Would her absence only fuel the rumors about them? As he had pointed out, nothing remained secret at school. They had seen a handful of people from Crestwood at the movies, so the news of their date would already be public knowledge.
Arriving on Main Street, Mia slowed down to look for a place to hide out for the day. The pizza parlor wasn’t open, or she’d buy a Coke and try to make it last all morning. The lights were on at the secondhand store, though. Last Chance Vintage.
That sounded about right for her. She was a “last chance” kind of girl anyway. Her date with a band geek had been her last effort to find a guy worth her time and she’d ruined that in a hurry. Finding her birth father was her last chance at a real home and he was going to die any day.
Her stomach knotted, but she ignored the sickeningchurn. It was just a case of missing breakfast since she wouldn’t get the school a.m. meal.
After parking the car, she slammed the creaky door with enough force to get it to latch, using all her strength. The Last Chance Vintage sign was painted a pretty shade of purple, the front window full of orchid and plum shades of everything. There were lavender sweaters stacked in straw baskets and amethyst-colored baubles spread out on antique lace. A set of violet drinking glasses poured out rhinestone earrings and necklaces, while a mannequin wore indigo silk pj’s and played a purple guitar.
As small-town shops went, Mia had to admit it was kinda cool. And since it was secondhand stuff, she wouldn’t feel bad about window shopping, right?
Rock music drifted on the cold morning breeze and Mia could see an auburn-haired woman inside, folding T-shirts into a neat stack. But when Mia tugged on the door, it didn’t budge. A buzz sounded, however. An electronic chime that made the T-shirt folder look up at her through the pane of glass in the front door.
“Sorry!” Mia called, only just seeing a smaller sign on the door with store hours that said the place wouldn’t open for another thirty minutes.
Before she could back away, though, the woman smiled and gestured for her to wait.
Argh. Now she would feel even worse if she didn’t buy something. Regretting her decision to come here, Mia hugged her fleece-lined hoodie tighter.
“I didn’t mean to bother you,” Mia blurted as soon as the door opened with another series of chimes. “I saw the light on and thought you were open. I’ll come back another time.”
The woman—dressed in black skinny jeans and killerstudded boots—held the door wide. “I never turn away a customer if I’m here. Come on in and have a look around.” She waved Mia inside, not seeming to notice the cold breeze blowing in through the open door and fluttering the tails of her oversize flannel shirt. “As a bonus, you get a coffee while you browse since I just put the pot on.”
“Really?” The question leaped out of Mia’s lips before she realized she sounded like an overeager ten-year-old. Her gaze roamed the walls and shelves stuffed full of interesting things. A set of old shutters had been remade into a privacy screen draped with lingerie that might have been naughty a few decades ago, but she knew girls who wore stuff like that to school over a T-shirt.
Definitely not a look for her or the breasts that already called too much attention to themselves.
“As long as you don’t mind carrying a mug around.” The auburn-haired rocker chick retreated to a small counter at the back of the store, but she arched backward on her high-heeled boots to look at Mia around a rack of doilies in every shade of cream or white imaginable. “I don’t do to-go cups since I’ve turned into a recycling fiend.” She was already pouring two mismatched mugs full on the scarred, dark wooden surface of the coffee bar. “Would you like me to leave you to look around on your own, or did you need help finding anything?”
The scent of roses permeated the store, a row of pink candles burning on a raised glass counter near the register.
“Um.” A little overwhelmed by the easy generosity and the totally unfamiliar sense of being treated like an adult, Mia directed her gaze to a rack full of secondhand tees at prices that she might be able to afford. “I could use a new body that would actually fit into these clothes.”
The woman set down the coffeepot and turnedtoward her, frowning. “Are you kidding? You look like a size six, maybe? I’ve got tons of things?—”
Mia let go of her grip on the heavy, lined hoodie in an embarrassing effort to show her the huge rack issue.
“Tricky,” the saleslady agreed calmly as her blue eyes glanced over the situation. She set a spoon on the dark wooden counter beside a mug with a picture of a cartoon cat in a polka dot dress. “But not impossible. Want to add your own cream and sugar?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Mia stepped closer to the coffee counter, which might have been a fancy dressing table at one time with lots of small drawers. Pouring a healthy dose of milk to the coffee and bypassing the sugar, she wondered how she’d ever get out of the store without buying something after this person had been so nice to her. “My budget is, like, super tiny, though. So maybe it’s just as well I’m hard to shop for, right?”
Better to be honest up front. She gulped her coffee and hoped she could slink away without having to make more small talk.
“If you’re interested, I have a whole back room of clothes I took on consignment that didn’t sell, and the owners haven’t returned to pick up.” Taking her time to make her own cup of coffee, tasting it at intervals and adding more cream or a sprinkle of nutmeg, the saleslady didn’t seem totally put off by the fact that Mia couldn’t afford much. “And I like a wardrobe challenge. Do you mind if I ask what you’d like to accomplish with your clothes? Something more career-ready? Casual stuff? A girls’-night-out outfit?”
Mia nearly choked on her coffee. “I’m not quite career age,” she admitted, her cheeks heating even as she wanted tolaugh. “I could use some clothes that call zero attention to my body without draping myself in a blanket.”
“Still in college?” Apparently satisfied with her coffee after a few tries, the sales clerk leaned a hip against the counter. “I’m Erin Finley, by the way.”
“I’m Mia.” Briefly she debated lying, but what was the point? Erin Finley didn’t seem like the type to call the school to rat out a kid for skipping class. “And I’m a sophomore at Crestwood.”
“A sophomore?” Erin set down her coffee with a thud, sloshing a little over the rim and not even noticing. Her eyebrows arched, eyes wide. “No wonder you’re trying to deflect attention. You must have to beat the boys away with a stick.”
If only she knew how right she was. Visions of Mia’s manipulative bastard of a foster brother came to mind from two years ago. It had taken more than a stick to make him stay out of her bedroom. He had been intimidated by the kitchen knife she started keeping under her pillow, but after that, he began threatening to touch other girls when Mia wasn’t around to protect them.
Like her younger foster sister, Nicole.
“It’s not that bad, but?—”
