I guess I should count myself lucky that someone gave me a job at all.
The store waswhere Itrulyconnected with Sinclair Lovell. Where I understood that I needed to keep an eye on her, a closer one than I had been. I knew Sin for a while. We were both in the same school. She was hard to miss, with her pretty auburn hair and bright green eyes. Sin sparkled. She was larger than life. That artsy type with a pencil behind her ear, nose in a book. Everyone loved her. She was popular and charming to boot. She didn't know me. Why would she?
I was the new kid. I didn't have roots in this town, and that made me almost invisible. The girl that everyone avoided, without even knowing it. I blend into the background. That doesn’t surprise me.Seeingpeople is what I do. I understand every gesture they make. Know the hidden meaning behind the words they use. I know the difference between real confidence and a front. True friendships and farce. It’s a gift.
And from the moment I saw Sin, I could not keep my eyes off her.
After school, she would come into the store where I worked with her friends in tow. My eyes never left the monitor as she broke away from the crowd and made her way from aisle to aisle, not actually buying anything. There were times when she would come in alone, content with her earphones while listening to music on her Walkman. A song would make her laugh or gaze into space. I once caught her crying and eating ice-cream right out of the tub as she sat cross-legged on the freezer door. She bought the container, of course, and gave the rest of it to a beggar outside. Sin was in a world of her own, and I wanted to be a part of that world.
Everyone loved Sin, and she loved everyone.
I wanted what she had.
I wanted to be Sin.
Maybe I could be.
And, so I decided that is what I would do.
Chapter 6
Sinclair
Six months ago
Iwalk to the store a block away from my house, and I get a distinct feeling I'm being followed. It is nothing visible, just a hunch that I am not alone, even though I should be. I have felt the pull of the stranger behind me or beside me before, their eyes trailing me, watching me. I pretend I don't because the reality of it is far more frightening. Besides, who would follow me?
I grab my ingredients, chat a while with Mrs. Patel at the bakery, and make my way back home. I pull my beige coat closer around me to ward off that awful feeling, but it hangs in the air. I felt it at the library and all the way home.
I’d told Co and Willow about it a few months ago.
“It’s an odd thing,” I’d said. “I feel them, you know, just out of reach and out of sight but with me.”
"Come on, Mom, this isn’t one of your novels. We live in one of the safest neighborhoods.”
“The kid has a point.” Co chuckled.
I brush off telling them about it again. I am tired of sounding like a nutcase. It is beyond frustrating for me to behave so irrationally.
When I step into my front room, I'm relieved. I take a deep breath and chastise myself for my paranoia.
I place the cookies on the baking tray and into the oven. A knock at the kitchen door has me smiling.
“Come in,” I yell, knowing it’s Chelsea.
“Hey. Wow, it smells heavenly in here.” My friend grins. Her chestnut hair is plaited and swept over her shoulder. I have no idea how she manages to look like she just stepped out of a fashion magazine. My yoga pants and “I Love Ed Sheeran,” T-shirt are a sorry mess next to her pleated black pants and white blouse. She owns a popular bookstore, and it always fascinates me that after all her years in business school, she would decide to do something like that. I do admire her, though. The fact that she lives her dreams instead of chasing a career that would never fulfil her. The fact that she loves books and reading means she’s been amazing to bounce ideas off.
“Good, I need your hands. I need you to brush up another tray while I get this dough out of my nails.”
She smiles and rolls up her sleeves. Walking to the cupboard, she puts on one of my aprons, which I fail time and time again to use. The one she dons has the wordsKiss the cookon it, and I walk over and peck her cheek. “Good to see you, darling.”
She laughs and gets to work. “So, we have to be at the bake sale at one, yeah?”
I nod and frown, trying to scrub off the stubborn flour. “Yeah. Cohen isn't going to make it. Again." I roll my eyes. "He has a last-minute business trip. He’s only returning tomorrow evening."
"He’s far too busy," Chelsea complains.
I hate to admit it, but he is too busy and his job bothers me. He’s missed out on countless PTA meetings, concerts, and basketball games. Things he will never get back.
