Roemi’s house is the kind of place my mom would kill to have on her listings sheet. Most houses in Granite Ridge are pretty boring, mainly bungalows and split-levels. Roemi’s, however, is a contemporary castle, all glass and steel and exposed wooden beams, sitting on a perfectly landscaped hill. He leads the way up the front walk and shoves the huge front door open.
“I’m home!” he hollers.
Sticking together and staying a few feet back, the rest of us follow him into the house. The place is enormous, with soaring beamed ceilings and expensive leather furniture. In front of us, a large steel staircase leads to a landing with a bunch of doorways opening off it. It feels like a movie star’s house.
Candace stops in front of a giant abstract painting.
“This is incredible, Roemi,” she says.
“Yeah, my parents love that artsy shit.” He cups his hands over his mouth. “I’m home!” he yells again at the top of his lungs.
“Hello, dear!” The voice comes from somewhere deep inside the house.
“They’re in the family room,” Roemi explains. “Probably watching reruns of Friends or something. They love sitcoms. Come meet them. Don’t worry about your shoes. The cleaning woman will be here tomorrow.”
As we follow him, Candace turns to us and mouths, “Wow!” Paul and I nod in agreement.
The family room is actually more of a home theater. A gigantic TV takes up most of one wall, and big plush armchairs and couches are lined up in front of it. There’s a popcorn machine and bowls full of candy on a table in the corner.
Two smiling people get up from their chairs as we come into the room.
“Hello, dear!” says his mom. “We wondered where you went. Hello, Roemi’s friends, I’m Roemi’s mother.” She looks at Paul and smiles. “You must be Roemi’s boyfriend, come to take him to prom after all.”
Candace snickers as Paul turns red.
“As if,” says Roemi. “This is Paul and Andrea—they go to school with me—and this is Candace. She’s a traveling gypsy artist.”
“Oh, how wonderful, an artist,” says Roemi’s dad. “What kind of work do you do? Do you have anything for sale at the moment?”
This time, Candace looks uncomfortable. “Um, no, not really. Thanks for asking though.”
Roemi’s dad beams at Candace, and his mom beams at his dad, and then they both turn and beam at Roemi. There are some good vibes in this room.
“Roemi,” says his dad, “why don’t you take your friends to the kitchen and give them some ice cream?”
“No, thanks, Dad, we’re in a rush. Can we borrow the Land Cruiser?”
His dad frowns slightly and squints at Roemi. “The Land Cruiser? Who’s going to be driving?”
“Paul,” says Roemi. Paul’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t say anything.
Roemi’s dad turns to Paul, his cheerful face suddenly stern. “Do you have your driver’s license, young man?”
“Uh, yes sir,” says Paul. “I’ve been through driver’s ed and got my full license a couple of months ago.”
“And there will obviously be no joyriding or going over the speed limit?”
“For sure,” says Paul. “I mean, I’ll drive safe. No speeding.”
“There will be no drinking and driving, will there?”
“Dad!” says Roemi. “No drinking and anything! Come on, I promise.”
Roemi’s dad thinks about it for a moment, his face deadly serious.
“Okay then,” he says. “As long as safety comes first. Use your seat belts!” He smiles broadly again. “The keys are hanging on the wall in the garage.”
“Great, thanks,” says Roemi. “Come on,” he says, turning to the rest of us. “Let’s go up to my room so I can throw some jeans on.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say to his parents as Roemi hustles us out of the family room.
“Have fun!” they say in unison.
Roemi’s bedroom is as impressive as the rest of the house, although quite a bit messier. Sliding glass doors open onto a little balcony, and a bright white bathroom is visible through a doorway. On one side of the room is a sitting area with a couch and an armchair that faces a desk with a massive computer monitor on it. A goldfish in a bowl sits on top of a mini fridge. Plastered all over the walls are Abercrombie & Fitch ads of muscular shirtless guys; a giant poster of Lady Gaga hangs over the bed.
“Roemi, what the hell?” says Paul as soon as we’re in the room. “You didn’t tell me I’d be driving.”
“Well, I can’t do it,” says Roemi. “I don’t even have my learner’s permit. What’s the big deal? Anyway, grab a seat,” he tells us. “I just have to figure out what to wear. There’s soda and stuff in the fridge.” He rummages through piles of clothes and quickly comes up with a pair of jeans and a neon-green T-shirt. He goes into the bathroom and closes the door but comes back out again almost right away.
“Can’t do it,” he says. “I look too good in this tux. I’m paying for it too, so I might as well get my money’s worth. I’ll just put sneakers on.”
I drop into Roemi’s incredibly comfortable couch.
“I could get used to this, Roemi,” I say.
“Tell me about it,” says Paul.
It’s kind of strange to be hanging out somewhere that isn’t either my house or Bethanne’s. It’s even stranger for the four of us to be here together.
“Your parents seem really cool, Roemi,” I say.
“What do they do?” asks Candace.
“Dad’s a family doctor and Mom’s a shrink,” he says.
“Do they want you to be a doctor too?” asks Paul.
“No way,” says Roemi. “Only if I want to be, which I don’t. Gross. As long as I find something I enjoy doing and work hard at it, they’re pretty much cool with whatever.”
“Must be nice,” I say. “My mom has been pushing me to go into engineering since I was a kid.”
“Is that what you’re going to do?” asks Paul.
“Probably,” I say. “It pays well, and I’m good at math and science.”
“Way to live your own life,” says Candace, who’s sitting with her legs over the edge of the armchair.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“Oh, come on,” she says. “You know what I mean. Sounds like your mom is part of the system, and you’re just lining up like a sheep to do as you’re told.”
“What system?” I ask her.
“You really don’t have any idea, do you?” she says. “Let me guess. Your mom also wants you to go to the university in the city, so you can live at home and save money and she can keep you in her sights. You’ll study really hard and get good marks and eventually you’ll end up in some boring job that you hate, but you’ll do it so you can make money to pay for a house just like the one you live in now. Then you’ll have some kids and eventually they’ll grow up and you’ll push them out into the world to do the same thing.”
“Heavy,” says Roemi.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I say, although she’s kind of hit the nail right on the head.
“I don’t need to know you,” she says. “Because I know plenty of people like you already. People who hear the word graffiti and immediately jump to conclusions, because they’ve been told what to think their whole lives.”
Paul looks really uncomfortable, as if he wants to be somewhere—anywhere—else. Roemi, on the other hand, is leaning forward in his chair as if he’s front row center at the best show in town.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. “I didn’t mean anything about the graffiti thing. I was just asking you why you wanted to do it. I wasn’t trying to insult you.”
“It’s not even that,” she says. “It’s all the preconceptions. I can see it in your eyes, in the way that you talk about it. It’s true, isn’t it? You prefer to not think for yourself, so when you meet someone who’s willing to break the rules, it makes you uncomfortable. It’s not your fault. You’ve been conditioned that way.”
“I think for myself,” I say. “I broke out of my house, didn’t I?”
“Oh, that’s right,” she says. “And you’ve only mentioned going home about ten times in the last hour. Face it. You’d rather take orders from people, like your mom, or the cop who’s been harassing me all night.”
“You mean the cop who’s just doing his job?” I ask her.
“His job?” she says, her jaw dropping. “So it’s his job to harass teenagers without good reason?”
“You were breaking the law,” I say.
“And why is it the law? What fucking difference does it make if I want to make public art? It’s like we’re living in a police state or something.”
“Public art? Give me a break,” I say. “Since when is vandalism art?”
“If you feel so strongly about it,” she says, “why don’t you just make a citizen’s arrest?”
“Ladies,” says Roemi. “Puh-leaze. Enough with the catfight. We have an adventure to go on.” He stands up. “Let’s get out of here.”
My head is spinning, and I’m not sure what I did to make Candace hate me so much, but I don’t want to stick around to find out.
“Sorry, Roemi,” I say. “I think I should probably go home now.”
Candace laughs. “Go ahead,” she says. “Prove my point for me. The minute someone shakes you out of your comfort zone, you’re racing home to Mommy and some well-deserved punishment.”
“Don’t leave, Andrea,” says Paul. “I can give you a ride home later.”
I don’t even bother responding. I just grab my backpack and walk out of the room, hurry down the stairs and push through the heavy wooden door and out of Roemi’s house.