Be Strong & Curvaceous Page 19

When you put it that way . . .

  “So back to the story,” Mac prompted me.

  “Right. So, anyway, like I was saying, there was Brett, following me because of nothing more than a funny feeling in his gut. Both of us arrived just in time to help you—even though you told me you didn’t think God would hear you. But He did. Because another five or ten minutes and we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

  Mac burrowed down in her quilts, her brow furrowed. “I don’t know about this big-picture idea. I still think it was a lot of guts and lucky timing.” But to me, she sounded only eighty percent convinced.

  Maybe the bigger picture didn’t have anything to do with me. Maybe the Lord was trying to tell her something. Maybe it took people like Gillian and Lissa, who are totally not afraid to see God in the details, to bring it out into the open.

  To give You the glory, Lord.

  A lump formed in my throat as I thought about it. Thank You. You gave Mac her life. I don’t know what happened to David, but whatever that is, I know You’ll help us get through it. Lord, I think You’ve put Your hand around Mac for good, whether she knows it or not. And maybe Brett, too.

  Gratitude welled up inside me, and love, and joy.

  And then I remembered something else—something that took me from the big picture to the little corner that belonged to me.

  Brett had asked me out for next Friday, and I hadn’t given him a for-real answer.

  I had no doubt how I’d answer him now.

  Chapter 21

  THIS IS DREW ICHIKAWA reporting for Channel Four News, with an update on the story that broke late last night.” An exterior shot of the main Spencer building appeared on the sixty-inch flat-screen TV in the Loyolas’ dining room.

  “Guys!” I waved the noise levels down so that everyone could hear. “This is it.”

  “New developments in the story of the Spencer Academy bomber have made this shocking case even more chilling. As we reported in our newscasts early this morning, David Brandon Nelson, the illegitimate half brother of Lady Lindsay MacPhail, a Scottish exchange student presently attending the elite Spencer Academy in Pacific Heights, had been stalking the young aristocrat for several weeks. It’s not clear at this time what his motives were, as he has refused to talk to the police, but what is clear is that he made and then planted several bombs in various locations on the Spencer campus with the intent of detonating them when school began tomorrow. He then planned to use various weapons in his cache to massacre the students. His plot was foiled, however, by the quick thinking of a Spencer student who works at Piccadilly Photo, the photography shop where he took pictures of his handiwork to be developed.”

  Philip’s face now filled the screen.

  “Hey, that’s my boss!” I exclaimed. This would be great exposure for the shop.

  “The name of the student has not yet been released, and her whereabouts are at present unknown. With me is Philip Nolan, the owner of Piccadilly Photo. Philip, how does it feel to find out you have a hero working for you?”

  “I’ve known she was unusual all along. Her family and her school should be proud,” he had time to say before the shot switched back to Spencer, with crime-scene tape on the gates and cop cars in the front drive. Then it changed to a shot of the jail, where the reporter was standing.

  “Nelson has been taken into custody, and this morning Channel Four News learned that he did indeed detonate a bomb at his own home at 1721 Bautista Court in the San Francisco State University area. Sources state that he had been holding Lady Lindsay against her will, but for reasons unclear to investigators at this time, she was not at the scene when the bomb went off.

  “It is also not clear whether or not Nelson intended to take his own life. If so, he failed. Nelson’s landlord, Thomas Henry Clyde, seventy-two, was caught in the blast and taken to the university hospital. We learned this morning that Mr. Clyde died of injuries he sustained as a result of the explosion.”

  I gasped and looked at Mac, then Brett, whose toast was suspended, uneaten, in front of his mouth as he watched the report.

  “We’ll give you developments on these tragic events as investigators work to find out exactly what happened. What is clear is that Nelson won’t only be facing felony kidnapping and numerous charges of possessing a dangerous device with intent to injure persons or property. He’ll now be charged with second-degree murder. This is Drew Ichikawa reporting for Channel Four News. Back to you, Randy.”

  The news switched to a story on a Middle Eastern prince who was coming to the States for an exchange term. Brett picked up the remote and muted the sound.

  “That poor old man,” Mac whispered. “I wonder if he ever knew David was making bombs in his attic.”

  “We’ll never know.” Did he have grandkids? Had they been watching the news? And how had he managed to be killed when David was obviously alive and well in some jail cell? I could only hope David had a beefy roommate whose name was Bubba.

  The doorbell rang, and a couple minutes later, a flock of suits crowded into the dining room.

  “Gentlemen,” Mrs. Loyola greeted them. “Please. Join us for breakfast.”

  Sergeant Mason from last night spoke up. “Thanks, ma’am, but we’re here to talk to the students. We can do that while they eat, if that’s okay with everyone.”

  I wasn’t sure what they intended to do if it wasn’t okay, but anyway, they took us out one by one to take our statements. Mac got an extra guy—the one from the British Embassy, who looked as if he’d sat on a Popsicle stick but who she said turned out to be really nice. After, that is, he endured a supersized freakout from Mac about her being on some VIP list without anybody telling her. I could hear her yelling from where I sat next to Brett in the dining room. You had to feel sorry for the guy.

  When it was my turn, I got Sergeant Mason himself. I told my story and only left out the part about The Kiss. That was between me and Brett. And, okay, my chicas, but that didn’t count. Cops taking statements didn’t need to know about it.

  “So that was the reason they couldn’t locate Lady Lindsay in the wreckage,” he said, like he just wanted to be clear. “You cut her out of the duct tape with your nail scissors and she climbed out the back window, and both of you climbed down the side of the building and made your way through the backyard? Am I getting this right?”

  I nodded, and when I looked up, he was gazing at me with an odd look on his face.

  “That’s why I called nine-one-one,” I offered. “So people wouldn’t worry. They’d know she was okay. The lady said she’d relayed the message. She did, didn’t she?”

  “Oh, yes, we got it. After the fire department nearly killed themselves trying to get to the area where we thought Her Ladyship was being held.”

  “Mac hates when people call her that. Just so you know. I’m not in trouble, am I?” How ironic—to be arrested for not letting Mac’s body be found in the wreckage.

  “No. No, of course not.” He still sounded a little shell-shocked. “I’m just amazed at this kind of courage. Miss Aragon, you are the bravest girl I’ve ever met.”

  I couldn’t help it—I laughed. “Yeah, right. What else was I supposed to do? She’s my friend.”

  “Your friend, indeed. With your permission, I’m going to recommend that you be given a commendation.”

  Oh, now that really was funny. “Sure, whatever.” It was nice of him to say it, though. “Hey, Sergeant? What’s going to happen to David? The news said he was charged with second-degree murder.”

  The policeman nodded. “He’ll be held until his plea hearing, and then it will probably go to trial, considering the visibility and the seriousness of the case. I’m afraid you and Her—uh, Lady Lindsay will be required to testify. Is that going to be a problem?”

  “Well, I’ve never actually met the guy.”

  “The jury will need to hear your version of events, though, as well as Brett Loyola’s.”

  Deep inside, I did a happy dance. Even when all
this was over, when he’d forgotten he’d asked me out and he’d gone back to not talking to anyone but the popular kids, we’d still see each other in court, standing shoulder-to-shoulder on the side of justice.

  Sigh. How pathetic was that?

  “Thanks for your help, Miss Aragon. And again, just let me repeat what others have said—your folks and your school should be proud of you.”

  He held the door of the little parlor for me and I walked out into the foyer, feeling one part relieved and two parts embarrassed. Ms. Curzon stood talking to the British Embassy guy, but Mac was nowhere in sight.

  “Ah, Miss Aragon.” She glanced at Sergeant Mason. “Is everything in order?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I was just telling Miss Aragon that she is one courageous young lady. Spencer Academy should be proud.”

  She smiled, but there was something absent in it. As though she were putting it on like a new paint job, but there was still engine trouble underneath.

  Listen to me with the car metaphors. One night riding with Brett in his Camaro and I was an expert.

  “If you need nothing else, I’d like to speak to her.”

  He made a be-my-guest gesture toward the parlor and I followed her in. “Ma’am?”

  “Sit down, Miss Aragon.”

  I sat in the same chair I’d just used, only now I scrooched all the way to the edge of it.

  “I understand we owe you a great debt. Without you and Brett, the news reports might have been quite different, and the phone calls I made to Scotland and London this morning might not have had the same happy result.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I mean, you’re welcome.”

  “Which puts me in a very difficult position.”

  “It does?” She’d said herself that the results had been happy.

  “You see, delighted though I am that Lady Lindsay is safe and you and Brett emerged from this ordeal unscathed, the fact remains that the entire series of events happened because you disobeyed a direct request from me.”

  It took me a second to figure this out.

  Oh. In the taxi. When she’d told me to be back in my room at school in ten minutes, and I’d told the cabbie to take me to Bautista Court instead.

  So I’d hit “override” in her little script. But we’d saved Mac. We were all okay. How was this a problem?

  I guess she must have seen the question in my face, because she said, “You must know that several students heard me ask you to come back. How am I to maintain order among them if it’s known that people can disobey me and get away with it?”

  “But I didn’t disobey. Well, okay, I did, but only because the situation was urgent. We saved Mac’s life, ma’am. Surely that balances out my not doing what you said.”

  “In the cosmic scheme of things, no doubt it does. But without you in the picture, the police would still have arrived. Maybe Lady Lindsay could still have been saved, or she would have found her way to safety herself. However, in the Spencer Academy scheme of things, I am still headmistress and you are still a student.”

  I eyed her, a feeling of dread beginning to poke at my stomach.

  “Miss Aragon, I’m very sorry to say that I’m going to have to suspend you from school.”

  MY FATHER COMPLETELY lost it and canceled his trip to Singapore.

  I got deported down to San Jose for my five-day sentence and then had the fun job of explaining to him that this little embarrassment was just to save Ms. Curzon’s pride and her rep with the students. It didn’t really have anything to do with me or what had happened to Mac.

  He didn’t buy it.

  In fact, I came about two inches from being enrolled at a public school in the South Bay. The only thing that saved me was the fact that there was only a month of my junior year left and they wouldn’t take me.

  He confiscated my phone as further punishment and went back to work, leaving me with the condo to myself from eight until four, when Antony got home from school.

  There was nothing to do except watch the news. Oh, and do schoolwork. At least Papa hadn’t cut off computer privileges, which meant I still had e-mail and IM to keep myself connected to the real world.

  If you want the truth, it felt eerily like last term. Being accused of stuff other people did was getting really old.

  LMansfield We miss you!

  CAragon Not as much as I miss you guys.

  LMansfield Only 3 days left to go. Can you come back for the weekend?

  CAragon I don’t know. Probably not. Papa is super-upset. Maybe I should have him talk to Sgt. Mason. At least he thinks I did something right.

  LMansfield He’s not the only one. I take it you didn’t hear?

  CAragon ??

  LMansfield Check out next week’s People. On newsstands everywhere Monday.

  CAragon Tell this second, or I’ll sic Shani on you!

  LMansfield Mac gave a big interview. There’s going to be a 4-page feature and pix of all of us.

  CAragon !!!

  LMansfield VT is crazed. Wait till you see the quote from Brett.

  CAragon OMG. What did he say?

  LMansfield Not telling. It’s a surprise to welcome you back.

  CAragon Lissa! Argghhhh!

  On Wednesday, my least favorite day of the week, naturally my mother called.

  “Mi’ja, I’m so glad to hear your voice. After your father called, I’ve been following the news reports on sfgate-dot-com. What an ordeal you’ve been through!”

  “Hi, Mama. When did he call you?”

  “Sunday, before we left for church.”

  And she’d waited until Wednesday to talk to me?

  “Honestly, Carly, while it was terribly brave, don’t you think you should have done what your headmistress asked? Your father says you’ve been suspended.”

  “Yes. It’s just a formality.”

  “A formality that will go on your transcript. Carolina, you have to learn to think things through before you go diving headlong into them.”

  “There wasn’t time.” My throat felt tight. And my lips weren’t forming words very well. “We did save my friend’s life.”

  “Yes, Lady Lindsay somebody, right? First the daughter of the Italian princess, now an earl’s daughter. Soon you’ll be too good for your own family.”

  “Thanks for calling, Mama. I have tons of homework to do, so I’d better go. They e-mail it to me by the pound, it feels like.”

  “One thing, darling. Have you given any more thought to being my bridesmaid?”

  This was so like my mother. I’d just been through a huge crisis, and all she could think about was herself. “No, Mama. I’ve been kind of busy.”

  “Please do think about it. We’ve settled on a date—December. A Christimas wedding in Santa Fe. So that only leaves seven months to plan.”

  “You’ll have to plan without me, then. I’ll probably be in Santa Barbara.”

  “Carolina.” She sounded like she was about to cry.

  My computer beeped, announcing the arrival of an e-mail message. “I have to go, Mama. I think more homework just arrived.”

  To my amazement, she didn’t argue. “Good-bye, darling. Te amo.”

  “I love you, too.” Though I had to work pretty hard to remember what that felt like.

  ON THURSDAY a letter came via FedEx. As I signed for it, I figured it was probably an official communiqué from Spencer, telling me not to come back next year or something equally horrible. I let it sit on the counter for about twenty minutes before curiosity got the best of me.

  Dear Miss Aragon,

  On behalf of the City of San Francisco and the Board of Supervisors, I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for your part in averting what could have been one of the worst tragedies in this city’s history. Your bravery and quick thinking were instrumental in saving the life not only of a fellow student but of countless others at Spencer Academy.

  Our city is grateful to you. To show our appreciation, and by recommendation of the San Francisco
Police Department and a resolution of the San Francisco Board of Supervisors, I would like to invite you to a ceremony on the steps of City Hall, where I will present you with a commendation, the highest honor it is in my power to bestow.

  Please join us at two o’clock on Saturday, June 6, and invite as many of your family and friends as you would like. I look forward to conveying my thanks to you personally.

  With gratitude,

  Mayor

  TEXT MESSAGE_____________________________________________________

  Brett Loyola Hey girl, it’s Friday . . . 6:00 p.m. to be exact.

  Carolina Aragon Hi.

  Brett Loyola So what would you like to do?

  Carolina Aragon ??

  Brett Loyola You said you’d see a movie with me or something. Remember? Last week, in all the bizarrity?

  Carolina Aragon Is that a word?

  Brett Loyola It is now.

  Carolina Aragon I thought you were kidding.

  Brett Loyola No. Uh . . . did I make a mistake?

  Carolina Aragon No, no! But I’m kinda far away. Still in San Jose.

  Brett Loyola S’okay. I am too.

  Carolina Aragon Where?

  Brett Loyola On your doorstep, texting from my iPhone.

  Brett Loyola Surprise!

  __________________________________________________________________________

  Chapter 22

  ISWEAR, MY FEET didn’t even touch the stairs as I flew down them. This must be a joke. But on the off chance it wasn’t, frantic hope fluttered inside me like a trapped bird. I wrenched the front door open and let out a squeak that was half surprise, half-disbelieving laugh.

  “Hey.” Brett pocketed his iPhone and grinned at me. “I hope this is okay. Just showing up, I mean.”

  “It’s totally okay,” I said, practically gasping. Calm down. Breathe. Kick in, hostess reflex. “Come on in. Have you had supper yet?”

  “I was thinking I could talk you into going somewhere to eat before we caught that movie.”

  “Carolina, who is this?”

  I turned as my father came out of the dining room, which he used as his office. Up on the stairs, Antony peered through the railing. “Carly’s got a boyfriend. Carly’s got a boyfriend,” he sang in his raspy, off-key voice.