“But you have a visitor!” Mia announced, barging in to inspect his room. “And we heard you, so you weren’t even asleep.”
“Right. And are you the visitor?” he asked, watching Heather follow her in.
“Actually, I am,” a voice called out from the hall.
Charlie opened the door wider, startled to find the blonde from the collage standing in front of him.
“Oh, hey,” he said awkwardly, wondering why Molly was there and not in Boulder. “Uh, can I…help you?”
“I’m Celeste,” she said, extending her hand. “Your mom let me in and said I could come up. I live down the street and Molly forgot a couple of things.”
“Oh,” Charlie said, surprised that he had gotten it wrong. “I thought this was your room.” Celeste looked at him, perplexed. “You’re all over the wall of fame,” he explained, pointing to exhibit A.
“Molly and I have been best friends since we were little,” Celeste explained, marching into the room. “This is Molly,” she said, pointing to the unassuming dark-haired girl, the last person to whom Charlie had thought the room, or, more specifically the collage, would have belonged.
Celeste surveyed the room with her hands on her hips and her chest jutting out of her miniature tank top.
Charlie could tell this girl was a handful from the photos alone, but her entrance confirmed it. There was no disputing that she was hot, though, even if her boobs did stand at attention like that, at right angles to the rest of her body.
Real or fake? he wondered. He was beginning to understand what Teddy meant.
“There you are!” Heather said to Celeste, pointing her out on the wall.
“And there too,” Mia added. “And there, and everywhere. Are you a model or something?” she asked Celeste.
“Hardly,” Celeste snorted. “But thanks, honey. You’re sweet.”
“What are you guys still doing here? Out!” Charlie said.
“But your room is better!” Heather protested. “We want to trade!”
“You two should come over to my house if you want to see a fabulous room,” Celeste suggested. She glanced quickly at Charlie. “You should too.”
“Thanks!” the girls said in unison as they ran out giggling.
“I’m sorry about that,” Charlie said. “You don’t need to entertain them.”
“I don’t mind,” Celeste said. “They’re cute.”
“You say that now….” Charlie warned. “So, what do you need?”
“Actually? Her sheets,” Celeste explained.
“Her sheets,” Charlie repeated, processing the request. “You know, we do have sheets in Boulder. It’s not like we live in caves or anything,” he said, even though he sometimes considered it.
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,” Celeste said, popping a piece of gum in her mouth. “I’m only fulfilling a request. And you haven’t even told me your name.”
“Charlie,” he said.
“Mmm. It’s so funny,” she said. “You’re sleeping in Moll’s room, and she’s sleeping in yours.”
“She’s in mine?” he asked. He didn’t know why he felt surprised. No self-respecting person over the age of twelve would choose his sisters’ room over his. Still, his room was so…well…opposite of Molly’s.
“Indeed she is, Obi-Wan,” Celeste said, winking at Charlie before walking into the closet.
Charlie felt the flush of red in his cheeks. The Star Wars sheets had been his favorite, a birthday gift from his moms when he was eight, but a combination of ten percent nostalgia and ninety percent laziness had led to their active use almost ten years later. He’d never thought about a stranger sleeping on them, or, worse, her hot best friend finding out about it.
Celeste reappeared dressed in a yellow-patterned dress and stood in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. “What do you think?” she asked. “Too yellow?”
It was definitely yellow, but that wasn’t all he noticed. She twirled around in front of the mirror, causing the skirt to lift up, revealing a glimpse of lace panties underneath.
“Uh, weren’t you looking for sheets?’ he asked, unable to tell if she was hitting on him or if she just flirted with everyone.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she explained, gently punching his arm. “Molly always lets me in here. She gave me permission to borrow stuff all summer. But don’t stress,” she added, reading the expression on Charlie’s face, “I won’t, like, use my key or barge in without knocking or anything.”
“Good to know,” he said, hoping she would drop in again. “I prefer people who knock anyway.”
“Is that so?” she said suggestively, brushing past him on her way toward the door. “So, Charlie, do you have any friends here?” she asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
“I think that remains to be seen,” he responded.
“Well, if you’re not too busy, I know of a cool party in the hills on Monday night. I’ll pop by and get you. Eight P.M.” Without waiting for a response, she walked back into the hall.
“Aren’t you forgetting the sheets?” he called after her.
“Nope,” she said, opening a hall closet and taking a pile with her before going back downstairs and out the front door.
From: Charlie
To: Molly
Date: June 15, 2008 11:11 A.M. PST
Subject: Sheets
* * *
Hey Molly,
Thanks for the tips. Cheese was gone by the time I woke up, but I’ll try them out next time he appears (if he does, now that he knows you’re gone).
In other news, your friend Celeste was just here to pick up your sheets. I guess that means you are staying in my room after all. Don’t worry, I’m not taking the sheet retrieval mission personally and neither is Luke Skywalker.
Since we’re on the topic of bed linens, what am I supposed to do with the pillows when I go to sleep? I slept on top of all seventy-two of them last night, but something tells me that’s not what they’re meant for.
Charlie
From: Molly
To: Charlie
Date: June 15, 2008 3:27 P.M. MST
Subject: Re: Sheets
* * *
I hope Celeste didn’t barge in on you or anything embarrassing like that. She basically lives at my house, so she’s not used to things like ringing the bell or knocking, especially when it comes to my room. Also, don’t be alarmed if you see her walking off with clothes from my closet—she has permission (sort of).
No offense about the sheets, but you have to admit, mine are pretty awesome—hence the need for my emergency care package. It has absolutely nothing to do with your crush on Jar Jar Binks or anything. Seriously.
I usually stuff the pillows in the space between the night table and the wall, but good to know they serve a purpose besides looking pretty.
Molly
From: Charlie
To: Molly
Date: June 15, 2008 4:06 P.M. PST
Subject: Re:Re: Sheets
* * *
Celeste did disappear into your closet and came out wearing something else (something much nicer, I might add). Just let me know when you need me to start keeping tabs. With two younger sisters, I’m pretty good at being the heavy.
Also, I was wondering, what makes your sheets smell like they do? If I could think of a less creepy way of asking you that, believe me, I would. I also considered not asking, but you know, curiosity…
C
From: Molly
To: Charlie
Date: June 15, 2008 9:19 P.M. MST
Subject: Re:Re:Re: Sheets
* * *
My secret is Tide spring scent…. Here’s another secret: there’s a lifetime supply in the laundry room.
M.
6
Last night I had a dream about you / In this dream I’m dancing right beside you.
—Daft Punk, “Digital Love”
Molly hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the desk drawer
and what might be inside it. She wondered why it was locked—if Charlie had had some weird premonition that she was going to snoop, or if it was just his standard practice to maintain some semblance of privacy. He did have younger sisters, after all.
Everything about his room suggested he didn’t have much of a personality—at least not one Molly would normally find interesting. But there was something compelling about his e-mails, his cute comments, and his confidence that she didn’t expect. Molly wondered what Charlie thought of her so far—how she came off to a total stranger, what her room and her belongings said about who she was. She still had no idea what he looked like and hadn’t been able to find a picture of him anywhere.
She stared again at the locked drawer. She had already scoured the room looking for the key, but with no luck. Charlie must have taken it with him. Breaking into the desk was not an option. Not only would it be taking snooping to a whole new level, but Charlie would know she’d done it as soon as he returned. Celeste would probably have some convincing yet utterly ridiculous plan to cover it up, but Molly didn’t even want to hear it. The drawer was going to have to remain locked for the summer. Even if the suspense killed her.
She was about to get up when the bling of an incoming IM distracted her. It was from Celeste.
Cshells: u there?
Mollypop: hey…where have u been?
Cshells: two words: sale and barneys.
Mollypop: ok, ok. and? what was he like?
Cshells: someone’s very curious.
Mollypop: you’d be too if someone was living in your room.
Cshells: please…i’m used to strangers in my bed…. lol!
Mollypop: i’m rolling my eyes right now. so, did you get my sheets?
Molly already knew the answer, of course, but she wasn’t ready to tell Celeste about her e-mails with Charlie. Not yet anyway.
Cshells: of course. i’m a good little messenger. and the boy is nothing special. his name’s charlie or something.
Molly felt a sinking sense of disappointment. It was stupid, but she’d been hoping that Charlie was hot. If nothing else, at least she’d know that there was a cute boy out there in the world who liked her enough to write her e-mails.
Mollypop: really? then what’s he like?
Cshells: your room looks the same btw. did you snoop like a good girl???
Molly paused. How much should she say?
Cshells: hello? u still there?
Mollypop: i’m here…. yup i looked…. didn’t find anything exciting, tho.
Cshells: well, that’s not surprising…. he’s not the living-on-the-edge type. your sheets should get there by tomorrow, fyi.
Mollypop: thx so much. totally owe you.
Cshells: gotta go. my cousin’s taking me to some fabulous pool party. TTYL and i expect a FULL report on the boulder mountain men. keep digging! xo
Mollypop: ok…don’t hold your breath. xxx
It was official. Celeste would laugh if she knew that Molly had actually taken Charlie’s e-mails seriously. It was time to squash whatever silly notions she might have had about Charlie Richards.
• • •
From: Charlie
To: Molly
Date: June 16, 2008 10:26 A.M. PST
Subject: Catless
* * *
Hey Molly,
I know that Cheese isn’t technically your cat, but he hasn’t been around since that first time and I was wondering if I should be worried and alert the lost cat authorities. Maybe he’s in a funk or something without you around. Should I hang some string cheese out the window so that he doesn’t starve?
Also, how’s Boulder so far?
Charlie
From: Molly
To: Charlie
Date: June 16, 2008 4:49 P.M. MST
Subject: Re: Catless
* * *
Hi Charlie,
Don’t worry about Cheese. I guarantee he’ll be back, especially once he realizes there’s still a steady supply of food. Then he’ll never leave you alone.
It’s really beautiful here (I’ve never seen such high mountains), but I haven’t really done much yet. I went to the Pearl Street Mall the other day, where I somehow found myself filling out a job application—don’t even ask! What have you been up to so far?
Molly
From: Charlie
To: Molly
Date: June 16, 2008 11:42 P.M. PST
Subject: Re:Re: Catless
* * *
M,
Can I call you M? or Em? While we’re on the topic, do you have a nickname? I don’t. It’s just Charlie, and it’s not short for Charles, but it’s amazing how many people just assume it is and call me that. Anyway, the best way to see Boulder is on a bike, so if you didn’t bring one, feel free to borrow one of mine from the garage. If you’re just staying on-road, use the red one near the door. You can adjust the seat by turning the knob beneath it, and there’s a basket of helmets under the bench at the back. If you’re up for trail riding let me know—I can tell you where to go. Speaking of trails, I just discovered Griffith Park. Pretty awesome.
So what’s this job you applied for? I know you said don’t ask, but now I’m curious, so you have to tell me.
By the way, what’s up with all the sketches and the sewing machine? Are you a famous designer I should know about?
Charlie
P.S. Cheese just appeared in the window. Glad I didn’t scare him away.
From: Molly
To: Charlie
Date: June 17, 2008 8:16 A.M. MST
Subject: terra firma
* * *
See? I told you he’d be back. Now you have a little gray friend for life—that’s the thing about cats—once they know your scent they’ll never forget you. If my mom weren’t allergic, I’d probably have a million. I’m not a crazy-cat-lady-in-training or anything weird like that…. I just feel so bad for strays.
I’m not a nickname person either. Only three people are allowed to call me Molls, but that’s just because they’ve known me forever. That said, you can call me M if I can call you C. They seem fitting for people who don’t like nicknames.
I’m not exactly the athletic type, and the last bike I was on had three wheels, so I’m probably better off with both feet on the ground. I’m sure I’m missing out, but at least I’d be sparing any pedestrians out there I’d crash into. This probably sounds ridiculous, since you’re clearly a bike expert, so don’t think any less of me!
Oh—and I’m not a famous designer but it’s sweet of you to put it like that. I hope that one day I will be (a designer, that is), but that’s a long way off from now…. I still have a lot to learn.
I just got a call about the job and I got it! So not what I was planning, but I was kind of caught off guard. So, in about an hour I’ll officially be an employee at Second Time Around…. It’s a thrift store on the Pearl Street Mall that I’m sure no one’s ever heard of…. I kind of have a thing for vintage, so hopefully it’ll be fun…. Okay, I feel like I’m rambling, and I’m gonna be late, so I better go…. Have a great day, C!
M
7
“Can you love a player?”
—Viola de Lesseps, Shakespeare in Love
“Where does this one go?” Molly asked, taking a men’s burgundy velvet vest with a ton of potential from a cardboard box.
Penelope peered over the reading glasses perched on her nose to get a better look. “Front right corner, honey. Put it with the blazers. That’s the first vest I’ve seen in years.”
Molly shook it out and smoothed her hands over the fabric, imagining the various outfits she could pair it with—after making the necessary additions and adjustments, of course. When Molly left the store two days before, working there, let alone ever coming back, was the last thing she thought would ever happen. But when Penelope called with the offer, Molly accepted. She had spent the better part of the interim days in the house while her mother and Ron went off on local excursions. The
y had invited her along, but she had continuously turned them down in the name of working on her Cynthia Vincent application. While she had officially given up on completing it, it provided the perfect excuse to avoid hanging out with the “lovebirds.”
And if she was honest, she’d have to admit that she was secretly holding out hope that a brilliant idea would come knocking—one that would easily win her the internship.
But no amount of staring at a blank page, perusing fashion websites, or checking her e-mail inspired her or made the time alone pass any faster. The job at the thrift store had gone from no-way-in-hell to might-as-well in less than forty-eight hours. Sifting through old clothes for a few hours a day gave Molly a reason to get out of the house, and if it didn’t work out, she could always quit. Rina was a firm believer that every open door was a potential opportunity for life change, and Molly wasn’t in a position to be turning any down.
“You’re making good progress,” Penelope observed. Molly had already unpacked and sorted through three boxes. “It’s amazing what an extra pair of hands will do. Let’s see what else I have in back.”
Penelope led Molly through a door behind the desk into another room. Maybe it was that she’d been in a rush to leave the last time she was there, but Molly was only now noticing that Penelope had style. “I like your outfit,” she said, taking in her white tunic paired with a silk turquoise scarf draped loosely around her neck.
“Thanks, honey,” Penelope said, smoothing her blouse. “Where is that damn thing?” she grumbled, feeling along the wall with her other hand. “Ah, there it is.”
The room lit up, revealing overflowing shelves displaying old costume jewelry, intricate boxes, and every kind of knickknack you’d find at a flea market. More racks of clothes stood against the back wall, and three naked mannequins, one of which was missing an arm, were crammed into a corner.
In Your Room Page 5
