The Mall - Megan McCafferty Page 0,54

have made me burn red with humiliation. It brought me great relief to know for certain that Troy didn’t have that kind of influence over me anymore.

No, I would not flee the food court in shame.

No, I would not give him the last word in this closing argument.

No, I would not let him treat me like an Odyssey of the Mind problem that needed solving.

No, I would not erase who I really was to become who he wanted me to be.

“Oh, Troy.” I popped the rest of the roll in my mouth and chomped down. Hard. “That’s something you will never, ever know.”

Then in one swift movement, I picked up my untouched lo mein and dumped the soggy heap of soy noodles right over his head.

“What’s wrong with you?” Troy spluttered, shaking the wormy tangle from his hair. “No way I’m giving you that doll now!”

“I don’t need the doll from you,” I replied. “I don’t need anything from you.”

I hated disappointing Drea, but I could not, would not let Troy think he was doing me any favors. Not now. Not a week from now. Not ever again.

I’d found fulfillment through fashion. Achieved self-actualization through accessorization. An article of clothing transformed me into the best possible version of myself. Adopting a new look didn’t make me superficial or stupid. On the contrary, I felt empowered and emboldened enough to tell Troy exactly what I thought of him and the plan.

“There are over seven million people in New York City,” I said. “Let’s not run into each other when we get there.”

I left the table with a renewed sense of purpose. Was Sam Goody working a double shift? Would he be at the store until closing? Would I have to wait until tomorrow to make up for how I’d acted? I started out in a trot and increased speed as I got closer and closer to my destination. By the time I hit Concourse F, I was in a full run, dodging oldsters and ducking youngsters who weren’t in a hurry to get anywhere. When I burst through the entrance to the music store, I nearly took out a huddle of preteens giggling over a New Kids on the Block fanzine.

I spotted Sam at one of the listening stations with his headphones on. His back was to me, so I crept up behind him to sneak a peek at what he was listening to. I’d never heard of the album or the artist—Nevermind by Nirvana—but getting the newest music before anyone else was one of the advantages of working in a record store. Sam cranked the volume way up, but I could barely make out screaming vocals, thrashing drums, and hard, fuzzy guitars through the headphones. Nirvana was no competition for the NKOTB remix Freddy the manager played to please the store’s most faithful customers.

I gently tapped Sam Goody on the shoulder.

“Hi.”

He turned around, took me in, and grinned.

“WOW,” he shouted. “That’s a great look on you.”

I laughed and he laughed, and a blush heated up my cheeks. If I saw red earlier, I was feeling red now. But, like, in a good way. Sam turned off the music and slipped off his headphones.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” I said, “about independence.”

Sam Goody nodded cautiously. “I’m listening.”

“Will you teach me how to drive?”

31

ALL THE FUSS

The mall had only closed fifteen minutes earlier, but the lot was already mostly empty. Sam Goody assured me it would be a safe space for my first driving lesson.

“Here it is,” he said, sweeping his hand over the hood of his car.

“Oh,” I said. “It’s … oh.”

It was an aggressively ugly car. A fecal-brown Chevy hatchback, with rusted-out patches around the wheels, a crooked back bumper, dented front fender, and too many side-door dings to count. I didn’t know if I should be relieved by the sorry state of this automobile—I couldn’t mess it up that much more than it already was—or worried that I was being taught to drive by anyone who could do so much vehicular damage.

“I got it like this,” he said, sensing my apprehension. “I have a spotless driving record. Not even a speeding ticket.”

He chivalrously opened the driver’s side door for me. Or, at least he tried to.

“Sorry—” He yanked on the handle. “It sticks sometimes.”

He had not bothered locking the door because no one would steal this car. After a few more tugs, it finally swung open with a creaky whine.

“After you,” he said, gesturing at the driver’s