The Distance Between Us Read Online Free PDF

groan. This is so not cool. They are going to send some guy named Tic into my store and there is nothing I can do about it.

Chapter 6

    A fter a week of anxiously looking up every time the bell on the door rings, I start to think maybe Skye had talked Henry out of the horrible threat of sending Tic into my store. But then it happens one Monday afternoon. A guy walks into the doll store holding a stack of papers.
    He has short, curly black hair and mocha skin. A lip ring draws even more attention to his large lips. He’s wearing jeans tucked into army boots and a T-shirt that says, My band is cooler than your band . In a tortured sort of way he’s actually very attractive. And way too cool for me. I wonder why Skye’s not dating this guy. He seems like a far better match for her.
    “Hey,” he says. His voice is raspy, like he just woke up or needs to clear his throat. “Henry told me you guys would be willing to put some flyers on your counter for our next show.” He looks around.
    “I’m sure the old ladies would love a rock concert,” I say.
    He lowers his brow. “Yeah, Henry seemed to think . . .” He trails off as he eyes a porcelain baby inside a bassinet. “Maybe I got the wrong store.”
    “No. It’s fine. Just put them right here.”
    He walks over and sets a small stack on the counter then gives me a once-over. He must like what he sees because he says, “You should come,” pointing to the flyer.
    The flyer has a picture of a toad that looks like it just met the grill of a semitruck. Who designed that thing? Across its belly it says, “Crusty Toads.” Then at the bottom it reads, “Friday night, ten o’clock, Scream Shout.”
    On the tip of my tongue something sarcastic about the flyers is ready to spew forth, but then I stop myself. “Yeah, I’ll try.”
    “That sounds like what you really mean is that it’s the last thing you want to do.” He blinks hard, reminding me how he got his nickname. “I’m the singer. Does that make you want to go more or less?”
    I smile. “Maybe a little more.”
    “I’m Mason.” Much better than Tic.
    “Caymen.”
    Please don’t turn it into a nickname.
    “Good to meet you, Caymen.”
    Five points.
    “So what are the chances I’ll actually see you Friday night?”
    I look down at the flyer again then back up at him. “Pretty decent.”
    He tugs on his lip ring. “Tell the old ladies that it’ll be rockin’.”
    “I will.”
    Just as he starts to leave my mom comes in the back door and he stops.
    “Hi,” she says.
    “Mom, this is Mason. Mason, my mom, Susan.”
    “Hi, Susan, good to meet you.”
    “You, too.” She points to the ceiling. “Caymen, I’ll be upstairs making some phone calls if you need me.” Her shoulders are slumped, and she reaches for the banister of the stairs.
    “Everything okay?”
    “Yeah . . . I . . . yes, I’m fine.”
    I watch her go then look back to Mason.
    He taps the stack of flyers on the counter. “See you Friday.” He gives me a single wave as he walks out the door.
    I bite my lip and stare at the toad on the paper. I need a new outfit or a new haircut. Something new. I make sure no one is coming through the front door then go into my mom’s office to see if she’s written my paycheck yet. She usually leaves it in an envelope in her desk. It’s not much and I’ve told her a million times I feel weird about being paid, but she insists.
    In the right-hand drawer is the balance book, bulging with receipts and loose papers. I pull it out and flip to the end where I’ve seen her pull my paycheck from several times. There’s nothing there. I start to shut the book but a flash of red catches my eye. Scanning down the page, my eyes stop on the last number, a red “2,253.00.” That’s more than we spend in a month. I know. I do the bills sometimes.
    My heart thumps out of control and guilt constricts my breathing. Here I was rooting around for my paycheck and my mom can’t afford to pay me. We’re