Free Bad to the Bone by Melody Mayer Page B

school, and had started his freshman year on a full-ride academic scholarship at UCLA.
    “College is to high school as a fresh peach straight off the tree is to ten-year-old canned fruit. I think I had that question on my SAT,” he joked.
    “So you love it,” Esme translated.
    “I do,” he replied. “I'm taking an Eastern philosophy class, which is amazing. Great professor. Studied with the Dalai Lama. I'm planning a trip to Tibet next summer.”
    “You didn't tell me that.”
    “You've been kind of preoccupied with your own
la vida loca
,” he pointed out.
    That was true, and she felt guilty about it. Here Jorge was, helping her every step of the way even though he, too, had been dead set against her dropping out of school, and she had spent zero time asking about what was going on in his life.
    That's going to change
, Esme vowed. “You want coffee?”
    He plopped down onto one of the bright orange plastic chairs in the waiting room. “Yeah. Also, half of what you made today.”
    “Oh, you shakin' me down now?” Esme teased as she poured a cup and handed it to him. She had a coffee station set up for customers, and a small plate of fancy cookies that no one ever touched.
    Esme slid into a chair next to Jorge. “Okay, so tell me all about you.”
    He sipped the hot coffee carefully. “What, now I'm supposed to make up for lost time?”
    “Seriously,” Esme insisted. “I want to know.”
    “Okay. The Latin Kings are doing a benefit for the SAJE—”
    “What's that?”
    Jorge shook his head. “You haven't been away from the hood for
that
long. Strategic Actions for a Just Economy. All these yuppies are moving into the old neighborhood, driving up rents, driving our people out of their homes.”
    “Why would some rich gringos want to live in the Echo?” Esme wondered. “I don't get it.”
    “Oh, maybe you didn't hear. The Echo is hip now,” Jorge said archly. He took a paper out of his backpack and handed it to Esme. “Your new sublet clause. You're safe if you want to share the space.”
    “Thanks. What would I do without you?”
    “I often ask myself that. When're your parents coming?”
    As if in answer to that question, the buzzer sounded again, long and insistent, as if the person trying to get in was in a terrible hurry.
    “Gee, you wouldn't think they'd be so eager to get up here,” Esme muttered. She was really not looking forward to having her parents there. She went to the intercom and pressed Talk.
    “Yes?” she asked.
    “Esme!” her father cried. He sounded breathless. “Let us in! Hurry!”
    Esme pressed the button to unlock the door downstairs and traded a look with Jorge. Whatever was up couldn't possibly be good.
    Two hours later, a pale-faced Esme was sitting with her parents and Diane Goldhagen in Steven's home office. The twins were up in their bedrooms playing with their state-of-the-art dollhouses; their swimming lesson had been canceled. Stevenwas on his way from the Kodak Theatre so that he could be part of this meeting.
    Esme looked at her parents, who sat together on the edge of the couch, both of them stiff with fright. Her father wore black trousers and a short-sleeved light blue shirt; her mother an embroidered full skirt and a pretty red blouse. It occurred to Esme that this was probably the first time they'd been on the Goldhagens' estate not wearing their work uniforms.
    “Steven will know what to do,” Diane reassured them.
    Esme hoped she was right. She turned to Jorge. “Did you call your father again?”
    “Texted him. He's in court all day. He—”
    Steven stepped into the room. He wore baggy jeans and a white tennis shirt, his trademark baseball cap planted firmly on his head. “Okay, everyone stay calm. Tell me the whole story. All Diane said on the phone was ‘There’s an emergency with Esme's parents, come home.' So … I'm home.” He sat on the camel suede high-backed chair and waited.
    With that, Esme's parents started babbling in a mix of