The Princess of Las Pulgas

by C. Lee McKenzie

  “I arranged for the moving company today.”

  I’d almost forgotten about Las Pulgas. I come down from my Sean high so fast that I swear my ears pop. Now tonight’s scare is nothing compared to what the move on the fifteenth.

  Chapter 12

  Sunday morning I stumble into the kitchen far earlier than usual. I’m sure I haven’t slept more than an hour, and then I dreamed about catacombs. My stomach growls, reminding me I’ve eaten nothing since half a burrito before babysitting and a handful of celery sticks from the Franklin’s refrigerator.

  Keith sits at the kitchen counter with a tall glass of milk, his hands wrapped around a micro waved waffle, his teeth sunk into the steamy dough, butter and syrup dripping through his fingers onto the plate.

  He grunts, closes his eyes and chews.

  “Good morning to you too.” My books and homework assignments are spread at the end of the kitchen table where I left them on my way to the Franklins’ last night. I push the books aside. “Did you leave anything in the refrigerator besides the shelves?”

  “No."

  I yank open the refrigerator door and peer inside. “Ah, two hard-boiled eggs. You’re a perfect start for the day. Then there’s you,” I hold up a limp slice of pizza in plastic wrap and slap it back on the shelf. I grab the milk carton and shake it. “You’ve almost got enough in you for half a cup of cereal.”

  Quicken purrs her way into the room and winds between my legs. “Didn’t anyone feed you, fur-person?” I fill her bowl and give her a scratch behind her silky black ears.

  “Do you talk to everything?” Keith dumps his plate into the sink and, dragging his feet across the tiled floor, heads toward the TV room. “The fridge is lonely. Say something to it.”

  “YeahYeahYeah.” It feels good to make faces behind his back. I’ve poured the last of the milk onto a bowl of Cap’n Crunch and spooned one bite between my teeth, when the phone rings. It can’t be for me. My friends only call on my cell and never this early on Saturday. I take another spoonful and chew.

  “Carlie?” Mom calls from upstairs. “It’s for you.”

  When I lift the receiver to my ear I don’t recognize the voice.

  “Hi. Glad you’re an early bird, too.”

  This is definitely not a friend. My friends know “early bird” is not in my vocabulary. Mom didn’t pass that gene on to either of her children. I prop my head up with one hand and dip my spoon into the Cap’n Crunch. “Who is this?”

  “Sean. To make up for scaring you last night, I’d like to take you someplace today. Anywhere you want to go.”

  I yawn, then double blink. “Sean?”

  “That would be me.” He breathes into my ear.

  I chew more cereal, trying to wake up enough to say something that makes sense.

  “I think there’s something wrong with your phone. Lots of static.”

  I stop chewing, and push the cereal into one cheek.

  “I’ll pick you up about ten.”

  “No. I’m—” I swallow.“—busy.”

  “You’re still mad about last night.”

  “You think?”

  “I really want to make amends. Please let me.”

  I picture his smooth, tanned face and perfect lips. Before thinking about what I’m doing, I spoon the last of the cereal into my mouth.

  “So ten, okay?”

  “Temm. Rrit.”

  “Think about where you want to go. Bye.”

  The click comes before I can swallow. “MmBye.” I’m left staring into the receiver; then I click the End button. Is this guy nuts? Who goes on a date at ten a.m. on a Saturday?

  Now that my brain has come online I smile to myself. This is a great chance to get even with Aunt Corky’s nephew for last night. Not one guy I know likes shopping at the mall, and that’s exactly where I want to go. Satisfaction settles nicely inside me as I go to my room, grab my cell and pull up Lena’s number. This is the first good news I’ve had to share in months.

  Lena doesn’t pick up, so I leave a message. “You—will—not believe what I have to tell you. Call me.”

  My journal lies open on top of Introduction to Chemistry and for a moment I think of writing something wonderful to myself. Something about today and Sean, but when I pick it up it’s only to set it aside. Homework wins out over those blank pages.

  By nine-thirty I’ve done one chemistry assignment, showered, blown my hair dry, and stepped on and off the scale—twice. Even when I force out all the air possible, the dial stops way past the mark I made with nail polish. That passionate purple line has been my goal since last summer and I’m still six pounds away. “Rats!”

  I put on my halter-top and low-rider jeans and stand in front of the bathroom mirror.

  “No.”

  The halter lands on the bed as I reach for the tieback top in the closet. “No. No. No.”

  The tie back top lands next to the halter. There has to be something. Look in the top dresser drawer. Ah ha. My V-neck hoodie. Why am I so worried about looking good for Sean? I get my answer from the girl in the mirror. “Like Lena said, he’s hot, that’s why.”

  That idea sends me back to the closet.

  The doorbell rings at ten a.m. sharp. Mom’s at her desk studying, so I stick my head inside her room. “Bye. Going to the mall.” I don't give her time to turn around before I duck out.

  By the time I reach the bottom step, Keith stands with Sean at the front door.

  “Hi.” I’m trying to sound pleased, but not eager.

  “Hi, yourself. You look . . . awesome.”

  Keith grunts and shambles back to his TV room hideout.

  “Your brother’s nice,” Sean says.

  He’s got to be kidding. “Sometimes.”

  Mom leans over the balcony. “Carlie? Who are you going with?”

  “This is Sean. Uh, the Franklins’ nephew. I told you about him last night.”

  At first I think she might run down the stairs and throw herself between the two of us, but Sean waves and says, “Pleasure to meet you Mrs. Edmund.”

  That scores a point.

  She nods at him. “What time are you coming home?”

  “Is two all right?” he asks.

  Score two.

  Mom nods again. “That’s fine. Enjoy.”

  Sean opens the front door. “So where are we going?”

  “The mall.” I expect him to cringe, but he sweeps ahead of me down the stone walkway to the car and opens the passenger door in one fluid movement.

  “Milady.”

  I stifle a “huh?” I’ve never been called My Lady before. No one except Mom or Dad has ever opened the car door for me, and that happened before I could open it myself, so it didn’t count.

  This is definitely shaping up into a “different” kind of date.

  Chapter 13

  The mall is fifteen minutes from the house. During the drive I’ve already managed two “Is that rights?” and one “Un huh” while Sean tells me about Aunt Corky and Uncle Mike and their conversation following the bizarre experience last night. I can’t concentrate on what he says even when I try because I’m thinking about his blue eyes and how I feel when they’re focused on me. Then there’s his dark hair and Bahamas-suntanned skin that only make those eyes deeper seas.

  “What?” He said something while I was off visiting my imagination. “What did you say?”

  “Just that you seem to be somewhere else.”

  “Just thinking.”

  Do something if you can’t say anything. Try smiling. Another glance at the visor mirror. The scarf isn’t right. The hoodie might have been better after all. Maybe the red sweater would have been more interesting than the black. Why is this guy so disturbing?

  I’ve been on dates, well at chaperoned dances. Dad was such a guard dog. Maybe that’s what’s making me so twitchy. No guard dog anymore. I feel that catch at the back of my stomach and dig my nails into both palms to distribute the pain. I can’t start crying now, no
t today.

  Sean parks and I manage to open my own door this time before he reaches the passenger side. “So where do you like to shop?” he asks.

  “I just look these days. I’m so broke I can’t afford to buy anything.” Why did I say that? I don’t know him at all. I really don’t want Aunt Corky to find out the Edmunds are out of money. Once she knows, everyone in Channing will too. “That’s between us, okay?”

  “Of course.” He seals his lips with his fingers. “I’ll ask my aunt to give you a raise. Come on. I have a place I’d like to check out. Do you mind?” He takes long steps across the shiny mall floor and I hurry to keep up.

  Now I’m expecting an hour of wandering through Electronics Inc., but he stops in front of the Cornucopia of Toys. “I love this place!”

  “Toy junkie?” He smiles at me.

  “I liked getting toys when I was little. Now all I get are socks and gift cards.”

  “What was your favorite toy present?”

  “You’ll think I’m nuts.”

  He crosses his heart. “Nope.”

  The automatic door to the toy store swooshes open and we walk inside where bins overflow with stuffed animals.

  “A Jack-in-the-Box . . . my . . . dad gave me when I was four. I’d pushed the jester down thousands of times and every time it popped up I’d scream and my dad would hold me and—” My eyes burn. “It’s broken now.” I turn away from Sean to hide the tears that flood my eyes and pick up a stuffed rabbit to give myself something to do.

  “Sorry about your dad. Aunt Corky told me.” Sean slips his hand into mine, sending a tingly sensation through me. “Let’s find something to play with.”

  His hand feels firm around mine as he leads me to the escalator.

  On the second floor a brightly colored hopscotch with a “Try Me” sign brings us to a quick stop. We wait in line behind a little boy just out of the toddler category and two girls who look down at him from the age of about eight. When our turn comes Sean hops to the end and returns with his arms out in a Ta Dah ending.

  I’m next. I make it to the end and hop onto the bright red 7 and 8, but when I turn to come back my right tennis shoe sticks and I land on my butt.

  The twittering eight-year-olds cut me no slack.

  Sean helps me up. “Come on. All that exercise has given me an appetite.” He takes my hand again, and we ride the escalator down to the main gallery. Our choice is the Teriyaki Bowl and Sean hands me chopsticks. “I bet you’re better using these than you are your feet.”

  “I slipped!”

  He picks up the tray and surveys the noisy room. “Table at three o’clock.” We jockey our way through the crowded Food Court until we reach an empty table along the wall.

  “Before I forget.” I open my fanny pack and hand him five dollars for my lunch.

  “This is part of my apology. I’ll buy lunch since my impression of a French guy didn’t work all that well last night.”

  It worked way too well. Désolé. The memory of that word, his voice saying it—I’ve never had such a soppy feeling, but with Sean sitting across from me, his dark hair swept back from his face, I’m wrapped inside something beautiful, the first beautiful thing in a long time.

  Later when we’re on our way to my house Sean tells me he left his mom in New York with her new husband. “There was bad chemistry between us from day one, so I moved here to live with Dad. I’ll enroll at Elmhurst College after I graduate.”

  By the time we pull to a stop in front of my house I don’t want this day to end.

  When I look up, he’s already opened my door. Is this pampering? I really like it.

  On the way up the brick path I think, Awkward moment on the horizon. When we get to my door what then? Do we shake hands? Stay three feet apart while each of us searches for the good-bye that’s just right?

  Before I’m in a total bunch, he says, “I had a great time. Hope I’ve made up for the other night.”

  No handshake. Nothing.

  He’s back to his car and waving as he drives off.

  Did he have somewhere else to go? Maybe he didn’t like me as much as I thought. Maybe . . . Stop imagining yourself into a snit, Carlie. He spent the whole afternoon with you. He said he had fun and he told you a lot about himself. He likes you.

  Having him in my life has to be some kind of sign, a sign that there’s a change coming, a change that will make my life better than it is now.

  I can’t help the happiness that starts inside and spreads across my face. Carlie Edmund may be moving away, but she might be taking along one senior at Channing that every girl craves.

  As I open the front door my cell phone chimes “Jingle Bells.”— Lena. Mental note: change those Christmas tones, sometime before summer. “Hi, Lena. I’ve got so much—”

  “Mom caved. I can take the car my uncle offered after all. And you will not believe this! Gene Connell made a pass at me. I was at the Shack and he, like, sits down right next to me and gives me the look.”

  “That’s . . . interesting. I’ve—”

  “I’ve decided to teach Eric a lesson for flirting with that French exchange student. Maybe I’ll just break our date for the Spring Fling. He’ll go green when I show up at the dance with Gene.” She takes a short breath. “Where have you been all day? I tried to call you on your cell a couple of times. You want to go to the mall maybe see that new movie? What is it? Never mind. Oh I have to go. Mom’s calling. Gotta keep on her good side until I get the pink slip to the car. Ciao.”

  I close my phone. Suddenly that bubbly feeling vanishes. Pop! One bubble. Pop! Another. Thanks for all your good news, Lena. Thanks for not wanting to hear any of mine. Thanks for reminding me that today was probably the single good one for the rest of my life which is most generally lived in the toilet these days.

  Keith passes me in the entrance hall.

  “Going out?” I’m trying to keep that promise again. Making eye contact. Not growling.

  “No, I’m walking backwards. Didn’t you notice?” Keith snarks, and then slams the door hard behind him.

  He makes keeping my promise impossible. When I start toward the stairs, Mom stands on the bottom step, her eyes red. “We . . . another argument.” She turns and runs up the stairs then her bedroom door slams.

  At least I have company in the toilet.

  Chapter 14

  The week before we move has a jet rocket strapped to its back. No other time in my life has disappeared this fast, and only one other time has been so steeped in gloom.

  I sit in the middle of my bedroom floor surrounded by boxes. How many decisions can I make in a single day without a brain-collapse? Choices surround me like a grass fire, closing in, sucking the oxygen from the air.

  There are all sorts of categories, like Returns—things to give back to friends I probably won’t ever see again. Treasures—I can’t leave behind anything in this stack. Then there’s the dreaded Undecided—way too much stuff to fit into a single packing box, which is what I’m allowed. I have until tomorrow morning at eight when three men from Shamrock Movers show up to haul off the furniture and boxes too big for the car.

  From the Undecided pile I pluck a rhinestone studded box. Lena and I made these last year at Christmas to raise money for the homeless. We sold all but one, so I bought it. I used to be charitable; now I need some of that charity myself. The box lands with a thud between Undecided and Treasures where I’ve stacked my journal.

  Keith shuffles past my open door. This is his fourth trip in an hour, his arms loaded each time. Slung over his shoulder are four tennis shoes tied together by their laces. He’s tucked his freshman yearbook under his left arm and cradled his basketball against his right side. That mole hole of a room should be empty by now.

  “How come no boxes?”

  “I don’t need boxes.” He looks at my floor. “What’s all that?”

  “I’m culling. No sense in taking everything I own to Las Pulgas. You saw my new bedroom; it’s about this
big.” I hold my thumb and index finger about an inch apart.

  “Where’s Mom?”

  “I guess she’s still in Dad’s office.” I stretch and get to my feet. I’d decided it was better to stay in our separate places. We’ve been growling at each other all week.

  Keith shakes his head, then bounces down the stairs two at a time, tennis shoes slapping at his back.

  I should ask Mom if she wants some cocoa. Just don’t say anything rotten, Carlie.

  Dad’s office is down the hall at the back of the house. On the door used to be a small brass plaque, our Christmas present to him from three years ago that read, MR. RICHARD EDMUND. Now only two small screw holes remain. Mom’s taken the plaque off. If she’s sorting possessions into piles, I wonder where that plaque goes?

  I lean my forehead against the wooden panel, trying to remember what his room looks like. I haven’t been inside since last summer. I’m about to knock when the sound of something shattering against a wall brings my hand to a halt. “Mom?”

  She doesn’t answer, so I press my ear against the door. Mom’s crying. I back away.

  In the morning, Leo, Jake, and Tom enter wearing Shamrock green uniforms with their names stitched above their hearts. When they step into the living room, Quicken hisses, cat-leaps up the stairs and crouches at the back of my closet. Even her favorite catnip crunchies can’t coax her from the corner where she sits, growling.

  “I’ll get the cat carrier,” Keith says. “There’s no way she’s mellowing and I’m not getting shredded.”

  Later, as the moving truck pulls from the curb, I stand in the center of the empty living room. The only sound is the steady hum of the Sub Zero refrigerator Mom sold with the house. There’s no room for the luxury-sized appliance in Apartment 148 in Las Pulgas.