The Princess of Las Pulgas Read Free Page A

longer.
Mom kept saying she’d try to keep us in the district, but she
couldn’t promise anything. And then yesterday, when I brought up
the subject, she had somewhere else to go.
    As I pile my books into my
backpack Lena catches my arm. “You haven’t answered my emails. How
come?”
    “I’ve been sort of busy . You
know—”
    She squeezes my
hand. “Busy” has
become my code for “crying in my bedroom.”
    As we make our way to the
hall, Lena says, “What I wrote was Nicolas is definitely asking you
to the Spring Fling.” I must not look as happy as she expects.
“What? You don’t want a date with Nicolas Benz?”
    “No. I mean,
yes.”
    She shakes her head. “Well,
there’s more. You’ve got to check out Sean Wright, the new French
tutor.”
    “I don’t need a tutor.” I
learn French almost the same way I learned to walk. It’s the one
class I can ace with little effort.
    “You need one now.” She
flutters her eyelashes, performing her coy act, then she grabs my
arm. “It’s him. Don’t look.” She tightens her grip. “Okay.
Now.”
    He’s closing his locker
when I glance back, then he walks past us, our eyes locked onto his
dark hair that’s swept behind each ear, his deep set blue
eyes. Where did he get that tan in
January? He must need glasses because he
doesn't’ notice either of us gaping.
    “I’m signing up for French
and dropping study hall.”
    I roll my eyes. “You hate
French.”
    “I’ve changed my mind.” She
looks over my shoulder. “Eric’s coming,” she says, then whispers in
my ear. “Need a tutor now?”
    “No.” I thread my arms
through the straps of my backpack.
    “So are we meeting for
lunch?”
    “Sure. See you after
chemistry.”
    Eric steps around me and
hangs his arm over her shoulders, and they nuzzle their way off to
their next class. At the end of the hall Lena glances back,
mouthing, au revoir .
    Before I tackle lunch with
Lena, I need to figure out how to tell my best friend I’m moving
and may not finish my junior year here, so I cut chemistry. It’s
one class I shouldn’t cut, but it’s also one class I wouldn’t miss
at Channing.
    The wide sweep of lawn
leading to the grove of eucalyptus at the edge of the campus offers
a quiet hideout. I slide my back down the peeling bark and draw my
knees under my chin. If I could I’d stay here until the end of the
day.
     
    “Carlie love, hiding doesn’t make what’s
scary go away.”
    You don’t understand, Dad. Once I tell Lena
what’s happening it becomes all the more true.
    “You’re brave enough to handle the
truth.”
     
    I hope he hears my sigh.
It’s full of messages about how brave I feel.
     
    Heading into the cafeteria,
I spot Nicolas in the Bistro section. I haven’t hung around school
or gone to Sam’s Shack in months, so even if he did want to ask me
to the dance he hasn’t had the chance. I haven’t given anybody a chance to ask
me anything . I’ve
avoided talking to friends by making excuses about needing to
study, needing to help Mom, needing to clean my room. Dad’s right.
Hiding won’t change what’s about to happen, but he’s wrong about my
being brave.
    Before I can duck out the
door, Nicolas spots me, waves and comes straight toward me in that
slow stroll that makes every female stop what she’s doing and gape.
He leaves a wake of huddled chatter and longing down the center of
the room. No wonder he has an ego the size
of Planet Earth.
    “Hey, Carlie. How’s it
going? Haven’t seen you at the Shack.” He sweeps the drape of
golden hair from his forehead.
    “I’ve been busy at home. With
things.”
    “Yeah. Sorry.” He comes
close and, in what Lena calls his velvet voice, says, “I know it’s
been rough. I mean about your dad.” He clears his throat. “Is it
okay to call you now? Thought I’d ask. You know, in
case—”
    “That’s . . . fine.
Yes.”
    He brushes my arm with his
hand, then makes his way back to the bistro ruffling the sea of
lust