Free The Princess of Las Pulgas by C. Lee McKenzie Page A

capitalized miserable. Guess I’ll have to visit her
and smooth the waters.”
    “When will you
go?”
    “Probably before spring
break. I can get a good fare if I go before vacation starts.” He
pauses then says, “When can I come see you?”
    He has to hear the thud
from my chest. First, he won’t be here for the dance, so there’s no
way he’ll ask me to go and second, I want to see him. I just don’t
want to see him here. I stifle a groan, glad that he can’t see my
face. “How about I come to Channing? I, uh, need to
visit.”
    “Sure. When?”
    “I have to—” I almost
say, ask for the car . “Check with my mom. I’ll call
you.”
    After he hangs up knots
form in my stomach while I look around my room.: sultry dark cube
with a clever Rorschach carpet design by Stains Galore. Chic black
sheet window treatment, a real mood setter. Air courtesy of my
neighbors—Smokers Unlimited.
    What will I do when I hit
the drought season for excuses? If I start dating Sean, I won’t be
able to keep him away from Las Pulgas forever. I have to admit the
knots have a lot to do with the humungous number of lines
Shakespeare wrote for Desdemona, and because Juan Pacheco keeps
popping into my head looking like a smoldering Othello. A big
reason for stomach knots any time is that I miss Lena, but I can’t
call her or she’ll want to come visit. Then there’s Quicken. I
picture her starving in a Las Pulgas slum.
    I dress and throw the
covers over my bed.
    Mom sits at the kitchen
table with books and papers, her chin propped on both fists. She
looks up as I come in. “Hi, hon. Cocoa? It’s hot.”
    I pour cocoa into a mug and
sit across from her. “Can you let me have the car
today?”
    “Where’re you
going?”
    “I thought I’d drive over
to Channing and look for Quicken, just in case she made it back to
the house. I don’t have play rehearsal until 2:30.” Several times
last week I’d considered returning home to look for my cat, but
each time I changed my mind. Somehow Sean’s phone call has helped
me decide I can see Channing without imploding.
    “Ask Keith to go with you.”
Mom rubs her eyes and yawns. “I'd feel better if you went with
someone, and I’m tied up all day.” She waves her hand over the
books. “The practice test on real estate principles is next
Tuesday.”
    What will happen when Mom
gets her license, starts selling real estate, starts making money?
Could we go home to Channing? Could we somehow toss that redheaded
squatter and her parents from our home and move back where we
belong?
    On my way from the kitchen
Mom reaches out and takes me by the hand. “I think I have a job as
cashier at the Las Pulgas Market. That should help us get through
this rough patch faster.” She looks up at me. “What? You look like
I just sold you into slavery.”
    “Cashier? In a
market?” How can she think of doing that?
What if my friends find out? Is she trying to completely ruin my
life?
    “The job will help with
groceries. Things are getting better, like I promised.”
    “What’s better, Mom? Just
tell me, okay?”
    “Stop it!” She covers her
face with both hands, then slams them onto her books. “I don't have
a choice, Carlie. Do you understand?”
    I understand, but she
doesn't. Every day we live here we sink deeper into Las Pulgas. I
grit my teeth and flee down the hall. How can I help being a
terrible daughter if she strips away the last tiny bit of dignity I
have left.
    Keith is still in bed
buried under his pillow when I peek inside his room. No matter
where he sleeps his room turns into my vision of a mole hole. At
Channing he painted his walls indigo and kept all the curtains
pulled tight. Here he didn’t redecorate. He didn’t need to. This
room started with all the prime qualifications for a mole
dwelling.
    “I’m going to Channing to
look for Quicken. Want to come?”
    His foot shoots from under
the covers. Then he pushes his pillow aside and opens one eye.
“When?” When