by AC Washer
I couldn’t help but grin at him. I immediately liked him, and my gut was never wrong. I glanced at Mickey—well, it was rarely wrong. I was still a little sore about him handing out my number to Patrick-with-awesome-reflexes.
Mickey rubbed his eyes with his thumb and middle finger before he looked up, a bemused expression on his face. “Stuart.” He smiled at me. “Stuart is a friend from a long way back. Family friend, so to speak.”
“Nice to meet you.” I smiled.
“’Tis an honor.” Stuart put his hand to his heart and gave a small bow. Mickey shoved him a bit playfully.
“Stuart can be a bit over the top sometimes,” Mickey said.
Stuart’s face looked pained, and I glared at Mickey. I looked back at Stuart and beamed.
He beamed right back at me. “What can I get for ye?”
“Well…” I paused. Maeve never said anything about not finding a job before homecoming. “Are you hiring?”
Stuart’s jaw went slack, and I shifted uncomfortably under his stare.
“Ye-ye want to work?”
“Uh, yeah,” I said.
“Why? I mean—no disrespect—I am honored, but—“ Stuart bumbled around his words, tripping over them.
“How about we look for jobs after Homecoming, okay?” Mickey said. “You already need to catch up on schoolwork and get ready for Homecoming. It’s not really the best time to start looking for a job.”
I glared. We could be in the middle of a catastrophic disaster for all I cared. Nothing trumped me getting a job and getting out of foster care as soon as I possibly could.
“And anyway, you’re not old enough to work at the mall,” Mickey said.
“Well, in that case…” I turned back to Stu. “I’m looking for, you know, the basics. Maybe a couple pants, a few shirts…” I trailed off.
Stuart nodded gravely. “Then we must start at the beginning. Lingerie.”
I heard what sounded like a snort-gag behind me. Normally, I would have been completely freaked out with a guy jumping to the word “lingerie” within a couple seconds of having met me, but there was something so matter-of-fact about Stuart’s tone. It was like he didn’t even see me as female, but more as a doll that needed to be dressed. Lingerie was simply the first step to the finished product.
And besides, my bra—the only one I had—was gray and limp from overuse.
Stuart held out an arm toward me and I gingerly took it. This was odd, but I was learning to go with the flow here. And besides, I preferred walking next to him than walking next to Mickey at the moment.
He escorted me to the dressing rooms where he snagged a measuring tape—and just held it, his expression thoughtful. Mickey rubbed his eyes again. Maybe he had allergies.
“Alright, then.” Stuart straightened up and led me to the lingerie section. I noticed with amusement that Mickey stayed in the periphery of that particular section, which was fine by me. “Awkward” was what came to mind when looking for bras with “little brother” in tow.
“Ye be a 32C, I be thinking.” For someone making an educated guess, he was rather sure of himself as he started plucking my estimated size from racks. There were lacy ones, black ones, purple ones, ones with flowers, sheer…wait. It was starting to get a little hot in here. I glanced up at Stuart’s face, but it was completely neutral, as if he was picking out socks for me to try on. His fingers hesitated over a plain white demi bra.
“Ye be wanting a bit of umph or no?”
My eyes widened. I heard Mickey choke. I’m pretty sure I looked like a girl whose tampons just fell out of her purse.
“Um.”
He tapped his mouth. “No harm trying them.” He grabbed a few more and added it to the growing pile draping his arm.
At some point, he acquired a basket—it just kind of appeared—and led me over to the dressing room. I stared at the full basket in awe.
“How…hardly anyone carries my size. At least not like this.” I bit my lip. I only knew that because I was going to buy a new bra four months ago. But I got me and Caleb matching band shirts instead—not because Caleb liked the band, more because he should like the band and maybe wearing their shirt would rub in some good taste in music.
Stuart shrugged his massive shoulders. “Me store specializes in alterations.” There was a cough. “What I means is, we always make sure we has on hand a broad spectrum o’ sizes.” It sounded rehearsed, almost robotic.
I nodded absently, still thinking of Caleb, and spent the next twenty minutes trying on bras in a dressing stall outfitted with a plush velvet lounge chair and a gold-gilded mirror.
“Make sure to jump a wee bit so as to see if it has the right support,” Stuart called out, trying to be helpful, as he and Mickey waited.
Mickey snort-laughed as heat flooded my cheeks.
After that, everything was much more tame. Well, after Stuart insisted on getting me matching panties for the two bras I selected. That was awkward, since Mickey had stopped hanging back, curiosity getting the better of him.
“Huh. Never would have pegged you for a floral chick.”
“Shut up, Mickey.”
“And black. Very daring. You aren’t one of those girls who wears white tees over them, are you? Because I’ve always thought that looks tacky.”
“I said shut up.”
He grinned. Dang it, he won, and he knew it too. Mickey had annoyed himself into…maybe not forgiveness, but back to, well, friendly hostilities. How Mickey-like of him.
By the time we were done with Seelies, I had a cart full of clothing.
“Um…” I looked down at the cart dubiously. “I’m not sure….”
But Mickey was already piling the clothes onto the checkout counter.
Stuart was scanning the tags like he was playing a game, a wide grin on his face and amusement dancing in his eyes. The sticker shock was staggering.
“Um, I’m pretty sure that’s a bit… too much.”
Mickey crooked a smile at me and grabbed the envelope out of my hands. He rifled through it a bit and pulled out a small stack of 100 dollar bills. My eyes widened and my jaw dropped.
“Um, Mickey? I’m sure Maeve doesn’t want me spending that much on clothes.”
“Maeve wants you to fit in, and this” —he gestured to Stuart bagging the clothes— “is how you fit in.”
“But—”
Mickey held the cash out to Stuart, who waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Eh, let this one be on the house, Mickey.”
“Stuart…” Mickey ground out, and then dramatically lightened his tone. “Yeah, your dad would love that,” he said, laughing as if it were a joke between them. Stuart laughed too, but it was a confused, I’m-going-along-with-you-but-I-don’t-really-get-it kind of laugh.
“Yeah, heh, heh. Me dad, heh heh.” He took the cash and carefully placed it in the register without even checking the bills. He shut it and then gasped.
“Ach, Mickey! I forgo’ about the change.”
“No worries, Stew, just…” He trailed off as Stuart started hitting random buttons, trying to get the register to open, all the while muttering under his breath.
I looked over at Mickey, two parts confused and one part—well, the third part was confused, too. Mickey took in a deep breath and held it even as the cash box popped open with a ching.
Stuart let out a breath and absently said, “Thank ye, Mickey.”
I looked at Mickey, but he only shrugged.
We left the store with—my count was five—big bags in tow.
“How did Stuart do that?”
“Do what?”
“It was like everything he picked up fit me perfectly. That never happens.”
Mickey shrugged. “Stuart has a talent for things like that.”
“Huh. That’s cool, I guess,” I said as Mickey steered us directly to the store kitty corner to Seelies. “But still, I’ve never—wait, what’s that store?”
I tried to pause to check out Pix Fix, which
was right next to the store Mickey was tugging me toward, but Mickey kept pulling me along, and I was too bag-heavy to put up much of a protest.
Mickey all but pushed me into Curly Toes. Aside from the cheerful ding that sounded when we entered, no one greeted us. There were very few shoes. Instead, there were counters full of leathers from the deepest purple to the brightest yellow. Skins from snakes and lizards and many more that I couldn’t identify. Threads that varied in thickness and color.
After a couple minutes, an elderly man entered through the employee-only door in the back of the store. His smooth gait gave the impression that he was floating toward us. His heavily-lined facial features created folds that seemed to buckle in one on top of the other. Uncombed hair stuck up on one side and varied in shades of green, as if he’d taken far too many showers with really, really old copper pipes. Huge gray, watery eyes stood out from his thin, tall frame, staring at us with an almost alien look.
“How may I help you?” His voice was gravelly, yet oddly lyrical at the same time.
I looked to Mickey, perplexed. Honestly, I didn’t think he could help us. He looked like he needed to be checked into a care facility, because he certainly wasn’t doing a very good job at taking care of himself.
“We need shoes for these outfits,” Mickey held out four of the bags. My jaw went slack. He couldn’t seriously expect this emaciated man—he seriously looked like a skeleton with stretched skin bubbling around him—to lift anything heavier than a pair of shoes.
Before I could react, he grabbed the three bags from Mickey with a startling spryness, rifled through them, and impatiently gestured for me to hand my bags over to him as well.
Shocked, I immediately complied.
“Hmm,” was all he said, eyeing the shelves around the store. Once he started moving, he didn’t stop. Not until he had a stack of leathers and skins, soles, and heels, along with a variety of threads balanced on top. It was like watching a circus act, except I really did expect everything to come tumbling down with each new addition and with every step he made. Nothing—not even a spool of thread—dared drop to the floor. I was in awe as he moved through the door to the employees only part of the store.
“That was interesting.”
Mickey made a non-committal sound.
“He kind of looks like a creature from the—” The employees-only door swung wide open, interrupting me. The salesman sailed through the door with shoeboxes piled high over his head, making me wonder how he even knew where he was going. He stopped right in front of us and dropped them in a tidy pile at our feet.
“That will be all?” He was looking at me but obviously waiting for Mickey to reply.
“Yes, sir.”
The salesman gave a sharp nod and turned away, sweeping back into the employees-only room.
I stood there for a few moments, nonplussed. “Um, what just happened?”
Mickey busied himself with shoving the boxes of shoes into several large white bags.
“He gave you shoes that would match your outfits.”
“Don’t I need to, I don’t know, try them on first?”
“Why? He already had your foot measurements.”
I stared at Mickey.
“That’s not usually how it works.”
“Well, that’s how Curly Toes does it. Perhaps a bit unconventional, but no one’s ever complained about the results.”
“And…what about all the samples?”
“Probably picked a few things out that he knew would go with your outfits and then…” Mickey shrugged, apparently confident I could fill in the gaps myself. I guess the man tried to match them with what he already had in stock. I shook my head. It was just weird. Everything was weird. I shook my head again as Mickey held up a few bags to take.
I stopped walking once we exited the mall. Mickey was five steps ahead of me before he realized I wasn’t following anymore.
“What?”
“We never paid for the shoes.”
“Oh, that. Don’t worry. Curly Toes does things differently. Maeve has an account with them.”
“Oh, okay.”
We sat on the bench right outside of the mall that faced the parking lot and waited for Maeve.
When she pulled up, she seemed unsurprised at the number of bags we piled into the trunk and stuffed into half of the back seat.
“How was it, dears? Successful, I take it?” Mickey had beat me to shotgun, and I huffed as I collapsed in the back, buckling up.
“It was interesting,” I said.
“Oh?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Mickey chimed in. “You know, Stuart from my hometown? Well, he all but offered to give Kella free clothes. He had to be crushing on her or something, because his dad would have had a heart attack.”
Maeve chuckled ruefully. “That one’s a lost cause.”
That got my hackles up. “Actually, I thought he was sweet. And for your information, Mickey, Stuart is totally not interested in me. No guy who’s crushing on a girl can drape a dozen bras on his arm in front of her without blushing.”
Mickey chuckled. “Fair point.”
“The weird one was that Curly Toes guy.”
“Ah, Mr. Brambles. He’s a bit of a…” Maeve paused, searching for the right words. “… a difficult personality.”
Mickey shrugged. “You could say that.”
“He wasn’t too bad, surely.” When Mickey didn’t answer, she muttered something about him being a stubborn, pig-headed traditionalist.
What being a traditionalist had to do with magically appearing with twelve pairs of shoes that everyone was certain would fit me perfectly, I had no idea. Seemed to me that he and Stuart shared a pretty similar gift. Sure, it was cool, but I’d never met anyone before who could do something like that, much less two people—one of whom looked like he was ready to keel over and die. It was something that made me feel like I was in one of those elaborate prank shows where the hosts mess with your mind—except no one came out at the end and said “just kidding!”
Honestly, I was glad to be back inside of Maeve’s old forest-green Subaru. It was normal, and normal was very welcome at the moment.
Once we got home, Mickey helped me shove all of my bags into my room and then dump them out onto my bed. I sat down on the floor, overwhelmed. It was a Mt. Everest of clothes. A tsunami of clothes. An earthquake that would swallow me up, drowning me in its depths amount of clothes. And that didn’t even count the shoes. I didn’t know how, but it was as if the clothes we’d bought married and had babies even as we poured them out of the bags. We couldn’t have bought this much stuff! There’s no way we could have carried them out of the mall without a personal pack animal. An elephant, probably.
Mickey stepped back, assessing the pile.
“Huh.”
“Huh? That’s all you have to say? Huh?”
“Well…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It looks like Stuart got a bit carried away.”
“A bit? I don’t even recognize half—no, most—of these clothes.”
Mickey sighed. “I’ll talk to Stuart. I guess he saw a few pieces that he wanted you to have.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. I didn’t see him ring up half these things.”
Mickey only shrugged. “I guess he snuck a few things in. He did seem to like you, after all.”
“But all this?” I swept my hands toward the mountain of clothes, that I could swear had grown another foot taller, before plopping myself on the floor. “Why do I even try to make sense of anything here? Weird stuff just keeps happening and there’s never a good explanation.”
“Magic.” Mickey grinned.
I rolled my eyes.
“What?” he said. “Explain everything away with magic, and everything suddenly becomes less weird.” Mickey had a playful, mocking smile on his face.
“Right. Magic. Okay, then. How about you magically help me put all of this stuff away?”
“What? No! It’s all clothes and pers
onal stuff,” he said, his eyes landing on a lacy bra that I did not pick out before jerking back to mine.
“Please?” I begged.
He sighed. “Okay, fine. But I draw the line at underwear.”
“Deal.”
We spent the next half hour shoving pants and underwear into every last square inch of dresser space and packed my not-so-puny closet so full of clothes that it made me want to return half of them immediately. It was too much. With Dad, I had to buy all my clothes as soon as I could work. I never bought a lot, wanting to save everything I could. Now, looking at everything we’d bought, it seemed wasted on me. If I wore each outfit one time, it would easily take me months to get through them all. I wanted to return half of them, but when I said as much, Mickey shook his head.
“You’d just hurt Stu’s feelings.”
Well, when he put it that way, I was stuck with them—I liked the redhead too much. Unless I found a charitable cause. Mickey seemed to know what I was thinking because he added, “And giving them away won’t work, either.”
“Why not?”
Mickey shoved a long, glittery emerald dress that I was certain I’d never tried on into my closet. “Because he picked all of this out according to your specs.” He gestured at my body.
“And?”
“And, well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed since you haven’t really been paying all that much attention in school lately, but do any of the students around here wear anything other than perfectly tailored non-hand-me-downs?”
“Come on,” I said, examining a pair of emerald stilettos that matched the emerald dress perfectly. “There have to be at least a few not-so-well-off kids in this town.”
“Um, no, not really.”
I shook my head, gently placing the stilettos on the shoe rack in my closet. “Just because you haven’t noticed anyone doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”
I went to grab a pair of black boots, but tripped on another pair of purple heels and found myself diving toward the floor at the same time that Mickey straightened from picking up a flowing silver dress. His head bashed into the bridge between my eyes in a mini supernova. My body arched backward into the air before slamming down on the carpet, my left leg hitting the bed frame.
