Emancipated

by M. G. Reyes

  But Candace changed the subject. “So anyway, my mom said we can’t move in until she has everyone’s first check.”

  Paolo handed Candace an envelope. “Got mine. John-Michael, you got yours, too?”

  “I got cash,” he said. “I don’t have a bank account yet.”

  Grace turned to him. “How do you get money?”

  “My dad’s attorney. He’s the executor of his will. When I need money, he gives it to me.”

  “Are you loaded?” Candace asked.

  “Not really. My father made sure I can’t get too much at any one time. There’s a basic annuity, and I mean basic. I’ll get to keep some of the rent from my dad’s house, if his attorney ever manages to find some tenants. Above that, every dime I spend needs to be accounted for. Until I turn twenty-five.”

  “Twenty-five!” said Paolo. “That’s a long wait.”

  Grace asked quietly, “Are you sad?”

  John-Michael seemed to consider this. “He was the only parent I had left. I don’t have anyone else. No brothers or sisters.”

  She placed a hand on his. “I’m sorry.”

  Candace chimed in, “Yeah, John-Michael, me too. Not everyone gets along with their parents, but it’s got to be hard to lose one.”

  “Then I must be pretty careless,” he replied with a bitter chuckle. “Because I’ve lost two.”

  They’d perfectly timed their arrival on the waterfront. The sun was setting, the whole sky over the ocean was lit up: layers of fiery gold, pink, and blue interrupted by the stark silhouettes of tall palms. A neat strip of pavement in front of the row of houses opened directly onto trimmed patches of scrub grass and then smooth white sand, all the way to the water’s edge, which foamed, about six hundred feet away.

  For a moment they all stood, practically paused midstride. Grace turned with a half smile. She watched the boys react, recognizing in their response herself from just two days ago.

  In a low voice Paolo said, “Dude!”

  “You gotta be kiddin’ me,” John-Michael mumbled.

  Candace dangled a set of keys. “And you haven’t even seen the house.”

  They followed her along the boardwalk, gazing at each house they passed. Every house was different, an exercise in cool architectural self-expression. One house had made a life-sized stone statue of the Buddha into a frontispiece, with a fountain and glowing lights. Some houses had vast windows through which the new housemates could see pristine living rooms with minimal furnishings, all watched over by huge plasma-screen TVs. Artwork—almost certainly original—occupied the walls, which were either plain white or brick.

  The people inside looked rich, as though they’d never known a day’s uncertainty or discomfort in their lives.

  Candace stopped in front of a house.

  It was a blocky modernist building with three floors, narrow, like the other “beach shacks” in the nearby strip of beach. The first two floors were covered with white stucco, all horizontal lines of gray and steel. The outside walls of the third floor alone were brightly colored—a deep, sunset yellow.

  There was a single eccentric feature—a yellow spiral staircase that stood beside the main front door. It ran from the first floor to the third and opened onto a large balcony that looked out onto the beach. The balcony was bordered by a low, white stuccoed wall.

  A pale gray, ultrasmooth concrete wall ran around the perimeter of the house. A white metal gate stood at one side.

  “Paolo said it’s three bedrooms?” John-Michael asked.

  Grace answered, “Yup, three. Two bathrooms. We’ll have to share. Candace and I took a quick look the other day. After her last audition.”

  Paolo said, “You’re auditioning?”

  Candace nodded. “I’ve done a few now.”

  “Exciting!”

  “Maybe one day,” she answered flatly. “But not this time. I didn’t get the part. Again.”

  “Tough business,” Paolo said with sympathy.

  John-Michael turned to Paolo. “So, guess I’m sharing with you.”

  “Nope,” Paolo replied. “I’ve already talked it over with the girls. Two of the rooms are huge. One is teeny. Well, it’s me-sized. I’m coughing up a bigger share of the rent so I get to have privacy.”

  John-Michael said, “You mean you’re the only one who gets to bring someone home?”

  Candace interrupted. “I think we should have a rule— no sex in the house. It’s too small.”

  “Why would we be having sex?” Grace said with a straight face. “None of us are married.”

  It took the boys a few seconds to realize that she was joking, or at least hope that she was.

  “If that’s an issue,” Paolo said gallantly, “I could always propose.”

  They all laughed. Paolo smiled, enjoying the attention. “I only offered to take the small room because I thought it would save the rest of you from having to deal with me in your own space. Predatory male beast that I am.”

  His second quip got a bigger reaction than the first. When they’d calmed down Grace said, “I think it’s best if we get two other girls. Or else the room sharing gets weird.”

  “You don’t mind sharing with me?” John-Michael asked.

  “You’d be welcome in either room,” Grace said. “The other bedroom has the same layout, only two beds. One’s a double but Candace already called dibs on that.”

  “And you’re not sharing with your sister?” Paolo asked.

  Grace found herself blushing. “It’s kind of embarrassing. My folks only agreed to this if I pay the lowest rent possible. They’ve got a bunch of other kids to support, yada yada.”

  “And my super-mean mom won’t let her stay for free,” Candace added carelessly.

  “Maybe my friend Lucy Long could share with both of us,” John-Michael said.

  Grace turned to him slowly. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. It couldn’t be.

  In the calmest voice she could manage she said, “Tell us about this Lucy Long.”

  LUCY

  VENICE BEACH, SATURDAY, JANUARY 3

  “You cannot be serious.”

  Lucy checked the GPS on her cell phone. “Totally serious.”

  Her brother, Lloyd, frowned. “Right on Venice Beach?!”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Sis, you are one lucky girl, you know that?”

  Lucy gave him a piercing look. “If it gets me off your student-ass floor, that’s good enough for me. I’m tired of waking up smelling like beer.”

  “Girl, do not make fun of my hobbies.”

  “Hobbies, nothing,” Lucy shot back. “Apart from drinking beer and watching TV, I haven’t seen you do anything where your head wasn’t in a book since the day I arrived.”

  “When it’s Dr. Lloyd Long, MD, PhD, you’ll be eating your words,” her brother said. “Need any help with your bags?”

  “I’ll take the acoustic guitar; can you grab my Telecaster?” Lucy said. “Thanks, Lloyd.”

  He reached into the trunk of the car. “Got it.”

  They strolled along the beachfront, stepping aside at times to avoid two small clusters of cyclists and kids on scooters. After a few minutes they arrived at the house. The white front gate was open. Lucy stepped into the front yard and took in the house. The front door was all but obscured by an exterior yellow spiral staircase that led to the two upper levels. As she approached, Lucy could see that the door was a solid, cherry wood carved in the Spanish style and varnished to a high polish.

  Through the two front windows she could see the kitchen. There were no blinds. A French press had been left on the counter but otherwise the place looked spotlessly clean. Gleaming, modern kitchen appliances were visible inside. A dining table dominated the kitchen, and a large bowl of green apples had been thoughtfully placed as the centerpiece.

  It looked like a show home. Not the “beach shack” she’d been led to expect at all. She wasn’t sure how she felt about living here. It looked like the kind of pla
ce a bunch of hipsters would rent. Just the atmosphere she was trying to escape.

  From above, a voice called out. Lucy looked up to find herself staring at a good-looking white boy with short dark hair. Leaning over the balcony, he grinned—clean-cut, wholesome smile. “Hey! You must be Lucy! I’m Paolo. We all moved in yesterday—we’ve been waiting for you!”

  Paolo bounded down the spiral staircase and bumped fists first with Lloyd and then Lucy. He picked up the rectangular case that held Lucy’s second guitar, a Fender Telecaster. “Let me help you get this stuff upstairs. You’re on the middle floor, with Grace and John-Michael. They’re both totally cool.”

  “Finally, I get to meet the famous John-Michael Weller,” Lloyd commented.

  “I guess you and he are pretty good friends?” Paolo asked Lucy.

  Lucy smiled. “We played in a band together a couple of years ago at camp.”

  “John-Michael plays guitar? He didn’t mention that.”

  They arrived at the threshold of the middle floor. John-Michael was standing in the doorway. He held his arms out to Lucy, who carefully put down her suitcase and walked right into them. In silence, they hugged tightly.

  “I’m so sorry about your dad,” Lucy murmured against his neck.

  “S’okay. The old coot was a bastard anyhow.”

  But she heard the catch in his voice when he mentioned his father and hugged him harder. After a few more seconds, Lucy gently pulled away. She realized that Lloyd and Paolo were watching them uncomfortably.

  Lucy sat on the edge of the single bed nearest to the door and glanced around the room. The size wasn’t bad. It was newly painted, the buttery, maple wood floor polished to a matte sheen. All the furniture looked IKEA-fresh. But with three beds crammed in as well as two desks and a closet, not to mention a couple of nightstands, there wasn’t a lot of extra space.

  She looked back at her friend. “So now we’ve both been kicked out.”

  John-Michael nodded. “Pretty weak, huh?”

  “I gotta tell you, John-Michael, I did not enjoy it very much.”

  “What exactly did you do?” asked Paolo.

  Lucy turned to him. The boy looked like he belonged on a Disney Channel show, a dazzling white smile and clear green eyes. “Well—Paolo, is it? Seems that my folks did not appreciate my turning our basement into a creative space for the expansion of minds in the general direction of the arts.”

  Paolo laughed. He came in and sat in the swivel chair next to one of the two desks. It looked as though he planned to hang around to watch her move in.

  “What my sister is saying,” Lloyd said, placing one suitcase carefully on the bed next to Lucy, “is that she had some of her stoner buddies over for a late-night jam session. Our parents walked in on two of her friends having sex, and Lucy and her friends tripped out on crystal meth, while trying to play something by Green Day.”

  Lucy leaned back against the wall. “That’s so not true. They weren’t having sex. She just had her hand in his pants. And they were behind the amps, it’s not like we could see anything. It wasn’t crystal, it was weed. Seriously, Lloyd, what’s with you? Like I’d mess with methamphetamine! And hey, also, it wasn’t Green Day—it was Rancid.”

  Lloyd sat in the other desk chair, nearest to Lucy’s bed. Lucy wondered fleetingly if she should claim the desk. It didn’t look as though anyone had yet, but there were only two desks between the three of them. How was that going to work out?

  “What difference does it make?” Lloyd said languidly. “Point is, my sister blotted her copybook somethin’ awful and Mr. and Mrs. Long did not take it well.”

  There were footsteps on the landing. A petite, slim girl with wavy blond hair and piercing blue eyes stepped into the triple room. “I’m Grace,” she said, smiling. “It’s so good to meet you.”

  Lucy stood up for a quick hug. “Hey, Grace. I was just telling the others how my folks threw me out.”

  “Did it have anything to do with your dad being in the government?” Grace asked.

  Lucy’s eyes narrowed for a second. “Someone’s been doing their research.”

  “My stepsister’s mother owns the house,” Grace explained. “She had everyone checked out. Even me!”

  Lucy sat back on her bed. “The other girl—Candace Deering. That’s your stepsister?”

  Grace nodded. “But yeah, we both take her dad’s name now. My mom remarried, changed her name and everything.”

  Lucy frowned. “And is it awkward? With Candace’s mom, I mean. Was your mom, like, the ‘other woman’?”

  Grace crossed the room to sit on her bed, the larger of the two against the far wall. Unlike the other beds in the room, which were spread with plain blue-and-white bed linens, Grace’s was already decorated with a tasteful floral design and piled with lime-green pillows.

  “Kind of the opposite,” she said. “Candace’s mom left my stepdad for a dude in Malibu. Jarvis Adler. He’s a sculptor, or something, or maybe he does installations. If I had a clue about art, I might be able to tell you more.”

  “What happened, did Candace argue with your mom or something?”

  “Nothing like that. My mom is crazy about her. Too crazy, I sometimes think. . . .” Grace paused.

  Lucy caught her eye. “Must be kind of annoying for you.” She smiled gently.

  Grace shook her head, resolute. “I’m real happy for my mom. She’d been super-depressed. Things improved a lot when Candace and her dad came along. It was like a miracle really.”

  “Candace seems pretty cool,” John-Michael admitted. “Kind of . . . acerbic, though.”

  “Don’t let that bother you,” Grace said. “That’s just Candace. Wait until you hear her Shakespearean insults. She doesn’t mean any of it. You’ll know she loves you when she calls you something bad.”

  Paolo frowned. “How will we know if she hates us?”

  Grace looked at him darkly. “You’ll know.”

  Lucy looked around the room again. The walls were pure white, with some type of adobe finish. The beds didn’t match, nor the furniture, and yet there was a pleasingly eclectic feel to the decor. It was like someone had carefully chosen each piece because of some particular moment of delight or nostalgia it had caused.

  At best, there was enough floor space for two extra people to sleep. There were no rugs, pictures, or any other kind of decoration on the walls so far.

  Lucy decided it had to be mentioned. “There are only two desks.”

  “Yeah, the rent per person is lowest for this room,” Grace said. “We’ll have to share.”

  “But there’s Wi-Fi in the whole house,” Paolo offered. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

  Lucy followed Paolo out of the room to the open landing that led outside to the spiral staircase and two other doors. “Bathroom,” he said, tapping the door nearest to the triple room. “One of two. The other one is directly above, on the third floor. And—my room,” he finished with a push at the far door. As he held it open, Lucy saw a compact arrangement—a single bed, desk, and chest of drawers fitted closely with barely room left over for a desk chair.

  Lucy poked her head around the door. A glossy poster of a movie star dressed as Superman hung over the head of the bed and a full-length mirror was mounted on the opposite wall.

  “You like to check yourself out?” she teased.

  “Hey—all the bedrooms have one behind the doors.”

  She smirked. “Superman?”

  His eyes grew wide, innocent. “He’s the Man of Steel. What could be more inspiring?” When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “If it’s a problem that you don’t have a desk, you can work in my room sometimes. I almost always study sitting on my bed.” He grinned invitingly. “Or you could have the bed. I’m willing to share.”

  Paolo really was very cute, but he looked about as sexy as a cuddly little puppy dog. Discreetly, Lucy checked his arms and neck for tattoos. Nothing. Athletic, wholesome. He probably liked to study, too. The popular
girls at the Catholic girls’ high school where she’d just started would probably throw parties in the hope of getting a guy like this to show up. He was exactly the kind of boy Mom and Dad had been dying for Lucy to bring home.

  But a younger, cutie-pie athlete? Even if he turned out to be smarter than she thought, Paolo was definitely not her type.

  “So Lucy,” Grace asked, stepping into the room. “Candace told me you might have found us a sixth person for the house?”

  “Oh yeah. I told Candace I’d post something on my school’s Facebook page. I got a reply the next day. This girl Maya is a little young, just fifteen. Her parents are from Mexico. They had to leave, problems with immigration or something, but Maya stayed. She’s been living with her aunt but she seems pretty eager to move in with us.”

  “She’s Mexican, and she’s at your private school?”

  Paolo asked. “So she’s not poor?”

  “Not all immigrants are poor,” Lucy said, eyeing Paolo flatly. “Maya’s dad ran into trouble with his papers. Her mom left with him while the problem gets cleared up. Could take eighteen months, could take longer. Maya’s a citizen, so she can stay. So yeah, from what Maya told me, I guess they emancipated her.”

  “It’s just that the rent here . . .” Grace said. “Okay, we’re sharing the rooms so it’s not too bad. But we gotta know she has the money.”

  Lucy arched an eyebrow. “I see that white Cadillac her aunt drives her in to school. I don’t think we need to worry about that.”

  “Candace sent all Maya’s references to her mom. If everything checks out, then we’re all set.” Grace beamed. “On Monday, we’ll be going to school from our own house!”

  Lucy flashed a dazzling smile in Paolo’s direction. “Well, all right. Let the good times roll!”

  PAOLO

  BALCONY, SUNDAY, JANUARY 4

  Maya Soto, the new girl, was hot, although not as hot as Lucy Long. She had very dark brown hair but her skin was fair, almost white. It looked as though Maya didn’t spend much time in the sun.