Touched - By Cyn Balog Page 0,38

not really my type.”

“He looked a little like that kind of boyfriend your friends back home expect you to have, though. You know, the one that talksa like dis.” I did the “Delicioso!” fingertip kiss.

She thought for a second. “You’re right. Maybe I should try to get him back.” Then she leaned over the counter and said to me, “Four is when my shift ends.”

“I’ll be here.” I tried to be nonchalant, but then I thought of the birthmark again and knocked over the condiment tray. Taryn just shook her head as if to say, “I don’t want to know.”

She was right. She didn’t.

Since it was six hours until her shift ended, I could have biked back home. I should have. Nan was disabled and could have used my help. Instead, I spent a good chunk of the time aimlessly meandering down the boardwalk, taking in all the sights. Sure, I was a local, but the truth was I hadn’t been to the Heights since the idea of cotton candy sounded good, which was years ago. The farthest I ever ventured up there was to the Seaside Park Beach Patrol headquarters, which was right on the border between the two towns. Here, though, the crazy people and steady clicking of the big wheels and the whir of rides combined with the scent of saltwater taffy and pizza to make it virtually impossible to hear the You Wills.

Now I worked extra hard to hear them. Something was making me cling to them. Of course it was Taryn. I strained to hear the You Wills, which led me to a stand in the corner of the boardwalk that was raffling off ugly dollar-store stuffed dogs. I blew eight dollars trying to win one by throwing darts before I realized I was a sucker, since I already knew what was going to happen. What the hell would I do with a stuffed dog, anyway?

By the time I returned it was 4:05. I’d timed it perfectly. I didn’t want to appear too overeager by showing up early or right on time. So I figured five minutes late was good, even though I spent those five minutes staring at the clock on the boardwalk and watching the seconds tick away. When I got there, she was sitting outside the stand, hat removed, tapping her foot and looking anxious. “You’re late,” she said.

“Sorry.”

She grabbed me by the wrist and immediately the You Wills stopped. A gust of air flooded my lungs at that second because I gasped and choked a little. She led me toward her grandmother’s booth. “You don’t get it. My grandmother starts working at five, but she always arrives early. And she can’t know we’re here.”

With my mind calm, I could really concentrate on her for the first time. She had little crinkles around her eyes and freckles over the bridge of her nose. I realized I’d already had the map of those freckles committed to memory—a dark one under her left eye, a constellation of three at the side of her nose. She didn’t wear any makeup and her hair was in a ponytail, but she still managed to look beautiful. She always would, even when she was older.

“Why are you staring?” she asked, sounding annoyed. I probably would be, too, if someone was studying me as closely as I was looking at her.

“Nothing. Um, why? I thought your grandmother and I really hit it off that last time.”

She smirked, then jabbed her finger at the tiny sign that said: ABSOLUTELY NO REVERSALS. “That’s why.”

“But what does it mean?” I asked again, as she lifted the velvet curtain and pulled me inside. This was right from my vision. The room was barely the size of a closet, with a small table in the center, a crystal ball atop it. Everything was dark velvet, hot and cramped, like the inside of a coffin. The stench of incense was so strong I had to swallow again and again to keep from gagging.

Taryn reached under the table and pulled out an old book. “This,” she said, “is the Book of Touch.”

I stared at it. It wasn’t anything remarkable. It was small with a simple black leather cover, kind of like one of the ancient Bibles Nan kept by her bedside. “What is it for?”

“I’ll show you.”

At first I thought it was a how-to manual for massage or something, but I wasn’t lucky enough to have Taryn wanting me to give her a backrub. Not yet,