The Collector Read Online Free PDF Page B

kind Taylor’s throwing. Do you ever go to parties like that?” Charlie shrugs and shakes her head like it isn’t a big deal. “Hey, why don’t we go to Taylor’s party together tomorrow night?”
    She stops walking and stares at me, her head bent to one side. “Why? Why do you want to take me? And why are you being so nice?”
    So she does understand this is abnormal, someone like me hanging out with someone like her. I calculate my answer. “A lot of people at my last school were really shallow. And I was part of that crowd.” Okay, so that much is true. “I decided this time would be different. I want to find friends who are…real.”
    Charlie’s face pinches into a smile, and I almost feel like cupping her chin. I take another gander at her mouth and decide if it wasn’t for those crooked teeth, she might actually have one solid asset.
    “So how ’bout that party?” I nudge her.
    And…the smile’s gone. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t really fit in with those people.”
    I decide to drop the subject for now, but one thing’s for sure—we’re going to that damn party. “Hey, can we swing by Bergdorf? If we’re going to be at the mall on a Friday, we might as well have some fun.”
    Charlie gawks at me like I’ve gone bat shit. “What’s a Bergdorf?”
    “You’re kidding me, right? This place doesn’t have a Bergdorf?” She shakes her head. “What about Nordstrom, or maybe a Versace?” More head shaking ensues. I take a deep breath and spin in a circle. I spot a Neiman Marcus. It’ll have to do. “Let’s go in there.”
    “Nice,” she says as we head over to the store. “I usually just get my stuff at Target. They have cute clothes.”
    “Oh, Charlie.” This time I can’t help myself. I rub her back and laugh. She smiles up at me with a look of awe. For some twisted reason, I think of my mother. This is the way I always wanted her to look at me.
    The moment I enter the store, I come alive. I flag down an associate and tell him I need his help. The guy has dark, slicked-back hair and a black leather jacket over a starched shirt. He reminds me of a preppy James Dean. As I pile clothes into his waiting arms, his pupils dilate and take on a wild shade of cash. Commission makes people crazy. I bet psych wards have a whole wing dedicated to rehabilitating commission-paid peeps.
    I’m about to ring up when I see Charlie eyeing a bright red dress. She may be an uggo, but that dress would turn anyone into a rock star. “Grab the dress,” I yell across the store. “My treat.” Charlie takes the dress off the rack and holds it against her. Over my shoulder, the associate holding my clothes snorts. “What?” I ask him.
    “No, nothing,” he says with a laugh.
    I laugh, too, but in a different way. “No, really. What’s funny?”
    The guy thinks we’re sharing the same joke, so he opens his fat mouth and says, “That dress was made for a lot of people…”
    “And?”
    “And you know, she’s not really one of them.” The guy realizes I’m not laughing anymore. “I don’t mean to say—”
    “I know what you mean to say. You just said it.” I take the clothes out of his arms and throw them. “Changed my mind. I don’t need this off-brand crap.” His jaw drops open, and I have an urge to shut it with my fist. I’m the only one here who’s allowed to judge. He’s lucky his mouth didn’t earn him a seal.
    I head toward Charlie, and right as we’re about to leave, the guy decides he’s not going to let me embarrass him. “Not my fault your girlfriend’s a train wreck.” My head snaps around. Already her eyes have that glassy, watery appearance.
    Oh, no, you didn’t. Oh, yes, he did. One seal for you, coming right up. His soul light flips on, and—ah, snap!—look how many seals this guy has. He’s pulling some serious recreational badness after hours. Spotting a few of my fellow collectors’ colorful seals amidst the small black ones is more proof