Part 8 (1/2)

She said, ”Changing the subject?”

”Yes.”

”Are your wheels the broken down old Toyota out front?”

I nodded.

”Fancy,” she said. ”Ten years old?”

”Fifteen, almost. But it's mine. And paid for.”

She stood up. ”So your car's settled? Then let's round up the guys and go practice. We've got a show Friday night. And I want your new song to be perfect.”

I sighed. ”Let's go.”

CHAPTER FIVE.

Julia, where did you go? (Julia) When you've moved around every couple of years of your life, sometimes making friends becomes a routine. I don't suppose diplobrats, as we're sometimes called, are much different from military kids in that way. You make friends quickly, but they are often superficial friends.h.i.+ps. I remember my one year in public school outside Was.h.i.+ngton and envying the girls who had best friends-people they could care about and trust. I had that briefly, I thought, with Lana, who had befriended me in Beijing. But Lana was erratic, often irrational, and when we fought not long before my departure, she'd betrayed that trust. After that, I gave up on the idea of having friends. That was the price of my father being a diplomat, as well as the price of my own stupid mistakes.

My dad's career was unusual for an amba.s.sador. Sometimes becoming an amba.s.sador is a political plum, given to favored donors or others who have somehow done a favor to the President. But my dad was career Foreign Service. First Harvard, then the Walsh School of Foreign Service at Georgetown, and then into the State Department. I grew up hearing that mantra because it was expected I'd follow the same route. He met my mom in Spain when he was posted there as a junior diplomat, and I was born in Brussels. Two elementary schools, two middle schools, and two high schools. Each time, I left behind friends and quickly had to make new ones. Since most of the kids I went to school with were also the children of diplomats, it wasn't so bad. We all knew the deal-at least until my senior year in high school. Stranded in Was.h.i.+ngton because of a Senate hold on my dad's nomination as Amba.s.sador to Russia, I spent my final year of high school at Bethesda Chevy-Chase high school just outside Was.h.i.+ngton.

As public high schools go, BCC is one of the best. In truth, it wasn't that different from the private schools I'd attended all over the world. My cla.s.smates overseas were mostly the children of diplomats or the wealthy and privileged. In Bethesda, there were few Foreign Service kids, but plenty of wealthy ones.

It didn't help, however, that the most popular girl in the senior cla.s.s was also slated to be valedictorian, and when I arrived, I edged her out by a tiny fraction of a point. She made it her mission in life to make me miserable, and most of the senior cla.s.s fell into line behind her. When the rumors broke from China, thanks to Lana? That's all it took. I spent my last year of high school as a social pariah. Not invisible ... no, I prayed to make myself invisible. No one was listening to those prayers. I became a target.

Every day, walking the hall, I'd hear the whispers.

s.l.u.t.

Wh.o.r.e.

Baby-killer.

I'm sure there were other kids in my senior cla.s.s who were targeted and bullied. I don't know, because I was too wrapped up in just trying to survive. And worse, I couldn't go home and talk about it because my mother used her own, less profane versions of the same accusations. My father hardly spoke with me at all that year, and my then thirteen-year-old younger sister just didn't understand.

To make a long story short: I'm twenty-two years old. I go to one of the top schools in America. In theory, I've got this fantastic life spread out before me. My family is comfortable, and I don't have to worry about finances.

But the one thing I don't have? I don't have anyone to trust.

Sounds pathetic, doesn't it? Seriously, I live with three other girls. But I don't know them well. Freshman year at Harvard, I didn't make any friends at all. Linden, Adriana and Jemi, along with a fourth girl I've never met, entered the housing lottery together and were a.s.signed to our suite in Cabot House. Their fourth dropped out that summer, and I was randomly a.s.signed to them. Now, it was our third year together, and I was still an outsider, though that wasn't their fault.

They all go out and party together, but I've never partied much. Sometimes, they'll drag me along, but I think it's more out of a sense of generosity than anything. And maybe curiosity. I'd seen from other relations.h.i.+ps that bonding takes place quickly in this environment. But it's impossible for me.

I just don't open up. Because that requires trust. And how can I trust anyone after what Harry did to me? How can I trust anyone after what Lana did to me?

Lana was my best friend in Beijing.

Lana was the person I went to when I needed a shoulder to cry on.

Harry was the person who broke my heart and my innocence, but Lana was the one who broke my trust.

And above all, how will I ever trust anyone after what my mother did to me?

But lately-I was feeling restless. For one thing, I'd been in the same country for five years now, which was the longest I'd ever been anywhere in my life. For another, something about last weekend in Was.h.i.+ngton, and then dancing out there while the street guitarist played made me feel my life was utterly constrained. Maybe just once I didn't want to wear a false smile and conservative clothes and meet everyone's expectation of the perfect girl. Maybe, just a little, I was tired of being lonely.

That's why Linden looked truly surprised Thursday night when she said, ”We're all going to Metro tomorrow night, wanna come?” and I answered, ”Yes, I'd love to!”

I found myself relaxing more than I ever had with my suitemates and even joking and laughing with them a little.

Linden urged me to wear something more provocative and showed off her dress, which had maybe two square inches of very thin material, when Adriana said, ”Who's playing there tonight, anyway?”

Adriana was a southern girl, through and through. She was from a small town in Alabama, where her mother was a waitress. Adriana didn't go out often, either ... not because she didn't want to, but because she rarely had any money.

Jemi, our fourth suitemate, was from Sierra Leone. Tall, with skin so dark it was almost blue, rail thin, achingly beautiful, she spoke with a crisp British accent and was typically Linden's partner-in-crime. She replied, ”It's Morbid Obesity tonight, I think.”

”Oh, c.r.a.p,” I muttered. The other three girls stopped and stared.

”I don't think I've ever heard you curse, honey,” Adriana said. ”You don't like their music? We could go to another club. It's not that big a deal, and I'm happy you're coming out with us for a change.”

I shrugged, suddenly defensive. ”Um, it's okay. I just, uh ... stubbed my toe.”

I was lying, of course. On Sunday night, I'd visited their website ... and every night since. The music actually really was good, and I'm a sn.o.b when it comes to music. It was original punk-rock but with influences from the Caribbean that gave it a haunting feel. Each member of the band had a page dedicated to them. Crank's was plastered with pictures of him at shows, drunk, groping a hundred different women. I was so not interested in being added to that list of conquests, if you could even call it that.

Whatever. I was going out with the girls tonight. That strange, out of character night with Crank Wilson was not going to interfere. Nothing was. I ended up settling on an outfit far more revealing than I normally wore, which barely met Linden's approval, and was just slipping on my shoes when the phone rang.

Linden answered it and put the handset down on the table. ”It's for you, Julia.”

They all looked at me because they all knew who it was. No one called me on the room phone. Except my mother.

I sighed and picked up the phone. ”h.e.l.lo?”

The girls stood there, awkwardly waiting.

”Julia, we have to talk.”

”Mother, I'm on my way out at the moment. Can I call you in the morning?”

”No. You cannot call me in the morning. We need to talk right now.”

”What is it, Mom?”

”Your father just received a call from the White House.”

What did that have to do with me? I sighed. I couldn't hang up on this conversation. I covered the handset and looked at my three suitemates, feeling helpless. ”I'm sorry. Why don't you guys go ahead, and I'll catch up.”

Linden tilted her head, a sad look on her face. ”You promised! Come on.”