The Princess of Las Pulgas (10 page)

Inside we line up behind
Keith at the order counter.

“I have
so
much to tell you.” Lena clings to
my arm as if she doesn’t want to lose me. “The spring dance, Eric
Peterson—”

“You’re going to the dance
with Eric? What happened to Gene Connell?”

“That didn’t work out,
but—”

“Come on. Out with it.” It
feels so good to be here with Lena, to be excited about things that
my best friend is excited about. This is my
real
life. This is where I
belong.

Keith picks up his burger
and sits at a table by the windows. It’s my turn to order. I’m at
the counter, still listening to Lena, still looking at her and
nodding about all her good news. “One Sam’s Super-Lean Burger, no
fries and a Diet Coke.”

“You’re the second girl on
a diet today.”

I whip my head around. Juan
Pacheco’s dark eyes are on me, his lips in a dazzling sideways
smile.

He punches in my order.
“Will that be all?” His name tag with JUAN in capitals is pinned to
his Sam's Shack spotless white shirt. The way his cap sets at an
angle over one eye is really annoying.

When did Juan Pacheco get a job at Sam’s? He
doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t belong in any part of my life and
I’m telling him so the first chance I have without an audience, the
next time he pulls that . . . that smile business or calls me
Princess. Gah!

“The same order for me,
except I want fries.” Lena’s voice sounds low and sexy. “And put
them together.” She wraps her arm around my shoulder. “My treat. I
just got my allowance.”

“Thank you.” I barely move
my lips and keep my eyes down. We wait for our order, then pick up
the red plastic baskets with our hamburgers and sit next to Keith’s
table. He’s already devoured half his burger.

While I peel back the paper
wrapper, Lena gushes news. She’s not just going to the spring dance
with Eric; they’re a couple. “Mom bought me a super outrageous
dress when we were in the city last weekend.”

“Kind of early, isn’t
it?”

“I couldn’t pass it up.
You’ll understand when you see it.” She nibbles a French fry. “So
you’re coming over, right? I mean you have to. It’s been
eons.”

I remove the top bun and
take a bite of my Super Lean Burger. “Uh huh. Hmmm.” My full-mouth
sounds are neutral. They could mean, “Sure,” or “Maybe,” but it
seems to satisfy Lena.

“So talk to me.” Lena takes
the first bite from her burger.

At the next table, Keith
pushes up from his chair. “I’m going back to ask some neighbors
about Quicken. Pick me up at Mitch’s, okay?”

With Keith gone, I have no
way to avoid answering Lena. “I’m not sure what to say.”

“Well, it kind of hurts,
you know?” Lena says.

“What?”

“You’re treating me like
I’m not good enough anymore.” Her voice has an edge like it did
when we first met outside.

Boy does she have that
backwards. “I’m sorry. It’s me, not you. I don’t like where I’m
living. I hate the school.” I swallow and choke, covering my mouth
with my napkin and giving myself a moment to get it together. The
beginning of my confession hasn't gone well. I'm feeling
pathetic.

“And that would be where?”
Lena asks. “You, like, vanished and I don’t even know your phone
number. Someone else answers your cell.”

I’m trapped. My web of
half-truths and evasions are coming undone. I can't escape
answering Lena's direct question this time. I have to tell her.
This is going to ruin my life.

I look Lena in the eye. “I
don’t have a cell right now.” I hand her a piece of paper with my
home number scribbled on it. “We moved into a place that doesn’t
have . . . good reception.” I cough behind my hand. “Las
Pulgas.”

Lena gazes at me without
speaking.

Chapter 19

Lena stops chewing. She
swallows, sips milk through a straw, and wipes her hands on her
napkin, taking her time as if she’s preparing to do
surgery.

“Say something.” I want to
shake her.

“That’s . . .
interesting.”

I should have made
something up. Why didn’t I have a story ready?
“Have you ever seen Las Pulgas?”

Lena wads her napkin and
drops it into the empty red plastic basket, but she doesn’t
answer.

“I didn’t think
so.”

She shifts her eyes toward
the window. “My mom said something once about great bargains,
but—”

“
Bargains
is the operative
word.”

“Wait. Wait. I do know
more. My mom has a friend there. She lives in uh, uh,” Lena snaps
her fingers. “Barranca Canyon?”

“There’s a canyon in Las
Pulgas?” We are not seeing the same place.

“Mom says the views from
her friend’s house are super, just not the ocean, of
course.”

“Your mom's right. The
views are not to be believed.” I’m seeing dumpsters, plastic lounge
chairs with their webbing dangling from their seats, and a
flat-roofed carport.

A tap on my shoulder brings
me around in my chair.

“May I clear your table,
Princess?” Juan waits, holding out his hands in the direction of my
almost empty basket and Coke can.

What is the matter with
him?
“Yes, take them.” I sit back out of
his way while he stacks our baskets and wipes off the table top.
His lips part into that annoying sideways smile, then he steps to
the empty table next to us and arranges the napkin holder and
catsup as if he’s doing important executive work.

Lena stares after him and
then back at me. “Princess?”

“It’s a joke. At least he
thinks it’s funny.”

“So are you sharing or
what?”

“He’s in my class at Las
Pulgas. That’s all.” No, that isn’t all, but I can’t explain what I
really feel.
But one thing I know, I’ve
had it with Sam’s
.
“Come on, Keith’s waiting for me.”

Out front we hug each other
again. “Call me, okay? I’m sorry I’ve been such a dope. I’ve really
missed you, Lena.”

“That makes me feel sooooo
good. I thought you wanted to dump me.”

“Never!”

“You know Nicolas still
talks about asking you to the spring dance.”

I’d almost given up on the
dance, but now visions of that red strapless dress float in my
head.

“Maybe we could double.
That would be so awesome.” With another hug, Lena walks away, then
looks over her shoulder. “Bye, girlfriend.”

As I return to our old
neighborhood I feel better than I have since the move. Lena and I
are still friends, and even if Sean won’t be in town for the dance
I may have a date. I may at least appear to be the Carlie Edmund I
used to be.
But if Nicolas asks me, how am
I going to buy that dress? I’ll call the Franklins. Give them my
new number. Maybe they’ll have more babysitting jobs.

When I pull up at Mitch’s
house, Keith’s on the sidewalk talking to four guys I know from
Channing’s track team. He motions for me to wait then turns his
back.

“I love being your
chauffeur!” I shout out the window.

He ignores me, but Brent,
the kid with a baby face who tries to leer and always fails, leaves
the huddle. When he reaches the Tercel he leans down to look
inside.

“So how’s it going in Las
Pulgas?” He was always trying to get me to notice him—a
sophomore.

“It’s good.”

“Yeah. So you’re okay
hanging with the fleas?”

Step on it Keith and let me
get out of here.
I look past him. “Go back
with your play group, Brent.”

“Sure.” He slaps the side
of the car. “New?”

“Keith! I’ve got to go!”
I’ve had it with baby brother’s little friend.

Brent returns to the huddle
and steps between Mitch and Keith. “So does the Las Pulgas track
team, like, hop over the finish line?”

All the guys laugh, except
Keith who snatches a tan gym bag from Mitch’s hand and hurries to
the car with it slung over his shoulder. His jaw is clenched and
his face is flushed. Mom used to call him her time bomb when he
stomped through the house looking like that.

While Brent hops in place,
the others egg him on. Finally, Mitch shoves him and he falls onto
the grass, still doing his flea imitation.

“He’s quite the comedian,”
I say as Keith settles into the passenger seat and slams the door.
I put the car into gear and make a U-turn, keeping my eyes ahead
and not looking at Keith’s friends. “Any Quicken
sightings?”

“Nobody’s seen
her.”

“What’s in the
bag?”

“Stuff I left at Mitch’s
house last month.” Keith rolls the top of the bag shut and tucks it
between his feet. He leans back and closes his eyes, his signal
that he doesn’t want to talk. He’s done that since I can remember;
sort of shuts everyone out when he’s down.

When Keith used to turn
sulky, Dad would knock at his door and they’d stay in his bedroom
for a while. Sometimes they’d occupy the garage and ban Mom and me
while they huddled over the workbench. Solder sputtered under a hot
iron, the polishing wheel hummed and at the end of a session Keith
entered the house making eye contact. Neither Keith nor Dad
answered questions about what the “men” had been up to.

My eyes blur and that spark
of happiness I’d felt after my conversation with Lena sputters,
then dies. Anytime I think about how it used to be, some very
complicated things happen to me and I can’t keep separate the
feelings of guilt and anger and grief. They all mush together, like
a soup made with spoiled ingredients. I step on the gas and hurry
back across town.

When I open the door to the
apartment, the sound of voices comes from inside—Mom’s and a man’s.
I look at Keith. He shrugs and starts into the kitchen, then stops
so suddenly that I slam into his back.

“Jeez, Keith, what—” The
rest sticks inside my mouth because at the table with Mom is the
man from the apple orchard. In our dinky apartment and without his
gun his hawk-like features aren’t menacing. His eyes aren’t the way
I’d imagined them in the shadow of his hat brim either. Instead of
a black look I’m getting a steady gray gaze. On his lap is a
purring Quicken.

“Look at what Mr.
Christopher brought home.” Mom says.

“She showed up a few days
ago. She's a little lean, but healthy enough.” The man rubs behind
Quicken’s ears. “It’s lucky you’re the only new tenants here. Made
you easy to find.”

I stroke Quicken’s back.
“Oh fur person, have I missed you.”

Mr. Christopher hands her
to me. “Keep her inside for a while. My grandmother always put
butter on cats’ feet when she moved them. She said that by the time
they’d licked their paws clean they’d stay in the new
place.”

“Thank you again, Mr.
Chris—” Mom begins.

“It’s Jeb.”

“Then please call me
Sarah.”

I look at her, then back to
the man who doesn’t look like a Jeb. Jeb should be chewing on a
straw and scratching. By all criteria, this guy’s hot, old, but
definitely hottie material.

Mom walks Jeb Christopher
outside; then, after he’s gone, she leans against the door and
says, “What a nice man.”

Chapter 20

It’s almost 2:30 when I
arrive at school for my first Saturday play rehearsal. I grasp the
handle to the door of Room 9, then consider running back to the car
and escaping.
I should never have let Mr.
Smith talk me into this part. I’m not an actress. How can I learn
all those lines?

“Once you give your word, Carlie love, you
have to keep your promise.”

“Yes, but . . . well, you promised to be
here forever.”

I tighten my grip on the
door handle and yank.

“Didn’t you, Dad?”

When I open the door to Mr.
Smith’s classroom, he looks as if he’s pleased I’ve arrived. He
probably worried I’d change my mind. Well, I have, but—

“Welcome, Miss Edmunds. We
are just starting.” He brings another desk into the circle of
students and motions for me to sit. Hearing Mr. Smith’s honey-warm
voice calms me, but I can't forget it's the voice that coaxed me
into this mess. Directly across sits K.T., her eyes fixed on me
like gun sights.
I thought she was out of
the play.

Next to her on one side is
Chico; on her other side, Juan. Anthony, studying his script. I
shudder to think of what’s ahead of me, working closely with the
most disturbing Las Pulgas dwellers.

I still can't remember why
Anthony is so familiar. He catches me looking at him and quickly, I
thumb the playbook, scouring for the first mention of my
character.

Mr. Smith takes the seat
next to mine. “This afternoon we are reading and discussing Act I.
K.T. please note any props for this act and use the copy I gave you
to begin making your Prompt Script. “You have a challenging first
act, Chico. Even with this abridged version Iago has a lot to
say.”