The Princess of Las Pulgas (38 page)

He takes off his hat and
looks down at me. “I enjoy helping your mom. She’s one courageous
lady with two kids I happen to like.”

“Huh?”

“Liking can be a one-way
street for a while, Carlie. But not forever.” He starts toward the
door. “I’m heading over to the orchard to check on some work I’m
having done there. So go ahead and load the truck with your boxes.
If anything’s too heavy, I’ll take it for you. I’ll be back as soon
as I get my crew started on that back acre.”

“Jeb.”

He stops and
waits.

“Thanks again. For being .
. . for—”

“I get the message, Carlie.
Oh, and I almost forgot. There’s something waiting for you in the
back of the truck. But don’t be too long in coming out to get
it.”

After he’s gone, I hurry to
secure the last of the boxes with masking tape and label each one
before I set them in the hall. Keith’s using boxes to pack this
time, so the contents of his mole hole line up next to
mine.

We trudge across the
balcony with arms loaded and cross the pool area toward Jeb’s
truck. But even before we pass through the gate, I hear the
unmistakable yowl— Quicken! That’s Siamese for “I’m really pissed
off, and I want out, now!”

In the back of the truck,
Jeb’s left a cat carrier with Quicken inside it. There’s even a
note tied to the handle that says, “Thanks for the loan of your
cat, Carlie. The mice have all been eaten or they’ve moved to less
dangerous territory, but if any of them come back, I hope you’ll
let me borrow Quicken again. I’m sure she’s going to love her new
home.”

I make sure she has water,
and then I spend some time scratching her ears. “You’re only going
to be in that cage a bit little longer, okay?”

She stops yowling and makes
a deep cat-stretch before parking herself in a corner of the
carrier and staring out at me with a slow blink. I’m almost
positive that means “Hurry it up!”

Keith and I make three more
trips before we’re finished loading the truck. On the last trip
into the apartment, Georgia Callahan pops her head out from
Apartment 147. “Got somethin’ for you before you go.” She holds a
glittery key chain out to me. “Bought this in Reno last year.
Thought we’d be movin’ to a new place, one with some class. Not
happening, so you take it.”

She drops it into my hand
and disappears inside her apartment, not waiting for me to thank
her. From behind the closed door, I hear her yell, “Get up, you
lazy bastard!” I won’t miss that.

When Mom gets back, we cram
the Tercel with the last small items and she hands me the keys. “Go
ahead with this load, Carlie. Keith and I’ll do the final clean up
and go through the inspection with the manager. When Jeb comes,
we’ll meet you at the townhouse.”

Then she picks up the cat
carrier and hands it to me, smiling. “You should take Quicken with
you so you can start getting her acquainted with the new
place.”

“Did you tell Jeb to give
her back?”

“No. That was his idea. He
knew you needed your cat, and we both felt that since we’d be away
from these apartments, she’d be safe, especially where we’re
going.” Mom starts back through the gate but stops. “Oh, could you
please stop at the market and pick up something cold to drink and
some sandwiches? We’ll need food for later.” Mom hands me a crisp
twenty-dollar bill and tells me, “Drive carefully.”

The familiar street leading
out of town doesn’t look so gloomy as it did when we first moved
here, and the Las Pulgas Market doesn’t seem so seedy, either. I
roll the windows down halfway for Quicken and hurry inside. I
select three chicken salad sandwiches from the deli section and
pick up a six-pack of cold water. As I pass the dairy case, I grab
a pound of butter. This time, I’m using every last ounce on
Quicken’s paws, if that’s what it’ll take to keep her settled in at
our new home.

The checkout line has three
people ahead of me, so I pick up a tabloid paper and thumb through
it. Two-headed babies and space invaders never seem to be in short
supply on their pages.

“I didn’t think you’d read
that stuff,” someone says.

I look up and see Anthony
standing next me. “I don’t, usually,” I tell him.

He takes the paper from my
hand, reads the headline and hands it back to me. I pay for the
food and get change, then put the tabloid back on the stand. As I
leave, Anthony follows me out.“I heard you’re moving,” he
says.

“Yes,” I tell him.
What does he want? All of Keith’s issues are
resolved. At least, that’s what my brother tells me.
I unlock the driver’s door and squeeze the
grocery bag into a corner.

“This yours?” he asks,
dangling my Sweet Sixteen bracelet in front of me.

“Where did you find it?” I
gasp, then grab the gold chain, relieved to hold it in my hand
again. I snap it around my wrist.

“Pacheco asked me to give
it to you. He found it on the floor where you and Chico had that
run in.”

Why couldn’t Juan at least
return my bracelet himself? It wouldn’t have taken that much time
or effort.
But all I say is
“Thanks.”

Anthony doesn’t leave, and
I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to say.

Then he leans against the
side of the Tercel. “You and Pacheco—are you through?”

“No,” I tell him. “We’re
not.”
We never even got started.
But I don’t say this to Anthony, and by the time
I realize what this conversation is really about, it’s too late to
try and avoid hurting his feelings.

The disappointment in his
face is a surprise. He pushes away from the car, and as he walks
back into the store, all he says is, “Just thought I’d
ask.”

Carlie, you are totally stupid sometimes.
The guy you kept thinking was out to hit you, was really only
trying to “hit on” you. Men are just too complicated. I really
don’t think I need them in my life.

The townhouse Mom’s rented
is on the other side of Las Pulgas, the Barranca Canyon side. To
reach our new place, I have to take the road that Juan lives on. It
winds up through the oaks, and in daylight, the views are
beautiful— just like Lena’s mom said. When I come to the Pacheco
driveway, I glance toward the house in spite of vowing not to.
Juan’s Camero is at the top, right by the front door. I pull to the
side of the road with the Tercel’s motor idling.

Okay, Carlie. Let your
heart move on. Let it help you accept that you like some things
about Las Pulgas . . . even Juan Pacheco. Maybe especially Juan
Pacheco
.

I grip the wheel, panicking
a little.
What if he slams the door in my
face? What if he tells me to get lost? What if—

“Don’t imagine the worst, Carlie love.
Always imagine the best.”

I make a sharp right and
drive the Tercel up behind the Camero. Juan’s by his car, leaning
over the hood with a polishing rag in his hand.

Now what do I do?

Juan comes to the driver’s
window and peers in at me. “Carlie?”

I crank the window down all
the way, the pulses at my temples throbbing like tiny drums. “I
wanted to—I appreciated that—. Thank you for finding my
bracelet.”

“Sure.”

“We’re moving.”

Juan’s expression is
neutral and he doesn’t ask me where I’m moving to or anything
else.

I don’t know what else to
do, so I just keep babbling. “I guess you know my brother’s on the
track team. Bins has decided everyone’s been punished enough, so
he’s not going to stop them from competing at the next meet. Las
Pulgas is going to go up against Channing before the end of the
school year.”

“I heard,” he
says.

“Well, that’s all I had—”
Quicken gives out an impatient Siamese yowl. “Guess I have to go.
My cat . . . she doesn’t like being stuck in the carrier for
long.”

“That was some heavy-duty
power move you made when Keith and Chico went at it. It took guts,”
Juan says.

Then why didn’t you tell me that at the
time?

“When you flipped Chico
around by his arm, I thought, ‘Damn, that Desdemona would have
flattened Othello.’ The play would have had a whole different
ending if she’d been you.”

I inhale his clean smell,
thinking he’ll give me that tantalizing sideways smile. But
instead, he’s looking out toward the road, not at me. He hasn’t
called me Princess even once.

I’d like to rewind to the
night when Mr. Smith and I drove away from this house. I’d like to
really say goodbye.

“Carlie love, you can’t expect people to
read your mind.”

You’ve told me that before, Dad.

“Are you listening this time?”

“Juan. I need to say . . .
I’m . . .”

Finally, he looks down at
me. “You’re what?”

You’re not going to make this easy, are
you?

“First, the party. I should
have . . . Well, at the fight when you . . . I wanted . . .”
Why doesn’t he jump in and say I understand or
that’s all right? Something.

I square my shoulders and
say, “Juan.”

“Yes.” He crosses his arms
and waits.

“I’m trying
to—
Merde
.”

Now he does smile. He opens
my door, takes my arm and helps me out of the car. “French,” he
says. “I’m beginning to appreciate that language.”

“I’m trying to—”

“For a great writer, you
sure have a hard time finding words sometimes.”

“I’m mad. And when I’m mad,
words don’t come easily . . . or fast.”

“I see,” is all he
says.

“Why didn’t you give me my
bracelet yourself, instead of sending it by messenger?”

“I thought you and Anthony
were—”

“Were what?” I
demand.

“Together.”

“Where did you get that
idea?” I ask.

“Chico said Anthony was
asking you out,” he tells me.

“How could you be
so—”

“Dumb like Othello?” He
pulls me to him and wraps me in his arms. “Jealousy, I
guess.”

I’m shaking my
head.

“Besides, I like a little
groveling. When it’s done by a princess, it’s a real
turn-on.”

I hit him once in the chest
before he kisses me.

Chapter 55

On her way to one of her
Sunday afternoon Open Houses, Mom drops me at Sam’s Shack so I can
catch a ride home with Juan after work. Keith’s with Grits at the
track, which makes me the only Edmund with nothing to do. As I wave
goodbye to Mom, for one wistful moment I think back to those
endless hours of cramming Desdemona’s lines into my head. But Mr.
Smith’s already dropped several hints about choosing a challenging
Tennessee Williams play for the senior class fund-raiser next year,
so it’s only a temporary break.

“Bonjour, Carlie.” Paula,
the French exchange student, walks out of Sam’s and comes up to me.
“Are you going in to eat?”

“No, I’m just waiting for
someone.”

“Juan?”

I nod.

“He’s talking to Lena.” She
says this with a snarky smile that shows me her teeth.

“I can wait.” I glance at
my watch, then at the door to Sam’s. “So what’s new at
Channing?”

“The really big gossip is
that Nicolas Benz was suspended from school for cheating. Now the
debate team will be unable to go to the finals.” Paula pulls down
her lips at the corners and shrugs in that very French way of hers.
“But did you know Eric broke up with Lena after the Spring Fling?”
Paula’s French accent doesn’t hide the implied warning. Again I
look toward the door.

Mr. Pacheco has exactly two minutes to walk
out here.

“You are dating Juan now?”
Paula asks.

Of course I’m dating him
and you know it, Paula.
“He’s taking me to
the prom.”

Juan Pacheco better come out that door this
minute. He’d better not have some kind of sappy look on his face
either. Miss Lily has already found another pizazzy dress, and I
swear nobody’s going to screw up this dance for me. Not Lena. Not
Juan.

The door to Sam’s pops open
and Lena waves. “Sorry, Paula. I got to talking and—” She pretends
she’s just now seeing me. “Carlie.”

Juan’s behind her. He
doesn’t look at all sappy as he comes toward me and puts an arm
around me. “Ready, Super Des?”

Lena arches an eyebrow, but
I’m not explaining what this new nickname means. It’s none of her
business. I follow Juan to his car, toss my sweater and fanny pack
into the back and settle into the passenger seat.

My new nickname is K.T’s
creation. She was so impressed by my whacking Chico across the back
with my chemistry book and then pulling that Aikido move, she wrote
a special rap poem called
Super
Des
. I became the nearest thing Las Pulgas
has had to a celebrity since Grits set the school cross-country
record last year, but, like K.T keeps telling me, my fame is mostly
because of her.