CHAPTER FIVE

THE PICKUP ARTIST

Despite the early hour, Melody and Candace took to Radcliffe Way with the boundless energy of two girls who had been cooped up in an SUV for fourteen hours. Surprisingly, their new neighborhood was abuzz with activity. At the end of the street kids circled the cul-de-sac on their bikes, and a few doors down an entire family of jocks was playing football in the front yard.

“Is that one family?” Melody asked as they approached the cavernous stone house, where no fewer than ten boys were charging the shaggy-haired hottie with the ball.

“The parents must have had multiples,” Candace noted while fluffing her hair.

Suddenly, the game slowed, and then stopped, while the pack watched the Carver sisters stroll by.

“Why is everyone staring at us?” Melody mumbled from the side of her mouth.

“Get used to it,” Candace mumbled back. “People stare when you’re pretty.” She smile-waved at the high school–age boys, each with his own adorable mess of shaggy brown hair and a maybe-it’s-Maybelline cheek flush. Smoke from their Hummer-size grill circulated the tangy smell of barbecued ribs through the neighborhood at a time when most people hadn’t finished their first cup of coffee.

Melody gripped her hollow stomach. Dinner for breakfast sounded great right about now.

“I loved you in last month’s J.Crew catalog,” Candace called out.

The boys exchanged confused looks.

“Candace!” Melody smacked her sister’s arm.

“Have some fun, will ya?” Candace laughed, clicking along the pavement in her mother’s silver platforms.

“Everyone we pass looks at us like we’re from another planet.”

“We are.” Candace tightened the neck straps on her Missoni jumpsuit.

“Maybe it’s because you’re wearing Saturday night on a Sunday morning.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s because you’re wearing yesterday’s road trip today,” Candace snapped. “Nothing says make new friends like a sweaty gray Hanes T-shirt and baggy jeans.”

Melody considered retaliating but didn’t bother. It wouldn’t change anything. Candace would always believe that good looks were a skeleton key for success. And Melody would always hope that people were deeper than that.

They walked along the rest of Radcliffe Way in silence. The winding road cut through some kind of forest or ravine—the homes on both sides had grassy front yards and dense, woodsy thickets for backyards. But that’s where the similarities ended. Like the uniquely marked logs in the Carver cabin, each house had defining features that made it individual.

A gray concrete slab in the cul-de-sac was fenced in by an unsightly tangle of electrical wires and phone lines. An old Victorian was completely shaded under a canopy of big-leaf maples and had an endless flurry of propeller-like seeds that helicoptered to the mossy ground. A black-bottomed swimming pool and dozens of mini sea-creature fountains provided tons of fun for everyone at No. 9. Even though the sun was tucked away under a duvet of silver-colored clouds, the neighbors were out swimming, splashing around like a school of playful dolphins.

It was becoming more and more evident that Salem was a town that celebrated individuality, a real live-and-let-live kind of place. Melody felt a gut punch of regret. Her old nose would have fit in here.

“Look!” She pointed at the multicolored car whizzing by. Its black doors were from a Mercedes coupe, the white hood from a BMW; the silver trunk was Jaguar, the red convertible top was Lexus, the whitewall tires were Bentley, the sound system Bose, and the music was classical. A hood ornament from each model dangled from the rearview mirror. Its license plate appropriately read MUTT.

“That car looks like a moving Benetton ad.”

“Or a pileup on Rodeo Drive.” Candace snapped a picture with her iPhone and e-mailed it to her friends back home. They responded instantly with a shot of what they were doing. It must have involved the mall because Candace picked up her pace once they turned onto Staghorn Road and began asking anyone under the age of fifty where the cool people hung out.

The answer was unanimous: the Riverfront. But it wouldn’t be hopping for a few more hours.

After a leisurely latte stop and several pauses to peer into clothing stores (deemed “unshoppable” by Candace), it was finally pushing noon. With the help of Beau’s map and the kindness of strangers, the girls navigated their way through the sleepy town and arrived at the Riverfront—fully caffeinated and ready to announce their presence to the cool people of Salem.

“This is it?” Candace stopped short, as if she had hit a pane of glass. “This is the epicenter of Northwest chic?” she shouted at the snow cone cart, the children’s playground, and the brick building that housed a carousel.

“Mmmmmm, I smell movie theater lobby,” Melody announced, sniffing the air scented with popcorn and hot dogs.

“You can take the nose out of Smellody,” Candace cracked, “but you can’t take Smellody out of the nose.”

“Very funny.” Melody rolled her eyes.

“No, actually, it’s not!” Candace huffed. “None of this is very funny at all. In fact, it’s a total nightmare. Listen!” She pointed at the carousel. Manic organ music—a must for horror movie sound tracks and psycho clown scenes—mocked them with its menacingly playful lilt.

“The only person over the age of eight and under the age of forty is that dude over there.” Candace pointed at a lone boy on a wooden bench. “And I think he’s crying.”

His shoulders were hunched, and his head hung over a sketch pad. He lifted his eyes for quick glimpses of the spinning carousel, then went right back to scribbling.

Melody’s armpits prickled with sweat, her body recognizing him before her brain did. “Let’s get out of here,” she said, tugging Candace’s thin arm.

But it was too late. Her sister’s lips curled with delight, and her platforms held firm to the gum-spotted pavement. “Is that—”

“No! Let’s just go,” Melody insisted, tugging harder. “I think I saw a Bloomingdale’s back there. Come on.”

“It is!” Candace dragged Melody toward the boy. Beaming, she called out, “Hey, neighbor!”

He lifted his head and then smacked a chunk of wavy brown hair away from his face. Melody’s stomach lurched. He was even cuter up close.

Thick black glasses surrounded his crackling hazel eyes, making them look like framed photos of lightning in a dark sky. He had the geek-chic look of a disguised superhero.

“You remember my sister from the window, don’t you?” Candace asked with a trace of revenge, as if it were Melody’s fault the Riverfront was a bust.

“Um, hey… I’m… Melody,” she managed, cheeks burning.

“Jackson.” He lowered his eyes.

Candace pinched his white crew-neck tee. “We almost didn’t recognize you with your shirt on.”

Jackson smiled nervously; his eyes fixed uncomfortably on his drawing.

“You’re kinda curdy,” Candace cooed, as if her contraction for cute-nerdy was actual English. “Any chance you have an older brother with good vision… or contacts?” she pressed.

“Nope.” Jackson’s clear, pale skin reddened. “Just me.”

Melody pressed her arms against her body to hide the pit sweat. “What are you drawing?” she asked. It wasn’t the most exciting question, but it was better than anything Candace was going to say.

Jackson consulted his sketch pad as if seeing it for the first time. “It’s just the carousel. You know, while it’s moving.”

Melody examined the blur of pastels. Inside the smudged rainbow were subtle outlines of horses and children. It had a gauzy, elusive quality to it—like the haunting memory of a dream, appearing and disappearing in fractured flashes throughout the day. “That’s really good,” she said, meaning it. “Have you been doing it long?”

Jackson shrugged. “’Bout a half hour. I’m just waiting for my mom. She had a meeting around here, so…”

Melody giggled. “No, I meant have you been drawing long. You know, as a hobby.”

“Oh.” Jackson ran a hand through his hair. The choppy layers fell right back into place like cards being shuffled. “Yeah, you know, a few years.”

“Nice.” Melody nodded.

“Yeah.” Jackson nodded back.

“Cool.” Melody nodded again.

“Thanks.” Jackson nodded back.

“Sure.” Melody nodded.

The organ music blaring from the carousel suddenly sounded louder. Like it was trying to save them from their monosyllabic bobble-heading by offering a distraction.

“So, uh, where are you from?” Jackson asked Candace, eyeing her out-of-state outfit.

“Beverly Hills,” she said, like it should have been obvious.

“We moved here because of my asthma,” Melody announced.

“Real sexy, Mel.” Candace sighed, giving up.

“Well, it’s true.”

Jackson’s tight features unwound into a comfortable smile. It was as if Melody’s admission had asked his confidence to dance. And it had said yes.

“So, um, have you heard of Merston High?” she asked, her words providing the necessary music.

“Yeah.” He slid over, silently offering half the bench. “I go there.”

Melody sat down, her arms still pressed against her sides in case she was downwind. “What grade?”

Candace stood above them, texting.

“Starting tenth.”

“Same.” Melody smiled more than she needed to.

“Really?” Jackson smiled back. Or, rather, his smile was still there from before.

Melody nodded. “So, what are the people like? Are they cool?”

Jackson lowered his eyes and then shrugged. His smile faded. The music had stopped. Their dance was over. The oily smell of his pastels lingered like a crush’s cologne.

“What?” Melody asked sadly, her heart thumping a woeful dirge.

“The people are fine, I guess. It’s just that my mom’s the science teacher and she’s pretty strict, so I’m not exactly on anyone’s speed dial.”

“You can be on mine,” Melody offered sweetly.

“Really?” Jackson asked, his forehead starting to glow with sweat.

Melody nodded, her heart now thumping a livelier beat. She felt surprisingly comfortable with this stranger. Maybe because he wasn’t simply looking at her face; he was looking through it. And he didn’t stop just because she wore sweaty road trip clothes and told curdy boys she had asthma.

“Okay.” He studied her face one last time and then scribbled his cell number on his sketch with a red pastel. “Here.” He tore the sheet from the pad, handed it to her, and then quickly wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “I better go.”

“Okay,” Melody stood when he stood, lifted by the strength of their connection.

“See you around.” He waved awkwardly, turned toward the whirling carousel, and hurried away.

“Nicely played.” Candace dropped her phone in her metallic bag. “Curdy boys are great practice. Now let’s go find something to eat.” She quickly scanned the park. “There’s got to be something around here that won’t give us salmonella.”

Melody followed Candace over the meandering walkways, grinning at the red phone number. Asking for it was one thing. Working up the nerve to call would be quite another. Still, she had it. He had given it to her. Willingly. Thereby permitting her to replay the details of their conversation in her head as many times as she wanted without wondering whether the attraction was one-sided.

And so she would.

“How about a hot dog bun and a Diet Coke?” Candace suggested.

“I’ll pass.” Melody grinned at the beautiful cloud-covered sky. She was no longer feeling the least bit empty.