UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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“Never thought I’d see the day when you and I were the first ones up.”
Maya smiled at Lucy’s languid expression of disappointment. She dropped two pieces of bread in the toaster and waited for it to pop up. She spread it with peanut butter and strawberry jam and sat down at the table. Lucy poured herself some Cheerios and milk and took the chair opposite Maya’s. Maya checked the time on her cell phone. It was just past eight o’clock. Pretty early for anyone in their house to be awake on a Saturday, let alone Lucy or Maya.
“Whole world’s gone crazy,” Lucy said. “It must have: I actually studied for six hours last night. And I’m down for more today.”
Maya had heard all about Lucy’s school ultimatum, naturally. Her system for keeping tabs on what was going on in the house was working okay from what she could see. “Major aggravation,” she said, trying to show some sympathy.
Lucy hesitated. “Kinda hate to admit it, but . . . they have a point.”
“The school?”
“My folks. I was an A student. And yeah, okay, I’ve slipped to C. Truth is, that doesn’t feel so great.”
“I guess. But I thought good grades weren’t very punk rock?” Maya took care to hide the tiny shred of smugness she was feeling. When you worked as hard as she did, it was galling to see party types like Lucy cruise through a battery of A grades.
“They aren’t. The music is one thing. And I’m another. I thought that it didn’t matter to me. I thought nothing mattered but the music.”
Maya was genuinely taken aback. “But it does?”
“Yeah. It does. I like my life here.” She smiled a rare, sweet, and friendly smile. “I like you guys. I don’t want to leave. And—don’t tell this to the others—but I liked being an A student. I liked knowing things and being smart.”
“You’re still smart.”
“Yeah, but not like you, Maya.”
Maya felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “I’m not all that smart.”
“Don’t be a sap. You’re real smart. How many other kids have developed apps?”
“God, tons. Honestly, I could show you.”
“There’s a difference. You’re gonna get somewhere with yours.”
“With Cheetr? I’m gonna need a hell of a lot more people to download it before I get any serious advertising revenue.”
“You’ll see. This app, or one you’ll make in the future. You’re a hard worker. In your business, that pays.”
Maya managed a grin, but didn’t mention all the cases she’d heard to the contrary. Of code monkeys working all hours on their apps and getting precisely nowhere. It was just nice, for once, to have someone as cool as Lucy express her admiration for someone like her.
“So you’re gonna ace those grades? Good for you, Lucy.”
Lucy sighed. “It’ll cost me. Bailey sent me this text last night.” She plucked a cell phone out of the pocket of her hoodie, pressed a few buttons, and then passed it to Maya.
You made a commitment, idiot girl. A gig is a gig. This counts as a no-show. You’re out.
“What an A -hole!”
“Oh, significant A -holery.”
Maya watched Lucy thoughtfully. She seemed resigned, defeated, sad. But not angry. Maybe she hadn’t really liked being in the band after all? Or maybe she was just more chilled out a character than Maya had initially thought.
“So that’s it?”
Lucy shrugged.
“And you’re going to study all weekend?”
“I’m going to ace those term papers. It’s worth it just to wipe the smirk off Guzman’s face. She so wants me to fail. I can feel it! She’s already imagining me up in Santa Barbara, saying novenas and rosaries all the livelong day.”
Maya chuckled. “I don’t think the convent school is all that holy.”
“They’re such hypocrites. You know when my family last went to church? It was my confirmation. I was fourteen.”
“I guess they’re outsourcing the religious instruction.”
“Maybe. But I’m not going to a boarding school. I’m not going back to Claremont. They gave me a taste of freedom—big mistake! No way I’m giving that up.”
Both girls were silent for a few moments. Maya offered to make them both smoothies. The suggestion went down well. She broke bananas and dropped strawberries and blueberries into the blender, poured in some milk and a scoop of strawberry frozen yogurt. She let the blender churn away for a couple of minutes and poured the mixture into two glasses.
Lucy took a sip. “That’s good!”
“My mom used to make them every day just to get me out of bed.”
“Nice mom! Mine got the housekeeper to do it.”
“You had a housekeeper?” Maya asked. “Gee, I guess you did. I keep forgetting that you’re basically rich.”
“Good thing, or they sure wouldn’t let me live here.”
In Lucy’s eyes, Maya caught a sense of the question that was probably in the minds of all her housemates—how could the daughter of poor immigrants afford to live in this house?
“I’m lucky that my dad has a good job in Mexico City,” she ventured.
Lucy became noticeably quieter, obviously waiting to hear more.
“What does he do?”
“He works for a pharmaceutical company.”
“And he couldn’t get a green card?!”
“It’s gotten a lot tougher.”
Maya’s phone buzzed, jangling across the wooden table. She grabbed it, pressed the button under the name that flashed up: AUNT MARILU.
“Hi, Marilu,” she said briskly, before switching into Spanish. She flashed a friendly grin at Lucy and began to walk with the phone to her head, moving out of Lucy’s earshot.
“Hola, mi reina, just calling to check in.”
“Well. Everything’s cool.”
“Maya—about the last report.”
Maya tensed. “Yes?”
“There . . . there wasn’t too much about Lucy in your latest report. Everything okay?”
“Lucy’s fine. She’s just busy with schoolwork. There was talk of her being sent away to a boarding school. But I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“Oh. That’s a shame.”
Maya didn’t agree, even though it would certainly make her life a hundred times easier. It was refreshing to discover that Lucy, for all her chilled-out rock-chick attitude, might be a closet geek. It made her feel like someone in the house really “got” her.
“And what about Grace? Have any of the other housemates figured out who she is?”
Maya sighed. “You mean—do they know her name used to be Grace Vesper? No. What’s the deal with that anyhow?”
“Maya, you think I care? It’s enough that you have to be sure to write about it if the subject ever comes up. What about Grace herself—does she suspect that you know?”
“Why would she? I try to avoid the topic of her family.”
“Good! Well, you keep it that way and we’ll all be happy. Adiós, mi amor.”
Maya stared out to the ocean, pale and gray that morning, the same color as the sky. She longed to fling her cell phone far away, onto the sands below. This spying arrangement was seriously beginning to get on her nerves. It wasn’t just scuzzy, having to report back on the people you lived with; it was eating into her time and focus.
She didn’t know if she could put up with this much longer.