Maria turned, her face reddening, and saw Claire trying to hold back laughter.
Grandpa finished in a great crescendo of clashing notes and seemingly alien sounds, then bowed. “See, that’s how you sing a proper happy birthday song.”
Claire giggled and clapped her hands. “Do you mind doing it again so I can put it up on Instagram? All of Maria’s friends will love it!”
“No,” Maria said, frowning. “God, no!”
“What’s an Instagram? It sounds delicious!” Gramps said.
“Ah, it can be,” Claire said, humoring the old man.
“Come on, we’re both gonna be late for work,” Maria said. She leaned over and kissed her grandpa’s cheek. “Thank you for the gift. I love it. Try not to get into any trouble while I’m gone, and please keep an eye on Sherlock.”
Gramps smiled. “Don’t worry.”
The Bloodhound, who’d been asleep on his bed, now padded down the steps, his cheeks droopy, his ears perked up. Maria couldn’t forget about him. She bent down and ruffled the fur on the back of his neck. “Be a good boy, Sherlock. I’ll be back later tonight.”
Sherlock barked, sitting and wagging his tail. Drool hung from his droopy lips. He still looked half-asleep, his eyes red and barely open—common features of a Bloodhound. An older Bloodhound, at that.
Claire went out the door, still giggling, typing something on her iPhone. Probably a tweet or an Instagram selfie. Maria rolled her eyes.
“Oh, Maria?” Gramps called again as she was halfway out the door, holding Sherlock back with one foot (Sherlock loved car rides).
“Yeah, Gramps?”
“Are you sure you don’t feel any different?”
“I’m sure. Bye, Gramps!”
She left, but as she went down the front steps, hearing Sherlock scrabbling against the wooden door, and fighting the sadness of leaving her best friend behind, she realized she did feel a little different. Stranger and stronger.
Chapter Two
Claire sat in the car, a 2009 blue Kia Rio, blasting some pop station that Maria was trying to tune out as she approached. She dug the classic rock stations around Akron — 97.5, 98.5, even 100.7, when they weren’t broadcasting Indians’ or Cavs’ games; but, Claire’s car, her rules. Maria learned the hard way to never touch the stereo – that usually meant Claire would sing the lyrics of whatever song Maria had chosen intentionally off-key, just to be annoying . So Maria learned to just block it out and listen to the music in her head, like her Gramps did.
As Maria opened the car door, she saw a cake on the front seat. It was small with vanilla frosting. Written on it in cursive pink and blue letters was, ‘Happy Birthday, Maria!’
Maria smiled and felt her heart swell again. As annoying and girly as Claire could be sometimes, she was still a sweetheart and probably Maria’s closest human friend.
Claire put a candle in the icing and lit it with a match. “Blow it out and make a wish,” she said.
Maria took in a big breath.
“But not until you let me sing to you!” Claire said, cupping her hand over the flame.
“Ugh, fine.”
“Happy birthday to youuuuu,” Claire began. She finished the song and even added an extra couple lines at the end—“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, you look like a monkey…and you smell like one, too!”
The two girls laughed together. Maria felt better. It was nice to have someone else who cared about her besides Gramps and her Bloodhound, who sometimes licked his downstairs area a little too loudly in the dead silence of night, and really only cared about food. It was nice to have a tribe.
They ate cake together while Claire drove them to Rolling Hill Mall, right on the border of Cuyahoga Falls and Akron, Ohio.
“So what happens if you see Joe today? You gonna ask him for a birthday kiss?” Claire said.
“Cut it out.”
Claire made kissing noises, smacking her lips loud enough to drown out Pitbull on the radio. Thank God.
“Maybe you could even sing him a song in your grandpa’s made up, fantasy language. Joe would love that!”
“I’m this close to punching you,” Maria said.
“Not very ladylike.”
Neither is the smeared blue icing on your upper lip, Maria thought. That was what friends were for, right? But she decided not to. It would make for an interesting shift at Sephora, the makeup place across from the Popcorn Palace where Claire worked.
“Here,” Claire said, pointing to the glovebox. “There’s a card in there for you.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have.”
“But I did. Open it up.”
Inside the glovebox was one of those grocery store-bought birthday cards. It had a monkey hanging from a tree, and it read, “I know it’s your birthday…” on the front, and “But you’re never too old to monkey around!” on the inside.
“Cute,” Maria said. Also inside the card was a gift certificate to Sephora. “You know I don’t wear makeup. I’m a natural beauty.” She winked at Claire.
Claire laughed. “It’s the thought that counts.”
“No, I think it has something to do with the employee discount.”
“Could be.”
“Oh well, at least it’s a normal gift. I don’t think I could take another music box that belts out gibberish,” Maria said. She leaned over and hugged Claire as Claire parked the Kia into the employee-only section of Rolling Hill’s parking lot.
“Geesh, if I knew you were gonna get all sappy on me, I wouldn’t have bothered.”
“You’re so sweet, Claire,” Maria said. She got out of the car and into the baking heat of another Ohio summer morning. “Let’s go. Time to kick today’s ass.”
Maria had forgotten she was to work with Ted today. Ted was the manager of the Popcorn Palace, and the mall’s very own dictator. He was in his forties, with a stomach that hung over his waistband. His face always seemed sweaty. A few of the security guards—Joe included—called him Little Hitler behind his back.
He was an unpleasant man, and Maria hated working with him—especially in the morning.
This morning, the hours were slow. Maria and Ted found themselves standing around, forcing awkward small talk. Around
