choices. Not when I had my own poor life choices to contend with.

  “Are you sure you’re comfortable?”

  How could I be comfortable knowing Frank was all alone on the commute from his new condo? He got the other, older Volvo, the one they hardly ever drove and had kept in our garage as a backup. From that point forward, I’d think of it as Dad’s Volvo, making this Mom’s Volvo by default, which was weird because until that day, I don’t know if I’d ever seen her in the driver’s seat. Frank had always, always driven us everywhere. And Kathy had never, never objected. That’s just how it always was in our family, so I never questioned it. Just like we always entered the mall through Macy’s, and never through J. C. Penney. There’s a reason why our Mock Trial advisor taught us to avoid always and never statements in our arguments: They were so easy to prove untrue.

  Frank and Kathy were always a duo, plus one. My parents always preferred the company of each other to being around me. Oh, they were supportive of my academic and extracurricular endeavors, of course. They were dependable fixtures at Odyssey of the Mind tournaments and Mock Trial courtrooms, but I can barely remember any significant one-on-one time with either parent. In fact, if I even tried to talk to one of them about literally anything—from buying breakfast cereal to applying to college—the inevitable response would be, “Let’s wait to see what your father/your mother has to say about this.” It wasn’t “we.” It was “them” and “me” until the end. Just consider the complicated coordinated effort required to separate without me even noticing. Frank and Kathy were the ultimate united front; even in their split I couldn’t fathom how either one of them would function on their own. And yet, there Mom was, half smiling, humming along to the radio.
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  “You don’t look comfortable,” Kathy pressed. “You’re taller than I am. You should move the seat back…”

  It didn’t matter that we were just a few yards away from the pedestrian drop-off. I couldn’t stand another second of Mom trying so hard to ease her guilty conscience.

  “Fine!” I barked. “I’ll move the seat!”

  I reached underneath for the handle but felt something soft and crinkly instead. My parents had always demanded the Volvo be kept scrupulously—some might say pathologically—clean. So I couldn’t quite believe it when I pulled out a crumpled wax bag from Wally D’s Sweet Treat Shoppe. What. The. Hell. With this evidence of secret candy binges, Mom had not only abandoned her marriage, but the most basic principles of oral health and hygiene.

  “Is something wrong?” Kathy asked, keeping her eye on the road.

  I was in no condition to confront her about this. I stuffed the bag even farther under the seat and removed my hand, which was now sticky with a residue that smelled like fudge but looked like shit.

  “Don’t drop me off here,” I ordered. “Keep going.”

  Kathy looked confused.

  “But—?”

  “Drop me off at J. C. Penney. Or is that too much to ask?”

  I guess Kathy decided it wasn’t. She turned the wheel and continued through the parking lot to Entrance Two without questioning me. My hand was on the door handle when she gently took my arm.

  “This will get easier.”

  I shrugged Mom off and got out of the car without waving or saying goodbye.

  Before going inside, I consulted the mall directory to review the ever-expanding list of danger zones. Concourse B—where I stood—was the only letter that hadn’t been compromised. Not yet, anyway. The following areas were totally off-limits:

  Concourse A, Upper Level (Surf*Snow*Skate)

  Concourse C, Lower Level (Sears)

  Concourse D, Lower Level (Food Court)

  Concourse E, Upper Level (Fun Tyme Arcade)

  Concourse F, Lower Level (Sam Goody)

  Concourse G, Lower Level (Bellarosa Boutique)

  If I were strategic and diligent, I could avoid all but the last. Even at Bellarosa, I could barricade myself in the back office if I had to.