her eyes.
“One minute,” she said. “And that’s my final offer.”
“Okay.” I held out my hand and she refused to shake it. “I’ll take it.”
One minute was what I’d been shooting for. One minute was all I needed.
She glanced at the gold bangle on her wrist.
“Clock’s ticking.”
It was not a timepiece, but a bracelet. She was just messing with me.
“Do you insist on making this as difficult as possible?” I asked.
“After the way you disrespected my family? Abso-friggin’-lutely!”
“I didn’t disrespect your fam—”
“Do you not see the name Bellarosa on the sign?”
I struck a conciliatory tone, my only chance at survival.
“You’re right,” I said. “And I’m sorry. And I’ll be able to show you how sorry I am if you follow me to the bathroom.”
“Forty-five seconds.” She shook her fake watch.
I had planned this whole speech, equal parts apology and explanation for my actions leading up to the fashion show. I had practiced it at home and had gotten it down to a tight fifty-five seconds, with five seconds left for the big reveal. But Drea was making me cut through all the bullshit. I’d need to get right to the point if I had any chance of getting her to go along with me.
“That’s long enough,” I said, “to show you the treasure.”
49
EXCHANGES AND RETURNS
Our adventure began in the subbasement. It only seemed fitting for the treasure hunt to culminate on the rooftop.
“Crystal and I used to come up here to sneak cigarettes and work on our tans,” Drea said. “But I’ve never been up here at night.”
The days were noticeably shorter. Only the brightest stars bravely peeked out of the purple sky. Light pollution made stargazing a challenge from the mall, but it would be nearly impossible once I arrived in Manhattan. Even under the best viewing conditions, Cassiopeia was too low on the horizon to be seen from anywhere on the East Coast at this time of year. On a field trip to the planetarium in second grade, I was elated to learn of the constellation with a name that sounded so much like mine. I’d always thought of the queen on her throne as “my” constellation, even though—as the story went—she chained her own daughter to a rock as a sacrificial offering to a ravenous sea serpent.
We sat facing each other on the wide ledge. Drea ceremoniously placed the Reebok shoebox between us and extracted the letter opener from her cleavage. She pointed it right between my eyes.
“I’m still pissed at you.”
“Of course,” I said. “Understood.”
She held the box up to her ear and shook it gently, then giddily.
“Sounds like money!”
I really, really hoped she was right. If hidden treasure provided Drea with the resources to make her dream of starting her own fashion line come true, then I wanted her to have every last cent of it. I watched with eager interest as Drea cut into the lid. Vince had gone a little overboard with the duct tape, so it required more effort and less finesse than opening the Cabbage Patch boxes. After a few final jabs and stabs, the top of the box came free from the bottom. Our voices rang out over the nearly empty parking lot.
“Hooray!”
Drea placed her hands on opposite sides of the shoebox, closed her eyes, and took a deep, bracing breath. What was happening on that rooftop felt almost sacred. Drea brought a profound sense of ritual and reverence to what had started out as a silly diversion for me, but had evolved into something much deeper as we got to know each other again. I knew I might never earn her forgiveness, which is why I considered myself blessed to be the only person in the world with Drea Bellarosa when she lifted the lid and peered inside.
“What in the gawddamn hell?!”
She pulled out a grayish-green stack bound by a rubber band.
It wasn’t money.
“Born in the USA Tour,” read Drea in a slow, stunned voice. “Meadowlands Arena.”
No, Tommy hadn’t hidden thousands of dollars in Bellarosa Boutique’s bathroom ceiling. He’d hidden thousands of dollars’ worth of Springsteen tickets.
“Front row seats…” Drea fanned them out on the concrete. “For all ten nights…”
Our foreheads pressed together to get a better look. We simultaneously gasped at the date of the last show: August 20, 1984. Drea and I locked shocked eyes.
“We’re two days too late!” Drea cried.
“Seven years and two days too late!” I cried.
We threw the useless tickets into the air like confetti. They didn’t get very far in the still air and