The Collector (11 page)

Chapter Twenty-two

B-ball or Bust

When Charlie and I arrive at the Rec, Blue and Annabelle are already on the court. I’m surprised to see there’s no one else waiting to play. I guess the citizens of Peachville aren’t big into physical fitness. Which makes me wonder what they
are
into—I’d guess cattle herding. Or pig farming. Something real intellectual like that.

Annabelle is trying to spin the basketball on the tip of her finger and doing a fairly impressive job. It rotates several times before tipping over and thumping against the floor. She chases after it and notices us walking toward her.

“Hey, hey!” she says. “Look who showed. Ready to get your ass handed to you?”

She’s talking crap, and I’m loving it. In my book, it’s all part of the experience. Playing clean isn’t my style.

She tosses me the ball, and I catch it with one hand. Basketball is one of many sports where having gigantor hands helps. I take the ball, dribble it behind my back, then drive it to the rim for a reverse layup.

Annabelle laughs. “Oh, so you think you’re hot, do you?”

“Girl, I got swag for days.”

Charlie claps like she’s enjoying this and settles on the floor near the wall. Then she proceeds to twist and untwist her shiny new hair like she couldn’t be happier.

“How do you guys play?” I ask. “One on one?”

“Yeah,” Annabelle answers. “Blue and I’ll play first, then you’ll play the winner. We play to fifteen. Cool?”

“Works for me.” I walk over to where Charlie’s sitting and lean against the wall.

Annabelle takes the ball to the three-point line, and Blue stands a few feet away, ready to guard her. She smiles at her opponent, fakes to the left, and makes a beeline toward the basket. The ball thumps against the ground as she dribbles. Then she lifts it smoothly into the air, and it swishes through the net. She throws her arms up and whoops. Then she holds out a finger and says to Blue, “That’s one, busta.”

Annabelle tosses the ball to Blue, and he takes it to the top of the key. I cringe, thinking how brutal his game will be, but before I can imagine his flailing fundamentals, he pulls the ball above his head and shoots it calmly into the air.

And it hits nothing but net.

From almost twenty feet away.

Damn!

Annabelle sneers. “Never saw
that
coming.”

For the next few minutes, I watch the game unfold. It doesn’t take long to identify their strengths. Annabelle’s a master of the inside game, and Blue’s got pinpoint accuracy from behind the arc. It’s clear Blue better understands the fundamentals, but he’s losing ground because he lacks aggression.

Though he’s afraid to throw his weight around, he manages to win the game by a couple of points. Annabelle accuses him of cheating and slumps down beside Charlie.

She eyes me and waves a sweaty hand toward the court. “You’re up, big boy. Sorry I couldn’t be the one to shut you down.”

I hop up, eager to show what I’m packin’. It’s been too long since I’ve given my red sneakers a workout.

Blue won’t meet my eyes. He tosses the ball to me as if to say,
Take it out
.

I grab the ball, flip Blue like a turnstile, and lay it up with no resistance. It’s like he’s not even trying to stop me. When he gets the ball, he immediately shoots, and again he swishes it.

Kid’s got a nice touch.

Déjà vu—I take the ball out, drive it to the hole, and lay it up like it’s nothing. Blue takes the ball, but this time I get right up on him, hand in his face. I’m daring him to take it to the basket. Instead he tries to launch another jump shot. I leap straight up and swat it away.

“Get that crap outta here,” I yell as I retrieve the ball.

Over my shoulder, I see Blue’s jaw tighten. Good, maybe that block got his ass fired up.

I take the ball to the basket for another uncontested layup, then turn on Blue. “What the hell are you doing? Why aren’t you playing?”

“I am playing,” he mumbles.

“No. No, you’re not.” I step toward him. “Why aren’t you guarding me? What are you afraid of?”

Blue chews the corner of his lip, and his face reddens. He’s pissed off.

“You’ve obviously got mad shooting skills, so why won’t you play a little defense?” I shove the ball into his chest. “Stop being such a pussy.”

Blue lines up for another shot from the top of the key, so I lunge for it, thinking I can’t believe how predictable he is. But then he pivots, spins to the left, and takes the ball right to the freakin’ basket.

“
Damn
, son,” I say.

I laugh, and surprisingly, so does he. Blue and I have a strange relationship, if you can even call it that. On the surface, I hate that he gets in the way of my assignment, and
he
can’t stand the amount of time I spend with Charlie. But if Charlie were taken out of the equation, it almost feels like we could maybe—and I do mean
maybe
—be friends. But as it stands, it’ll never happen.

For the rest of the game, Blue unlocks his inner aggression, and his game improves dramatically. Every once in a while, I steal the ball or block his shot. And a few times, he does the same to me. In the end, I win. But not by much. And I can only imagine what a few more weeks of this could do for his game.

Charlie grins from the wall as we approach her. Her face is glowing, like this is the most fun she’s had in years. I wonder how long it’s been since she’s played basketball, or anything for that matter. Probably not since before the fire…since she was a little girl. My heart throbs. “You know what, Charlie? It’s your turn. Get on out here, girl.”

“What? No.” She laughs. “I’ll pass, but thank you.”

She’s turning me down because she’s afraid. Because she’s so used to saying no, she can’t imagine saying yes.

So I don’t give her a choice.

I toss the minuscule girl over my shoulder and listen to her scream as I carry her to the free-throw line. I grab the basketball and place it in her hands. “Shoot once, and I’ll let you go.”

She looks over at Annabelle and Blue, then back at me. “I can’t.”

“Bullshit.”

She tries to limp past me, but I move to stand in her way. “Just shoot, Charlie. It’s not a big deal.”

She drops the ball. “I don’t want to.”

Blue makes a move to come out on the court, but Annabelle stops him.

I pick up the ball and put it back in her hands. “Sure you do. Everyone wants to play. They’re just afraid of looking stupid.” I brush the rich blond hair from her eyes. “But you know what’s stupid? Not trying. So just…try.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’ll leave me alone if I throw it one time?”

“If you
shoot
it. I’ll leave you alone if you
shoot
it one time.”

Her mouth cracks into a smile.

There it is.

Charlie bounces the basketball a couple of times, and it’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen. It barely makes it back up to her waist.

“Just shoot it, huh?” she asks, eyeing me.

I nod and step back.

She glances at the rim, takes a deep breath, pulls the ball up—and shoots.

It’s the world’s worst shot. The worst. But it makes me so damn proud I could freakin’ scream.

“Did you feel like an idiot?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says through a laugh.

“It’s not so bad, though, huh?”

She shakes her head, and I gesture toward her friends like she’s free to go.

“Give me the damn ball,” she says, pushing her glasses further up her nose.

I raise an eyebrow, and the grin on my face is so huge it actually hurts.

I hand her the ball. She shoots again, and this time she gets closer. At the last second, she stumbles toward her bad hip, and I grab her until she’s steady on her feet. I’m definitely not noticing how much I like her soft chest pressed against mine.

“You got it?” I ask.

“Ball,” she demands.

“Hell, yeah,” I say too loud. I jog after the ball and hand it to her.

Charlie takes six more shots, improving each time. She starts leaning to the right before she shoots, compensating for her injured hip.

She bounces the ball three times and fixes her eyes on the basket.

Come on, girl.

I can practically hear Annabelle and Blue holding their breath, and my heart is pounding so hard, I can feel it in my hands. It’s ridiculous how my body’s reacting.

Charlie licks her lips, raises the ball…and shoots.

Swish!

We all stay quiet as she turns around.

“Piece of cake,” she says.

Blue runs onto the court and pulls her into a hug. Guess his on-court confidence is sticking with him off court, too. My mouth forms a tight line, though I have no idea why.

“If that doesn’t mandate pizza,” Annabelle says, “I don’t know what does.”

“Pizza!” Charlie yells.

“You didn’t eat before I picked you up?” I ask. “I would have taken you somewhere.”

Blue’s eyes narrow. Guess our bonding time is over.

“Yeah, I did,” she answers. She doesn’t say anything else, like she’s not sure what that has to do with anything. Truth be told, I could eat again, too.

“Y’all want to go to my house?” Charlie glances at the three of us, and I get this strange floating sensation from being included so easily. Like the four of us are a group now.

Annabelle raises her arm. “In.”

Blue nods.

They all look at me.

“Yeah, cool,” I say.

I try to hide my smile.

Chapter Twenty-three

Sympathy

I pound the silver bell to get Pizza Guy’s attention. There’s a carved jack-o’-lantern near the bell, and I’m positive it could move faster than the kid behind the counter. After taking a quick shower at my hotel, I realized I couldn’t just eat—I was
starving
. And as soon as The World’s Slowest Person moved his rear, I’d get our pizza and tear into it like a wildebeest.

Ten centuries later, I slide two greasy brown boxes onto the seat next to me and drive to Charlie’s house.

After I knock, Annabelle opens the door and grabs the pizza from me. Her black hair is wet, and I can still see the comb lines. “Did you eat any?” She eyes me suspiciously and lifts the box lid.

“I ate it all.” I walk into the living room and flop down on the couch beside Charlie.

“I expected as much.” Annabelle carries the pizza into the kitchen and comes back out with paper plates and napkins stacked on top. She sits down next to me, making me the Oreo filling between her and Charlie.

“Where’s Blue?” I ask.

Charlie pulls a slice of cheese pizza out of the box. “Upstairs with Grandma. He wanted to check on her, since she’s not feeling well.”

My stomach tightens. I know Charlie doesn’t realize how many meds her grandma is taking and what that implies. “What’s wrong with her?” I venture.

“She’s just got a cold or something, but I still feel bad,” Charlie says. “I offered to bring her some pizza when it came, but she didn’t want any.”

I glance down at my hands, then up at Charlie. “A cold in October? It’s a little early.”

Her eyebrows furrow likes she’s thinking about this. “Yeah,” she says, frowning. “Guess so.”

I don’t push the subject. I’m not sure I want Charlie distracted by her grandmother’s condition. Whatever it is.

“What’s this profanity?” Annabelle says, interrupting the uncomfortable silence. She’s staring down at one of the pizzas. Particularly at the half I reserved for myself. The one with Canadian bacon. “Who put pig on the pizza?”

Charlie leans forward, sees the bacon, and laughs. She points to me. “That’d be the newbie.”

“Sick,” Annabelle says. “You’re nasty.”

“Not as nasty as your game,” I say, leaning back.

“If you want to talk smack, you came to the right place.”

We lock eyes, trying not laugh, and take a bite of our pizza at the exact same time.

“You guys are idiots,” Charlie says. Then her eyes land on the stairwell. “Blue, you okay?”

Annabelle and I turn to Blue. He’s trying to smile, trying to assure Charlie everything’s okay. But the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” he answers her. “I’m just tired from all the
defense
I played tonight.”

Good one
, I think.
Make a joke so she doesn’t know how sick her grandma really is.

I’m thinking how strange it is that he seems to know something’s up when Charlie doesn’t, but then I turn and catch Charlie’s eye—and I see the truth.
She does know
, I realize.
She just doesn’t want them to worry.

I’ll never understand the friendships Charlie has. Friendships where it doesn’t take cash, or hookups, or saying the right things to stay in the circle. No, Charlie’s friendships are different. She tries to protect her people, and they in turn protect her. They accept one another’s imperfections and support one another. My friends weren’t like her friends, which makes me wonder if I ever had any at all.

I watch Charlie laugh with Annabelle as Blue descends the stairs. I can’t stop thinking that her friends must see what I do in her, what my boss sees. Her innocence, her purity.

This clean lifestyle seems to make her happy.

And I wonder if being more like her could have made me happy.

Annabelle hands me a plate with four pieces of pizza and nods to pass it down. It changes hands and ends up in Blue’s lap. He picks up the first piece and destroys half of it in a single bite.

“Movie?” Charlie asks.

Annabelle jumps up, runs into the kitchen, and comes back holding two movie boxes. She raises them. “
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
or
It’s a Wonderful Life
?”

Everyone groans.

She throws them on the coffee table and sinks down on the couch. “You guys are tasteless.”

“You carry those things around with you?” Blue asks.

“They’re not
things
,” she says. “They’re classics. And I got them when you took me by my house to change.”

Charlie raises the remote. “TV?”

“Yes,” Blue and I say together.

“Sorry, sweetie,” Charlie tells Annabelle. “I’ll watch them with you this weekend if you want.”

“Meh,” Annabelle murmurs.

Charlie turns on the TV, and we end up watching a rerun of the
MTV Movie Awards
. A few minutes into the show, my curiosity strikes. I glance at Annabelle, then at Blue.

I wonder.

I’ve never really cared before, and I don’t make it a habit to peek unless I’m assigning seals, but I just can’t help myself.

At once, their soul lights flip on. From the looks of it, Blue and Annabelle are living boring, hygienic lives, though the latter’s isn’t
quite
as clean as the former’s. I yawn. What a waste.

An hour later, Annabelle and Blue get up to leave. I stay behind, and Blue’s none too happy about it.

“You’re not coming?” he asks me.

“Nah, I’m going to stick around for a while.”

He glances at Charlie, then at me. His arms fall limp at his sides, and I can tell he’s hurt. I guess he thought that after the party, she and I weren’t hanging out alone anymore. But he’s wrong. We’re just getting started.

The two pull away in Blue’s car, Scrappy, and I turn to face Charlie. “Want to chill in your room for a while?”

She smiles and nods, and I follow her upstairs.

Playing basketball was fun, but now it’s time to work. I’ve got to convince Charlie to move faster on her requests and finally fulfill the contract. More doing, less thinking—that should be my mantra.

We move into her room, and she softly shuts the door behind us. I sit down on her bed. “Charlie, have you thought at all—”

“I’m ready to do more,” she interrupts.

“What?” I ask. “I mean, you are?”

She shrugs and nods.

I rub my hands together. “Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. So what are you going to do?”

She picks up a crystal figurine and leans against her dresser. “Drumroll.”

I mimic drumming and grin.

“I want to lose the glasses.” She takes them off and holds them out. “Exhibit A.”

“All right, yeah,” I say. Though I’m wondering why this takes a soul contract. Can’t she just get LASIK? Or contacts? But I guess if Grams can’t afford to buy Charlie a car, she probably can’t buy her those things, either. Still, looking at Charlie, I’m not sure why she needs to lose the glasses. They’re not so bad. They’re kind of fitting, actually. She just needs to make them more fly, maybe get some Versace frames up in there. Then she could be Charlie with style. Instead of Charlie being someone she’s not.

But my job isn’t to question this.

It’s to push her.

More doing, less thinking.

Charlie sets her figurine and glasses down on the dresser. “How should I do it?”

I cross my arms. “I guess the same way you did last night.”

“What did I do?”

“Well,” I say, thinking, “first you said it aloud. Then you started listing reasons why you wanted it to happen. So maybe just try that again.”

She laughs a little. “I can barely see you.”

“I look really hot right now.”

She laughs harder and pulls her hair up into a ponytail, like this is going to help the magic or whatever. Her lips part, and my heart pounds so hard, I can’t stand it. “I want to have beautiful, perfect eyes,” she says.

I want to stop her and suggest she’d better specify 20/20 vision, but she plunges onward.

“I’ve always wanted to wear blackest-black mascara and buy one of those kits with the trillion shades of eye shadow. But what’s the point with these?” She nudges the glasses on the dresser. “It’s like, no matter what I wear, I still feel dressed down. Oh! And I want to do that thing where I bat my eyes when a boy flirts with me.”

When?
When
a boy flirts with me?

“I want people to notice the color of my eyes for once.” She stares at me and says quietly, “I bet you don’t know what color they are, do you?”

I’m glad she can’t see my face, or she’d know the answer. I inspect her blond hair and fair skin. “Blue,” I venture.

She pulls on her earlobe and smiles. “You just guessed. But that’s okay.” She puts her hands on her hips and says again, “I want beautiful, perfect eyes.”

She closes her eyes and breathes evenly. Her hands fall to her sides, and she squeezes them into fists, like she’s willing this to happen. She takes one last, long breath and opens her eyes.

Then she races to the bed and leaps up. She jumps up and down on the mattress. Up and down. Up and down. “I can see! I can totally see!” she says in a scream whisper so her grandma doesn’t wake up. “Oh, my gosh.” She stops jumping. “It really worked.”

I walk to the dresser and grab her glasses. Then I open the window and pretend to throw them out. She jumps down from the bed, races across the room, snatches them away, and tosses them out the window.

“Charlie!” I say, laughing. “You actually threw them out the window.”

“Oh, you
saw
that?” She holds up two fingers and points to her eyes. “Crazy, so did I!”

She’s standing so close, and it’s like I can taste the excitement rolling off her. Charlie looks outside, then up at me. Her eyes
are
blue. Not the kind that’s muddled with gray, but a sharper shade of blue. The kind of blue you find in a Crayola box.

They’re open wide, and I can’t help but…but…

I slowly reach out and run my thumbs over her eyes. They close beneath my touch. She doesn’t open them when I pull away. She just stands there, her chest rising and falling.

In an instant, her soul light flips on. I’d almost forgotten about the seal, but apparently the contract overlooks nothing. From deep in my chest, a red seal appears and floats toward her. It attaches to her light, clinging there. Seeing what I’ve done, I clench my hands.

“Good night, Charlie,” I say gently.

She smiles, her eyes still closed, and nods.

I leave and tug the door closed behind me. Outside her room, I dig my hand into my pocket until my fingers find the cool copper. I try and focus on the blurred
Liberty
pressed into the coin’s side. Then I glance down to where I know my cuff is, and for a tiny moment, I’m disgusted with where it came from—with how Boss Man made these things. I wonder what Charlie would think if she knew the secret I know. The one I can never tell.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

This is an assignment.
She’s
an assignment.

I hear her on the other side of the door, moving around the room. She’s probably crawling into bed. I suddenly imagine what she’s wearing—whether it’s that same red silk thingy—and if she’s already beneath the covers. I bet she’s even more angelic while dreaming. Blood burns in my veins. And in the pit of my stomach, a mixture of anger and guilt makes me nauseated.

Because it doesn’t matter. In the end, no matter what I think about the girl sleeping in that bed, I won’t forfeit my promotion. I won’t return to hell.

I won’t choose her life over mine.

The top stair creaks when I hit it, but something stops me. Grams’s door is cracked open, and I can hear her coughing up a lung. A shiver shoots up my spine, and all I can think is,
Freaking disgusting.

I head down two more stairs, then hear coughing again. Grams coughs so hard and so long that I’m sure it’s the last sound she’ll ever make. Then she stops and gasps for air. I squeeze my eyes shut, pull in a breath, and head toward her door. It sways open beneath my hand, and I spot Grams lying in a full-sized bed. There’s a window near her, and the moon casts shadows over her purple silk comforter.

I take a few quiet steps into the room and stop when she turns around. She doesn’t seem surprised to see me. Like she knew I’d be here at this very moment.

Grams opens her mouth and coughs again, and I fight the urge to bolt. On her nightstand, just out of her reach, is a glass of water. I cross the room, put one finger on the glass, and slide it toward her.

Then I do bolt.

I shake my whole body out and roll my head quick like a boxer, trying to get rid of the heebie-jeebies.

“Dante,” Grams croaks.

I freeze.

“Thank you,” she finishes.

The tiniest of smiles touches my lips, and I descend the stairs and leave.