next to the giant inflated hot dog above the snack bar.
She spun around angrily and nearly collided with Prentiss, who had walked up behind her for some stupid reason.
“Whoa!” he exclaimed, rearing back slightly. His right hand held a jumbo bucket overflowing with popcorn—obviously the work of Lila, who was known to short cups and cartons by a centimeter if she
didn’t
like someone. “What’s up? Bad day?”
He was still wearing a big doofus grin, as if everything around him were happening for his own amusement. As if nothing could ever go wrong. And even if something did—like a drunken joyride that caused a pesky car crash and ended someone’s life—then Mommy and Daddy and all his fawning sycophants would step in to make it better.
This was a guy who would never have to work hard. A guy who had no idea what it was like to feel real frustration or disappointment or guilt.
Suddenly all the anger she felt toward Pinkwater shifted onto Prentiss, and if she hadn’t been absolutely certain it would cost her her job, she would have punched him in his perfect-right-triangle nose.
“Excuse me,” she muttered, and scurried past him to the box office before he could ask her which theater seat she recommended he sit in.
Oh, it was a bad day, all right. One of the worst. As ifsome archnemesis were sticking pins in her voodoo doll likeness. She had failed with apartment managers and she had failed with her boss. And the only person willing to talk to her was the most morally reprehensible guy in Barton.
Once she reached the snug safety and quiet of the ticket booth, Gabby rested her head on her hands and gazed out the partition glass, trying to clear her mind of Pinkwater’s scowling face and Prentiss’s idiotic grin.
Across the parking lot, a girl was strolling down the sidewalk of Bowie Street. Maybe it was the tilt of the head and the goofy half smile on her face. Or maybe it was the slow, twisted way she was walking with a gigantic plastic-wrapped garment slung over her shoulder. But something made Gabby fix on the girl and recognize her as Daphne.
And something else—perhaps the fact that she was two miles away from the Lucky Wishbone restaurant, ambling at the pace of a drunk snail—told Gabby that her sister, once again, had forgotten to apply for the hostess job.
The bad day had just gotten worse.
Daphne slowly turned the knob and eased the front door open a couple of inches. The living room was empty, and she could hear muffled voices coming from her mom’s bedroom. If she was quick and quiet, she could make it.
She widened the gap enough to slide inside, careful not to push it open to the angle where the hinges creaked and making sure her plastic-swathed dress didn’t snag on the scuffed wood. Then she silently shut the door and tiptoed to her room. The plastic rustled a bit and the floor let out a faint moan when she stepped into the hallway, but otherwise she made no sound.
There
, she thought as she opened her side of the closet and hung the dress on the far end of the rod. It gleamed slightly in the half-light like a gold nugget in a pan of pebbles, and she wondered if Gabby would notice. No, she decided. Gabby didn’t even seem to take stock of her own clothes. Why would she go through Daphne’s?
She slid the door shut, spun around, and instantly let outa squeal of surprise. Gabby was standing in the doorway to their room.
“So you’re home,” she said. Her wavy hair hung down around her shoulders, free of its usual clips and elastics. She looked pretty but stony. Like a Roman statue. “
Please
tell me you applied for that job.”
Daphne was prepared for this. Her mouth curved in a weak grin and she wrinkled her forehead apologetically. Now, what was it she was going to say? Something about after-school tutoring?
“I knew it!” Gabby exclaimed, before Daphne had a chance to launch into her rehearsed explanation. “So what’s your excuse this time, huh? That you had
She spun around angrily and nearly collided with Prentiss, who had walked up behind her for some stupid reason.
“Whoa!” he exclaimed, rearing back slightly. His right hand held a jumbo bucket overflowing with popcorn—obviously the work of Lila, who was known to short cups and cartons by a centimeter if she
didn’t
like someone. “What’s up? Bad day?”
He was still wearing a big doofus grin, as if everything around him were happening for his own amusement. As if nothing could ever go wrong. And even if something did—like a drunken joyride that caused a pesky car crash and ended someone’s life—then Mommy and Daddy and all his fawning sycophants would step in to make it better.
This was a guy who would never have to work hard. A guy who had no idea what it was like to feel real frustration or disappointment or guilt.
Suddenly all the anger she felt toward Pinkwater shifted onto Prentiss, and if she hadn’t been absolutely certain it would cost her her job, she would have punched him in his perfect-right-triangle nose.
“Excuse me,” she muttered, and scurried past him to the box office before he could ask her which theater seat she recommended he sit in.
Oh, it was a bad day, all right. One of the worst. As ifsome archnemesis were sticking pins in her voodoo doll likeness. She had failed with apartment managers and she had failed with her boss. And the only person willing to talk to her was the most morally reprehensible guy in Barton.
Once she reached the snug safety and quiet of the ticket booth, Gabby rested her head on her hands and gazed out the partition glass, trying to clear her mind of Pinkwater’s scowling face and Prentiss’s idiotic grin.
Across the parking lot, a girl was strolling down the sidewalk of Bowie Street. Maybe it was the tilt of the head and the goofy half smile on her face. Or maybe it was the slow, twisted way she was walking with a gigantic plastic-wrapped garment slung over her shoulder. But something made Gabby fix on the girl and recognize her as Daphne.
And something else—perhaps the fact that she was two miles away from the Lucky Wishbone restaurant, ambling at the pace of a drunk snail—told Gabby that her sister, once again, had forgotten to apply for the hostess job.
The bad day had just gotten worse.
Daphne slowly turned the knob and eased the front door open a couple of inches. The living room was empty, and she could hear muffled voices coming from her mom’s bedroom. If she was quick and quiet, she could make it.
She widened the gap enough to slide inside, careful not to push it open to the angle where the hinges creaked and making sure her plastic-swathed dress didn’t snag on the scuffed wood. Then she silently shut the door and tiptoed to her room. The plastic rustled a bit and the floor let out a faint moan when she stepped into the hallway, but otherwise she made no sound.
There
, she thought as she opened her side of the closet and hung the dress on the far end of the rod. It gleamed slightly in the half-light like a gold nugget in a pan of pebbles, and she wondered if Gabby would notice. No, she decided. Gabby didn’t even seem to take stock of her own clothes. Why would she go through Daphne’s?
She slid the door shut, spun around, and instantly let outa squeal of surprise. Gabby was standing in the doorway to their room.
“So you’re home,” she said. Her wavy hair hung down around her shoulders, free of its usual clips and elastics. She looked pretty but stony. Like a Roman statue. “
Please
tell me you applied for that job.”
Daphne was prepared for this. Her mouth curved in a weak grin and she wrinkled her forehead apologetically. Now, what was it she was going to say? Something about after-school tutoring?
“I knew it!” Gabby exclaimed, before Daphne had a chance to launch into her rehearsed explanation. “So what’s your excuse this time, huh? That you had
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