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  Brett’ll give you the details, but here’s the lowdown – I want you to have the money. I really do. But see, me and an old friend of mine made a bet a long time ago, when we served in the war together. We promised if we got through it alive, we’d link our families up. Your Mom was already head-over-heels for your Dad (in seventh grade, bleck) -

  I smile, my eyes watering, but quickly muffle it in my sleeve and go back to reading.

  - so we decided to go to our grandchildren. You were five, and Carlos just happened to have a grandson who was your age. You might not remember it, but Carlos brought him over during the summers.

  I don’t remember any of that, and I don’t like where this is going.

  It was a drunk, stupid bet, Rose. But it’s a bet between gentlemen, between lifelong friends. Carlos never thought a smart girl like you’d ever stay with a rambunctious kid like his grandson. I said you would. I saw the good in him. He might be wild, but he’s grown up honest and kind, and that’s more you can say of most men.

  Look, the point is, this is a dying man’s wish. Me and Carlos’ wish. If you want the money, you’ll have to marry Lee. Stay together for at least three months. At the end of ninety days, half the three hundred thousand is yours. Lee gets the other half, and you two are free to divorce after that if you really can’t stand him. But give him a chance. I’m sure he’ll see just how wonderful and amazing you are. And if you two don’t get along, fine. I lost the bet, but I’ve got no regrets. You’ve got the money to do what you want with at the end either way, and that’s what makes me happiest.

  I love you, Rose. Kiss your Mom and Dad and Riley for me. Hug them. Know that every day is a blessing. Be happy and healthy.

  Love,

  Grandpa Jim

  Farlon claps his hands. “Now that everything’s cleared up, we can begin –”

  “One moment.” Brett raises his hand. “Let me confer with Rose.”

  The friendly look on Farlon’s face cracks, sour impatience showing. He smooths it over in a split second and nods.

  “Of course.”

  Brett looks to me. “There’s a joint contract. Lee’s already signed it. All you have to do is sign it, and you’re agreeing to it.”

  “Marriage?” I snap. “Not to him. I can’t, Brett. Marriage for money? How old fashioned and ridiculous is this? You can’t expect me to do this. There’s no way I’m doing this.”

  I stand and grab my coat and purse. Lee jumps up and blocks my exit.

  “C’mon, Rose. Just stay and listen to what we have in mind.”

  “Is that why you kept trying to talk to me?” I say. “Because you knew about this?”

  Lee frowns. “Yes, I knew about this, but -”

  My heart gives a little sputter of defeat. Why else would a handsome, sort-of witty swim team playboy bother with me if not for money? Why else would he joke with me? Talk with me? He never liked me as a person at all – he just liked the money. I steel my quivering lip and smile as best I can.

  “I would rather die than marry you,” I say. My tears well up. I can’t be here anymore. I brush past him and out the door.

  “Rose!” Lee shouts. “Wait!”

  I stride into the freezing night. A large hand on my arm whirls me around, pinning me to the brick wall. Lee pants, eyes burning into mine.

  “It wasn’t just for money, I swear –”

  “Let go of me!” I beat his arm off with my purse. He stands back, catching his breath.

  “You have to believe me –”

  “Just leave me alone!” I snap. I hurry to the parking lot and collapse into my car. I look back at the dark sidewalk – he didn’t follow me. I’m halfway down the freeway before I realize I can’t see because of all my tears. I gasp and press my sleeve to my eyes. The tears keep coming, and I have to keep wiping. Finally, I pull over and cry, harder than at Grandpa’s funeral.

  He’s just a boy. I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up. I didn’t even know my hopes were up until now, where I can see the shattered remains of them. Somewhere deep inside, I’d hoped Lee and the brief moments we shared meant something. I should have known better. Guys don’t like me. And I understand that. I’m not very interesting or all that pretty. I’m just good for mooching off my study notes. And marrying for money.

  Just once. Just for once, I wanted a guy to like me for who I am and not what he could use me for.

  Chapter Three

  In Which I Meet Lee Montenegro’s Supermodel Sister

  I sleep in until lunch. Mom knocks on my door but I stay quiet until she leaves. Riley knocks on my door later, but comes in anyway. He sits on the end of my bed.

  “What’s got you all angsty?”

  I pull the covers over my head. Riley leans in.

  “Is it a boooooy?”

  “Shut up,” I grumble. He claps.

  “It is! Holy shit, tell me about him!”

  “There is no ‘him’!” I sit up and scowl. “So stop asking.”

  “Aw, c’mon.” Riley sighs. “The first time you come home crying about a boy and you don’t tell me anything? It’s not fair. I told you about Elaine.”

  “That was your first crush in second grade, Rile.”

  “Exactly! We have to be open with each other.”

  “Just go away. Please.”

  “Finnneee. But Mom and Dad are wondering what’s up. What should I tell them?”

  “I met with some friends from high school last night.”

  “And why did you come home crying?”

  “One of them said I’ve gotten fat?” I try.

  His mouth twists into a smile. “Like they’ll believe that.”

  He skips downstairs with an enviable amount of energy. I roll too far and fall off the bed in a tangle of blankets. Great. Even gravity’s being a jerk to me, too. Mom and Dad tactfully edge around the question of where I was last night, and when I refuse an extra pancake, Dad gently reminds me I’m not fat. I shoot Riley a glare and he laughs into his melon slice.

  Thanksgiving is a somber affair – Dad still puts up the traditional turkey made of pinecones as the table centerpiece and Mom still frets that he’ll ruin the cooking, but there aren’t as many jokes at the table. Riley’s girlfriend is sweetly polite, which is a step up from his girlfriend this summer. The next few days are a blur of leftover turkey sandwiches and football games I only half pay attention to. Mom spends a lot of time accepting casseroles from neighbors who heard about Grandpa. I go with Dad to the office once or twice - a warehouse off the highway where their soap company ships out from. The same packers and line managers and marketing people are there. They’ve known me since middle school. Betsy, Dad’s shipping manager with a platinum blonde beehive hairdo, grasps my hand.

  “Sweetie, how are you? You’re studying hard down there? Be sure to play every once in a while. Too much work does one of two things – makes you insufferable or makes you drink.”

  I open and close my mouth a few times, trying to form the right words. “Betsy? Can I ask you something in confidence?”

  “Why sure. Just get it right out in the open, honey.”

  “Is the company doing alright?”

  Betsy sighs. “You know, I wanna say yes. I really do. But with these new competitors we just haven’t been functioning on the level we used to.”

  “So, the company, is it -?”

  She leans in and whispers. “Don’t tell anyone. But your father and I are thinking about going into discussions with a Chinese company. They want to buy us out and frankly, that’s the best option we’ve got right now.”

  “So the company is closing, one way or another.”

  “Unless a good chunk of money falls out of the sky, hon, yeah.”

  Mom and Dad’s dream company – the one they built from scratch – is going into the toilet. I still remember when I was little and they’d make herb soaps in the bathroom, the sink filled with fresh rosemary and clean lard. I still remember how happy they were when they got their business l
icense. I grew up helping them sell their soaps at craft fairs on the weekends. Betsy must notice how sad I look, because she pets my hand.

  “Don’t you worry about your parents. We’ve got everything under control. You just study hard and get that degree, you hear?”

  I worry. That’s all I do. I get so wound up sitting in my room, reading old books and messing around on the computer, that I feel like throwing up. Every smile of Mom’s and every laugh of Dad’s feels so rare and special – and if the bankruptcy happens, they’ll get even rarer. And I won’t be here to see it. I’ll be back at college where I can’t see their pain. I’m selfish. Asking Mom and Dad for the money that isn’t covered by my scholarship while they’re struggling to stay afloat is completely selfish. I’m not fixing the problem, I’m just making it worse.

  I need to get out. Jen’s band is playing today at the Blue Eclipse in L.A. It’s a pretty long drive, but I could use the time alone. I tell Dad and he smiles and hugs me.

  “You have fun, okay? You’re looking too serious lately. Don’t age so fast.”

  “Right back at you,” I joke. Riley begs to come with. I point out he’s underage.

  “So are you!” He argues.

  “It’s eighteen and over.”

  “All the fun things happen when you’re old.”

  “Thanks for calling me old, young whipper-snapper.” I punch his shoulder. He rolls his eyes.

  I pick out a red blouse and skinny jeans, and pull my hair into a side ponytail. With a bit of lipgloss and liner, I look halfway decent. The drive is quiet and easy – not many people on the road in the days after Thanksgiving. The sky is overcast, and by the time I make it to L.A, it’s dark and moonless. I park in the school lot and walk to Blue Eclipse – club parking is expensive. I join the long line around the building. There are tons of people with ripped-up jeans and heavy eyeliner and hair dyed all colors of the rainbow. There are some people like me, dressed less extravagantly, but we’re the minority. By the time I get past the bouncers, the club is full. The bar is packed and the stage is alight with red and purple spotlights, the music throbbing as a band that isn’t Jen’s plays. The lead singer is a boy with bleach-blonde streaks and a raspy voice. The crowd toward the center of the stage packs tight. They headbang and flail a little, and while it isn’t violent, I make a note to stay towards the back of the crowd. I feel a hand grip my arm – Jen. Her stage makeup is caked on but she looks no less beautiful.

  “You came!”

  “Yeah!” I yell over the music. “Needed a break. I’m so excited to see you guys finally play!”

  “We’ll rock your world,” She winks. “There’s a VIP room backstage. I’ll tell them to let you in. Just say my name to that big guy in the corner, okay? We’re on in thirty, so I gotta go.”

  I smile and nod and she’s gone in a whirl of chains and black lipstick. I feel a little out of place, but the music is great. I let it wash over me, blare out all the tangled thoughts in my head. When I get tired of standing I head over to the VIP bouncer.

  “Hi,” I shout. “I’m Rose, Jen’s friend. She said I could –”

  The man steps aside and opens the door for me. I nervously duck under his arm. It’s cooler and quieter back here – hardwood floors and the walls packed with sound equipment. The narrow hall is lined with doors, one of them says “VIP”. I feel way too special as I open it. A black carpet contrasts with purple walls, blacklight turning everything white a bright blue. A few people sit on the couches and smoke. A man I recognize as Jen’s sort-of manager, Tom, paces the floor as he shouts into his cell.

  “I told you, we can’t come up there tonight, there’s no way – fine! Then tell them we cancel.”

  I settle on an empty couch and glance my fingers through a bowl of hard candy on the glass table. The music is a dull thud through the walls. A girl gets up from the people smoking and sits by me. Her legs are incredibly long and her skin’s a rich amber. Her black hair is wavy and the tiny sequined dress and heels she wears makes me feel completely overdressed.

  “Hey,” She puts out her cigarette and smiles. “You’re a new addition.”

  “I’m Rose. Jen’s friend.”

  “Small world. I know Jen, too,” She laughs. “I’m Grace.”

  There’s an awkward beat as I struggle for something cool to say. Grace beats me to it.

  “I love your blouse.”

  “Thanks. Twenty bucks at a thrift store. I like your dress.”

  “Thanks. I got it for free.”

  “Oh, like, you made it?”

  Grace shakes her head, doe eyes patient.

  “Did you, um,” I falter and whisper. “S-Steal it?”

  She laughs so loud it makes everyone else look. “Stealing? Oh god, you are one of a kind.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend –”

  “No no, no offense taken.” She waves a slender hand. “I just…no one’s ever accused me of stealing. It’s sort of a thing, you know. With people like me.”

  I furrow my brows. She motions to her face and makes air quotes.

  “‘Pretty’ girls. No one accuses us of anything bad. It gets a little ridiculous after a while.”

  She seems nice, and down-to-earth. Grace. Where have I heard that name before?

  “Here,” Grace passes me a flask. “Drink up. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

  “Oh, uh, thanks.” I take it. My friends and I drank in high school, but nothing really serious, just a bottle of wine with sleepovers. I take a sip and it burns my throat from the inside out. Grace looks amused, smiling as she takes a sip of her own.

  “Never had whiskey before, hm?”

  “Whiskey? More like pisskey,” I cough. She laughs again, practically spurting her whiskey over the table. She swallows and starts cracking up.

  “Y-You,” She gasps for air. “Are very interesting. I like you.”

  “Thanks?”

  The band stops playing and applause ricochets. The announcer’s muffled words introduce the next band.

  “That’s Jen!” Grace grabs my hand. “Let’s go!”

  She pulls me down the hall and bursts out the door, pressing into the crowd. She’s nearly as tall as I am, and she cranes her neck to see the stage better. I stand on my tiptoes and get a great view – Jen’s strumming her guitar, giving it one last test. The drummer and bassist warm up with a few notes of their own. The singer grabs the mic and clears her throat in it.

  “Testing, testing, hey Los Angeles how’re you feeling tonight?”

  The crowd roars. Grace shrieks and throws her hands up.

  “Thanks for being here tonight. We’re the Break-Ins and this first song is called Spine Fluid.”

  Compared to the last band, Jen’s has more feeling, more energy. The singer reaches into the crowd every so often, her fingertips skimming theirs as she croons to them. Sometimes she murmurs, sometimes she screams. Jen’s guitar is incredible – her fingers moving so fast on the fret I can barely see them, and when she kneels on the ground to rip out her solo, Grace goes wild. She pulls my hand up and we jump in place together with the rest of the crowd. Between every song I glimpse at Grace’s face – she’s completely riveted to the stage, and Jen. When the set is over and the last encore finishes, we go back to the VIP room, sweaty, tired, and overhyped with all the adrenaline the music injected in us. I collapse on the couch, completely exhausted, but Grace bounces in her heels.

  “I’m going to go congratulate them! I’ll bring her back, so stay right there.”

  I nod, grateful for the rest. I lie on the couch, suddenly too tired to care about appearances. I hadn’t slept well; these past few nights were spent worrying about Mom and Dad. I’ll just close my eyes for a second. Just one second.

  Something smells like spices and faint chlorine. I groggily open my eyes. Everything’s blurry – did I fall asleep? A very delicate touch slides across my lips, so light it could be the wind. But it’s warm. And it gets warmer, pressing harder against my bottom
lip. I sit up and my eyes snap open. Hazel eyes stare into mine, dark bangs messily shading them. Lee.

  “Y-You!” I stutter. “Did you just –”

  “Kiss you awake?” He smirks. “Yes.”

  “Why are you here?” I hold up my hand. “Wait, don’t answer that. I have to go scrub my lips with bleach.”

  “Aw, don’t do that. You’ll ruin their softness.”

  “They aren’t soft! Just…shut up!” I flush.

  “Lee!” Grace sweeps in, Jen on her heels. “You got here too late!”

  “Did I?”

  “We finished twenty minutes ago,” Jen huffs. Lee frowns.

  “Damn. I’m sorry. How can I make it up to you?”

  “Dinner.” Grace points at him. “You’re making it.”

  “Fine,” He sighs. “It’s only fair.”

  Jen runs over and hugs me. “Did you see us?”

  “You guys were amazing.” I force a smile. Grace. Grace – the model friend Jen talked about and Lee’s sister. That’s her. Jen furrows her brows.

  “Are you okay? You look a little sick.”

  Lee’s looking at me. I flush.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You have to come to my place for dinner,” Grace insists. “Jen’s coming. And Lee isn’t a completely horrible cook.”

  “Still your compliments, madam,” Lee grumbles. “Lest I perish of the flattery.”

  Jen shoots me a pleading look, like she doesn’t want to be the only one there. My stomach gives a hungry rolling gurgle, and I blush harder. Grace laughs.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. Let’s go.”

  Jen and Grace walk ahead of us on the dark sidewalk, streetlamps dousing them in amber light before they’re swallowed up by darkness again. They laugh and lean on each other, Grace mock-punching Jen when Jen says something sarcastic. I lag behind with Lee, making sure to stay a few steps behind him so he’s in my sight at all times. After that sleep-kiss I can’t rely on him to be anything but sneaky.

  I touch my lips every so often.

  “Afraid they melted off?” Lee asks. I jump. He’s walking backwards to look at me.

  “Don’t be stupid,” I snap.

  “I am. Stupid. And also a pervert. I’ve been told it’s part of my charm.”