Emma, dressed in her canary silk tuxedo, angled the camera tripod. “Too much light,” she muttered. She yanked her dorm room’s curtains closed and hustled back behind the camera, which was pointed at her five friends, also dressed in their prom outfits. “There, that’s more like the way the lighting will be. Can everyone take a step to the right?”
Lizzie, Ellie, Kat, Fanny, and Anne all dutifully took their steps. Emma had styled their hair and done their makeup. She had even made them put on their shoes for her “photo dry run”—a term she’d thrown out as though they should have known that it was common practice to dry-run one’s prom photos a few days before the big event.
Anne glanced over Emma’s head at her reflection in the mirror. Emma had pulled back strands of her hair and pinned them in curls and waves at her temples while the rest cascaded down her shoulders.
“A girlish, feminine look,” Emma had said, “to soften the sexiness of the red cocktail dress. Normally I’m not one to soften sexy, but this is prom.”
Anne would have let Emma shave her head if she thought it was a good idea.
Emma bent over and peered through the lens. “Practice smiles? Good, okay. Less teeth, Ellie. Trust me on this. There, that’s perfect. Now make a spot for me between Fanny and Anne.” She pressed the camera timer and scuffled toward them in her high heels. With model timing, she turned, rested her hand on her hip, angled her face downward, and posed. “Remember, chin down, eyes up, smile wide.”
A flash lit up the camera.
“Now everyone change angles.” Emma pivoted to the right.
Anne tried to follow but was pretty sure her eyes were crossed when the next flash went off.
“Now face away from the camera and look over your shoulder,” Emma said.
Anne did the best she could. At least she was facing in the right direction.
“Take a break, beautifuls.” Emma picked up her camera, reopened the curtains, and scrolled through the pictures. She zoomed in, reviewing each one critically.
Ellie immediately kicked off her heels and lay back on her bed. “Maybe I need to rethink the heels,” she muttered as she rubbed her feet.
Emma said, “I sent the pictures out to you. Take a look. Remember, no public posting. I want the dresses to be a surprise for the guys.”
Each girl took up a different perch, either on the bed, the floor, a chair, or leaning against a desk, and checked their phones for Emma’s pictures. As Anne pulled up the photo, she received a notification from her mom.
I know where we’re going to live!!!!!
If she hadn’t already been sitting in a chair, she would have felt her knees give way. Her mother had been in Barcelona when they’d last talked. Had she forgone Florence to fall in love with Barcelona’s stone churches, afternoon siestas, and lazy dinners that went on for hours? Maybe she’d found a sprawling villa or a cozy chalet.
They would be closer to Mary, and Anne felt the romantic pull of believing she could have a better relationship with her sister, something like the ones she had with her friends. But this seemed like the latest of her mother’s over-the-top ideas. They should be minimizing and living within their new means. Not buying new property. She should at least be able to convince her mother of that.
“Did you send the photo to your mom?” Emma asked.
She looked down at the red cocktail dress that she knew her mom would hate because of its color and simple symmetrical cut. The material was smooth against her skin, and if she whirled around fast enough, the knee-length skirt billowed out and spun, almost like a ballerina’s tulle.
“Not yet,” Anne said. “I might wait until after prom.”
“What’s the matter?” Lizzie asked. “Are we looking at the same picture?”
Emma’s lip trembled. “Do you hate the hair? You do, don’t you?”
“No, no, that’s not it.” Anne slipped the phone to her lap. “You know how my mom is. She’s obsessed with me being like all the other Escobars, and Escobar women wear long, asymmetrical dresses to formal events. My mom has a whole fashion line based on it.”
“But this is your prom,” Lizzie said. “There’s never even been a Jane Austen Academy prom.”
Kat nodded. “Exactly. There’s no precedent. You’re trailblazing here.”
“Isn’t that what your mother wants?” Ellie asked. “She can’t expect you to trailblaze while you’re always doing the same thing as all your relatives.”
Anne had never considered that before: that the mere act of being just like her mother and grandmother and all the Escobar women before her—the mere fact of trying to be just like them—was going against the very Escobar nature.
She was supposed to be different. Contrary.
Her great-great-great-great-great grandmother hadn’t chased after gold when everyone else was searching for precious metals. She’d done what she wanted. As had every Escobar following.
Anne glanced at the picture and zoomed in on her own face. She didn’t have her mother’s pointy nose or long, delicate neck. Her hair was thicker, her eyes more deeply set. She wasn’t as quick to smile or laugh. No, she was not much like Guadalupe Maria Concessa Pacheco Escobar.
She was Anne Sophia Amalia Pacheco Escobar. Maybe she was not a railroad magnate or a Gold Rush pioneer.
Maybe that was the point.
* * *
Feeling empowered to do what she wanted with her life was one thing. Telling her mom? Something else entirely.
Anne had picked up her phone several times to try to make the call, to tell her mother she wanted to stay in Merrywood or move north. That there was no way she was going to Florence or Barcelona. That she wanted to go to vet school. She wasn’t cut out for a life of leadership or entrepreneurship or social circles, and to her, being a trailblazer meant doing what she wanted, which was entirely different from anything any Escobar had done before her.
But every time she picked up the phone, she felt dark pinpricks of panic bleed into the corners of her vision.
Anne needed to fortify herself. If only she felt as strong as she had after she’d treated Lucy’s shoulder. Maybe a visit to Lucy would help. Her dorm room was up one floor, so Anne climbed the stairwell. She had to read all the names taped to the doors—they all had two names, one for each roommate—until she found a room at the very end with only one: Lucy.
At her knock, she heard a faint, “Come in.”
She pushed open the door.
She’d never seen Lucy’s room before. It had been set up as a double, but the second bed and desk were shoved into the corner, bare, dusty, and unused. Lucy was propped up in a bed that had been set in the middle of the room.
The Jane Austen Academy used to have single rooms. Anne remembered being so annoyed when they’d been forced to take on roommates at the beginning of the year—especially when that roommate turned out to be Lizzie, whom she had only seen as an annoying, judgmental busybody.
How times had changed. Now, Lucy’s room felt too big, too lonely.
Anne’s best memories of the Academy—the ones that didn’t involve Rick—involved quiet moments with Lizzie. Trying to rouse her roommate for breakfast or studying for exams or watching movies until they fell asleep, bowls of popcorn on their laps.
Anne approached Lucy’s bed. A chair was already pulled up next to her night table, so she sat. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Vicodin makes everything better,” Lucy said. “But now I’m on aspirin.”
“Strong enough?”
“It’s numb.” Lucy winced as she sat up higher on her pillow. “But the numbness still hurts.”
“Can I bring you anything?”
“Rick already came by twice.” Lucy glanced at the bedside table with a secretive smile.
Anne’s gaze swept over a bouquet of flowers in a thin glass vase, a pile of magazines, an ice pack, and a handful of energy bars. So Rick had not only stayed with Lucy while she was unconscious, he had also visited her and brought her kind, thoughtful gifts.
Anne had visited Antarctica once with her mother on a misguided shaman trek. Her skin had cracked, dried, and bled under the barrage of icy wind.
Her insides felt the same way now.
Anne realized that Rick saw Lucy as someone who knew her own mind. He would never be in danger of Lucy breaking up with him. She’d wanted Rick enough to climb a ladder and risk her neck to be close to him. A girl who couldn’t be persuaded by either good sense or her own well-being to stay away from him.
Rick must love that about Lucy. Why shouldn’t he?
“You shouldn’t have to bring me anything,” Lucy said. “You’re the one who saved me. Twice! That’s more than enough. Rick was saying you wanted to be a doctor or something?”
“Vet.” Anne’s voice cracked. “I want to be a vet.” He wouldn’t have gotten it wrong, would he?
“I figured something like that, with your stitched-up bunny and all. For what it’s worth, I think you’re going to be great at it.”
Anne could honestly say, “I think I might be, too.”
After making sure Lucy really didn’t need anything else, Anne went back to her room and collapsed at the foot of her bed. She rubbed the heel of her palm against her chest in tight circles to warm herself.
She had no idea how long she sat there, numb, when she noticed her phone was buzzing. She’d hoped for strength to deal with her mother after visiting Lucy, but mentally, she felt weaker than ever. She answered it, and her mother was already in mid-conversation. “The wind could give a fig about my hair today.”
“I’m sure you look fine, Mom,” she replied by rote.
“Anyone can look fine, Anne. I have to look like me. Did the Board recommendations come through?”
“Not yet.”
“Of course they’d take their time about it. No matter. I’m dying to show you the new place. Let’s talk over tea.”
“I can’t fly to Barcelona right now.”
“You don’t have to. I’m in Merrywood.”
Anne stood and twirled around as if she expected to see her mother looming over her shoulder. “When did you get here?”
“This morning. I just told you. The wind is atrocious. I’ll send a car, dear. Wear your Sunday best.”
* * *
Anne didn’t recognize the house that the town car pulled up to. It was about two miles north of downtown, nestled in the rolling Merrywood hills where the homes had Olympic-sized pools and iron gates painted white.
She exited the car, approached the front door, and knocked. After a few moments, a woman in a pink Chanel skirt suit with matching nails opened the door. She was a shock of lipstick, bouffant blond hair, and blue eyes that disappeared into slits when she smiled. “You must be Anne. Come on in, come on in.”
Anne tried to place her on her mom’s list of friends. Maybe she owned the house. But she couldn’t think of a familiar name. “Is my mom here?”
“She’s kicking up her feet poolside. Now come in, let’s not waste the air conditioning and cool the whole neighborhood.”
Anne looked over her shoulder, contemplating a run back to the town car, but then walked inside as the woman shut the door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
After only a moment’s hesitation and shock, the woman grinned again. “I’m Pat—you know, from Pat’s Chat on 88 FM radio?”
“I’m sorry.” Anne shook her head. “I don’t really listen to the radio.”
“From the billboard off the I-5? Well, don’t you worry. Your mom is in good hands.”
“Pardon me?”
“Hurry along, honey.” She led Anne by the arm to a kitchen with a marble island and patio doors leading out to a wooden deck. “Why don’t you say hi to your momma and tell her how much you love the place. I’m going to make that cup of tea she said you’d want.”
Anne was annoyed enough with her mom that she strode away from chatty Pat, not even bothering to tell her she didn’t want tea. She rolled open the patio screen and strode, determined, out to the pool deck. Her mother was lounging in a black bikini and transparent white robe. She slipped her sunglasses off her nose to the top of her head.
“Anne, have a deck chair. Pat is bringing tea.”
“Who is she, Mom?”
“She’s the real estate agent. I told you I found the perfect place.”
Anne crossed her arms and stared down at her in disbelief. “We can’t afford this place.”
The cheerful expression slid off her mother’s face, and she whipped her head around to the patio door. “What has gotten into you?” she hissed. “Sit down this instant.”
Anne sat on the chair but did not change her mulish expression. “We’ve sold the Academy, the beach house, and the apartment in Zurich. Why would you buy this palace?”
Her mother slid her sunglasses down her nose. “I can’t believe you’d ask me that. You were the one who wanted to stay. You practically begged me, so I found us a place to stay in Merrywood.”
“Mom, I meant something more… reasonable.” She waved a hand toward the pool. “This is garish. A house meant for twenty people, not two. We don’t need this house. It’s just you and me. Papi doesn’t want to live in the United States, and Mary hates it here. Why would we need three floors, twelve bedrooms, and all this?”
“There are such things as standards, Anne. We’re Escobars and Pacheco women. Your father wouldn’t want us in a hovel.”
She groaned. Why did everything have to be so all or nothing?
“Mi’ja, why are you being so unreasonable? Don’t you want to stay?”
“Yes, but—”
“Don’t you want your mother to be happy?”
“Yes, but—”
“So I’ve done everything you wanted. I was happy in Europe, but I threw it away so you could have a house in California and attend Stanford after graduation and find your dream. Maybe you can be the first Escobar in space!”
Anne listened to her mother drone on, throwing out impossible visions of her future.
“Tea, honey?”
She glanced over her shoulder at pink Pat, who handed her a cup. She took it… and then hated herself a little for it.
* * *
Anne wandered aimlessly around campus. Lizzie was waiting for her back in the room, and Anne knew just what she’d say once she found out how Anne had folded. Her texts had become increasingly aggressive, and the more Anne ignored them, the faster they came.
Call me.
Are you getting these?
OMG you have to call me.
No joke. It’s craziness over here.
I can’t even. You are going to freak.
Lizzie would tell Anne to grow a spine, to toughen up. Like it was easy to overcome nearly two decades of habit. It was on days like this that she wondered what Lizzie even saw in her as a friend. Lizzie was fearless. Emma and Kat were, too. Fanny and Ellie seemed quiet, but dug in their heels and were tough when pushed.
Whereas Anne felt like a pushover.
She took a deep breath. The days were growing longer and longer as summer approached, and the sun was barely setting even though dinner was long past. She didn’t have an appetite and walked farther from the Academy, up the hill and over.
Where a large crowd had gathered.
Her heart beat faster. Was something wrong? Had Lizzie staged another protest? Was that why she was texting? Anne ran toward the group and noticed everyone was facing in the same direction down the hill. A few were standing up on their toes.
She reached the last row of them, but couldn’t see what they were looking at.
“It’s impossible,” one of them murmured.
She felt Rick to her left. She wasn’t sure how he had managed to sneak up on her, but he stood there, hands in his pockets. “Do you need help to see the view?”
Without waiting for an answer, he hoisted his hands under her arms and lifted her in one swift move to sit on his shoulder. She sucked in a breath and grabbed his shoulder with her right hand, while her left drifted out for balance. She wondered if she was heavy, if she smelled nice—she had just been walking—and what he was thinking. His hand wrapped around her legs, and his palm sprawled across her thigh to keep her anchored to his shoulder. He stared straight ahead, seemingly oblivious that she was perched on him like a bird.
She glanced up—and forgot all about Rick. A smile lit up her face, and her fingers flew to her lips in wonder.
“Crazy, isn’t it?” Rick said.
She glanced down just as he looked up, and they shared a grin. Then she looked back at the strange sight.
Or rather, the lack of a sight.
The Academy track was a large, oval grass field with metal bleachers lining both sides and floodlights as tall as buildings that lit up the field for night events.
Only it was all gone. The metal bleachers were missing. The floodlights were missing, right down to the tall poles. Even the track itself—the oval grass field and the tan running track that circled it—had been dug up so that nothing remained but overturned clumps of dirt.
Fanny had done it. She had red-posted the track.
Suddenly Lizzie’s texts took on another meaning.
“Tran, huh?” Rick asked as he set her back down on the grass.
Anne self-consciously pulled at her shirt, which had ridden up a little on her back. “Fanny and Tran. Fanny’s idea.”
Rick’s grin turned into a chuckle. He nodded slowly to himself, and she recognized grudging respect in his eyes. “Fanny’s in a class of her own,” he said to himself.
Great—now Anne felt jealous of her own friend. She could never expect Rick to look at her like that, not as long as she couldn’t speak up for herself.
“I’m heading back to check on Lucy,” Rick said. “Do you want to join me?”
Her phone buzzed again, and she was grateful she could wave it at him with Lizzie’s text message and claim she had plans.