The Princess of Las Pulgas (37 page)

“So, you coming on
Saturday, or what?” she asks me.

I’m still invited!
“Yeah, I am coming.” I don’t try to cover the
eagerness in my answer. “Uh, K.T., were you mad at me this morning
in class or something?”

“Say what?”

This is going to sound very
dumb, but
. . . “You and, uh, everybody
else totally ignored me.”

“Channing people get the
looks and stares.” She gives me her shifty-head move, then says,
“Las Pulgas people don’t.”

She swaggers off to join
her crew, and as usual, there’s hugging and laughing, and K.T.
holds out her skinny leg for all six girls to touch, just like it’s
some rare artifact.

I think she’s told me I’m
invisible now because I finally fit in here. Not being stared at is
going to take some getting used to, though.

“Hey, Carlie,” Keith calls
as he jogs toward me. He’s wearing a Las Pulgas track suit and a
baseball cap.

He whips off his cap with a
“Ta Da” flourish and I gasp. “When did you get the
haircut?”

“Last night. I borrowed
Jeb’s electric clippers and did it myself. Not bad, huh?” He runs
his hand over his head. “Tell Mom I got a ride with Grits after
practice so she doesn’t have to come back to pick me up. See you
tonight.”

I nearly forgot how he used
to look before everything changed, and as he lopes off toward the
track with his easy runner’s stride, I realize how much I’ve missed
the old Keith.

By Thursday night, Keith
announces his best sprint time ever, and he’s talking about the
other guys on the track team as if he’s run with them all year. He
even says Anthony’s a good runner. From my brother, that’s a sign
of major bonding. Even though Chico almost quit, Grits said he’d
changed his mind. And, when he comes back from suspension, the
team’s going as a group to ask Bins to let them compete.

It looks like Keith’s long
dark journey is over and I’m happy for him. I’m glad for me, too.
At least I won’t have to do battle with a grumpy kid brother every
day anymore, and our only fights are about who gets the bathroom
first.

On Friday morning when I
stumble out of my room, still half asleep but hoping to get in
there before Keith locks himself inside for his wake-up shower, I
find that I’m too late. I lean my forehead against the already
locked door, listening to the sound of what I know is the last drop
of hot water pouring over Keith’s buzzed head.

Mom passes me in the hall
and says, “He’ll be a while.”

“What else is new?” I tell
her.

After I finally do get to
shower, I dress and rush to grab breakfast. It’s already
seven-thirty and Keith and Mom are at the table. Juice, toast and
hot cereal have blended into an inviting aroma.

Mom’s dressed in her dark
blue pants and cream sweater and already has her make-up on. She’s
pulled her hair back into a ponytail, the way she wore it in
college. I seldom see her out of her Las Pulgas Market uniform, and
it’s been a long time since she’s looked . . . I try to find the
word. I guess it’s alive.

I’m so used to seeing her
slumped over the kitchen table, exhausted and with her nose in a
book that I take a moment to really look at her for the first time
in what feels like forever.

“Where are your books?” I
ask her.

“Gone,” she says. “I took
the last test and I passed. I’m done with the course and now all
that’s left is the state test. Come, honey. Sit down and have some
breakfast.” Mom puts a steamy bowl of oatmeal in front of
me.

As I eat oatmeal and sip
juice, Mom talks about tonight’s dinner at Jeb’s. She’s bringing a
salad and dessert, and Keith’s running after school, then going to
Jeb’s to work on a couple of projects for him.

I know these two people
from a long time ago, and I’m really glad to have them back. I’d
like to be back the way I was, too. I think about Sean, who hasn’t
called, and wonder how he’s doing at Channing. I don’t expect to
ever hear from Lena again, but that’s okay with me. For an instant
I think about Juan, too—another person who won’t be making contact.
I sigh and scrape up the last of my oatmeal.

The only thing I have to
look forward to is tomorrow, when I meet K.T. and her friends at
the movies.

Oh, well. At least it’s something.

Chapter 53

On Saturday around noon, as
I hurry toward the Cine-Mall Corner, I spot K.T by the popcorn,
waving her arms. “Hey, Super Des! Over here. Thought you weren’t
gonna

make it.”

“Sorry—Mom had to work
today, so I had to drop her off at the market.”

Big Teeth gives me a hard
look, but then it softens into a grin. “You’re one dangerous girl
with a chemistry book.”

“Better than with my Aikido
moves, I guess,” I tell her.

I buy my popcorn and Coke,
and K.T., who knows the guy in charge of the almost-real butter
dispenser, makes sure I get extra pumps, just like the rest of
them. My popcorn box, like theirs, is totally soaked in yellow
oil.

The pack of six girls romp
their way into the movie theater and I follow, enjoying seeing them
play almost as much as if I were part of it. K.T. waits for me at
the door, and when I catch up, I’m swept into the gang’s center. It
feels exactly the way I imagined—like puppies falling against each
other, shoving and sometimes catching the edge of a foot. It’s a
tangle of bodies used to hanging together. We jostle our way down
the aisle to the center and follow K.T. single file until we come
to some empty seats with two girls sitting in the middle of
them.

“You gotta move over,” K.T.
tells them. “We got eight people here.”

“Like, who are you?” one
girl asks.

“I’m the one who’s gonna
kick some butt if I don’t see you shifting two seats down, and I
mean now.”

I tuck my head down and
look away, trying not to make eye contact with the girls. I’ll
never get used to K.T.’s in-your-face attitude, but it works. The
girls get up and move to the opposite side of the
theater.

“Thank you,” K.T. says
loudly to their backs.

I wonder if K.T. ever says
please before she says
thank
you
?

I’m guessing no.

The movie they’ve chosen is
not what I expected, and Reese Witherspoon is the last actress I’d
have ever guessed K.T. or any of her group would want to see. But
they’re totally into this sappy romance. And I’m still not quite
getting who these Las Pulgas people really are.

In the middle of the movie,
K.T. leans into me. “You drink all your Coke?”

I shake my head.

“Can I have
some?”

Do I have a choice?

She takes my Coke and
slurps the last of it through my straw. Sharing is part of the deal
here, so I’m—sharing.

She hands the cup back to
me.

“Keep it, K.T. I’ve had
plenty.”

After the movie’s over, the
group’s on their way to get pizza, but I can’t go along. I’ve got
to pick up my mom from work. Yet K.T. and company don’t seem
bothered that I’m bailing on the rest of our “date.”

“See you Monday, Super
Des,” say Big Teeth, whose name I’ve found out is actually Marilee
Lincoln.

“Yeah,” I say. “I had fun
today. See you Monday.”

When K.T. womps me in the
arm goodbye, I feel like I’ve passed another part of some Las
Pulgas test.

As I make my way back to
the Tercel, I realize that for the first time in almost forever,
I’ve had a whole day—a good one—without thinking about Channing. It
feels good.

When I pull up in front of
the market, Mom’s in front.

“Am I late?” I ask
her.

“No. I just walked out the
door,” Mom says and slides into the passenger seat. I can hear how
her tired body settles against the cheap material. “So how was your
day in Las Pulgas?” she asks.

“Surprisingly excellent,” I
tell her.

She yawns and says, “Oh,
I’m so glad.”

And my mother really is
glad I had fun while she was ringing up canned beans, bagging
carrots, and making change. My mom loves me, and I need to go way
back to when I promised to be a better daughter. I need to remember
that she’s the one who lost something major that I don’t even have
a clue about. We’ve both lost a lot, but it’s different for each of
us. Very different.

I haven’t had time to think
about the Spring Fling at all until I get home and finally close my
bedroom door. The hurt I feel is more like a dull pain from a cut
that’s already healing, and I didn’t expect that. I thought that by
eight p.m., I’d be totally steeped in pain, but I’m not.

When I finally fall asleep,
I dream about Quicken curled up on her pillow at the end of my bed.
I dream about Sean and a pizazzy pink dress. And I dream of Juan,
who calls me
Princess
. But in my dream, it sounds very, very nice.

Chapter 54

I’ve marked off the last
five days in May on my calendar. That’s because today is our final
day in Apartment 148. I tear the black sheet from my window and
throw it in the trash. My bedroom in our new townhouse looks out
onto the woods with walkways leading to a lake. A black sheet has
no place in my new light and airy space, one without a wall I’ll
share with noisy neighbors.

The phone rings, and when I
answer, it’s Sean.

“Hey, beautiful
girl.”

“You haven’t called in,
like, forever. I was worried about you!”

“I’ve been buried, between
tutoring in French and doing the last lap before graduation.” He
pauses a moment. “I . . . heard some gossip last month. But I don’t
do gossip, so I didn’t call.”

He knows about all of it:
Nicolas—the dance—the dress.

“It’s true,” I tell
him.

“How are you handling
that?”

“Channing and Nicolas Benz
are history.”

“I knew you wouldn’t fall
apart.”

“I started to, but then I
changed my mind.” We both laugh. “I have some good news, though,” I
tell him. “We’re moving. You have to come see our new
place.”

“Sure, and I’d lend a
packing experts’ help, but there’s no time.”

“That’s fine. I’ll email my
new address and you can come and help me unpack.”

After Sean says goodbye, I
get back to packing.

Unlike my first moving day,
I have no problem sweeping my belongings into boxes, taping them
carefully so I can carry them to Jeb’s truck when he arrives. I can
almost imagine winged feet taking me away from this awful
place.

I pick up my
Jack-in-the-Box and hold it for a minute; then I tuck it carefully
into the corner of a box. Next I clear the top shelf of my closet,
where the first item I pick up is my journal.

I swipe my hand across the
cover and the gold letters, C.E., shine. I press it to my heart
like a patient friend that’s been waiting for me, waiting for me to
open it again whenever I was ready. I search for a pen and sit at
my desk. Then I turn to the page where I’d last written anything
and run my fingers over the crossed out lines.

Sometimes bad things happen
. . . even in Channing.

Below them I write,
June
. ’ve put four
letters on the page. It’s only the month, but this time I’m not
tempted to close the book or hide it away. Instead, I close my eyes
and listen.

“Don’t stop, Carlie love. Not now.”

And then I
write.

June 6, Channing was a long time ago. I
can’t ever forget my life there. And I can’t forget losing my dad
and everything that’s happened to us because he’s gone. But the
anger and guilt have to go. It’s time to let my heart move on and
let me accept where I am right now.

Slowly I close my journal
on the first thing I’ve written there in months. Then I nestle it
inside the packing box next to Jack.

There’s a knock at the
front door and I hurry to answer it because I know Jeb’s here and
the last stage of this exodus is about to start.

I yank open the door and
there he stands, his wide brimmed cowboy hat shadowing his face.
“Christopher Moving, at your service,” he says with a flourish of
his hand.

I step out of the way and
he walks in, then asks, “How’s your mom holding up?”

Actually, Mom’s been super
stressed lately. She just sold one house, has two more listed
exclusively with her and, as of today, she has a sale pending on an
apartment house. She’s doing great and she’s at the real estate
office right now, dealing with some issue on one of those sales.
Between all that and moving, she’s snapping at Keith and me one
minute, and giddy the next.

“She’s tense,” I say. “But
I know she’s excited about doing so well so soon after getting the
job with that real estate company.” I think about how Jeb’s
connections and his friends with property have helped Mom get on
her feet and say, “Thanks a lot for helping her.”