The Princess of Las Pulgas (13 page)

As I cross toward the
annex, louder than usual crowd noise comes from behind the main
building. I turn the corner and what looks like most of the student
body is outside the gym, but I can’t see what’s caused the
excitement even when I stand on my toes. I make my way to the annex
steps and go to the top so I can look over what’s sounding more
like a mob than a student gathering. There’s a police car is parked
at the curb, but that’s so common I haven’t noted it until now.
Since I’ve been in this crappy school, I’ve seen the police almost
as much as I’ve seen my teachers.

Probably some Las Pulgas
creep at work again. Not K.T. — she’s just back from three days’
suspension. She’s behaving like a bored saint now, because even
though the naked girl’s parents dropped the charges, Bins says
he’ll file more if K.T. gets into one more mess this semester.
Disgust has to be etched on my face permanently after these weeks
of exposure to the low-lifes at this school.

I start into enter the
building, but when the crowd begins shouting, I glance over my
shoulder. The gym door’s opened and two police officers are coming
out with a guy between them. He stumbles, head down, his sandy hair
falling over his eyes. One officer holds a tan gym bag in his free
hand. They’ve got my brother.

“Keith,” I mutter, gripping
the door handle until my fingers go numb.

As I watch the drama of the
cops with my brother, someone grabs my shoulder and spins me
around. It’s Chico. He shoves me against the building, smashing my
back against the metal siding. “He’s dead. Tell him.”

“Hey!” Juan Pacheco runs up
the steps and grabs Chico’s arm. “She’s not the one who did
it.”

Chico jerks his arm free
“Shove off, Pacheco. I’m giving her a message for her piece of crap
brother.”

“Did you hear me?” Juan
jabs Chico in the chest. “She didn’t do it.”

Chico backs up and spits
over the handrail. “Remember what I said.” He aims his finger at me
like a gun. “Your brother better watch his back.”

“Come on, Princess. Chico
likes to come off as a serious bad ass.” Juan presses his hand to
my back and guides me to the main building, then down the hall to
the office. “You don’t want to be out there when the crowd breaks
up.”

“Wha . . . what did Keith
do?”

“Mega graffiti all over the
gym.”

“Oh, no.” That comes out as
if someone hit me in the stomach. “You’ve seen it?”

He nods. “‘Fleas suck’ is
the nicest message he spray painted.”

“What will . . . happen to
him?”

“He’ll go to Juvie.
Probation probably. Is this his first run in with the
cops?”

“Of course.” I draw myself
up, crossing my arms. How could he even think Keith had ever been
in trouble like this before?

Juan sighs.

“And you’re sighing at what
exactly?”

“The Princess
act.”

I double my fists and hold
them up to his face.

“You don’t want to pound on
me. I’m on your side.” Opening the door to the principal’s office
he pushes me gently inside. “Call home, Princess.” He leaves,
closing the door behind him.

The secretary already has a
pass ready for me. “We haven’t notified your mother yet, Carlie.
We’re waiting until Principal Bins returns from a district meeting.
Use his office to call your family.”

I close the principal’s
door and press the numbers with the same care I’d set an explosive
device. How am I going to tell Mom about Keith? What if the police
have already called?

“Hello?”

“Mom, uh . . . what are you
doing?” That was a stupid question. She’s not at work this
afternoon, so she’s studying.

“Like you say,” Mom laughs,
“Talking to you. Duh!”

She doesn’t know. “Can you
pick me up at school?”

“Honey, I was planning
to.”

“No. I mean right
now.”

“Are you sick?” Mom’s
instant fear comes through the phone.

“Not exactly, but . . .
Something’s happened with Keith.”

“Is he hurt?” I can see her
clutching the receiver.

“No, but he’s been . . .
arrested.”

There’s a second’s pause as
if her throat has closed. “I’ll be right there.”

The secretary is busy with
a student as I leave.

Once I’m in the hall I keep
my head down and push my way through stragglers on their way to
class.

I take the front steps down
two at a time and smack into K.T.’s sizable chest.

“It’s Desdemona, the star!”
K.T. hops sideways on her good foot and adjusts both crutches under
her arms. “You packin’ any of those spray cans, Des?”

Behind K.T. are her six
friends—a kaleidoscope of colorful hair, but faces set in a single
dark threat.

K.T. balances between her
crutches; her friends say nothing, but shoot angry messages from
their eyes. I’d like to remind her she could get kicked out of
school again if she picks another fight.

I’m keeping my lips sealed;
I’m all about wanting to keep my clothes on.

Backing up I fold my arms
across my chest. “Look, I didn’t spray graffiti in your
gym.”

She doesn’t say anything.
I’m the mouse. She’s the cat that can pounce when she wants
to.

“What do you want, K.T.?” I
manage to keep my voice from cracking, but sweat collects at the
back of my neck and I want to lift my hair to cool off. I should
have paid more attention to the Aikido class Dad forced me to take
when I was twelve. I might have a better chance to escape, if not
take on, seven bad junior girls.

“I just want to
ast
you one little
question.” K.T. swings between her crutches, closing the small
distance between us and stopping squarely in front of me. We’re eye
to eye, which surprises me because I thought K.T. was a lot taller
than I was.

“So ask.” I don’t step back
and if I wanted to I couldn’t because Big Teeth has edged her way
to stand directly behind me.

“Since we aren’t good
enough for the Edmunds why don’t you all go back to Preppy Land?”
She shoves my shoulder and I mash up against Big Teeth.

“Don’t look away, Carlie love. Stare
straight at her. Try to look bigger.”

It’s my dad’s voice that
day on the trail when we saw a mountain lion. He’d drawn me close
to his side, flapped his jacket and yelled until the big cat slunk
off into the trees.

“If it’s the part, you can
have it back. I didn’t ask to play Desdemona.” I shout and lean
toward her in spite of shaking.

“You keep it. I don’t pick
up leftovers from nobody.” K.T. punctuates each point she makes
with a right or left shift of her head. Even her conversations
sound like rap.

“What are you talking
about? The part was yours before you broke your leg. I’m the one
who got the leftover if you want to call a major lead in a major
play a leftover.” Big Teeth snarls at my back. Immediately, I
regret trying to clear up that bit of fuzzy thinking.

K.T. pushes her face so
close I feel her breath on my cheek. “Hey, preppy, where do you get
off telling me I make no sense? You telling me I’m
stupid?”

“Look, if you want to hit
me, then hit me. I have to meet my mom and pick up my
spray-painting creep of a brother.” Any second I’m getting socked
and socked hard.

Big Teeth shoves me from
behind and I lurch forward, smack into K.T. We’d both be on the
ground if it weren’t for her crutches, and for a moment I’m holding
onto her. When I regain my balance I let go and step
away.

“I’ll get back to you
later—after you spring your little brother from the clutches of the
po-leece!” She swings between her crutches more like they’re more
like gym equipment than prosthetic devices. The other girls follow,
laughing, punching, and throwing their arms around each other,
playing together like a litter of pups.

I watch them enter the main
building, relieved they’re gone, and worried about what K.T. will
do when she “gets back to me later?”

Chapter 24

While I wait in front of
the school for Mom I practice what to say. “My idiot brother . . .
Keith was arrested because . . .” When the Tercel screeches to a
stop in front of me I quickly get in, relieved to escape
school.

What happened?” Mom hasn’t
put on any makeup and her hair hangs limp next to her face. Her
mouth is tight with tiny lines radiating out from her
lips.

“He sprayed graffiti in the
gym. The police took him away about half an hour ago.”

“I’m going to talk to
Principal Bins.” Mom opens her door.

“He’s not here!”

“What?”

“He’s at a meeting
somewhere . . .” I want to say, I’m scared. I need to get away from
Chico, away from K.T. before she decides to use her crutches on my
shins. But when I see how worried Mom looks already, I can’t. Then
I remember how my brother turns off the world when he doesn’t want
to talk and I slouch into the seat, closing my eyes, just like
Keith does.

Mom slams the car door.
“Let’s get home and make some calls,” she says. “I’ve got to find
out where they’ve taken him.” Mom drives without asking any other
questions. She presses her lips together and clenches her teeth so
the blue vein at her temple stands out. Her expression is hard to
read. She's not angry. She's not scared. It's more like she's ready
to go back into battle after losing the first skirmish.

At the apartment, Mom grabs
the phone book and runs her finger down the city government page
until she finds the number for the police. She hesitates with her
hand over the phone, but before she can pick it up, it rings. The
sound is sharp and she’s already so tense that she jerks her hand
away, knocking over the mug on the table. Hot coffee sloshes over
the side and onto her lap. “Oh, rats!” She jumps to her feet and
pulls her pant leg away from her skin. With her other hand she
grabs the phone. “Hello? Yes, this is she.” There’s a long pause,
then she says, “Where is he?”

I lay a paper towel over
Mom’s spilled coffee, then put both elbows on the table and cradle
my forehead in my hands.

“Can I bring him home
then?” She rubs her eyes. “Okay. Thank you.” Dropping the phone
onto the table Mom crosses to the sink, dumping out the remaining
coffee. “I’m going to change my slacks, and then we can go get
him.”

When she returns from her
room, she takes the keys from her bag and slams her books one on
top of the other. “Come on. You came to help, so now’s a good time
to start.”

She's using a Wonder Woman
voice. I've never heard my mom sound this way. She's always been
soft-spoken. Even when she'd get mad at us her voice never sounded
hard. So I was right; she's ready to do batle. I who she plans to
take on—Keith or the cops.

In the car, Mom grips the
wheel and sits with her eyes closed. “What am I going to
do?”

I don’t have an answer, but
when I glance across at Mom, I know the question’s for Dad, not
me.

She starts the car and
backs out of the carport.

I trace all the other
questions for Dad that must be streaming through her head.
What did you use to say to Keith when there was a
problem? What did you tell him in his room or the garage that
always got through to him? What would you say now?

We stop at a red light. Mom
closes her eyes again.

A horn honks behind
us.

“Mom, the light’s
green.”

We park at the city hall
complex. “Let’s get this over with.” Mom shoves the driver’s door
open and steps out. “Are you coming?” She slams the
door.

As we climb the steps
leading to the sliding glass entrance, I start to twist my charm
bracelet. But then I make fists on my way into the building. At
least this is happening in Las Pulgas where nobody I care about
recognizes me.

Inside, the walls are the
same stone color inside as they are outside, with only a single
picture of the governor for decoration. The California flag hangs
in one corner and the U.S. flag in another. Otherwise, the walls
are bare. A counter with a single uniformed officer is before us at
the back of the lobby. Fake leather chairs line the edges of the
room, and two women and a man occupy three of these chairs. All
their faces are closed, as if they’ve pulled the blinds over
them.

We walk up to the counter.
“I’m Mrs. Edmund. I got a call about my son, Keith.”

Just like the other people,
we have to wait. We watch as each of the waiting women is called to
the counter and each leaves with a teenage boy trailing behind.
When the man’s turn comes, I watch him leave with the girl, from
the strong resemblance between them, must be his daughter. How did
this girl look before the tattoos? Not beautiful, but kind of
pretty. Her dark hair hangs to her waist. Without the purple and
orange spirals her skin probably would be perfect.