by Melody Mayer
True. Ha.
Kiley looked around the small room in the Echo Park bungalow that was, at least for the moment, her new home. It was stiflingly hot, with barely a breeze. There was a shelf filled with books on philosophy, poetry, and various classic novels in Spanish. Other than that, the room was fairly bare, with two cloth rugs, a battered desk, a dresser, and a neatly made single bed under a large crucifix on the wall.
Raucous Mexican music from someone’s lowrider on the street poured in with the heat through the barred window. The air was pungent with spices. Someone was cooking tacos.
If my mom knew the truth, Kiley thought, she wouldn’t just have a panic attack, she’d have a heart attack.
Fear prickled the back of her neck. She’d told so many lies in this letter. If lying sent you to hell, which is what her grandmother believed, then Kiley would be doing eternity in the Big Inferno.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Kiley called, flipping the letter over so that whoever it was couldn’t read it.
The door opened. Jorge Valdez, Esme’s best friend, walked in.
“Hi. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“Fine,” she answered automatically, even though it was far from true.
Jorge sat backward on the scarred chair at the small wooden desk. He looked around. “Sorry, it’s kinda stark in here. My bro’ wasn’t big on decorating. His dorm room at Cal probably looks like a prison cell.” He nudged his chin toward the cross on the wall. “My abuela—grandmother—put that up. Carlos would take it down, she’d put it back up.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” Kiley insisted. “Really.”
Jorge nodded and rubbed his jaw. He wore an open black shirt over a white undershirt, and black jeans. He was thin, medium height, not at all wimpy. Actually, Kiley thought he was very handsome. Not in a Tom way, maybe, but in a more interesting way. His dark, luminous eyes seemed to take everything in, in a way that most people’s did not.
Of all the people Kiley had considered that Esme might have called the night before, she hadn’t imagined it would be her friend Jorge. But Esme knew that Carlos was away at college and that there was an empty bedroom at Jorge’s house. Jorge hadn’t hesitated. If Esme was doing the asking, Kiley could stay for as long as she needed.
Tom had driven her to Jorge’s at ten because he had an afternoon photo shoot up in Malibu. Even through her sheer terror, Kiley had noticed that the two guys seemed to be sizing each other up. It was ridiculous. One guy was Esme’s friend and the other guy wasn’t even Kiley’s official boyfriend. Maybe that was just how guys were.
Jorge’s mom had shown Kiley to her new room. She was a short, round woman, with high cheekbones and a musical laugh. A schoolteacher for L.A. Unified, she had the summer off. She tried her best to make Kiley feel comfortable, plying her and Tom with delicious homemade cookies even though it was before noon. Tom left a half hour later, promising to pick Kiley up that night and hook her up with Esme and Lydia. It wasn’t like she was alone, even though she felt like she was.
“So . . . you need a job, right?” Jorge asked.
Kiley nodded. “The only experience I have is babysitting and waitressing, though.”
Jorge folded his arms and leaned them on the back of the chair. “There’s this coffeehouse in the neighborhood called La Verdad—it means the Truth—I do some rapping there, hang out, play chess, you know. It’s a good place; they don’t allow any gangbangers. They need a waitress.”
Kiley’s heart pounded. She hesitated. A Latino club in Echo Park? Her Spanish was nonexistent. She’d stick out like . . . like exactly who she was.
“You’re afraid you’d be the only white girl there,” Jorge guessed.
She nodded, embarrassed.
“You won’t be,” Jorge assured her. “One of the other waitresses is from Kansas. Wants to be a screenwriter. Cheapest apartment she could find was here in the Echo. Whitest girl I’ve ever seen. Anyhow, the place is cool. If you want to check it out, I can take you over tomorrow night.”
“That would be great,” she said softly, overwhelmed. “This is so nice of you, I just—I don’t even know what to say.”
“De nada—it’s nothing,” Jorge insisted. He stood. “You hungry?”
She had to admit that she was. She hadn’t eaten more than a single cookie. Too nervous.
“I need to introduce you to Bettina’s down the block. Little hole in the wall. The woman has a gift with huevos rancheros. Come on.”
“Now?”
Jorge shrugged. “Why not?”
Kiley bit her lip. “I just have to finish writing a letter first. Can we mail it when we go out?”
“Works for me. I’ll be on the front stoop when you’re ready.” He flashed a dazzling smile and looked at her with those penetrating eyes. “It’s gonna be okay. You’ll see.”
When he was gone, Kiley went back to the letter, determined to finish it and get it out of her hands before she lost her nerve.
Remember, Mom, how you told me not to let fear hold me back? That’s probably the best advice you ever gave me. I used to be such a wimp. But now . . . I’ve decided to try and be a warrior.
All my love,
Kiley
P.S. Give Dad a hug from me.
P.P.S. Don’t worry!
Carefree girls. Fast boys. Faster girls.
Have to Have It
a nannies novel
coming September 2006
About the Author
Raised in Bel Air, Melody Mayer is the oldest daughter of a fourth-generation Hollywood family and has outlasted countless nannies.
Also by Melody Mayer
The Nannies
Coming in September 2006
Have to Have It
Published by Delacorte Press
an imprint of Random House Children’s Books
a division of Random House, Inc.
New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either
are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is
entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2006 by Cherie Bennett and Jeff Gottesfeld
All rights reserved.
DELACORTE PRESS and colophon are registered trademarks of
Random House, Inc.
www.randomhouse.com/teens
Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools,
visit us at www.randomhouse.com/teachers
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
CIP Information
www.randomhouse.com
eISBN: 978-0-307-43396-1
v3.0
