Be Strong & Curvaceous (25 page)

Sigh. How pathetic was that?

“Thanks for your help, Miss Aragon. And again, just let me repeat what others have said—your folks and your school should be proud of you.”

He held the door of the little parlor for me and I walked out into the foyer, feeling one part relieved and two parts embarrassed. Ms. Curzon stood talking to the British Embassy guy, but Mac was nowhere in sight.

“Ah, Miss Aragon.” She glanced at Sergeant Mason. “Is everything in order?”

“Yes, ma’am. I was just telling Miss Aragon that she is one courageous young lady. Spencer Academy should be proud.”

She smiled, but there was something absent in it. As though she were putting it on like a new paint job, but there was still engine trouble underneath.

Listen to me with the car metaphors. One night riding with Brett in his Camaro and I was an expert.

“If you need nothing else, I’d like to speak to her.”

He made a be-my-guest gesture toward the parlor and I followed her in. “Ma’am?”

“Sit down, Miss Aragon.”

I sat in the same chair I’d just used, only now I scrooched all the way to the edge of it.

“I understand we owe you a great debt. Without you and Brett, the news reports might have been quite different, and the phone calls I made to Scotland and London this morning might not have had the same happy result.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I mean, you’re welcome.”

“Which puts me in a very difficult position.”

“It does?” She’d said herself that the results had been happy.

“You see, delighted though I am that Lady Lindsay is safe and you and Brett emerged from this ordeal unscathed, the fact remains that the entire series of events happened because you disobeyed a direct request from me.”

It took me a second to figure this out.

Oh. In the taxi. When she’d told me to be back in my room at school in ten minutes, and I’d told the cabbie to take me to Bautista Court instead.

So I’d hit “override” in her little script. But we’d saved Mac. We were all okay. How was this a problem?

I guess she must have seen the question in my face, because she said, “You must know that several students heard me ask you to come back. How am I to maintain order among them if it’s known that people can disobey me and get away with it?”

“But I didn’t disobey. Well, okay, I did, but only because the situation was urgent. We saved Mac’s life, ma’am. Surely that balances out my not doing what you said.”

“In the cosmic scheme of things, no doubt it does. But without you in the picture, the police would still have arrived. Maybe Lady Lindsay could still have been saved, or she would have found her way to safety herself. However, in the Spencer Academy scheme of things, I am still headmistress and you are still a student.”

I eyed her, a feeling of dread beginning to poke at my stomach.

“Miss Aragon, I’m very sorry to say that I’m going to have to suspend you from school.”

MY FATHER COMPLETELY lost it and canceled his trip to Singapore.

I got deported down to San Jose for my five-day sentence and then had the fun job of explaining to him that this little embarrassment was just to save Ms. Curzon’s pride and her rep with the students. It didn’t really have anything to do with me or what had happened to Mac.

He didn’t buy it.

In fact, I came about two inches from being enrolled at a public school in the South Bay. The only thing that saved me was the fact that there was only a month of my junior year left and they wouldn’t take me.

He confiscated my phone as further punishment and went back to work, leaving me with the condo to myself from eight until four, when Antony got home from school.

There was nothing to do except watch the news. Oh, and do schoolwork. At least Papa hadn’t cut off computer privileges, which meant I still had e-mail and IM to keep myself connected to the real world.

If you want the truth, it felt eerily like last term. Being accused of stuff other people did was getting really old.

On Wednesday, my least favorite day of the week, naturally my mother called.

“
Mi’ja
, I’m so glad to hear your voice. After your father called, I’ve been following the news reports on sfgate-dot-com. What an ordeal you’ve been through!”

“Hi, Mama. When did he call you?”

“Sunday, before we left for church.”

And she’d waited until
Wednesday
to talk to me?

“Honestly, Carly, while it was terribly brave, don’t you think you should have done what your headmistress asked? Your father says you’ve been suspended.”

“Yes. It’s just a formality.”

“A formality that will go on your transcript. Carolina, you have to learn to think things through before you go diving headlong into them.”

“There wasn’t time.” My throat felt tight. And my lips weren’t forming words very well. “We did save my friend’s life.”

“Yes, Lady Lindsay somebody, right? First the daughter of the Italian princess, now an earl’s daughter. Soon you’ll be too good for your own family.”

“Thanks for calling, Mama. I have tons of homework to do, so I’d better go. They e-mail it to me by the pound, it feels like.”

“One thing, darling. Have you given any more thought to being my bridesmaid?”

This was so like my mother. I’d just been through a huge crisis, and all she could think about was herself. “No, Mama. I’ve been kind of busy.”

“Please do think about it. We’ve settled on a date—December. A Christimas wedding in Santa Fe. So that only leaves seven months to plan.”

“You’ll have to plan without me, then. I’ll probably be in Santa Barbara.”

“Carolina.” She sounded like she was about to cry.

My computer beeped, announcing the arrival of an e-mail message. “I have to go, Mama. I think more homework just arrived.”

To my amazement, she didn’t argue. “Good-bye, darling.
Te amo
.”

“I love you, too.” Though I had to work pretty hard to remember what that felt like.

ON THURSDAY a letter came via FedEx. As I signed for it, I figured it was probably an official communiqué from Spencer, telling me not to come back next year or something equally horrible. I let it sit on the counter for about twenty minutes before curiosity got the best of me.

Dear Miss Aragon,

On behalf of the City of San Francisco and the Board of Supervisors, I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for your part in averting what could have been one of the worst tragedies in this city’s history. Your bravery and quick thinking were instrumental in saving the life not only of a fellow student but of countless others at Spencer Academy.

Our city is grateful to you. To show our appreciation, and by recommendation of the San Francisco Police Department and a resolution of the San Francisco Board of Supervisors, I would like to invite you to a ceremony on the steps of City Hall, where I will present you with a commendation, the highest honor it is in my power to bestow.

Please join us at two o’clock on Saturday, June 6, and invite as many of your family and friends as you would like. I look forward to conveying my thanks to you personally.

With gratitude,

Mayor

TEXT MESSAGE
_____________________________________________________

Chapter 22

I
SWEAR, MY FEET didn’t even touch the stairs as I flew down them. This must be a joke. But on the off chance it wasn’t, frantic hope fluttered inside me like a trapped bird. I wrenched the front door open and let out a squeak that was half surprise, half-disbelieving laugh.

“Hey.” Brett pocketed his iPhone and grinned at me. “I hope this is okay. Just showing up, I mean.”

“It’s totally okay,” I said, practically gasping.
Calm down. Breathe
.
Kick in, hostess reflex.
“Come on in. Have you had supper yet?”

“I was thinking I could talk you into going somewhere to eat before we caught that movie.”

“Carolina, who is this?”

I turned as my father came out of the dining room, which he used as his office. Up on the stairs, Antony peered through the railing. “Carly’s got a boyfriend. Carly’s got a boyfriend,” he sang in his raspy, off-key voice.

Brat
. Color rose in my face like a hot wave.

“Antony, where are your manners?” Papa demanded. “Come down and behave.”

“Mr. Aragon, it’s nice to meet you, sir.” Brett shook my father’s hand. “I’m Brett Loyola. The one who shared Carly’s, um, experience recently.”

“Brett Loyola. Ah. As in Loyola Investment Corporation?”

“Guilty.”

“Not that that matters. I’m very happy to meet the young man who helped my daughter so much. I think the two of you make a very impressive team.” Papa took Antony by the shoulders. “This is my son, Antony.”

“Hi, Brett,” he chirped, all nearly-thirteen cool. “You’re the one with the ’68 Camaro, right?”

“That’s right. It’s parked outside. Maybe—if it’s okay with your dad—we can go for a ride later.”

“Cool!” Antony twisted out of Papa’s grip and scampered back upstairs to his video game.

The warm, spicy smell of a
chile verde
casserole permeated the condo. “I hope you’ll stay for dinner, Brett,” Papa said. “Carly spent half the afternoon putting it together—it would be a shame to waste it.”

“You can cook?” Brett looked at me. “On top of everything else?”

Everything else? “Sure. I’ve been cooking since”—
my mother left us—
“for a couple of years now. Please stay.” I moved into the big open kitchen, and both he and Papa followed. I smothered a smile as Brett’s nostrils dilated. He must be starving. “And about the movie . . .”