UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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John-Michael was behind the wheel of the Benz within five minutes of the end of his calculus class. The shock of being accosted outside school by Judy yesterday hadn’t quite left him. Maybe he was being paranoid, but John-Michael didn’t want to stick around to find out if she’d be back.
The Friday afternoon commuter beach dash had already started. A five-minute drive back to Venice turned into a twenty-minute crawl in the blazing sun. He thought of the beach, the weekend ahead. He plugged in his headphones and listened to his newest pop punk playlist. Yet even as his lips moved along to the lyrics, his mind couldn’t quite let go of the image of Judy.
There’d been venom in her eyes.
His dad’s executor had told him how much the estate would be worth once the house sold. It wasn’t a fortune, but even half of it was a whole lot more money than Judy had ever been near. He didn’t regret calling her a skank. As far as he was concerned, she was a gold-digging harpy, a former stripper with zero education who’d lived off the vices of idiot hetero men for most of her life.
Now that the police had decided that his father’s suicide was suspicious, however, Chuck Weller’s place might forever be whispered of as “that murder house.” It might affect the sale. That was all the money John-Michael would ever be able to count on. It included his mother’s inheritance, which they’d used to make a sizeable down payment on the house. It made him sick to think that he might not be able to sell the place. Even as a rental, it might be hard to find a tenant. These weren’t the kinds of problems he’d ever envisaged having during high school.
He parked the car in the garage spot he’d managed to secure at huge expense. During the short walk to the beach house, he gazed out at the wide stretch of sand. The ocean looked startlingly blue today. The sun was hot enough that he could feel his face smarting from the slight burn he’d gotten during the drive home. Maybe a sunbathing session was called for. He was never going to have a physique remotely like Paolo’s. But he didn’t have to have skin the color of milk, either.
He’d been lying on his beach towel in swimming shorts for over thirty minutes when he heard Candace’s voice.
“Here you are. God, finally, a chance to get horizontal. I’m totally exhausted.”
John-Michael raised his sunglasses. “The TV show?”
She nodded a confirmation and sat down, sighing with relief.
“You came to LA to work, and you’re working.”
Candace shook her head slowly. “Hardly.”
John-Michael said, “What? I thought you loved it.”
“You didn’t come to the studio that time with the others. You’d understand if you had. I’m just eye candy.”
“So? At least you’re on TV.”
Candace tugged at his towel. It was a broad bath towel, sea green with a navy blue border. Easily wide enough for two to share. “I thought so at first. But now I want more. Hey, c’mon, let me lie down.”
“Ah, the human condition to always want more.”
She flashed a grin. “Ain’t that the truth? Anyway, I’m hanging in there for more auditions.”
“You’ll see, Candace, someday you’ll be up for something amazing.”
She flicked his shoulder playfully. “When that happens, if it happens . . .”
“You’ll what?”
She rolled onto her back. “Oh! I can die happy, I guess.”
“I think you’d be better to stay living and enjoy the experience, but, whatever.”
Candace shoved him this time, hard enough that he rolled onto the sand. As John-Michael stood, brushing himself off in indignation, she leaned back. “Hey, did you hear about Lucy? That she used to be on TV?”
“Yeah. I know. So?”
“You knew?!” This possibility clearly hadn’t crossed Candace’s mind. “You knew and you didn’t tell?”
John-Michael lay down once again. “Lucy doesn’t like to talk about it. It’s ancient history.”
Candace rested her chin in her hands and peeked up at him from under a sun visor. “Do you know what show she was on?”
“Jelly and Pie.”
“That?! Huh! I never saw it.”
“It wasn’t great. Show got canceled after three seasons.”
“What was Lucy?”
“Oh, you know. The archetypal, cute, dimply, sassy black kid. Now shut up talking about it, Lucy really doesn’t want it dragged up. Lay down, it’s sunblock time.”
Candace rolled onto her stomach and gave way to his hands as he applied lotion to her shoulders and back. She sighed and he could hear a lazy smile in her voice. “Oh, JM, if only you liked girls.”
“Stop it,” he said firmly, but with a grin.
“So how’s it all going, on that front? You seen anyone you like?”
“No,” he said, even more firmly. “You’ve had all the juicy gossip you’re going to get here. Why don’t we talk about you, not me? You seen anyone that you like?”
“Oh, me. Who wants to talk about that?”
“I never met a girl who didn’t want to talk about herself.”
Candace propped herself onto one elbow and stuck out her right hand. “Well, hello, I’m Candace Deering. There. Now you’ve met one.”
“Seriously? But you’re in showbiz!”
“I play many parts.” She smiled with fake modesty.
He laughed. “Yeah. I believe it. Now you’re playing the introverted artiste.”
“Ha. Well, maybe. I’ll tell you who doesn’t like to talk about herself—my stepsister.”
“Yeah. She’s pretty quiet. And actually, Maya.”
“That’s different,” Candace said. “She’s a geek. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she added hastily. “I love geeks. They invent all the pretty toys. But it’s a lot of work—all that coding.”
“She does put in a lot of late nights. I hope something comes of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well . . . seems like a lot of time to put in for no reward.”
“I think a lot of it may be her issues with dyslexia.”
“She’s dyslexic?”
“Yeah. Once I found her downstairs at, like, two a.m., crying ‘cause she was so tired from fixing bugs in her code. She told me then. She makes a lot of mistakes because of the dyslexia. And it takes hours to debug or whatever.”
John-Michael was astonished. “Whoosh. That’s my respect for her shooting through the roof.”
“I know.”
“And all for a game-cheating app?”
“Far as I know.”
“Too bad she doesn’t come up with something more unique. I had a look once—there are, like, a million game-cheat apps.”
“Unique—yes! Then she could be the next Zuckerberg.”
John-Michael lay back on his towel, staring up. He pulled his shades over his eyes. “That would be cool, to be friends with Zuck.”
“Maya would be cooler.”
“She’d be so much cooler.” They were both silent for a few minutes until John-Michael said, “Way to distract me, by the way.” Candace made a puzzled sound, and he smiled. “From talking about if there’s a guy you like, I mean. Is there?”
“Can I tell you something?”
“Sure.”
Candace grimaced. “I’m not attracted to any of the boys at school.”
“None of them?”
“No. Now that I’m working with actual men on the TV show, the guys at school seem, I don’t know, like kids.”
“Oh—uh-huh.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Older dudes,” he said. “I get it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you meant it. And I understand. I’ve met boys who’ve gotten into serious things with older guys. They can be very appealing. Their own place, a job, nice clothes.”
She said, “I’ve always kinda liked guys a few years older.”
“I’d settle for cute, honest, and kind.”
Candace ruffled John-Michael’s hair. “Aww, such a sweetie pie. And you know how to make a pie, too. Some hunk of cheesecake is sure to snap you up.”
John-Michael allowed himself a quiet grin. Women could be nice. And he lived with four fantastic ones—more than enough to erase the memory of spiteful Judy Aherne.