Emancipated

by M. G. Reyes

  A huge red Amnesty banner hung between the windows of two classrooms and across half of the quad. Beneath it, tables were arranged. They were filling fast with aluminum trays of cakes, pizza slices, quiche, fried chicken, paper bags and napkins, and cans of soda in deep plastic trays of ice. On the opposite side of the quad, two boys from Paolo and John-Michael’s school were unloading amplifiers and microphones. Lucy almost laughed when she imagined herself alone in that setup. Never mind. She’d rock it out.

  “Hey—is this the place for the impromptu Lucy Long gig?” The question came from behind her, a deadpan voice. Lucy peered between the faces that were crowding around the food tables, looking for the source. When she found it, she couldn’t help grinning widely.

  “Ruben!”

  “Hey, girlfriend,” Ruben said with an ironic grin. “Am I too late to help out?” He stood clutching a conga drum to his chest, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

  “Congas . . . ?”

  “Only just got your text. I was on the way back from a lesson. It’s all I had time to bring.”

  Lucy waited for Ruben to put the conga down. She hugged him tight. “Thank you, babe. I owe you.”

  “You don’t owe me, dude. If anything, I owe you for letting Bailey be such a nimrod.”

  “I knew Bailey was gonna have a problem with me. I totally got that from him the first time we met at the audition. I just gave him the excuse he needed to ditch me.”

  “Look, I’ve known him for years. He’s a good musician and we mesh okay together but . . . way I see it, Bailey’s jerkitude is all his own.”

  Lucy smiled, staring down at the conga drum. “You really know how to play that?”

  “Like I was Ray Barretto. This is the conga; I got a quinto in the car.”

  “You think you can play along with my kinda set?”

  “Babe, it’s cool, we’ll improvise.”

  The audience was beginning to assemble. Ruben must have called some friends because several people called out to him as he began to set up his drums alongside Lucy’s guitar and mike stand.

  A few minutes later they were ready for a sound check. Ruben was already entertaining the gathered crowd with some conga riffs.

  At the edge of her vision, Lucy could see Paolo watching them. He was pretending to help with the audio setup, but she could tell that he was mainly keeping an eye on her interaction with Ruben. It was impossible not to compare the two guys. Paolo was younger by at least two years, fresh-faced and athletic. Ruben, on the other hand, a Puerto Rican high school dropout, had ink-black spiky hair to match his dark eyes, piercings in his ear, cheekbones you could whet a knife on, and a Sex Pistols—Never Mind the Bollocks tattoo across his upper right arm, always on display under the rolled-up sleeve of his T-shirt. Ruben, who as far as Lucy had seen, lived for rhythm and punk.

  If Ruben ever made a move, he’d be difficult to resist.

  PAOLO

  HEARST ACADEMY, SATURDAY, MAY 23

  “Quit staring. You look like a stalker.”

  Lucy and Ruben were playing a song that Paolo didn’t recognize when Paolo flipped around to see Candace eyeing him with a wily grin.

  “Saw you look.”

  Paolo adopted a nonchalant stance. “I’m just keeping an eye on the sound equipment. It’s all rented.”

  “Oh, stop it. We all know you slept with her.”

  For a moment, Paolo froze. He tried to brush it off with a bashful smile. The memory of that encounter was only becoming more miserable as the hours passed.

  “Small house and loose tongues, Paolo.”

  “There I was thinking we were a pretty closemouthed bunch. Lucy being a child star, for example.”

  Candace looked puzzled. “So?”

  “You don’t think it’s weird that Lucy didn’t tell you of all people that she used to have the same job as you? I mean—a TV show. It’s kind of a big deal.”

  “I guess. I assumed it was because she was embarrassed about being in rehab afterward,” Candace said.

  Stunned, Paolo said, “She was in rehab?”

  Candace flinched, as if annoyed at herself and Paolo, too. “See, I’ll bet that’s exactly the kind of reaction she’s trying to avoid. It was years ago and it’s not like she’s the only child star to go that way. Get over it.”

  “You get over it.” Paolo could feel himself reddening in anger.

  They were silent for a moment.

  Paolo regarded Candace with a circumspect, almost suspicious air. There were his own secret misdemeanors, too, of course. He was fairly certain that no one in the house had a clue about those. He knew how to keep a secret. He wondered, then, was Candace concealing something, too?

  “And what about you, Candace?”

  Coquettishly, she tipped her head. “Me? I’m just the girl next door.”

  The sound of Lucy’s acoustic guitar strumming chords hit the air, then her voice.

  “Hey, if you’ve just arrived, we’re Lucy and Ruben,” Lucy said into the microphone.

  “And now, we’re gonna play you some of our favorite songs,” Ruben added.

  Cheers went up from the assembled crowd of high schoolers.

  After a minute Ruben settled into a steady rhythm as Lucy began, very laid-back, to sing the lyrics of “Knowledge” by Operation Ivy. Paolo listened for a minute. It was clear from the delight on their faces and from the occasional small mistakes they’d never played this together. Yet there was a chaotic synergy between them. And the audience responded with ever-building delight.

  Paolo leaned over. “You think she likes him?”

  Candace smiled. “Already? Man. You got it bad.” She might have been about to say more, but at that moment Maya joined them, beaming. She was carrying a paper napkin wrapped around some toasted golden pastries.

  “Did you try Grace’s turnovers yet? Melt-in-the-mouth good.”

  They each took one. On the stage, Lucy stepped up the tempo. Another cheer rose up.

  Maya said, openmouthed, “That is one talented morena.”

  “She’s his talented morena,” Candace said with a nudge of Paolo. She turned to him. “So you two finally—?”

  Paolo found himself unable to reply. He didn’t want to tell the truth. It was just too awkward. But on the other hand, he didn’t want to lie. Lucy would find out and that would be another nail in his coffin.

  “She’s not ‘mine,’” he ventured. “Don’t be going around saying that, okay?”

  Candace lifted her bottle to toast him. “Cheers, brat.”

  Maya continued. “Lucy’s gonna be so goddamn famous one day.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Candace muttered.

  “Sure she is. Look at her,” Paolo said. “She’s sexy, she sounds amazing, she’s got crazy talent on the guitar.”

  “You should get a load of the girls that show up at my auditions,” Candace added. “They have talent in spades.”

  “Yeah, and you beat them to the part,” Maya reminded her.

  Candace gave a sharp laugh. “I beat them to a basically nonspeaking part. I’m there because I’ve got the right look, mainly.”

  “Just the same, Candace. You got your foot in the door,” Maya said. “And it’s gonna lead to incredible things for you. It’s in the air. I feel it.”

  “What, you got some Mexican Santería going on?”

  “My family’s from Mexico City, you redneck. We don’t go in for any of that Caribbean nonsense.”

  Paolo leaned back, enjoying the spectacle of the two girls arguing.

  Candace gave Maya’s arm an affectionate squeeze. “Hey, you know I’m only joking, right? Thank you for saying you believe in me.”

  Maya grinned back. “You wait. You’re gonna be huge. And Lucy, too.”

  Candace said with an air of finality, “Wake me up when it happens, okay? I wouldn’t want to miss it.”

  Paolo listened with a sense of unease. He wanted Maya to be right about Lucy. Watching her on stage, he was in awe. It on
ly made him want her more. Right now, she didn’t want him at all and that situation would only get worse if she became famous.

  As the song finished, Paolo noticed a third dark head bobbing up between Lucy and Ruben, attaching a lead to the amplifier. When the guy straightened up, Paolo realized it was John-Michael.

  “Let me introduce our newest band member,” Ruben rumbled throatily into the microphone. “On rhythm guitar, all the way from the Carlsbad police department, where he’s just been acquitted of murder, John-Michael Weller!”

  The inappropriateness of the comment drew a gasp from Paolo, Candace, and Maya. Paolo tried to catch a glimpse of John-Michael’s reaction but his back was turned to the crowd. Lucy grimaced for a second, but then gave John-Michael a heartfelt smile of encouragement.

  “We’re gonna punk it up for you good people now,” Ruben said. There was raw energy and joy in his voice. “Please give it up for Lucy Long on lead guitar and vocals and a little number by Rancid!”

  Paolo stood back a little, found a vantage point from which he had a direct line of sight to Lucy singing.

  Good morning heartache, you’re like an old friend.

  Every lyric struck straight to his core. Paolo couldn’t take his eyes off her lips, the flutter of eyelashes when she closed her eyes. Both triggered sensory memories, the few moments in which they’d been close. He could feel unhappiness stirring inside him, a dull ache. The thought of never having her made him almost physically weak.

  What was happening to him?

  He shouldn’t have tried to sleep with Lucy so soon. Or maybe he should have made a move earlier? He had no idea where he’d gone wrong. This felt bad, really bad. He could scarcely comprehend how miserable he was beginning to feel.

  GRACE

  HEARST ACADEMY, SATURDAY, MAY 23

  From the cypress trees about twenty yards away, Grace watched Lucy back away from John-Michael. He didn’t make any move to follow her, although their body language suggested that they’d had some kind of disagreement. Grace waited a minute, until Lucy was back with her other friends. Then she waved John-Michael over. As he sauntered toward her, she wondered about the twist of fate that had brought her under the same roof as Lucasta Jordan-Long.

  When Grace had first heard the name of the fifth person that John-Michael had found for the house, she had assumed she’d heard it wrong.

  Lucy Long, from Claremont.

  She wasn’t mistaken. Grace could still remember the creep in her skin as she’d let those words settle inside her.

  Lucasta Jordan-Long.

  A buried name with a hollow legacy.

  Hearing that her soon-to-be-housemate “Lucy” was the daughter of assistant secretary Robert Long and Anne-Marie Jordan had confirmed it. The former child star’s name was one of the “secrets” lovingly exchanged on the small-but-devoted online forum dedicated to Jelly and Pie. Grace had trawled the forum for the latest news. It was true. Their beloved Lucy was getting emancipated—thrilling news for hopeful fans who could now fantasize that they’d be able to befriend the parent-free teenager.

  At first, it didn’t seem possible. How could Grace share living space with the one person whose silence had condemned her father? It was then she’d realized that all those years of reasoning with her father hadn’t calmed her down.

  I think someone might have seen.

  Grace’s father couldn’t remember. He’d been too wasted. His pathetic, drink-and-drug addled statement had pretty much shackled him to the gurney in the execution chamber. Vague entreaties that someone, maybe a kid, had been wandering around the house that night as well as him did not cut it.

  Not without anyone else to corroborate. And no one would.

  Lucasta Jordan-Long.

  Marc Honeydew.

  Alexis Silber-McCarthy.

  Tyger Watanabe.

  The only four children in the house the night of the party at which Tyson Drew had been killed. Grace had known the names for as long as she could remember. She’d followed their careers. Three had burned out early. Rehab for Tyger and Lucasta. College and an academic career for Marc. Only Alexis was still going strong.

  Grace had assumed the witness was Alexis. She was the oldest, the most visibly precocious. Grace could just imagine her management talking a kid like that out of giving testimony. Untold potential damage to her career. For years, Grace had fantasized about what she’d do if she ever found herself in an elevator with Alexis Silber-McCarthy.

  Until she read an interview with Lucy Long.

  Lucy, in many ways, had suffered through the worst “post-child star” trauma. She’d been nine years old when it happened, and hadn’t even lasted the rest of the season of Jelly and Pie. She’d disappeared off the radar for a few years. And then at age fourteen, she’d reemerged in a scandalous story about former child stars who went off the rails. You’d think five years would be enough time to get over the loss of fame or the pressure to get back, or whatever it was that kicked off the rush to alcohol. But apparently not.

  Lucy had agreed to an interview about her trauma. She must have been fifteen at the time. In the interview, she’d said something. The moment she’d read it, Grace had known.

  Lucy was the one who’d seen the murder.

  Acting is lying. It’s pretending to be someone you aren’t. I had enough of that. Just suddenly, it came to me, like a revelation. I wanted to be authentic. That’s why I went toward music.

  Grace was going to be sharing a house with Lucasta Jordan-Long.

  And thus her plan had been born.

  Grace wasn’t surprised that Lucy made darn sure that no one ever called her Lucasta, or ever wrote to her with her stage surname of Jordan-Long. Her name had been printed in many of the articles written about the Tyson Drew case.

  There’d been open speculation that one of the children might have been seen wandering around the house in the middle of the night. Grace’s father was one of those who’d insisted that she might be a witness. But little Lucasta herself had denied it. Her parents had threatened lawsuits to anyone who repeated the allegations. If she’d seen anything, if she’d lied to the police, only Lucasta herself could admit it.

  Unless Grace found some way to persuade Lucy/Lucasta to talk about it, her own dad was going to die.

  So far, things weren’t going well. Something or someone always seemed to conspire to stop her finding anything concrete about Lucy’s past, or at least anything that Grace didn’t already know. She wasn’t succeeding in getting closer to Lucy, either. In fact, Grace had to admit: although she’d never sensed any direct animosity, she was probably Lucy’s least-best friend in the house.

  And now the situation between Lucy and Paolo. A shiver of self-loathing ran through Grace for the briefest moment. Of all the idiotic emotions to feel—why did it have to be jealousy?

  Lucy’s audience began to applaud as she once again donned the guitar. The crowd swelled rapidly. From their attitude toward the band, Grace guessed they were friends or even fans of Ruben. Soon enough she couldn’t see Lucy or Ruben between the bodies. She heard Lucy mutter into the microphone, “John-Michael, get your ass over here.”

  The crowd began to cheer and call out song requests. Grace watched Lucy and Ruben nodding enthusiastically as they recognized certain songs. When John-Michael joined them on the shallow, makeshift stage, their three heads met briefly.

  When they separated, Lucy and Ruben were grinning widely. John-Michael, however, looked nervous. Within seconds, Ruben was riffing a conga rhythm. Lucy and John-Michael joined in on electric guitars, pounding out steady chords. After a few seconds, John-Michael began to sing, taking over lead vocals. He seemed unsure of himself, half mumbling at first. Grace didn’t recognize the song until the chorus. Plenty of the audience did, however. They began to leap and bounce, joining in.

  I fought the law and the law won.

  Grace started walking. She bumped into Candace at the food and drinks tables. Candace was close enough that Grace cau
ght the scent of vodka on her breath as the two girls collided.

  “Candace, tell me you didn’t bring booze to a benefit!”

  “Do I look like an idiot? We made Sea Breezes at home while we were getting everything ready. Don’t whine—you basically took off while all the work happened. You don’t get to lay down the law, little sis.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Give me a break. We just needed something to lift the mood.”

  “The occasion wasn’t enough?”

  “Fine, be a pain. I won’t tell you my big, secret news.”

  “Like you ever would.”

  “Jeez, don’t be all like a kid whose lunch got stolen. All right, I’ll tell you.”

  Grace turned back to face the stage. “Yeah, yeah, let’s talk about you. As usual.”

  “Okay, well, listen. My agent called. That guy from Deadbeat—the one everyone thinks is so cute—got the lead in a new TV show for a major cable channel. Science fiction adventure crapola, you know the type of thing. But done properly, big budget. The sci-fi Game of Thrones is what my agent said.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “That Ricardo Adams dude from Deadbeat, he saw the pilot of Downtowners. And he told the director I’d be perfect for this part in the new show.”

  “You? But aren’t you locked in as Gina?”

  “Apparently, it’s negotiable. My agent told them to up my part, like, a lot. Or to release me from the contract.”

  “Kill Gina off?”

  “Let’s face it, it’s amazing that she’s survived this far. She’s just so darn scrappy. Someone’s bound to ice her.”

  Grace marveled. “So this is how it works, huh?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  Candace smiled. “Finally.”

  “Is it a lot more work?”

  “I think it may be. And you can’t say anything. This is strictly for the vault. It’s not a done deal yet. I still gotta audition, screen-test with Ricardo Adams. Plus, my agent has some dancing to do.”