Jordyn and I make eye contact. I’m begging her not to explain. I don’t want Henry to pity me. She nods so slightly, I almost don’t see it. Henry certainly misses it.
We finally land on a shot where I’m—well, not really smiling. Maybe smirking? But not in, like, an assholic way. It’s the one that all three of us agree is the best for the yearbook. Henry tells me to sleep on it. He has Jordyn e-mail me the top pictures, and then he retreats to the studio.
Back at my computer, I slyly click on the eBay screen. The bidding is up to $521 with eight hours to go till midnight eastern time. I have to get this jacket. I won’t be able to stop obsessing until I do.
I hide the screen and glance over at Jordyn. She’s looking at the photo of me looking sad again. I can feel heat climb my neck and settle in my cheeks and ears. I clear my throat and she quickly clicks off the picture and turns around to see if she’s been caught. I turn back in time for her not to notice. At least I think I do.
Then I hear her shuffle through the curtain and I know this is my chance.
I click to eBay and hit the BUY IT NOW button, quickly entering all my information and hitting CONFIRM.
It’s done.
The confirmation screen reads $629, including shipping, and I practically start hyperventilating.
I now have $30 to last me the rest of the week. Or until however long it takes to get paid. I’m totally screwed. But I know I’ve made the right decision when I turn toward Jordyn’s chair and the word slut stares back at me.
I close the eBay window for good.
? ? ?
Jordyn must know I caught her looking at the picture of me because she’s taking her time in the back. So I sit at her computer and open the file with my name on it. The sad picture comes up again. It really is the most me of any of the pictures. Now I remember what I was looking at off screen when Henry took it. I was watching him and Jordyn. They were teasing each other, and I remember thinking how I will never feel that. I will never know that kind of parental love again. It’s a photograph of my heart breaking that is now frozen in time for all of eternity. I drag the mouse over the picture and contemplate deleting it.
“Don’t you dare.” Jordyn is right behind me. I didn’t hear her come in.
“It’s just so depressing,” I say.
She shoves me out of her chair before I can do permanent damage. “It’s the most honest thing I’ve seen in a long time. Not just from you, you know? So don’t go reading into it or anything.”
“Fair enough.”
“Also, it kind of reminds me of your mom.” She says this so quiet, I almost don’t hear her.
Neither of us says anything for a long moment.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“No, it’s fine,” I say.
“It just . . . Well . . . never mind.” She closes the picture.
“Pull it back up.” My voice sounds hoarse. I get close to the screen. “You’re right. I see what you mean.” A flash of Mom making that same face burns into the back of my eyes. I can’t swallow. My eyes sting. Shit, I can’t cry, not here.
I feel Jordyn’s warm hand on my arm, and I close my eyes, holding everything back.
I open them again and meet her eyes. She says, “I’m really sorry, Tyler.” And it’s the most sincere anyone’s been since my mom died.
I hold Jordyn’s gaze. It’s comforting. It’s intimate. Then the door chimes and we jump apart like we’re doing something wrong.
When I turn my attention to the client, I find myself staring into the smiling face of, who else? Ali Heart-over-the-i.
TWELVE
“Hey . . . you,” Ali says. She can’t even remember my name. That would probably make a chick feel cheap, but I’m strangely turned on by it.
“How’s it going? Hightower, right?”
“Yeah. Ali.” She glides up to the counter, smiling all innocently. I flash back to last weekend and her complete lack of innocence paired with extreme flexibility and I can’t stop thinking about maybe doing it all again tonight.
Jordyn clears her throat.
“Did you bring any clothing choices?” she asks Ali. Her tone is pleasant, but there are all sorts of “you asshole” vibes wafting off of her in my direction.
“Yep. My daddy’s bringing them in for me,” Ali says.
Daddy, huh?
Jordyn aggressively shoulder-checks me as she heads past the curtain. She’s informing Henry that his next gig is here just as Mr. Hightower trudges in, carrying, I’m guessing, fourteen changes of clothing.
He greets me with a nod, seeming better rested than he did last time I saw him with his entire brood, but he still seems unhappy. I return his greeting with a smile. Perhaps I should thank him for being distant or absent or whatever it is that makes girls like Ali desperately crave the attention and approval of guys like me.