“Go back to acting like you’re the expert on my life.”
I pulled my foot back into my own space. “And there it is.”
“There what is?” he asked.
“Were you worried you were saying too much? Being too nice? Worried I would get the wrong idea?”
“No, I was worried you’d give advice without knowing anything.”
“Yeah, because that’s me. Sticking my nose in everyone’s business.” I pulled my slip-on Vans back on. “For the record, you haven’t talked to me for over two years either.”
“I know.”
“Also,” I said with a huff, “I used to be the expert on your life.”
He released a choked laugh.
“And you used to be the expert on mine.” My voice cracked with emotion, surprising me.
He gave a heavy sigh. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“You didn’t.” That wasn’t true.
The curtain rippled as he obviously shifted or knocked it or something. “I’m a loser, baby,” he sang in a soft voice. “So why are you trying?”
“No,” I said, taking a single step back. “That’s my thing. You don’t get to use my thing on me as if you don’t remember your thing.”
“I remember my thing.”
I blinked once, twice, wondering if he was going to let himself through one of the many openings in this curtain and give me a hug. The thought of that scared me—thrilled me?—but I didn’t wait around to find out which of those emotions would win. I hastily pulled my sweatshirt back on and left the dressing room.
Our families were nowhere to be seen. They had probably moved on to the next store. I beelined it for the door, and just as I was about to push on the handle, an alarm went off on either side of me, accompanied by flashing yellow lights. The employee behind the counter practically vaulted the desk and was at my side before I even registered what was happening.
“Oh.” I suddenly realized. “I’m sorry, I forgot to change back into my shirt.” It was probably still sitting on the floor in the dressing room. I started to move back toward the curtained rooms but he stepped in front of me.
“I need to call security.”
“Are you serious? I just told you I forgot to change back into my shirt. I’ll do it now.”
“Take off your sweatshirt please.”
“Excuse me? I’m not taking off my sweatshirt.”
He took a walkie-talkie off his belt and spoke into it. “I have a code seven up front.”
“You don’t have a code seven.” I didn’t know what that meant but I knew he definitely didn’t have it. “You have zero codes. I’ll just pay for it. Will that work?”
“Take off your sweatshirt.”
“Fine!” I pulled off my sweatshirt, revealing the too-small Park City T-shirt underneath. “There. You see. If I was going to steal a shirt, don’t you think I’d steal one that fit?”
Skyler came walking up at that moment. “She didn’t steal it,” he said. “She got distracted. I distracted her.”
“I don’t need a hero, Skyler,” I spit out. “I’m handling it.”
He held up his hands.
“If you pay for it,” the worker said, “I’ll let you off with a warning.”