“Don’t do that.” Heath chuckled, turning back to her. “You’re ruining the cuteness effect.”
Oh, damn. Maxine wasn’t a big blusher, but now she felt an unavoidable warmth stealing up her neck.
“So catch me up, Maxine Silver,” Heath drawled, resting one elbow on the counter as his eyes held hers. “College adventures, crimes, scandals, holiday plans?”
Maxine shrugged. “You know, the usual, I guess,” she replied, hoping the conversation would steer its way back to the subject of her supposed cuteness.
“I’m stoked to be out of New Haven,” Heath confessed with a world-weary sigh, running a hand through his floppy hair. “There’s nothing like winter in the city — chilling with my boys, helping out my dad at his store —” Heath paused meaningfully, and raised an eyebrow at Maxine. “Oh — I’m not sure if you know who my dad — I mean —” He ducked his head.
Maxine nodded. “I know,” she whispered. Everyone knew who Heath’s father was: Cecil Barton III, owner of Barton’s, the sumptuous jewel box of a department store on Fifth Avenue. Maxine remembered the buzz Mr. Barton, in his bow tie and bowler hat, had created at their graduation alongside Heath’s mother, who was an equally famous — and stunning — Japanese former supermodel.
“I’m actually here for my dad today,” Heath was saying, as if he’d read her mind. “Doing market research — to check out the competition and all.” With a slight air of distaste, he gestured to the packed stalls around them. “Technically I’m supposed to be on my lunch break but we’re so swamped at the store that I’ve got to mix business with pleasure.” Maxine was forcing herself not to fixate on the word pleasure coming out of Heath’s mouth when he rolled his long-lashed eyes and went on. “It’s madness over there — one of the salesgirls quit this morning so the manager wasn’t giving me a moment’s rest. I was all like, ‘Mr. Perry, can I at least get a ciggie break?’ and he was like —”
“Wait.” The word had escaped Maxine’s lips almost without her realizing it. Swamped at the store. Salesgirl quit. She felt inspiration flooding through her body, making her skin prickle and her breath catch. She found she couldn’t move. “There’s — there’s an opening at Barton’s?” she asked. Furiously, her mind fought to process this incredible piece of information. An opening, just when she most needed a job? An opening at the very place where Heath Barton himself was working?
“Uh-huh,” Heath said distractedly, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a sleek BlackBerry. Then he lifted his head and met Maxine’s gaze, which she knew must have been wild-eyed and borderline manic. She tried to compose her features into a mask of glamorous sophistication, but then Heath’s own eyes widened, and his lips slowly parted. “Maxine, are you interested?” he murmured, and then he tilted his head to one side, clearly sizing her up — though for what, Maxine wasn’t sure. Then Heath spoke again, sending all the blood rushing to her face.
“You’d be perfect,” was what Heath Barton said. “Perfect for the position.”
The flattery roared in Maxine’s ears, half-drowning out the rest of what Heath was saying — something about how she should go see Mr. Perry now if she was seriously interested, because those types of positions were usually snatched up right away.
“I can totally stop by Barton’s now,” Maxine exclaimed, suddenly grateful that her schedule was so empty. “Want to walk back with me?” she added casually, as if the thought of an afternoon stroll with Heath wasn’t making her belly flip over.
“I’d love to, Maxine,” Heath replied, knitting his brows together. “Only I still need to run a couple of errands for my dad. But hey —” He took another step closer, rested a hand on the sleeve of her corduroy jacket, and gave her arm a small squeeze. “Do good, okay? If you get the position, maybe I’ll see you at the store tomorrow?”
Forget maybe. Maxine Silver was going for the gold.
She could still feel the warmth of Heath’s hand on her arm seconds later, as she flew down Central Park South, passing the glitzy entrances to The Essex House and The Plaza, unable to stop grinning. A shopgirl at Barton’s! Visions of free Lola lip glosses, marked-down Rock & Republic jeans, and, most tantalizing of all, daily doses of Heath Barton, danced in her head. Maybe while she was folding sweaters tomorrow morning, Heath would swing by and suggest they mix business and pleasure together. Maxine giggled out loud at the thought, prompting a curious glance from an all-blond family waiting in line for a horse-and-carriage ride. Normally Maxine would have ignored them, but she was so suffused with goodwill that she waved a mittened hand at the pigtailed little girl.
Her scarf streaming behind her like a victory flag, Maxine rounded onto Fifth Avenue, where a giant, sparkling white snowflake hung suspended overhead. Panting and a little sweaty from her impromptu workout, Maxine paused and stared up at the snowflake as if it were her personal good-luck pendant. Please, please let me get the job, she prayed silently. Then, tossing her head back, Maxine whirled around and pulled open the heavy double doors of Barton’s.
I would also like to say thank you to Aimee, Abby, and Molly for their great insight and inspiration. To Sam A., Sam B., Sara, Gabra, Jo, Megan, Susan Shapiro, Paula Derrow, the Tigers, and Simonie Alice. And to my loving family, especially Mr. Bird.
ABBY SHER
is a writer and performer living in Brooklyn. She has written for The New York Times, The Los Angeles Times, Self, Jane, Redbook, Heeb, and Lost Magazine. Before moving to New York, she wrote and performed for The Second City and NPR in Chicago. Before that, she wrote a play that was too long, a report about Stalin, a lot of notes in class, and some letters to her dog.
Trademarks used herein are owned by their respective trademark owners and are used without permission.
Copyright © 2007 by Abby Sher
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc.
SCHOLASTIC, POINT, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
First printing, November 2007
Cover photo © Anne-Marie Weber/Taxi/Getty Images
Cover design: Steve Scott
e-ISBN 978-0-545-53008-8
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.