I snorted. “First off, I never had a shot with Becca Sommers—and I’m not even sure I wanted one. Second, it sounds like Monica’s grandfather is filthy rich. I doubt he’d let me near her.”
Ryan let out a crow of laughter. “So you’d like to get near her!”
I sighed. Why was it once a guy had a girlfriend, he liked to make jokes about his friends and girls? “I don’t think Monica likes me. She’s just lonely.”
Ryan shook his head as we went through the front door. “With girls, that’s the same thing.”
THAT afternoon I decided Ryan was right. I was waiting at the bus stop, chilling to Ella Fitzgerald’s “Autumn in New York,” when a red Prius pulled up, and Monica let down the driver’s side window.
I glanced inside. The Prius was empty except for her. “You sure you don’t mind? I need to get to the mall for my last in-car.”
She glanced at the dashboard clock. “When do you need to be there?”
“Not till 4:00.” It took two buses to get to the mall from school, and I hadn’t wanted to cut it close.
She smiled. “Mind if we stop by my house first? I have something I need to take back to a store, and it’s at home.”
My odds of being on time were better in a private car, even with a detour. “No problem.”
I climbed in the front seat and spent a few minutes checking out all the instruments on the dashboard. One display showed her current gas mileage, another revealed that the electric engine was doing most of the work. I moved from there to watching Monica.
She drove very well, changing lanes smoothly and with an unconscious ease. “Where’s your friend?” she asked, her eyes still on the road.
“He has SAT class on Wednesdays.”
She sniffed as if to suggest disapproval. “Test scores are meaningless.”
I knew she wasn’t stupid. Maybe it was idealism. “They might not tell whether you’re smart, but they have a lot to say about what college you can get into.”
She didn’t argue. We left Bethesda and headed out River Road toward Potomac. There were plenty of well-to-do neighborhoods in Montgomery County, but Potomac was where the big money was—big cars, big houses, and big yards.
Monica drove the Prius past the newer subdivisions—the ones where the lots were only an acre—until we were in old Potomac. Not just huge lots, but the occasional estate with brick walls around it and a gate across the driveway. People in old Potomac didn’t just have live-in nannies. They had staff.
Sure enough, Monica reached up and clicked a remote clipped to the sun visor. She slowed the car as we approached a driveway and drove through the now open iron gates.
“Yikes,” I said under my breath as we pulled up in front of a three story brick mansion.
“Indecent, isn’t it?” Monica sounded dead serious. “A whole village could live here, but it’s just Grandpa and his wife—and now me. Unless you count the cook and the chauffeur. They live over the garage.”
She parked the Prius in the circular drive, right beside a gleaming black convertible.
“Whoa!” I said as I spotted the rearing horse emblem on the hood. “Who drives a Ferrari?”
Monica got a peculiar expression, half amusement, half something else. “My grandfather’s wife.” She shut the door a little more firmly than was necessary. “Come on. Do you want a soda or something?”
Or what? Perrier and lime? Maybe a champagne cocktail? “Sure.” Curiosity consumed me as I followed her up the porch steps. I had never been in a mansion.
The front door had a security camera and a key panel. Monica pressed her right index finger to a screen, and keyed in a code to unlock the door.
I followed her into a marble-floored foyer and gazed up at the enormous crystal chandelier hanging from the two-story ceiling. Monica kept walking, and I hurried to catch up as she went through an open arched doorway into a big room furnished like a den or a family room—if the family was really well off. At the far end of the room, a long counter separated the family room from a huge open kitchen full of gleaming appliances. A round table with four chairs occupied a nook with a bay window between the two rooms.
“The funny part is, Dolores doesn’t cook,” Monica said, opening the refrigerator to indicate a door full of bottles—sparkling water, spring water, flavored water, and diet sodas. “Help yourself.”
I grabbed a bottle of sparkling water. I’d never had any before. “Who’s Dolores?”
Monica took a diet soda. “Grandpa’s wife.” She nodded at the bay window. “That’s her.”
I looked out the window. The backyard had a pool with a sort of greenhouse around it, to make it a year-round pool. An extremely attractive woman in an extremely small bikini half-reclined on a lounge chair and leafed through a magazine. She had long black hair and golden skin. “Holy shit! That’s your grandmother?”
“Step-grandmother.” Monica made a face like the soda was sour. “And she’s older than she looks.”
Since she looked thirty-five at most, that didn’t bother me. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” Monica put down her soda. “Would you wait here a minute? I need to get something from my room.”
I said okay and stood drinking my fizzy water while I took in the rest of the den. A flat screen TV on the wall was bigger than any I’d ever seen in a sports bar. Lighted glass cabinets full of expensive-looking Chinese vases took up another wall. A long slab of black marble served as a mantel over the enormous stone fireplace. The room was so big I counted three sofas and six upholstered chairs, and it didn’t seem crowded.
“Who the hell are you?”
I jumped and almost dropped the bottle of water. I hadn’t heard anyone come into the room. “Jesu—um, sorry, you startled me.”
The man looked about sixty to me, but I’ve never been good at judging old people’s ages. He had silver hair, going thin on top, and a beaky nose. He glared at me with open hostility. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”
“You must be Monica’s grandfather,” I said, trying not to let my voice break as I held out my hand. “I’m Jason Miller, a friend of Monica’s from school.”
The hostility in his expression eased as he shook hands. He had a darn firm grip for an old guy. “Frank Martin.” He looked me up and down. “So, you’re another IB kid?”
“Uh, no, I’m not in IB.” I wondered whether it was worth it to mention I had two honors classes on my schedule. Probably not. It didn’t take that much effort to get into honors classes. That was why I was in them. They helped my transcript without cutting into my work schedule like IB or AP classes would have.
“Grandpa!” Monica sounded annoyed as she strode into the room, a tiny shopping bag from a high-end jewelry store in one hand. “Are you interrogating Jason?”
The old man’s face broke into a smile that surprised the heck out of me. He looked suddenly nice. “Hello, Princess.” He gave her the same sort of quick once over glance he had given me. She still wore her school clothes, and her jacket. “What are you up to?”
“I’m taking the tennis bracelet back.” She picked up her purse. “And I don’t have time to argue about it. I promised Jason I’d get him to his driver’s ed session.”
Mr. Martin frowned, his face going back to the angry, accusing frown he had worn before she came into the room. “A sixteenth birthday present from your grandfather is supposed to be special.”
She came over to kiss his cheek. He was as tall as me, so she had to stand on her tip toes. “The Prius was special enough.”
His face softened again. He hugged her, and kissed her forehead. “Drive safe.”
She laughed over her shoulder and then waved for me to follow her. “I always do.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” I said, deciding against shaking hands again.
He nodded, but I couldn’t really say he looked pleased to see me leave with his granddaughter.
I waited until the car was through the gates and on the road before I asked Mo
nica any questions. “So, how do you get along with your hot step-grandmother?”
She gave me a quick, sideways glance. “She’s not so bad. She doesn’t try to tell me what to do.”
I could see where that would be a prime requirement with her. “And you’ve got your grandfather wrapped around your little finger, right, ‘Princess’?”
Her mouth curved in a satisfied smile. “I’m lucky. Grandpa blew it with my dad, and he knows it. He’s trying really hard not to aggravate me.”
I laughed. “What a sweet deal!”
Her smile faded. “It should be. But I miss my folks.” She darted another glance at me. “How do you get along with your parents?”
The question took me aback. I wasn’t used to girls asking me about myself. “It’s just my mom, actually. My dad skipped out on us right after the divorce.”
She shot me another look, sympathetic this time. “That sucks.”
“Yeah.”
“So,” she said, “single mom means no car, no college tuition, no spending money?”
She had scoped it out in a flash. Well, I had known she was smart, so I shouldn’t have been surprised. “I have a job.”
She nodded. “Good for you. Where do you work?”
“Jimmy’s Java Joint.” Would she show up there some time? Did she really like me or was it just that she hadn’t made any friends in the IB set? Maybe the other IB types were so driven they didn’t have time for the new kid.
She slowed down and signaled for the turn into the mall parking lot. “You’re kind of cute, Jason. Do you have a date for Homecoming?”
I hate those kinds of questions. ‘Do you have a date?’ could mean someone was going to ask you out, or it could mean they were just nosy. “I can’t afford Homecoming.”
She slid into a space and put the car in park. “You could go with me,” she said, turning to face me. “We won’t have to rent a limo because Grandpa will let me use his.”
Even without the limo rental, the tickets weren’t cheap. I’d have to use my savings and wait to get my license. But Monica seemed to like me even though I had been something of a jerk with her. How often did a guy get a chance to go to a dance without risking rejection? “Sure, I’d like to go.”
Her face lit up, and I realized she had been nervous. “Great! How about if I get the tickets, since I asked you?”
“I’ll get the tickets,” I said, overcome by machismo. It came to me that I’d be really short on cash if I bought two tickets, so I let go of machismo. “You can pay for dinner.”
She nodded. “It’s a deal.”
It didn’t sound terribly romantic, but maybe she had a practical streak. After all, she hadn’t grown up rich, even if she was living in a mansion in Potomac now. I suddenly realized I wasn’t sure whether I should kiss her or not.
Monica solved the problem for me by pointing at the clock on the dash. “Aren’t you supposed to be there at 4:00?”
I looked at the display. It said 3:58 for one second and then clicked over to 3:59. I grabbed my backpack. “Thanks for the ride.”
She smiled. “No problem. Happy to help.”
I dashed out and headed across the lot to where the driver’s ed car was parked. I could see Mr. Aiyuku pacing back and forth and smoking.
I had a date for Homecoming. I hoped my suit still fit. I hadn’t worn it since my grandmother’s funeral in January. And then my quandary came to me. Should I buy a corsage to match Monica’s dress or her hair?
Mr. Aiyuku didn’t give me time to think about it. As annoyed as he was at my being almost late, he still demanded to see my permit before we got into the car.
I pulled out my wallet, and when I opened it, a shiny foil packet fell out.
Mr. Aiyuku snickered as he took my permit and checked off something on his checklist.
I could feel my face turning red when I bent down to retrieve the condom. When I shoved it into my front pocket, I remembered a small hole had started in the bottom of that pocket. With my luck the condom would fall out in the middle of my in-car and drop to the ground when I got out of the car. I stifled a sigh but didn’t do anything about it. I could always get another condom from the big bowl in the school nurse’s office.
After Mr. Aiyuku gave me my permit back, I put my wallet away, and we got in the car. He began scanning the checklist. “Lots to do today,” he muttered as I put the car in gear.
We started with changing lanes, making left turns, and passing slower vehicles. We had trouble with the last one because no one was driving slower than me until I came up behind an old lady so short I could barely see her head.
“Oh, fuck it,” Mr. Aiyuku said after I managed to pass her. “You only have an hour left. Take the next right.”
I put the blinker on and then glanced ahead. “But—but that’s the on-ramp for the Beltway.”
“I know that.” He stubbed his cigarette out in the piece of aluminum foil he always carried. “But you need highway time. Turn right.”
I eased the driver’s ed car into the angled turn and tried not to panic. “But it’s rush hour.”
“Rush hour?” I could hear the sneer in Mr. Aiyuku’s voice. “You call this rush hour? You haven’t seen everyone trying to get home in Kigali when the traffic lights aren’t working.”
I was tired of hearing about Kigali and worried about merging into highway-speed traffic.
I needn’t have worried. When we came around the curve to the Beltway, cars and trucks crawled along, bumpers practically touching, like a parade of armored snails. I had to fake-smile and wave at a woman in a silver minivan to get someone to let me in. But I could see flashing blue and red lights on the other side of the highway, so I figured things would get better soon.
They did. As soon as we passed the accident, everyone speeded up.
“Idiots,” Mr. Aiyuku muttered. “Get your speed up!”
I stepped on the accelerator and watched the needle climb past sixty. I had never driven so fast. It felt great. Everyone was whipping past me, so I pressed the accelerator harder. Mr. Aiyuku didn’t say anything when I hit seventy. The rush was as strong as when I had watched Monica’s hot step-grandmother sunbathing. The thought made me grin. I imagined that instead of a battered driver’s ed car with an extra foot brake I was at the wheel of Dolores Martin’s black Ferrari—with Dolores in the passenger’s seat. She wore her bikini and oversize sunglasses, and the wind whipped her long black hair back behind her.
I let myself enjoy the fantasy for a few minutes. Just as I imagined reaching for the gear shift and getting Dolores’ left knee instead, Mr. Aiyuku brought me back to earth.
“We’ll go up a few exits and turn around and take surface roads back to the mall.” He waved a hand. “Be sure to look ahead. Get the big picture.”
I nodded, trying to concentrate on the road instead of my daydream. Things looked okay at the moment, although the traffic on the overpass ahead of us came to an abrupt stop with a screech of brakes and a loud crash, followed by the wrenching sound of steel tearing as a big black SUV slammed into a tiny red Honda.
“Glad that’s not us,” Mr. Aiyuku said.
And then everything seemed to happen at once. On the overpass, a huge dump truck full of scrap wood rear-ended the SUV and pushed it into the Honda. The Honda hopped backwards like a billiard ball in a trick shot gone sour. The little car’s back wheels jumped over the low railing as the SUV kept moving. The Honda teetered for maybe half a second, and then it started to fall right into my lane.
At that moment, Mr. Aiyuku and I both slammed on our respective brakes, and the junk in the back of the dump truck burst into flames. The driver’s ed car slowed, but I could tell we wouldn’t be able to stop. Time froze as we went into a skid, and chunks of burning debris rained down from the overpass onto the road. One thought popped into my head.
I was going to die a virgin.
And then, lightning fast, I knew what would happen. I put one hand on my belt. Wherever I was going, I wa
nted to be wearing pants when I got there.
Six
Mr. Aiyuku and the car melted swiftly into a pearly gray mist. All at once I was in a sort of alley with a high wall on one side and a shorter building on the other. I waited for the alley to melt, too, but instead I dropped on my butt before I could straighten up from the sitting position I had been in in the car.
“Shit.” I sat up and looked around. The walls on either side of me were brick, but the pavement I sat on was flagstone. Where the hell was I?
I heard a door open, and I turned to see a woman coming into the alley. She looked white or possibly Latina, and she wore a blue-gray outfit, not quite a pantsuit, but definitely matching. Ruveka’s image of her mother came to me. This woman was older but her clothes looked similar.
The woman’s eyes opened wide when she saw me. She looked up at the far end of the alley and then back to me, and then she said something I didn’t understand.
“Sorry.” I shook my head as I got to my feet. “I don’t speak your language.”
Her jaw dropped, and then she said something else. I didn’t recognize it either, but I was pretty sure from her tone it was a curse word. She ran over to me and started to pull me toward the door.
I was pretty sure I was on Makoro and not just in Afghanistan or China, and somehow it didn’t seem like a good idea to let myself get dragged into someone’s house the minute I got there. “No, thanks.” I pulled hard and got out of her grasp. “I’ll be going now.”
I started for the alley entrance, and she followed, grabbing me by the arm and trying to pull me back. I wrenched free and then ran as fast as I could.
I stopped when I came into the open. Wherever I was, it wasn’t Afghanistan.
I stood at one end of an open square, like a small park, bounded by roads full of traffic and sidewalks full of pedestrians, and all around us was a city. The shorter buildings were mostly made of pale pink brick, with the taller ones made of glass and steel or something equally shiny. Very tall buildings towered over me, many of them mere spires, not usable space. Women walked or rode on bicycles or drove some sort of hovercraft-like cars with no wheels. The effect was a combination of Chicago and the Emerald City with maybe a touch of Disney World.
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