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

he’s sleepy my brother looks like a tall ten-year-old
instead of the high school sophomore out to give his older sister
grief.
    “Ten minutes,” I tell
him.
    “Make it fifteen and I’m
there.” He puts the pillow back over his head and his foot
disappears under the blankets.
    I’m surprised when he walks
down the hall and into the living room almost exactly fifteen
minutes later. He wants to go home, too.

Chapter 18
     
    We navigate through the Las
Pulgas traffic and head west toward the coast highway. Once I point
the Tercel north and follow the familiar winding road along the
oceanfront, I breathe the sea air. I remember how much I love the
smell and how much I miss it, but I don’t expect to ache all over
like I’m coming down with the flu.
    I pretend I don’t notice
how Keith shuts his eyes and seals himself away.
    When I turn down our old
street my heart hits my chest so hard I feel it bruise itself
against my rib cage. I pass the Franklin place and pull to the curb
across the street from our house without looking at the two-story
beach home that I miss like a piece of myself. I imagine walking
inside, seeing the fireplace mantle decorated for Christmas with
fresh holly and lights, sitting at the dining room table with one
of Mom’s lush bouquets and candle flames dancing in the reflection
of the polished wood. I remember how it used to be when Dad swept
down the driveway in the evenings and came in shouting, “The king
is home!”
    “They painted it.” Keith’s
voice shakes me out of my trance and I jerk my head up.
    “It’s green!” I clutch the
steering wheel and swallow the sticky bile that leaps to my throat.
While I’m staring at the that putrid pastel house, the door—my door
flies open and that redheaded creep sashays down the path—my path.
I feel rather than hear the growl that comes out my
mouth.
    “Chill, Carlie.” Keith
opens his door. “Stay here. I’ll go to the back where Quicken used
to hang out.”
    Keith’s only gone a few
minutes before he jogs back across the lawn empty-handed. In
silence I take the familiar route toward Sam’s Shack where everyone
goes at lunch and after school. On Saturdays burgers are half-off,
so the place is packed. I don’t park in their lot, but hide the
Tercel in the grove of eucalyptus down the street.
    “Are you going in?” Keith
asks.
    I want to, and I don’t. I’d
like to pretend today is the way Saturday used to be. I’d like to
walk inside Sam’s, sit with Lena, make plans for the dance or next
week or—
    “Well, I’m starved.” Keith
opens his door and gets out.
    You can do this, Carlie. Just have your
story straight. Keith won’t say anything. His mouth will be
full.
    I trudge behind my brother,
but before Keith pushes in Sam’s door Lena steps out and blocks the
way, tapping her foot.
    “I’m glad to see you.” My
voice isn’t too convincing.
    “Really?” She puts on arm
on each hip and sticks out her chin. Lena’s a master at playing
“hurt.”
    Keith walks around her.
“Later.” He goes inside, leaving us face to face.
    “I’m sorry. I’ve been so —
you know trying to—” I choke back tears. I’m not ready to talk
about how I’m the uptight princess at Las Pulgas High or about K.T.
and her remarkable hair or the tattoos or Juan or Anthony or Chico.
“I’ve been trying to get used to living—” I can’t say it. I can’t
say living in a dump, living without any friends, living a life I
hate. “I’m just sorry.”
    Lena shifts her weight,
then smiles. “Me too. Really sorry.”
    She steps in close and we
hug. For the first time in weeks, I feel like myself. I’m with
someone I’ve known forever, someone who doesn’t have her initials
tattooed on her neck. “I’ve really missed you, Lena.”
    “I’ve missed you, like,
massively. Come on.” Lena takes my arm. “We have catching up to
do.”
    Inside we line up behind
Keith at the order counter.
    “I have so much to tell you.” Lena clings