The Princess of Las Pulgas (28 page)

Nicolas backs away and
looks quickly around at the clusters of students backstage, as if
he’s worried about being attacked by someone else.

“What was that about?” Eric
asks.

“They’re creeps. Don’t take
it personally.” That sounds lame and much braver than I feel. We
need to get out of here. Channing and Las Pulgas do not blend. “I
have to change. It won’t take me long. Lena, help me out of this.”
I point to my bodice.

Lena’s at my heels as I
enter the dressing room. “Okay, Carlie, tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Evvverything.” Lena
clutches her chest.

“There’s nothing to
tell.”

“Nothing about Juan? Come
on. How come you’re the keeper of secrets all of a sudden? First
Sean, now Othello.”

“Sean’s in New York. I told
you he was going with someone.”

The dressing room’s empty.
The other two have changed and left. Lena sits on a stool with her
legs crossed, jiggling one foot. “So who’s he dating?”

She’s good at setting
traps. I’m good at spotting them.

“Got me. I never
asked.”
I point to my bodice. “Can you
undo this for me?”

Lena tugs at the laces. “So
are you, like, seeing Othello?”

“Everyday.” I slip out of
the costume layers and hang them up, then I take off the muslin
gown and sponge the stage make up from my face.

“You know what I
mean.”

I pull on a light sweater
and brush out my hair. “We’re not dating. We’re not even friendly
off stage.”

“You sure looked friendly
on stage. Did he really kiss you?”

“Come on. I don’t want to
talk about Othello anymore.”

For weeks I’ve pictured how
I’d feel after the performance with no more rehearsals, no more
pretending to love Juan or being close to Chico. But instead of
being able to enjoy the night and the party, now I have to deal
with more stress. My friends are about to enter the real Las
Pulgas, the one I live in every single day. How am I going to
explain Juan’s home to this bunch?

By the time we come out,
backstage is empty except for K.T., Jamal, and Mr. Smith, who are
all on the other side by the light panel. We start toward the
auditorium’s side exit when Chico and Anthony step into the
doorway. At their backs are the two scumbags who threatened me at
the apartments last week.

Lena grasps Eric’s arm and
Nicolas dodges behind us.

Chico stands feet wide
apart, arms crossed, blocking our way out.

“What do you want
now
?” I don’t add
“Jerk,”
but I might as
well have. He knows that’s what I intend from the way I ask the
question.

Like a dog on attack, he’s
right in my face and fuming. It doesn’t take much to bring Chico to
a boil—something I should be getting used to.

He grabs my wrist, pulls me
inches from his face and hisses. “Get them outta here.” A speck of
his spit lands on my arm.

I’m shaking, but it’s more
from humiliation and anger than fear. “If you don’t want to be
around them, you can leave. They’re
my
friends.”

“This is my territory. You
got that?” Chico says with a snarl.

Then from behind us, I hear
Juan say. “Get away from her.” Then he pushes between Chico and me,
and backs Chico down the steps. I’m expecting another Las Pulgas
fight, but Chico strides off with his pack as if he’s won some
battle. Anthony, being the class act that he is, flips us off as he
follows them.

“Are you okay?” Juan
asks.

No, I’m not.
Lena’s on the top step behind Eric, imitating a
marble statue. Nicolas stares at me as if I’ve sprouted snakes from
my head.

“Welcome to Las Pulgas,” I
tell them.

“Chico isn’t all of us,
Carlie.” Juan says as he starts to leave, but then stops.
“Sometimes a good face off clears the air. You get that, don’t you,
Nic?” Then he walks toward the parking lot, his stride slow and
confident.

“Well, who’s brave enough
to party in Las Pulgas?” I say, expecting Lena and Eric to run to
their car.

“You still want to go,
Lena?” Eric asks.

She’s staring after Juan
and nods.

Eric glances toward the
parking lot, then shrugs his agreement.

Nicolas, his eyes still not
meeting mine, waits as if he'd deciding his entire future. “I, uh,
have an early game tomorrow. My dad, we’re . . . golfing now, so
I’ll have to pass on the party tonight.” He finally looks at me,
but it’s not an in-the-eye-look. I think he’s spotted something
next to my right ear.

I choke back what could
come out as a feeble plea. “We’ll miss you, Nicolas. Another time.”
I’m trying for that tone called cavalier, but lead oozes into all
my body cavities. I’ll be lucky if I can pick up my feet enough to
walk to the car. I’m so humiliated.

Mr. Smith locks the
auditorium door and comes toward us with K.T. and Dolores. “So will
you be following me?” Mr. Smith asks Eric, who has his car keys in
one hand and his other arm still around Lena. “We'll be driving
west, then south. Stay behind me and I'll take care not to lose
you. Come, Dolores. Miss Edmund. K.T.?”

“I’m riding with Jamal.”
K.T. says and stumps her way across the parking lot as Mr. Smith
marshals me toward his car. I
so
don’t want to go to this party, but it’s too late
to bail now. Mom, Jeb and Keith are gone; I don’t see the Tercel
anywhere.

Juan is still in the
parking lot, talking with Grits.

So who’s he driving with?

“Juan? Do you need a ride
tonight?” Mr. Smith asks.

“No. Thanks.” Juan says.
He’s standing next to a shiny new Camero, and when Grits takes off,
Juan opens the driver’s door and gets in. “My car’s out of the
shop, so I’ve got wheels again.”

How many punches to the
midsection can I take tonight? The Las Pulgas scum have terrorized
my friends. Nicolas has pealed out of the parking lot, and I’ll
probably never see him again., and Juan not only has a car, he has
a new Camero. Can’t anything around here make sense?

Chapter 45

Scrunched down in the
passenger seat, I haven’t paid attention to where Mr. Smith’s
driving until the car comes to Escondido. This is the street with
Juan’s crummy hotel. Eric’s classic Mustang is behind us with Lena
nestled next to him. My desire to disappear is so strong, I believe
I might actually turn to dust and blow away. If I don’t, disaster
is about two minutes away. I go to twist my bracelet out of
habitual anxiety—but it’s gone. I feel around on my lap for it, and
on the seat. And it’s not on the floor. Somewhere between K.T's
ridiculous costume check and now, I've lost my favorite possession.
Can this night get any worse?

Mr. Smith passes the hotel,
then turns right on the next street.
Where’s he going?

I start paying attention
and gradually the neighborhood changes. Small aluminum-sided houses
with cluttered yards give way to ranch-style homes and wide green
lawns. As Mr. Smith drives up the winding road, I glimpse a
sign—Barranca Canyon Road. That’s where Lena said her mom’s friend
lives. We climb the hill and Las Pulgas switches from a congested,
noisy city to a sparkling panorama of lights. Trees become a leafy
capony over our heads and our headlights sweep across tall, gated
entrances. Lights blink through trees from stately homes set far
from the road, a Mr. Smith slows and turns into a driveway that is
outlined by low lights on either side. We sweep along a wide curve
up to the house at the top.

Dolores leans forward from
the back seat. “Wow! That’s so pretty.”

“The Pachecho’s home is
quite beautiful, isn’t it?” Mr. Smith stops the car in front of the
high arches that frame the entrance. Before my brain catches up
with my mouth the passenger door opens.

“Hey, Des. Long time no
see.” It’s Juan, and I can’t move a muscle.

“Party’s inside,” he says
and reaches for my arm as Dolores gets out of the back seat and
takes the steps to the front door.

“I don’t need your help,” I
say. He’s tricked me—he lied about where he lived, and probably
laughed with is friends about how I gave him, the poor Mexican kid
without a car, a ride in that beater of a Tercel. I swear I’ll go
inside this house and find a way to get even with him for mocking
me.

As I climb from the car,
Lena and Eric join us beside Mr. Smith’s car. I glance down the
driveway in the dim hope that Nicolas might have changed his mind
and made a U-turn to follow Eric after all, but there are no cars
are behind us. So in addition to being blindsided, I’m also
dateless. Can this night get any more embarrassing?

Although Lena clings to
Eric’s arm, she never takes her eyes off Juan.
Drool does not become you, Lena.
I
avoid the three of them and follow Mr. Smith up the steps and into
the house.

“Mr. Smith. This is such a
pleasure,” says a woman who greets us with a breathtaking, slightly
sideways smile. Her ebony hair is smoothed tightly against her head
and gleams under the entry lights.

“You must be the wonderful
Desdemona.” Juan’s mother holds out her hand. “I’m so sorry I
couldn’t stay to congratulate you after the curtain call, but I
wanted to get back and be sure everything was ready
here.”

If I could pry my jaw
loose, I’d come up with something charming to say to Mrs. Pacheco.
I know how to act in someone’s home—I’ve been to parties before,
and Dad always said I was the best hostess in Channing. He used to
have me answer the door, greet guests, get people situated. But
here, all I can manage is reply is, “No problem.”
Brilliant
.

Juan is suddenly beside his
mother, and he’s making introductions. “This is Lena Knudson and
Eric Johnson, Mom. They’re friends of Carlie’s from
Channing.”

Mr. Smith’s my only hope
now. I’ll stick with him for the rest of the evening. I back away
from Mrs. Pacheco and catch up to him, saying, “Thank you for the
ride.”

“My pleasure.”

“You’re a great
driver.”

“Thank you.”

“And a great director,
too.”

“Carlie, dear,” he says.
“What is the matter? You remind me of one of those jumpy Tennessee
Williams characters.” He pats my shoulder and says, “Go and join
your friends. Have a good time.” Then he leaves me in the
entry

Suddenly I hear, “Yo,
Des.”

I whirl. “K.T?”

“Hey, who else?” She gives
me that shifty-head move.

I can’t believe the relief
that floods through me. It’s K.T.! Someone to talk to. “Am I glad
to see you,” I tell her.

“Whoa.” K.T. holds out one
hand like a traffic cop. “Don’t go getting all cozy on me, now.”
She hops back on her rubber stump. “So’s this your first time up to
the mansion? Mr. Juan hasn’t introduced you to his family before?”
K.T. transfers her weight onto her rubber heel. “For a rich kid, he
ain’t bad, you know.”

“Why didn’t you tell
me?”

“Tell you what?” K.T. does
her shifty-head move again and folds her arms across her
chest.

“About this!” I sweep my
arms wide.

“Didn’t think you was
in-ter-ested.” K.T. hobbles into the living room toward Jamal and
Dolores.

I have no choice but to
follow her. Lena’s already cornered Juan.
So, who cares?
Definitely not me,
but poor Eric’s alone, leaning against a side table. It’s easy to
guess what’s churning through his head.

I stroll over to him and
say, “I guess Nicolas really meant it when he said he wouldn’t come
along.”

“Yeah. He had that early
tee-off time.” Eric glances over my shoulder at Lena and
Juan.

I don’t care about that,
but I’m holding on to Eric. Lena can have Juan all to herself if
she wants him.

“Want something to eat?” I
ask.

Eric shrugs and follows me
into the dining room, where a long table is covered with plates of
sandwiches, fresh fruit, and a large glass container of chilled
drinks. We manage a lot of conversation about food.

Just as I’m out of witty
comments, Lena appears and latches onto Eric’s arm.

“I wondered where you
disappeared to. There’s dancing in the living room.” She grins at
me and leads him away, passing Juan who walks toward me as if he
expects I want to talk to him.

“Did you get something to
drink?” he asks.

I’m ready to fire off
several angry rounds and tell Juan Pacheco just what a jerk he is
for letting me think he was a poor kid, living in a dump, no car,
and having to work at Sam’s Shack to help his family.

“Come on,” he says. “I’m
thirsty.” Juan takes my hand and pulls me behind him, grabs two
sparkling waters from the ice and pushes open the swinging door
into the kitchen. He unscrews one bottle and hands it to me.
“Before you start screaming, let me say something.”