The Distance Between Us

wear a dress like that anyway? To some fancy event with Xander? I hope I’m not turning into that girl, the one who daydreams about a guy she can never have.
    The dressing room curtain slides open and Xander steps out while still buttoning the bottom few buttons of the flannel shirt. “I feel like a dork.”
    “It’s good to feel like a dork once in a while. Now you just need a sweatshirt.”
    “I have my jacket.”
    “You mean your really expensive trench coat? Yeah, not going to work.” I pull a gray one off a hanger next to me and throw it over two racks of clothes to him.
    “Okay, I’m going to change back into my clothes now.”
    “No. You’re wearing those out of here, boy. Come on, meet me at the register.” I give the dress one last look and then walk away.
    The lady at the register gives us the Seriously? look.
    “Here,” I say, turning Xander around. I pull the tag for the jeans off the back belt loop. Then I snag the one off the sleeve of the shirt and hand her the sweatshirt and shoes.
    “That’ll be fifteen dollars,” she says.
    Xander hands her a twenty. “Fifteen bucks? For all this?”
    As we walk back to the car Xander is still surprised. “I bought a pair of socks last week for thirty bucks.”
    “That’s because you’re an idiot.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Love your new shoes, by the way.”
    He rolls his eyes. “If humiliation is a career, I’m going to tell you right now that I don’t think I’m interested.”
    “But you’d be so good at it.”
     
    We pull up to the cemetery and Xander looks at me. “What are we doing here?”
    “Exploring our potential.”
    “Here?”
    “Remember, I’m morbid. Let’s go.” I brought him here for a couple of different reasons. One, because it’s free. I have no money to take him on the equivalent of some fancy photo shoot career day. And two, I honestly think Xander needs to get his hands dirty, relax a little. So far he’s being a good sport, but he has no idea what I have in store for him.
    “Hi, Mr. Lockwood,” I say, walking up to the funeral home that’s slightly elevated from the plots. Skye’s dad is so cool. He looks like he should live in the middle of a graveyard with his long white hair and crooked hooked nose. I always wonder if he owns a cemetery because he looks that way or if he looks that way because he owns a cemetery.
    “Hey, Caymen.” He holds two shovels. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
    “Yep.” I grab the shovels.
    “Okay, I got it started for you so that you could get a sense of the dimensions. It’s past that oak tree down there.” He pulls a walkie-talkie from his back pocket and hands it to me. “Let me know if you have any questions.”
    I hand Xander a shovel. “Okay.”
    “Gravedigger?” he asks as we walk toward the site. “Really? You thought this was a serious option?”
    “It’s not just grave digging, Xander. It’s about this whole place. Living a quiet life surrounded by peaceful death.”
    “You are morbid.”
     
    Dirt clings to his hair and is smeared across his cheek. But even in his present state his confidence and stiff posture come through. “We’re not going to be buried in here, right?”
    “You caught me.”
    “You didn’t think I’d do this, did you?”
    Never in a million years. “I had my doubts.”
    “I wish I would’ve brought some gloves.” He opens one of his hands and I catch the glimpse of a bloody blister on his palm.
    I gasp. “Xander!”
    “What?”
    I grab his hand and study it closer, gingerly touching the broken skin. “You didn’t tell me it was killing your hands.” I had pulled my sweatshirt sleeves down over mine. His sweatshirt was a little on the small side.
    “It’s not too bad.”
    I unclip the walkie-talkie from the pocket of my jeans. “Mr. Lockwood, I think we’re done.”
    “This hole isn’t nearly deep enough,” Xander says.
    “I know. I just mean that we’re done.”
    There’s a burst of static on the walkie-talkie, then Mr. Lockwood says, “You ready for me to send the tractor?”
    “Yes.”
    “Wait,” Xander says. “A tractor is going to come dig the rest of this hole?”
    “Yeah, they haven’t hand dug graves in years. I just thought it would be fun.”
    “I’m going to kill you.”
    “This would be the perfect place.”
    He charges me, sweeping my legs out from beneath me with one of his feet but catching me then lowering me to the ground gently. I laugh as I struggle to get free. He pins my