Read Online The Collector by Victoria Scott - Free Book Online Page B

moment when Charlie glides down the stairs like she’s a completely different person. But nothing like that happens. Charlie is sitting at the kitchen table to my right when I walk through the entryway. She’s eating a bowl of cereal, looking like she always does—unkempt.
    I walk into the kitchen with Grams hovering way too close. Charlie pushes her bowl away and stands up. There’s an awkward moment where we half-hug, half-fumble. Then Charlie spots the garment bag over my arm.
    “What’s that?” Her eyes widen.
    “It’s for you,” I answer, holding it out to her. “Open it.”
    Charlie takes the garment bag and unzips the front. When she pulls out the red dress, Grams groans this long, “Ohhhh, myyyyyy Gaaaaawd.”
    “You got this for me?” Charlie asks. I nod, and she twirls around with it held against her like she did in the store. “Should I wear it tonight?”
    “That’s the idea,” I say, sitting down at the kitchen table.
    “Grandma?” she squeaks.
    “I’m right behind you, baby.”
    Charlie and Grams head up the stairs toward her bedroom. Why it takes two people to put one dress on one body is beyond me.
    Charlie’s bedroom door clicks shut, and a few seconds later, the doorbell rings. Grams sticks her head out and yells down the stairs, “Man Child! Can you get the door?”
    I head toward the entryway and listen as Charlie tells her grandmother not to call me Man Child. When I open the door, Blue and Annabelle are standing on the other side. Blue is holding two movies and a pizza box. His pinched expression looks like he just smelled his own asshole.
    I take a few steps away and say over my shoulder, “By all means, come on in.”
    Annabelle swivels around my side and stands in front of me. Her mouth is pulled into a smile, but her voice holds a note of accusation. “You watching movies with us tonight?”
    “Not exactly.”
    “Then what are you doing here?” Blue mumbles.
    I ignore Blue’s question because it isn’t worth answering. Annabelle is still standing in front of me, so I step around her and plop back down at the kitchen table. She must take this as an invitation to chat because she sits across from me. Blue lingers near the door, leaning against the stairwell railing.
    “So if you’re not watching movies with us, what are you doing tonight?” Annabelle asks.
    “I’m going to Taylor’s party.”
    “Mm-hmm, mm-hmm.” She nods like this is a reasonable answer. “And who would you be going with?”
    “I’d be going with Charlie.”
    Blue doesn’t move, but I hear the click of his teeth slamming together. Annabelle must, too, because she glances at him and says, “Oh, come on. Is that really a surprise, Blue?”
    She jumps from the table and heads across the entryway to a small den. Once there, she opens a closet door and searches for something.
    “The mother lode!” she cries.
    Annabelle holds a trunk the size of a microwave against her chest and wobbles back toward the kitchen table. I flinch when she drops the trunk on the table and beams at me. “In this trunk,” she says with a serious face, “is God’s gift to women.”
    “Chocolate?”
    “No.”
    “Midol?”
    “What? No.”
    “Tampons.”
    “Stop guessing,” she says. “In this box is Charlie’s grandma’s makeup stash. I’ve waited three years to bust into this thing. The time is now.” Annabelle unlatches the makeup box and lifts the lid ever so slowly. I half expect pixie dust to float out of the box in a twinkling, magical cloud.
    Annabelle gasps when she finally peers inside. “It’s better than I ever could have imagined.” She pulls out mini racks of colorful pastes and powders. Grams may be a makeup guru, but she can’t apply it to her own face. Actually, it’s a case of applying too much. She doesn’t understand restraint.
    “So you going to do Charlie’s makeup or something?” I ask. I’m hoping I’m right. The better Charlie feels tonight, the more trouble I can get her