Today, Mr. Beemer walks to my chair and bends down. “Would you mind partnering with our new student, since you were his escort and seem to know him the best?”
I open my mouth, pause, searching for a valid excuse to turn this down, but perhaps this is my opportunity. “Sure,” I say, and Mr. Beemer acts pleased.
“It’s project time,” Mr. Beemer announces as the social studies class begins. Moans echo around the room, but I’m excited about it.
“For this semester’s project, you and your partner will produce a study or report about one of the subjects you’ll find on the paper I’m passing around now. I’ll give you the rest of class together to decide on a subject or ask any questions to accomplish the project goal.”
I stare at the project instructions and the subjects, but I’m distracted knowing Mr. Beemer will announce our partners soon. I wonder what Caleb will think when he finds out I am his partner.
“Caleb Kalani and Kate Monrovi.”
“That’s convenient,” I hear Bryan Fischer—Ted’s best friend— whisper with a glare toward me.
I frown back with a “What?” expression.
The class breaks into partners, and I wait a moment in my chair for Caleb to turn in his desk. I will not be the one to go to him, I decide. Finally he looks up from his paper and rises from his seat.
“Hi,” I say when he sits in the empty seat beside my desk. And I’m suddenly lost in deep eyes, strong hands holding the paper, the curve of his lips, the long black eye lashes . . . It might be worse than before. Snap out of it.
He acts as if nothing is out of the ordinary and gets right to business.
“I read over the description of the project. Pretty straightforward. We choose a subject and each write an opinion piece on that subject. Together, we create an unbiased report or a study giving some outcome based upon our evaluation for the pro or the con.”
I nod and feel a pinch in my lip—I am biting it again. Focus, Kate, I keep telling myself. I have no idea what he’s talking about.
Eyes down at the paper, I read the subjects and pick the first one that makes sense to my addled brain.
“Interpersonal Relations. That seems a logical fit, since we both work at the Monrovi. Well, I don’t actually work there, I’m just living off my father and hanging out there, since I’m so bored with my wealthy, posh existence.” This just pops out, and I’m sort of proud of myself.
His eyes lift toward mine and a slight grin plays over his lips. “How about instead the subject of Trust?” Caleb says, still staring into my eyes. I wonder if he does this on purpose, and whether it’s a talent he uses with other girls. The effect is disconcerting, to say the least.
“Trust? Is that on the list?” And sure enough, it is.
He’s still staring at me, and I wonder about the look on his face. It’s like a challenge. From the corner of my eye, I see Bryan Fischer sneaking continued glances our way, as if evaluating our interaction, making mental notes to report back to Ted.
“That’s kind of a wide-open topic,” I say.
“We can write our opinions about the subject and then find a way to measure and evaluate trust between two individuals.”
This sounds scary. Sort of like a setup. “How?”
He’s quiet a moment, thinking, and I can’t stop looking at those darn lips that look soft and, frankly, kissable. My mouth actually waters. Descriptive passages I’ve read in one of my sister’s old trashy romance novels start skittering through my head, and I start the focus chant in my head again. Focus, Kate, focus, focus. Not on the face, focus, not on the arms, on the assignment!
“Why don’t I plan an experiment for our evaluation on trust?”
“An experiment?” I raise my eyebrows. “Like me falling backward and trusting whether or not you’ll catch me?”
I hear his low laugh as his lips turn into a larger smile. “Something like that, but maybe more creative.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but that time warp sense is building again as the rest of the room is disappearing around us. It’s difficult to concentrate, let alone try to understand how we’d create an experiment in trust.
“Okay,” I finally say. “I trust you to do a good experiment. I’ll write up the evaluation, since you’re doing the planning.”
Caleb gives a short nod. “It’s a deal.”
He quickly stands and returns to his original seat. The room comes back into focus. I stare at his back during the rest of class, but he has his laptop open and is writing down notes on a separate piece of paper, completely engrossed in whatever he’s planning.
CALEB
I might be enjoying the planning of this Trust project a bit too much. I immediately know exactly what I want to do.
She has no idea what she just got herself into.
Chapter Ten
But, O! how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man’s eyes.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
As You Like It (Act 5, Scene 2)
KATE
“There actually are mothers who can sew and cook,” Mom says, walking through the door, balancing two bags of Thai takeout in one hand. Her purse has fallen off her shoulder onto her forearm and a dry cleaning bag is slung over her shoulder. I grab the dry cleaning and Thai food before everything goes flying.
“Food and clean clothing right here. Isn’t that the end goal of those sewing and cooking mothers?”
“My mother would throw a fit if she could see me. All those homemaking skills she taught me, saying how necessary they’d be.” Mom takes out several plates and sets them on the granite countertop.
“I guess marrying up is another skill,” I say, and we laugh together. Mom often teases Dad about how she tricked him into saving her from a life of poverty. Mom was never poor, but her father only owned a few grocery stores. Her blonde hair is now dyed and she has slight crow’s-feet by her eyes that she complains about, but everyone comments on Mom’s youthful looks and beauty.
It’s a rare night of just me and Mom at home; Jake is at some baseball party and Dad is on a business trip somewhere— New York, I think.
Suddenly Allie the Wonderdog runs by with one of my old stuffed animals in her mouth. “Wait! Allie!”
She shakes the toy ferociously and then tosses it, grabs it back, and takes off away from me.
“This dog does not listen to me.” Then I recognize the toy as a bear that Ted bought me sophomore year, and I leave Allie to have her way with it.
“How was your day?” Mom asks as we sit at the bar stools, pulling the Thai containers closer.
“Pretty normal.”
“College will be more exciting for you, I hope. You do seem pretty bored with life lately.”
I stare at my mom as she opens up the containers with yum nam tok, satay chicken, green curry, and fried rice. “I got mango sticky rice for dessert,” Mom says with a grin. She knows that’s my favorite.
“Why do you think I’m bored? I’m not bored.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie, it’s just my observation.”
I frown as I dig into the cartons, wishing I could go straight for the mango sticky rice.
“What’s wrong? I take it back, okay?” She gives me a Mom sigh-stare combination—exaggerated and probing.
“A friend told me that I’m bored with life. Well, not really a friend, just someone at school.”
“Someone?” Mom is scrolling through my friends like a Rolodex in her brain. “The new boy—Mr. Kalani’s son?” She smiles at the look on my face, triumphant.
“Yes,” I say all gloom and doom in my tone. Then I perk up. “Hey, what happened between our family and the Kalanis?”
I catch her not-so-hidden pause before she takes a bite of fried rice.
“What do you mean, what happened?”
“Mom, you have to tell me.”
She sighs dramatically. “Why don’t you ask your dad?”
“I did. He told me a little, but when do we ev
en see Dad anymore? He’s hardly home and lately he’s not at the hotel either.”
Mom sets down her fork. “Honey, don’t talk like that. Your father doesn’t want it to be like this. He does it for us and for our future, the legacy of the hotel.”
“Is something wrong?” And suddenly something very hot hits my tongue and I grab for my glass of sparkling water. Mom is talking, but my eyes are watering and I quickly eat some rice, hoping it’ll soothe the molten lava boiling through my tongue and sinuses.
“It’s been a tough time financially—for everyone, all over the world, which means for the hotel business too. He doesn’t want to worry me and he certainly wouldn’t want to worry . . .”
The burning continues as Mom eats, engrossed in her thoughts with words like don’t worry . . . the last quarter . . . devastated economy . . . recession . . . we should be fine.
Finally, my mouth begins to calm down and I see a red pepper with a bite out of it.
“So this family thing . . . Grandpa Augustus?”
Mom sighs. “What do you remember of your grandfather? He was a complicated man.”
“He smoked a pipe and told funny jokes? Not a lot.” My recollection of him also includes his sitting at his big desk, drinking a scotch on the rocks. I know it was scotch on the rocks because I was the one who made them. Three ice cubes and the scotch hidden in a cupboard in his bookcase. I smile remembering the candy he kept beside the bottle so that we both had a treat. “I thought he was Frank Sinatra. They had the same hair and that suave 1950s thing going on.”
“He did have that old-school way about him. He was a good man, but in business he was ruthless, as are all businessmen who build an empire like he did.”
“So that’s why the Kalanis hated us?”
“It was a long time ago. But it did become a family thing, since your father took over after Grandpa stepped down. It started with something about a woman and the land where they built Monrovia.”
“Grandma?”
Mom shrugs. “Honey, I really don’t know. You know me and stories like that.” It’s true—Mom can never retell stories and facts correctly.
“So he’s pretty cute, huh?”
“Who?”
“The new guy. The Kalani boy.”
“How did you know about him?”
“Monica dropped off the shoes she borrowed and told me more than you’ve been telling me.”
I shrug. “There’s not much to tell. Monica didn’t even say she’d come by.”
“I think she wanted to talk to someone.”
“What about?” Monica has always talked to Mom more than her own parents. Monica’s mother is usually wrapped up in whatever man she’s married to or dating and with her continuous efforts to fight the aging process. She’s currently recovering from her latest procedure—an eyelid lift, I think. Monica’s father works in Dubai, real estate or something. She hasn’t seen him in a year. “We didn’t talk about much, really. I made her cookies. You were at the hotel.”
“We’re going shopping soon, I think. I’ll catch up with her then.”
“Yeah, she did seem overly worried about you.”
“I don’t know why. But I wish I knew more about this weird family feud.”
“Some people can’t let go of things, even after decades.” Mom reaches for the box with the mango sticky rice and laughs. “Just don’t fall in love with that Kalani boy and everything will be just fine. That would sure stir it back up.”
“Kate in love? Now that’s funny!” I hear my younger brother say as he comes in the front door and dumps his worn-out backpack on a chair. Allie comes running at the sound of Jake’s voice. “Isn’t that funny, Allie? Huh, dog?” Allie starts barking and doing spins around Jake.
Mom laughs, but I’m not finding this funny at all.
The next morning Jake and I are shoveling Captain Crunch into our mouths as Mom calls from upstairs, “You’ll be late for school!”
Dad cooked omelets with goat cheese and basil before leaving for his Portland office this morning. His omelets are usually my favorite, and I hope he didn’t make them because Mom said I complained about never seeing him. But today was not a healthy breakfast kind of day. A few bites of egg and I spotted Jake pulling out the Cap’n Crunch from the cupboard and went with them.
Our brother-in-law Bobby randomly sends packages of things our parents won’t buy us. Sugar cereal, video games for Jake (usually ones rated M for mature, even though he’s only thirteen), his favorite candy like string licorice, wax lips, Razzles, and Pop Rocks. He also sends e-mail jokes and articles and keeps up with what we’re doing.
Mom always shakes her head at our surprise deliveries, threatening to put a stop to it someday, though she hasn’t yet. Jake and I love Bobby, who says he’s only providing what every kid should have. Our sister is his polar opposite—rigid, anxious, and often judgmental. Jake and I secretly like Bobby better and marvel that he can live with Kirsten, especially since she became pregnant. Thankfully, they live in New York.
Mom pops into the kitchen in her workout clothes. She pours herself a cup of coffee and takes a glance at the news on the laptop sitting on the shiny countertop. Dad switched to online news several years ago. Mom complained a lot at first and still gets the Sunday paper, but now she scrolls over the news in record time.
“Five minutes, kids,” she says.
I think about the text I received last night from Caleb. Nothing exciting: Can you work on the project tomorrow night and Saturday or plans already? Right after that, I heard from Ted. He has been bugging me to go out with him, pretty much telling me that I have no choice about it, so this provided the perfect excuse.
“I have a friend coming over tonight,” I say, trying to slide it in between bites and hoping it takes a dive into the milk.
Jake freezes with his spoon in the air. Mom sets down her coffee mug.
“What?” I say. “It’s a social studies project.”
“It’s a boy!” Jake shouts. There’s a milk mustache dripping from his lip.
“What? Why would you say that? Mom, tell him to eat his omelet.”
Jake stares at me for my betrayal. Now he’ll have to eat his three bites—the required amount for healthy food we don’t like. I remember sitting for hours at the dinner table, long after everyone had left, because I couldn’t get through bite number two of Aunt Mary’s homemade coleslaw.
“Jake, eat some omelet. From now on, unless you want me to tell Bobby to stop sending food high in trans-fats and sugar, then eat something healthy with your bowl of sugar. Now, what’s this about a boy?”
“It’s not a boy. I mean, he’s just a classmate.”
“He—that’s a boy! Told you.” Jake squints his eyes at me with triumph.
“Kate, you have to give me more notice than this.” Mom starts glancing around her perfectly clean house as if a tornado suddenly whipped through and she’s frantic to know where to begin the cleanup.
“I have friends come over all the time. What’s the big deal?” “The big deal is that you never announce that a friend is coming over. Who is it?”
Jake holds a piece of omelet on his fork, pointing it at me. “It’s Caleb.”
Mom opens her mouth as if my brother has nailed it exactly.
“What do you mean, it’s Caleb? How do you know about Caleb?” I’m digging a hole here. Now they’re both staring at me.
“I know things,” Jake says before he takes a deep breath and shoves the bite of omelet into his mouth, grimacing as he quickly chews and swallows.
“What was that?” he cries in horror with mouth open, gasping, as if he just swallowed arsenic.
“Goat cheese,” I say with my best evil grin.
“That’s just wrong. Mom, I can’t eat two more bites of that. I’ll throw up at school.”
Mom finds her iPhone in her purse. “I’d better call your father. We’ll have dinner.”
“No, Mom, we’re just doing homework. Nothing more.”
“Seriously, Mom. I just want Caleb to come over and be treated like Oliver or Monica or whoever.”
“He’d probably like fish since he’s from Hawaii. But then, the fish wouldn’t be the same kind that he’s used to.”
“Fish?” Jake makes a gagging sound. “Why not your famous pizza from Franzella’s?”
“Mom, we’re not even having dinner here.”
“Oh, yes you are,” Mom says firmly.
“Please don’t make me wear a tux at your wedding,” Jake says. “And don’t make me be the ring bearer, I’m too old for that!”
“Mom, tell him to stop.”
“I saw a wedding that was underwater, now that would be cool. Caleb’s from Hawaii, right? I think he’d like an underwater wedding.”
I push back from the counter. “I won’t give him a ride to school if he doesn’t stop. I’m serious.”
I rinse out my bowl and set it in the sink.
Mom smiles and the two of them actually do a high five. “That was a good one.”
CALEB
While the printer is shooting out an essay for English that I wrote last night, I do a quick e-mail check.
Grandfather’s address sits in the in-box like a little grenade. The subject: Portland.
I hesitate to open it. I know he didn’t actually type it himself. His assistant took down his dictated words and then wrote this e-mail along with a dozen other dictated letters.
Dear Caleb,
I have some business in Portland. We need to talk. Will be there soon. Keep your future in mind. Do not forget the lessons I have taught you. Be wary of the Monrovi family. Despite your father’s affection for Reed Monrovi, the past is not gone. Change is at long last in the wind. I require your loyalty.
Soon,
Grandfather
KATE
I wait for Caleb outside his second-period class.
“Hi,” he says casually, not really looking at me.
“You know . . . about tonight, coming over and all?”
Caleb + Kate Page 12
