She's So Money (6 page)

“Hop in,” he said, eyes closed as he slid in up to his neck, resting the back of his head against the edge of the hot tub.

“Yeah . . . no,” I answered. I took off my backpack and coat and let them drop to the floor, but I didn’t move any closer.

“Come on,” he said, still with his eyes closed. “There’s probably a bikini lying around here somewhere from last weekend. I threw this awesome party, you should have—nah, you shouldn’t have came.”

“Wouldn’t have wanted to,” I agreed.

Camden opened his eyes and studied me. “Seriously, though, get in. We can just put our books on the edge here.” He reached into a mini fridge that was next to the hot tub and cracked open a Red Bull, then indicated the seating area around the hot tub.

“No!” I exclaimed, remaining standing. I pondered just leaving. Of course, I couldn’t really figure out how I was going to get back to school in time for my mom to pick me up without Camden driving me, so I was actually kind of stuck.

“Okay, stay in there if you want to. But I’m staying out here.” I walked over, reached into his book bag, took out his Algebra book, and then sat down. “We’ll make this fast. How long does it usually take you to do your problem sets?”

“No idea. I don’t usually do them. How long does it take you?”

I looked at his assignment sheet. It was ridiculously easy. “Like, ten minutes,” I said.

“Cool. Then how about you do this assignment for me, and I’ll pay you a hundred bucks?”

“What? No!”

Was he crazy?

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because that’s cheating!” I exclaimed.

“Come on. What do you usually make at tutoring, fifteen bucks an hour? And you could make a hundred in ten minutes. I thought you people were supposed to be good at math.”

“Yes, my
people
all do math for fun, while simultaneously dry cleaning our karate outfits and giving each other manicures and pedicures, all in between our numerous piano and violin recitals,” I said, slamming his book shut. “Do your own freaking work. Although I guess that’s a completely foreign concept to you, isn’t it? Since you’ve been deep throating a silver spoon your whole life.”

“That is so hot that you just said that,” Camden said, lazily swigging his Red Bull. “Besides, I’ll work one of these days when I have to. I’ll either go into real estate like my dad or find some rich old widow who wants . . . uh . . . services.”

“That doesn’t sound like work,” I said.

“Of course it is, if she’s
old
,” he answered.

I had to smile at that one, and he took the opportunity to forge ahead. “So, will you do this problem set for me? It’ll save us both time. And you know, my friends would probably want in, so you could potentially make a ton of—”

“For the last time, no!” I crossed my arms and glared at him.

Camden sighed. “Fine. Read the first question out loud, will you?”

Finally.
I turned to the correct page and was starting to read when my phone rang.

It was my mom.
Eeep
.

“Hi, Mom,” I half whispered, trying to sound calm and bored, as if I were in the library.

“You are not in the library,” she said. I felt all the blood drain from my face. “I called the school library and the librarian says you are not there right now,” she continued.

“What? I am too,” I said defensively. I could see Camden listening in on my half of the conversation and beginning to smirk. “She just . . . she doesn’t know what I look like.”

“She says there are no Asians in the library right now.”

“There are always Asians in a school library; that’s where most of us live,” I exclaimed. Silence from my mom; a snicker from Camden. “I was probably in the bathroom when she was looking,” I said quickly, trying to cover. “I’m here. She just didn’t see me.”

“Okay. I am coming to get you,” Mom said, and hung up.

I shut my phone and looked at Camden in a panic. “Oh my God, you have to get me out of—”

“Your clothes?” he interrupted. “Sure. You’ve probably got a sexy little bra happening under there.” He reached for the edge of my shirt, and I jumped up and reached for my backpack.

“Yeah, yeah, very funny, but no. I mean out of
here
! My mom is coming to pick me up
right now
, and I’m supposed to be at the library! You have to drive me back to school!” I flung my arms into my coat and then through my backpack straps.

“Dude, just calm down and call her back. Put me on the phone. I’ll pretend I’m a student teacher—”

“No! We have to go
now
!
Please!”
I stared at him, my eyes simultaneously angry and begging.

“Okay,” he said, as he got out of the hot tub.

Naked.

I squeaked in horror and turned away; the boxers from before had apparently made a run for the border. Camden laughed and put on a towel.

“Told you I like to be comfortable when I study.” He grabbed his car keys and his clothes. “Let’s go.”

We sped like hell all the way to school, Camden every once in a while glancing over at my panicked face and white knuckles clutching my backpack and telling me to chill out. I ignored him and prayed the entire time that my mom would drive over a nail and get a flat tire, or that there would be a massive multi-car fender bender in her path (no injuries, of course), or that she would forget something and have to drive back and get it. The Escalade screeched past a kid on a bike and into the driveway in front of the WESTON HIGH sign, and I was overjoyed to see that my mother’s car wasn’t there yet—we’d gotten back in time. I unbuckled my seat belt with one hand and opened the car door with the other.

“What, no thank you?” Camden asked.

I gaped at him as I hung halfway off of my seat. “For
what
?!”

“For the superior driving skills that got you back in time.”

“Are you
serious
?” I said sarcastically. “Okay, fine. Thanks for saving my life, although first you almost ruined it.”

“Welcome,” Camden said cheerfully, ignoring the second half of what I’d said. “Maybe next time we’ll actually get some work done.” He grinned, ran his hand through his wet hair, and then playfully flicked the water at me.

“Maybe.” I got out of his car. “But probably not, because I quit.”

I glared at him, slammed the door, walked away, and didn’t look back.

chapter five

“You are in charge all weekend,” Dad said as we stood in
the empty restaurant on Saturday morning, after going over a bunch of last minute management details: time cards, cash register accounting, ingredient substitutions in case we ran out of something, the phone and fax numbers for our contacts at Sysco Food Delivery. “Monday through Wednesday, Krai and the rest of the staff will take care of lunch, but you come here right after school for dinner.” He looked around for my brother. “Nat!”

“Yeah?” Nat asked, appearing from the kitchen. He was gnawing on half a mango, seemingly unperturbed by the juice dripping onto his watch.

“Watch,” I said.

“Waterproof,” he answered.

“Nat, listen to your sister while we are gone,” my dad said. “She is Mom and Dad for the next few days.” He handed me the keys to the restaurant and an envelope that was almost completely covered by a note that said “Emergency Money! Do not spend under any circumstance (unless emergency)” in Magic Marker. Awesome.

I grinned at Nat, who rolled his eyes a little at the prospect of someone only a year older than him being in charge, but he couldn’t help grinning as well. This was the first time they’d ever left us home alone, and while we were obviously going to have to work our normal hours at the restaurant, the thought of having no curfew—and that I’d be able to leave work and go out with my friends for as long as I wanted instead of only an hour or so—gave me a fizzy feeling of happiness and a sudden desire to bounce on my tiptoes every few minutes.

I’d had to deal with some annoying fallout from my dramatic slamming of Camden King’s car door two days ago—namely, he’d somehow managed to get my cell phone number and was sending me multiple texts, ranging from
hey, u didnt really quit on me did u?
to
give me a call this weekend
to
ok whatever I did, sorry I guess
to
dont b like this, mayo
—none of which I bothered answering. But that thorn in my side was shrinking by the minute, compared to the five days of absolute freedom coming my way. Well, freedom and
major
responsibility, but I was trying to look on the bright side.

“Be good,” my mom said, giving me a hug and actually looking a little teary. She blinked rapidly and shook her head as if she realized she was being silly.

“We will!” I said, hugging her back. Nat helped my dad load the little blue Prizm with a few bags of food in takeout containers, a black duffel bag, and the battered suitcases that they’d brought over when they first moved from Thailand. Then he and I watched, shivering in the slight flurries of early March snow that were coming down, as they got in and drove off, Mom waving enthusiastically through the back window until they were several blocks away and had disappeared out of sight.

Yes! They were gone! We were free! We could do anything we wanted! We could—

My cell phone started playing a tinny version of “Papa Don’t Preach.” Nat had apparently been on another ring tone spree. I flipped it open as he and I hurried back inside the restaurant, where it was warmer.

“Hi, Dad,” I said. Nat raised his eyebrows and I gave him a “Duh, of course they’re calling already” shrug.

“Just seeing if everything is okay,” he said. I could hear my mom in the background telling him to tell me to tell Nat to double check the back door lock.

“Everything is fine, Dad,” I said. “You left thirty seconds ago.”

“Yes, but your mom wanted to call. Okay. Good luck.”

“Thanks. Drive safe,” I said, thinking of the snow flurries . . . although, looking out the window, I realized that they had already petered out almost completely.

“Thank you. ’Bye.” My dad hung up.
Hmmm
. If they were going to call every five minutes, the next few days were going to be a lot less fun.

Nat and I set up the restaurant that morning with military precision; we straightened tablecloths, polished silverware, and refilled the water in the tiny bud vases on every table as if our parents were still there, yelling orders at us. Then, shortly before the lunch shift started, I opened the giant walk-in freezer in the kitchen to find Nat making out with a girl. A hot girl. A girl who looked like a shorter version of Tyra Banks, actually, except this girl was wearing trendy yet nerdy black framed glasses and a distinctly
not
sexy Catholic school uniform under her gray peacoat.

“
Ahem
,” I said. They jumped apart. Nat looked embarrassed. Short Nerdy Tyra did not.

“Oh, hey,” said Nat. “Uh, Star, this is my sister, Maya. Maya, Star.”

“Hi,” I said. I shook the hand that Star held out to me, and then watched as she returned it to where it had been, which was my brother’s back pocket. Christ. How did my little brother find the time to date when I couldn’t? Wait a minute. How did my little brother find the
people
to date when I couldn’t? Fighting the urge to simultaneously vomit and laugh, I asked Nat, “Can I talk to you outside for a second?”

“Sure,” he said. He came out of the freezer, and Star followed him, pushing the door closed with her foot when it got stuck. She started to gamely make small talk with Krai, who just looked annoyed at her attempt. I yanked Nat through the swinging kitchen doors and out to the front of the restaurant.

“Dude, what the hell?” I asked. “Since when are you dating her? Since when are you
dating
?”

He shrugged. “We’ve been together for a few months. I figured there was no point in sneaking around when Mom and Dad aren’t here.”

“Where does she go to school?”

“Detroit Mercy. We met at Regionals.”

“Wow,” I said. “Leave it to you to pick up a girl at a Science Olympiad competition.”

“I’m the studliest of nerds,” he deadpanned, pushing up his glasses. “Wait a minute,” he added suddenly. “You’re not gonna tell on me, are you?”

“Of course not!” I laughed. “Unless I feel like it,” I added ominously.

“That’s not funny,” Nat said.

“Not to you.” He really didn’t need to worry—the last time I ratted him out to our parents had been years ago, and only then because it had involved him microwaving my
Justified
CD—but it was fun to make him think he did. Especially since I was the one responsible for getting us through five days of restaurant operation alive.

The Saturday lunch shift went pretty decently. It was really, really crowded, and while it didn’t exactly help that my parents called four times to demand a status report (especially when I was already on another call taking an order and had to flip back and forth between lines), things more or less went off without a hitch.

Dinner that night was cool as well; I accidentally gave somebody ten bucks too much change when they came to pick up their takeout, but they were nice enough to point it out. Plus, it was kind of dead for a Saturday night, so I got out in plenty of time for me, Sarah, Cat, and Jonny to go to the movies, disagree completely about which one to see, attempt to rent one, disagree again, and then end up just hanging out in the parking lot of the twenty four hour Meijers until two in the morning.

By Sunday lunch, I was pleasantly sleepy, having stayed out as late as I wanted to the previous night. We ran out of both cilantro and basil, so Nat had to run to the store for more while I held down the fort. The illegality of him driving by himself was outweighed by his fantastic mood at getting to drive by himself, and he came back without any problems, so that turned out fine.

Sunday dinner, on the other hand . . . not so much.

The very first people who walked in, a crabby looking middle aged couple, asked me to lower the music volume. An easy enough request, until half an hour later, when a group of already tipsy college kids asked me to turn it up. I tried to split the difference but only managed to get dirty looks from both tables instead. This distracted me enough that I accidentally switched some customers’ bags when they came in to pick up their takeout, and I had to field two different complaint calls fifteen minutes later. Neither party was motivated enough to drive back and get their free replacement food, thank God.