Page 27 of The Music of Us
In fact, if I had to put it into words, I’d say Jake looked lost.
Which was confusing, because this was the guy who once caught a snake outside of school, hid it in a box he stole from a classroom cupboard, and fed it bits of hardboiled egg in the cafeteria until he could release it by the creek, all because he was afraid the janitor would kill it. Surely he wasn’t daunted by this.
I tried to snap him out of his trance. “Jake?”
“It’s just...” He trailed off, looking at all the racks. “Where do I start?”
“The men’s section is over there,” I said, pointing.
Jake started toward the area, and I followed, before getting distracted, my eyes catching on a sleek, knee-length scarlet trench coat. The coat reminded me of something I’d seen before, somewhere in the back of my memory, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. I pulled it off the hanger, slipped it on, and tied the belt around my waist before catching up with Jake.
I found him staring at the rack of clothes in front of him like they were some kind of mystical objects instead of just, you know, items someone found packed away in Grandpa Morty’s attic.
“Find anything yet?” I asked.
“I don’t—” Jake turned around and did a double take. “Why are you dressed like Carmen Sandiego?”
Ah.That’swhat the trench reminded me of.
“It’s stylish,” I argued, just because I wasn’t going to let Monsieur Designer Leather Jacket win this one.
“Sure, if you’re about to teach little kids geography via international heists.”
I glanced down, smoothed the suede over my thighs. “Well, I think I look good.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t look hot—”
My head jerked up. “I didn’t lookwhat?”
“You didn’t looknotstylish.”
“Oh.” I must’ve misheard him.
“You just look like you’re going to make me guess where in the world you are.”
“Well, what have you got?” I challenged, gesturing toward Jake’s empty hands. “Do you not like anything here?”
An odd expression crossed his face, like he was trying to figure out how to word something.
Oh.
Maybe Jake considered thrifting beneath him. I suppose it made sense with him being a celebrity now.
The whole point of coming here was to make Jake blend in, not shop for myself. I might as well take him where he’d have an easier time finding something.
“We can go to that department store if you need to,” I told him.
Even if it’s all terribly overpriced fast fashion.
“Nah, that’s okay.” Jake shook his head. “I’d have the same problem there too.”
“Oh.” I regarded him curiously. So it wasn’t the thrift store. “What’s wrong, then?”
“I mean, nothing, I guess,” he said. I waited for him to collect his thoughts. “It’s just that it’s been so long since I actually thought about what I want to wear. I’m not used to getting topick out things like this,” he continued, his voice slow, careful, like he was not quite sure how to explain it. “I’m used to my stylist telling me what to wear, or choosing from a few options they’ve already approved.”
Oh. To me, style was a way to show the world who you are. Someone dictating what I could wear would be like someone controlling what I could say.
“That sounds hard.”
