Emancipated (9 page)

Maybe that was why Lucy wasn't into him?

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

VENICE BEACH HOUSE, FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 27

John-Michael made his way downstairs, pausing to admire the decorations that hung in the main hall and living room. He'd insisted that the housemates make the house fancy for the party. The building itself had a certain shabby, bohemian-Bauhaus chic. But inside, the walls were pretty bland. He'd bought a pile of
papel picado
paper decorations from a Mexican supermarket that Maya recommended and strung them along the ceiling, together with whatever colorful, slightly random decorations he'd been able to find. Silver foil paper chains, leftover Day of the Dead
papel picado
, Chinese lanterns in red tissue paper. It was kind of an eclectic mix, he realized, now that he was able to enjoy it without the stress of getting everything done on time. Somehow, it worked.

He moved through the throng of teenagers. To judge from the raised, excited voices, the buzz and general energy levels, this was going down as something a little bit special. Not every day you got invited to a party with no sign of parents, not even in the furnishings or bedrooms. This place was every inch theirs.

He'd recognize someone from school, watch their faces crease with momentary puzzlement to find him at such a hip party, and then give them a tiny wave as he sauntered over. Then he'd very casually slip in a reminder that yeah, he lived here and yeah, he'd made the snacks, well not all of them, not the tacos, obviously, but the teeny little cheesecakes, the jam tarts, and chocolate chip cookies, he'd done all those. Then he'd watch the expressions of sheer respect form on their faces.

And: “Dude. This is the sweetest setup ever. Seriously. Who do I have to kill to live here?”

John-Michael merely smiled a Sphinxlike smile and floated along to the kitchen, borne on a cloud of praise.

A girl was by the fridge, petite and with long, very straight chestnut-brown hair. She had large, light brown eyes lined with dark kohl. She was smoking a skinny, hand-rolled cigarette, or at least trying.

“Hey, got a light?” she asked John-Michael.

“There's no smoking in the house. Sorry. Our landlady would kill us.”

“Landlady?” She laughed. “Good one. I should call my mom that, too.”

“You know Candace's mom?”

“No, seriously, Candace's mom is actually your landlady?”

He looked at her sideways. The girl didn't look stoned. But she seemed to have difficulty following what he was telling her. “Candace's mom is our actual landlady, yes.”

“Oh. Gosh! I only know Candace vaguely. She's a friend of my girlfriend's ex.”

“Who invited you?”

The girl's expression fell immediately. “Wasn't this, like, an open thing? I just heard there was gonna be this killer party at Venice Beach. Jeez. How embarrassing.”

“No, it's fine—you're welcome. I'm glad you came,” he said as gallantly as he could. “You want a drink? Lucy just made a pitcher of Sea Breeze.”

The girl followed him to the punch bowl in the living room. He poured her a glass, enjoying what was rare for him—some unalloyed female attention.

Girls could usually tell he was gay and didn't look at him the way she was looking at him. It wasn't that he wanted to string her along, but just that it was nice not to be dismissed. Any minute now she'd catch sight of Paolo, or one of the other tennis players who'd come to the party. Then she'd be gone and he'd be alone. The only gay guy in the house to judge by the total lack of interesting-looking boys.

“I'm gay,” he said, lifting a glass to hers. “Just thought I'd get that out there. You're very cute and I like talking to you, though. So please don't go away.”

She grinned, mischievous. “I knew you were gay. And I'm not going anywhere.”

“Seriously, you knew? Huh. I thought I'd at least have a shot with you.”

“Are you bi?”

“Bi? I wish.”

“Why?”

“More options. You, for example. Or the four other hot girls I live with.”

“You live with four girls?”

He laughed. “Do you know anything about this house?”

“I know that Candace lives here. And she's having a party. I thought that'd be enough.”

John-Michael grabbed a plate of cookies from a passing boy, who barely noticed.

“Try one.”

She took a bite and gave a blissful smile.

He said, “I made it.”

“Really?” A pout. “Now I wish you were bi, too.”

He shrugged. “What are you gonna do?”

“Candace is emancipated,” the girl said. “I knew that. I didn't realize you all were.”

“Free as birds.”

“Oh. I'm sorry. That must suck.”

He glanced at her for a second, but the girl didn't seem to be joking. She licked chocolate off a finger and gave him an expectant, sympathetic look.

“Are you kidding? Most people are, like, seriously envious.”

“Really?” She shrugged. “Not me. I love living at home.”

He just stared.

“My folks are, like, these amazing people. I'm very lucky. They're cool. My mom teaches music and my dad runs an ice-cream factory. Well, actually, he owns it. And a parlor, too. They're really interesting and fun and they cook so well, I mean, both of them. I have my room and my own bathroom, my bike, my electric scooter, my car. They take me to concerts at the LA Phil and the ballet. . . . Why would I want to live apart from them? Doing all my own housework, laundry, no one to help with homework?”

“Who
are
you?”

She laughed. “Honestly, doesn't it sound good? Breakfast in bed on the weekends. Mom's blueberry waffles and bacon. I mean, I guess something must have gone wrong in your lives for you to want to be emancipated. Am I right?”

He paused, wondering if what he was feeling was jealousy or skepticism. “I guess.”

The girl continued to stare at him, then let out a huge laugh. “All right, I'm messin' with you.”

“What?”

“My life isn't like that, not at all!”

“So your folks don't do any of that cool stuff?”

“Not really. Just the work bits. My brother and I hardly see them. But maybe if we didn't actually live in the house, they'd make time to see us. Like, real time.”

John-Michael stared straight into his Sea Breeze. The mention of parents was having its predictably gloomy effect on him. “And you want that?” he said, aware that he sounded mournful.

“Yes,” she concluded. “Definitely. They're not a bad set of ‘rents.”

“Then you're right,” he admitted wistfully. “You
are
lucky.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

BALCONY, FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 27

“Thinking of joining the stoners?” Grace stared down at Paolo, an ironic smile on her face. “You know, you don't have to do it their way.” A couple of seconds later she was joined on the second-floor landing by Candace.

“I don't want to . . . I mean . . .” He frowned. “I don't?”

Grace grinned the mischievous grin she knew caught people off guard. “I mean, you don't have to wait for the bong. I got Lucy to give us enough for a joint.” The smile and comment had the desired effect. Paolo couldn't hide his surprise.

“You guys smoke?”

Candace replied, “Hardly ever. Tina—Grace's mom—is real strict. A total health nut. And Grace doesn't drink. Now, on account of having to get up at stupid o'clock tomorrow morning, neither do I. Still . . . some form of intoxication seems appropriate given my news. I mean, TV! Kind of life-changing, you have to admit. So, you wanna join us on the
ver-ahn-dah
, my dear?”

“You gonna smoke that in the open air? Hey, maybe you want to invite some cops, too?”

Candace laughed. “Relax. We're not big smokers. Two tokes and then we turn into pumpkins.”

They headed upstairs. There was only one area of the balcony that wasn't occupied by couples already well on the way to hooking up. Turning their backs on the ocean, the three housemates tucked themselves into a corner. Grace lit up the misshapen cigarette and took a drag. Candace relaxed in anticipation as Grace exhaled slowly through smiling teeth. Candace took the joint from her fingers, inhaled, and passed it to Paolo. “Oooff. I'd forgotten.”

Paolo drew in the smoke and held it there for a couple of seconds. “Been a long time?”

Grace gave a beatific grin. “We don't get out much.”

“Well, Tina's not here to stop you,” he reminded them.

Candace pulled a lopsided grin. “True. She's far away in San Antonio, getting bugged by Grace's bratty little brothers.”

“But you,” stressed Paolo, “you can get out all you want. Who's to stop you?”

Grace nodded. The edges of her senses were already fuzzy, tingling. “I know. Suddenly, it isn't as much fun.”

Paolo sniggered. “I'm glad you said it.”

“I didn't pick you for a giggler,” Candace remarked. She batted her eyes at Paolo, sophisticated disdain. For a second, Grace thought, she looked just like her mother.

Candace continued. “You never can tell who's going to be the type to giggle when they smoke,” she said. She paused lengthily, for obvious dramatic effect. “Personally, I prefer men who can still keep their cool.”

“That's a great impression of your mom, Candace. I can just see her saying that to the Dope Fiend.
I liked you so much better before you giggled, dahhhhling
.”

Paolo burst into laughter, joined after a second by Grace.

If Candace was annoyed, she hid it with consummate skill, and ignored the comment entirely. “Don't get me wrong. The whole emancipation thing. It rules.”

“Yeah,” Grace said. “It totally does.”

“But I hate laundry. And having to whine at people to clean up after themselves.”

Paolo laughed harder. “Oh, I get it. This is all part of your cunning scheme to get me to do the dishes.”

Candace said, “Yeah, lazy brat, could you do the frickin' dishes, already? ‘Cause you're something of a disappointment, Mr. King.”

“And there I was thinking I was all about the eye candy for you babes.”

“You and Lucy. You could do your dishes. Like,
ever
.”

“Okay, okay!” Tears came to his eyes. “Can we be serious for a second?”

“What makes you think we're not being serious?”

“No, but really.” He managed to bring his chuckles under control. “Look, you guys must have an opinion: Does Lucy like me?”

A little too quickly, Grace answered, “No.”

He sighed. “I was afraid of that.”

Candace said, “Did she ever act like she likes you?”

“No. Kind of the opposite.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “There's your clue.”

“I guess.”

She continued. “I hope you don't want to be a detective when you graduate.”

“It wouldn't be my first choice.”

“Okay, good,” Grace said. “I'm just saying. I mean, I assumed you'd be sticking with the tennis.”

He shook his head firmly. “I'm gonna be a lawyer.”

Grace peered at him, surprised, amused. “Really? What kind?”

“Human rights.”

Grace knew her amazement was showing on her face. For a moment, she couldn't speak. Paolo went on. “Yeah. I'm real interested in all the abuses that go on in our own country. You know, we're so worried about, like, Afghanistan and Iraq and Syria and all, but we don't think so much about the shitty stuff that happens right here.”

Candace interrupted. “You mean Gitmo?”

“That's not here, but yeah, that, too.”

“Gitmo's not here? Then where?”

“Are you kidding me? It's in Cuba.”

Candace stared in disbelief and then snorted with hilarity. “For a minute, you had me.”

“No, seriously! Google it. Anyway, I'm talking about stuff that happens to poor people, immigrants, people on death row.”

Grace could hardly believe her ears. Wordlessly, she took the joint from Candace. “You'd do that? Work your butt off to qualify as a lawyer and then work with people like that?”

Paolo turned to her. “I think so.”

Grace decided to keep playing devil's advocate. “Why?”

He seemed taken aback by the challenging note in her voice. “Because . . . because it matters. There are too many lawyers, that's what my dad always says. Clogging up the system, making work for themselves so they can get more clients. We don't need that, for sure. But I'm interested in how the law can be used to protect people. The innocent. The vulnerable.” He gave her an intent look. “Don't you think?”

“I guess.” Grace blew the smoke softly into his face. If he was faking it about the law stuff, he was managing to come across as remarkably sincere.

With an air of finality, Candace said, “I'm gonna leave you two to put the world to rights, and go check up on the triple room.”

Paolo said, “The
hookup
room? I thought we agreed it was private.”

Candace interjected, “No, Grace and I decided. One of us has to check in every so often to make sure no one's getting, you know, forced to do anything they don't want to do.”

“Jeez. You girls. You think of everything.”

“Yeah, well, we like living here,” Grace told him. “Don't you? But there are people who think we shouldn't be allowed to. Like Miss Olivera, the counselor at school. If anything horrible were to happen in this house, everything would change. Candace's mom would throw the rest of you guys out. She'd make us live with, like, med students; someone she thinks sounds respectable.”