Free Kristen by Lisi Harrison

have been easy considering Marsha refused to acknowledge him and that a shiny red Jaguar convertible had just pulled up behind them.
    “It
is
necessary.” The sharp corners of Marsha’s bob swung forward with the force of her conviction. “The club made a terrible mistake in vilifying you when you were only trying to help. Their manager owes you an apology. And I spent all morning on the phone making sure you’ll get it.”
    A wave of vertigo caught Kristen off guard. Her insides rose and sank like she was back on Dune’s board, riding the gentle, lapping surf of the sound. Only this time the churning in her stomach came from depression, not the promise of love. She angled the air-conditioning vent toward her face and inhaled deeply. It was impossible to know if her mother’s intentions were pure or just another game of chicken.
    More often than not, Marsha would
act
like she was on her daughter’s side, knowing the guilt would eventually break her, and she’d confess. And she was usually right. But not today. Kristen was friendless, jobless, and crushless. It was crucial for her fading self-esteem that she win
something
—or the only thing she’d have to show for her summer was a PhD in Advanced LBR.
    Hayden knuckle-tapped the window.
    Marsha, refusing to let her precious AC seep onto country club property, where they had “more than enough to go around,” faced the closed glass and mouthed, “I’ll park myself. We’re not staying long.”
    She turned to Kristen with renewed purpose. “I’ll meet you back here in fifteen minutes. See if he’ll give you a free membership.”
    Kristen grabbed the door handle, hoping that in the next millisecond something divine might happen and interrupt the next fifteen minutes of her life. But unfortunately, the sun was still shining down on the hunter green awnings of the country club. And the cars lined up behind them were honking impatiently.
    “I’m really glad things turned out the way they did.” Marsha grinned as Kristen stepped out of the Prius. “I would have hated to punish you for the entire eighth grade. And I would have
had
to. You know that,
right
?” She smiled and waved goodbye to her daughter. “See you at one forty-five.” She tapped the digital clock on the dash with her buffed nail.
    “’Kay.” Kristen closed the door a little harder than an innocent person would have.
    The club’s foyer was dark in a way that’s pleasing only to rich people. Kristen could barely see the outline of the slight blonde behind the semicircular mahogany reception desk. She was backlit by a sunbeam that had managed to squeeze through the open porthole-shaped window behind her—the only source of light in a room dotted with leather club chairs, green carpeting, and maroon velvet curtains. The beam, like Kristen, was there on borrowed time.
    “Member number?” Her raspy voice sawed through the steak-scented foyer like a worn nail file.
    Suddenly, Kristen felt dirty in her navy racer-back T-shirt dress and silver Pumas, even though they were clean. And her hair felt dry and unkempt, even though she had deep-conditioned it just that morning. The wealthy had that effect on her.
    “I’m here to see Garreth Ungerstein,” she said with some degree of authority. Who knew? Maybe the blond silhouette would think she was there to buy the club. Or give him an earful for serving cold chowder at the Fourth of July brunch. At the very least, maybe this way she wouldn’t be treated like the trespassing nonmember she was.
    “Garreth is lunching with the Lockharts,” the blonde said, as if the event had been the lead story on
Regis and Kelly
that morning. “He should be done by two.”
    A moment of silence passed between them.
    “You can wait over there if you’d like.” She gestured toward a glossy wood end table wedged between two leather chairs. A crystal jar of peanuts and a fan arrangement of several golf magazines seemed anxious for company, like decorations at a