Excited, I edged forward. The move was not lost on Ace, and he leaned across the counter, hitting the sale button and closing the drawer almost before it had opened. “Last week,” he whispered, his eyes glinting, “Shoe got into a major record label’s site and lifted a track of Coldplay’s music not out until next spring.”

I shivered, my aura seeming to chime. He could break into secure sites. “Really? Can I hear it?”

Ace drew back, slyly standing behind the counter as if he were king of the world. “Shoe and I don’t let anyone listen. Not until we’re done. I gotta put the cover art on the disc. Then you can buy it.”

My breath huffed out of me. Feigning disbelief, I cocked my hip. “Okay, I get it,” I said in a bored tone. “Whatever.”

But Ace laughed. “You don’t believe me?” Turning to the back, he shouted, “Shoe! Tell her the name of Coldplay’s newest album.”

The boy in the back pulled himself out of the oven he had been cleaning. There was grease smudged on his shoulder and he looked mad. “What the hell is wrong with you, Ace?” he exclaimed. “You’re going to get us caught!”

“Dude!” Ace said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Cool your stick, man. She’s not going to say anything.”

Shoe threw the rag he’d been using at Ace, but it fell far short. “You don’t even know who she is!” he yelled, and a side door to the kitchen banged open and a short man wearing a shirt a size too small for him came out. Manager. I could tell even before I saw his lame brown shoes with the tiny brown laces.

“Mitch, we got a problem here?” he asked, and Shoe turned to him, still ticked.

“No!” he shouted. Taking the oven cleaner, he sprayed it wildly on the front of the next oven.

“Chill, dude!” Ace said. “It’s not a big deal!” He was almost laughing, and it only made Shoe angrier, his motions becoming fast and erratic.