Her mom was gone so much, and even when she was home, Marie spent most of her time locked in her darkroom, or pacing her office while she negotiated an even more astronomical salary for her next shoot. Still, it would be worth getting out of bed if it meant going shopping. Claire picked up a piece of bacon and nibbled at it, then tossed it back on the plate and walked over to her closet. She threw on a pair of shorts and a tank top, then hurried into the bathroom to get ready.
She was running the flat iron through her hair one last time when muffled music started floating out of her laundry basket.
“Crap!” Claire yelped. She dug through the pile of dirty clothes until she found the jeans she’d been wearing yesterday morning. Plunging her hand into the pocket, she yanked out her cell phone, glancing at the caller ID. Her heart pounded as she flipped open the phone.
“Hello?” She blushed at how breathless she sounded.
“Claire? Sorry, were you still asleep?” Matthew asked.
“No, I’m up. I just couldn’t find my phone.” Oh, way to go, Claire. Now he thinks you’re a ditz.
“Cool.” He paused. “So, I was wondering—do you maybe want to come over later? We could hang out here and watch a movie or something.”
Claire bit her lip to keep from squealing.
“Yeah,” she said, “that sounds good. What, uh—what time?”
She did a celebration dance around the room while they made plans. As soon as they’d hung up, she tore down the stairs and slapped, barefoot, across the marble floor into the kitchen.
“Lisbeth!” She called.
A blond head peeked around the corner. “What? You’d better be ready, your mom’ll be here any minute.”
“You have to drop me off at Matthew’s house later, okay? I mean, I can go, right? To watch a movie?”
Lisbeth grinned, but a little worried line appeared between her eyebrows. “Matthew? Isn’t he older than you are?”
“Only by a year.”
Lisbeth put her hands on her hips and cocked her head at Claire. “Isn’t he a Pisces? They’re not very compatible with Geminis, you know.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Oh my God. Enough with the astrology crap. Just—can I go, or what?”
“Okay, you can go, but when he gets all emotional, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Lisbeth shook her head. “Now go upstairs and”—she stopped midsentence—“hey, why are your hands so red?”
Claire shoved them deep into her pockets. Overnight, the pinprick rash had gotten worse—it was on her ears, too. The scratchy denim hem rubbed against her wrists and it felt like heaven. “I think it’s poison ivy. I already put some stuff on them.”
The back door swung open. Claire’s mother stepped into the house, her satiny-dark hair damp with sweat. “It’s scorching out there, again.” She looked at Claire. “Are you ready to go shopping?”
Claire nodded, kissed Lisbeth on the cheek, and hurried into the cool interior of her mother’s waiting Mercedes. “Thanks for taking me.”
“Of course,” her mother said. “Your sixteenth birthday—it’s important. A mark of change. We should celebrate.”
Chapter Two
THREE STORES AND four big shopping bags later, Claire and her mother slid into a booth at one of the restaurants attached to the mall. It was like the world’s most upscale diner—hamburgers and tuna melts, but made with Black Angus beef and ahi tuna, served on ultramodern plates. The waitress took their order—two hamburgers, rare, with fries—and glided back to the kitchen.
Under the table, Claire scratched furiously at her hands.
“So, do you have any plans this weekend?” her mother asked, sipping at a glass of iced tea.
Claire played with the straw that the waitress had set next to her Diet Coke. She’d nearly told her mom about going to Matthew’s—no less than five times since they’d left the house, but her mom hated Dr. Engle so completely. …
Lisbeth’ll just tell her if I don’t. Claire swallowed hard.
“I’m going to Matthew’s later to watch a movie,” she said as casually as she could.
The waitress appeared next to their table and slid two plates in front of them. Her mother looked at the food in silence. To stop herself from saying anything else, Claire stuffed a huge bite of hamburger in her mouth. She couldn’t bring herself to look at her mother’s face. Instead, she stared at the hamburger bun, watching as the juices from the meat turned the bread rose-pink.
“Claire.” Her mother sighed. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea. The Engles—”
“Mom!” Claire interrupted her. “Matthew’s not like his dad, okay? You don’t even know him. What about what you said last night? All that giving-people-achance-to-prove-themselves junk?”
Her mother dipped a French fry into a tiny dish of gourmet ketchup. “I see you feel strongly about this, chérie. Fine, then, you may go this time. But if you see Matthew’s father, I want you to keep your eyes open and your mouth closed. And I will warn you—we must have a very serious discussion when you get home. Now, eat your lunch before it gets cold. I have film that needs to be developed this afternoon, and the day is slipping away.”