City Secrets Read online

  “And we’ll give that bag to your mom. And you can take the clothes you want in another bag,” Sienna finished.

  That made Heather grin. “And that’s why I’m glad to see you. It’s perfect. She never checks the credit card statement anyway—she just pays it.”

  “Then let’s shop!” Sienna said. “I’m going to clear two dressing rooms and reserve them. Be right back.”

  “Um, Heather,” I said. “I’m totally into shopping, and I’d love to help you pick out stuff, but I told you what my budget is and—”

  Heather shook her head. “Shut up. I’m using the AmEx on everything.”

  “No way,” I argued. “I’m not letting you do that.”

  “You don’t have a choice. I’m doing it. My parents really don’t care.”

  “I can’t have you buy my clothes,” I said.

  “I told you—I’m not walking around with you dressed like that. And here—think of it as a gift from them for being such jerks to you last night.”

  I paused, thinking about that last sentence.

  “Okay,” I said finally. “A couple of things. That’s it.”

  Heather nodded. “Right. Fine. A couple of things.”

  Sienna walked over to us. “All right. I’ve put reserved signs on two of the rooms, so they’re ready whenever you girls want to start trying on clothes.”

  “Thanks,” Heather and I said.

  “Where do you want to start?” Sienna asked.

  Heather thought for a second. “Fall tops,” she said. “Then skirts and pants.”

  Sienna nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  Heather and I walked behind her, away from the customer-service desk. We passed brands I’d never heard of (dodo + angelika?!), and Sienna stopped in a section I knew was going to have price tags with four digits on them.

  “I looove Maxx Aro’s stuff,” Sienna said. “I think it’s a good place to start. His collection has everything—preppy for class, edgy for Friday nights, fun stuff for the weekends, and casual clothes.”

  “Let’s start with stuff we can wear to class but also not look boring and blah,” Heather said.

  Sienna nodded. “Perfect. Let’s talk colors that you like and that look good on you.”

  Heather grinned. “Well, every color looks good on me,” she said, her expression teasing. “But I need more black, red, and cream in my wardrobe.”

  “Agreed,” Sienna said. “And those are all fantastic colors with your skin tone.” Sienna turned to me. “What about you, Sasha? What colors do you like?”

  I paused, nervous about saying it out loud. What if I told someone who knew fashion that I thought certain colors looked good on me but when really they looked horrible? “I like royal purple, hunter green, and black.”

  Sienna nodded immediately. “Light brown hair looks amazing with darker colors, and purple makes green eyes pop. You both go ahead and start looking, pull a bunch of pieces, and I’ll pick out a few things that I think you should try. Then you’ll try them on and we’ll toss out anything we don’t like.”

  “Perfect,” Heather said.

  We started wandering through the rows and rows and rows of clothes. I tried not to touch every sweater and shirt that I passed. Everything was so soft! I saw a deep green three-quarter-sleeve shirt with a v-neck. They had my size and it was the perfect cut and color. My fingers reached to check the price tag, but I stopped myself. It’s not going to be any fun if you do that the entire time, I told myself. You can do that at the end when you choose your clothes. I nodded at my resolve. For now I was going to do exactly what Sienna had said to do—I was going to pick whatever looked like it might be a good match and go from there.

  I wandered through the racks of shirts and the tables with folded sweaters. I picked up a black sweater that was simple but classic. It would go with almost anything, and I had a silver necklace and drop earrings that would make it look amazing.

  Then I saw a heather gray cardigan that was cut long and would look awesome with jeans during a casual weekend. I started to drape it over my arm when someone reached for it.

  “Let me take this.” It was Sienna. “I’ll hang it up in your dressing room and that way your hands are free.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I handed the clothes to her, and then I spotted a long-sleeve deep purple shirt with a scoop neck. I found my size and rubbed the fabric between my fingers. So. Soft.

  I glanced up, looking around for Heather. She was holding a black wrap shirt in front of her.

  I smiled to myself. This was way more fun than I’d thought it would be.

  A seashell pink long-sleeve shirt, a sand-colored shrug, and a navy blue yoke sweater with white stitching were all taken from my arms and to the dressing room by Sienna.

  And I kept adding clothes. You’re just trying them on, anyway, I reminded myself. Like playing dress-up. I wasn’t keeping even a tenth of this stuff.

  A few minutes later, Heather wandered over to me. “I’m ready to start trying stuff on,” she said. “You?”

  “Definitely,” I said. “I’ve got more than enough.”

  Sienna was waiting by the dressing rooms. “Your initials are taped to your room,” she said. “I put a few extra pieces in there. Start trying things on and come out and let’s look at something when you think it’s a possibility.”

  Heather and I passed several doors until we saw RESERVED: HF AND RESERVED: SS taped on dressing rooms that were side by side.

  “You better not come out in something that looks exactly like what you’re wearing now,” Heather said, smiling brightly as she shut her door behind her.

  I entered my own dressing room. It was huge. It had a chair in the corner, a ledge to sit on, and several hooks to hang clothes on. In the corner was a three-way mirror that would show every angle of my body. I swallowed a little. That would make it really visible if I put on a dumb shirt or sweater.

  Stop it and just start trying on clothes, I said to myself.

  And I did. It took only a couple of seconds of glancing at an outfit to tell if it was worth exiting the dressing room or not. And I hadn’t heard Heather come out yet either, so she was still searching for the right piece. I took the deep purple shirt off the hanger and pulled it over my head. Smoothing it, I looked in the mirror. Score!

  I opened the door and Sienna got up from the bench she was sitting on between Heather and my dressing rooms.

  “Love. It,” Sienna said. “The color’s perfect and I adore the cut. Great eye, Sasha.”

  I smiled. “Thanks!”

  I started back to my room when Heather’s door opened. She’d chosen a black v-neck long-sleeve shirt.

  Sienna smiled. “And you guys need me why? That looks gorgeous, Heather. It’s a definite.”

  “I really like it too,” I said.

  Heather eyed my purple shirt. “Thanks. I like yours, too. You could have ended up looking like a grape, but you didn’t.”

  She disappeared back into her dressing room.

  We repeated the process until we’d gone through all of the tops. I’d found three that I loved—the purple shirt, a black silk cardigan that Sienna had chosen, and the seashell-colored shirt.

  Heather and I emerged with our items at the same time. I hadn’t dared to look at the price tags yet. Heather had picked three things too. The black v-neck long-sleeve shirt, a deep red sweater, and a body-hugging dark gray belted sweater.

  “Great choices, girls!” Sienna said. “Those will be perfect. They’ve got a mix of prep and edge. I’ll meet you up at the register so you can drop those off and keep looking.” Sienna left the dressing area, and I turned to Heather.

  “I like these three,” I said. “But I’m not letting you get all of them. So help me pick one.”

  Heather rolled her eyes. “Will you just shut up? You’re getting them. So there.”

  “Heather—”

  “I’m not continuing this convo. We’re doing skirts next. Forget pants. Boring.”

  I
took a breath, deciding not to argue. Heather and I gave our clothes to Sienna.

  “We’re doing skirts,” Heather said. “I think we can handle that.”

  “Cool,” Sienna said. “Come find me if you need anything.”

  Heather and I stuck together this time and looked through skirts. It didn’t take us long to each find two that we loved.

  “I think those’ll look great,” I said, nodding at Heather’s choices of a flirty black skirt with an inch of lace at the bottom and a crimson mini that would be fun with tights for a weekend night out.

  “Duh, I chose them,” Heather said. She looked at mine. I’d picked a ruffled black skirt and a sleek gray one that skimmed above my knees and was so soft. “Those don’t look like they were handmade by your mom, so I think they’re going to work for you.”

  We tried them on and emerged minutes later with skirts in hand. “I love them both,” I said.

  “Me too,” Heather said. “Let’s check out on this floor and go to shoes. I’m bored with clothes now.”

  “Okay,” I said. We gave our skirts to Sienna and I looked away from the register as she rang up the total.

  “It’s going to be—” Sienna started.

  Heather reached into her pocket and shoved the AmEx at Sienna before she could say the number. “Doesn’t matter. Charge it.”

  Sienna swiped the card, Heather signed the receipt, and we grabbed our bags. Sienna hurried to the back room and brought us our purses.

  “Thanks so much,” I said.

  “Of course,” Sienna said. “Hope to see you back soon!”

  “You will. And I’m sure you’ll see my mother any day now,” Heather said.

  Sienna hid a smile. “I’m sure I will. Bye, girls.”

  Heather and I got in the much less crowded elevator and she pushed a button.

  “Thank you,” I said. “That was really nice of you. You didn’t have to—”

  Heather gave me a look that made me close my mouth. “You’re welcome,” she said. “But thank me again or argue about getting stuff and you’ll wish you’d graciously accepted everything.”

  The girl was scary sometimes.

  The elevator doors opened and we stepped onto the next floor.

  Shoes.

  Everywhere.

  Stilettos.

  Flats.

  Boots.

  Sandals.

  “I need new fall boots,” Heather said. She glanced down at my platform sandals. “And you obviously need new sandals and I’m going to just guess that you need boots.”

  “I have boots . . . they . . .” I paused, thinking. Groan—Heather was actually right. My boots were scuffed and pretty worn. “I need boots,” I muttered.

  Heather grinned. “Knew it.”

  We went straight to the boots. I picked up a pair of caramel-colored, butter-soft knee-high boots with a heel. A salesperson found my size, and I held one up to Heather.

  “Thoughts, Shopping Yoda?”

  Heather wrinkled her nose. “Please don’t reference me to Star Wars or Star Trek. Whatever. But, yeah—I like those. Try them on.”

  I slid my feet into the boots and stood. I walked over to a mirror and checked them out. They looked hot.

  “Nice job, Silver,” Heather said. There was real approval in her tone. “You have to get them.”

  She sat down and slid her feet into a pair of dark brown slouch boots with a chunky heel. “I have enough in black,” she said. She walked over to the mirror and stood next to me. We both looked at her boots.

  “Those are awesome,” I said. “They would look great with skinny jeans.”

  Heather nodded. “Yeah, they would, actually.”

  We gathered our boots and moved to the sandals. We tried on a bunch of pairs before we both settled on the right ones. I loved a pair of T-strap sand-colored wedges that had a cute buckle on the ankle. Heather had found a pair of dressy black mules with a skinny two-inch heel.

  We checked out, and again I ignored the price and let Mrs. Fox’s AmEx get a workout.

  Heather and I walked toward the elevator and she paused. “I was going to do accessories, but let’s save that for another day. I don’t want to, like, give you a shopping stroke.”

  I smiled. “Thanks. But how about when we do accessories, you let me pick where we go? I did just shop with you for hours with very little argument.”

  “Fiiine,” Heather said. “But if you try to take me somewhere with used jewelry, you’ll be dead.”

  “Deal,” I said. “No used jewelry. I think I can manage that.”

  We got to the bottom floor and Heather pulled out her phone. “Let me text Paul. It’ll take him two seconds to get here.”

  She texted and we walked out of Barneys. We’d no sooner reached the spot where he’d dropped us off than the Foxes’ car pulled up beside the curb. I opened the door and slid inside, remembering Heather’s “I don’t slide” from earlier, and she got in after me.

  “Looks like you girls had a successful afternoon,” Paul said, glancing at our bags before easing into traffic.

  “Totally,” Heather said. She turned to me. “Huh.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “I don’t have to hide any of these clothes from my mom. There’s nothing in here that would freak her out.”

  I thought about what she’d picked out. “True. That’s funny. Maybe your tastes are more similar than you realized.”

  Heather gave me a death stare.

  “I take it back! I take it back,” I said, laughing. “Your mom def wouldn’t have picked out the miniskirt.”

  “So. True,” Heather said. She combed through her bag and gave it to me. “Put it in your bag and I’ll get it from you later.”

  I stuck the skirt between my shirts and sank back into the leather seat. I’d never be able to be one of those stuck-up socialites who shopped all day. I was tired! Shopping was oddly exhausting. All the trying on clothes and all the walking—we’d probably covered five miles inside Barneys.

  We pulled up to Heather’s building and I gathered my bags. Paul got out of the car and opened Heather’s door. She exited gracefully and I waited for my turn to get out. I smiled my thanks to Paul, and Heather and I made our way to her door.

  Heather punched in the code to her penthouse, and I followed her inside.

  “That was so fun,” I said. “Thanks, really.”

  Heather kicked off her shoes, shaking her head. “You’re welcome. Stop saying it.”

  We started out of the foyer and headed for the hallway.

  “Girls?” Mrs. Fox called.

  She walked into the foyer and eyed our shopping bags.

  “What, Mom?” Heather asked. “We’re just going to put our clothes away.”

  “I want to see what you got,” Mrs. Fox said. She reached for Heather’s bags. Heather handed over the bags.

  Mrs. Fox took them to the family room and perched on the black leather couch. She only occasionally looked up at Heather. Her expression was blank, as if what she was seeing wasn’t affecting her at all.

  “Heather,” Mrs. Fox said, brushing back a lock of stray blond hair. “I’m glad you went shopping, but what about the color scheme we’d talked about for this year?”

  Heather shrugged. “I didn’t see anything pink or girly that I liked. Their selection was pathetic.”

  I hated that Heather had to have this conversation with her mom. It was ridiculous for Mrs. Fox to want Heather to dress in clothes she didn’t like. Heather wore pink at school, but she never dressed supergirly. And I was starting to get an idea why.

  Mrs. Fox’s eyes locked with Heather’s—almost as if she was trying to get a read on whether her daughter was lying. Finally, after what felt like a staring contest that lasted for hours, Mrs. Fox handed Heather the bags.

  “I’ll make sure you get proper clothes sent back to school,” Mrs. Fox said.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Heather said. She gave what I knew was her fake smile, and I followed her
out of the living room.

  “Not,” Heather muttered once we got into the hallway.

  We went to Heather’s room and laid out all of our clothes on her bed. I didn’t want to say anything about what had just happened. Heather would talk to me if she wanted to.

  I stared at my shirts and skirts, thinking absently about how I couldn’t wait to show them to Paige. If we ever make up, I thought.

  “Now that you have decent clothes for the week,” Heather said, “we can be seen in public together. You can still borrow my stuff if you need something, but do not come in my room if I’m not in here.”

  “I won’t,” I said. “And thanks.”

  Heather looked at her phone. “Let’s get out of here and go get lunch. I’m starving.”

  “Me too,” I said. “But we just got back. Are we allowed to go out again?”

  Heather grabbed her purse off the bed and headed for her door. “No one cares what we do. You’ll figure that out soon.”

  I picked up my purse and followed Heather, wondering if it would take me till the day I went home to get used to how things worked around the Fox household.

  7

  SHAKE SHACK

  “WHERE TO?” PAUL ASKED HEATHER AND ME after we’d buckled up in the backseat.

  “The Shake Shack, please,” Heather said.

  “The name alone sounds awesome,” I said. “What kind of restaurant is it?”

  Heather glossed and then looked at me. “It’ll make you feel at home because we get to eat outside and, like, don’t you do that in Union?”

  “Will you stop—” I started.

  “I’m kidding,” Heather interrupted with a grin. “I mean, you do eat outside, but it’s a famous NYC place that you have to visit. It’s in the Flatiron District at Madison Square Park and you get to see a view of something pretty cool from there.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  As if Heather ever gave me any answers. I watched out the window as we headed away from Park Avenue and toward Madison Square Park. I hadn’t been there with Paige, but we’d talked about going.

  I watched as we passed buildings that seemed to get taller and taller as Paul got us closer to the park.

  “My apartment is barely a mile away,” Heather said.