Part 2 (1/2)

Living in Someone's Shadow

Totally blows. Don't get me wrong. I love my sister.

Just not as much as my mother loves her. Doesn't matter how hard I try, I can never quite measure up to Kyra. I'm pretty.

She's beautiful. I'm smart.

She's a genius. I can sing a tolerable alto. She'll solo, lead soprano, at the Met.

Mom's own failed dreams resurrected in Kyra.

And speaking of dreams, mine are small. Shortsighted, Mom calls them. Interior design, maybe. Or fas.h.i.+on.

Kyra, however, is majoring in International Relations.

I don't get it. What does she want to be? A spy?

I thought things would get better when she went off to Va.s.sar. Two thousand, three hundred and fifty-six miles away from Santa Cruz, the pretentious California beach town where we live. But no amount of miles can make her shadow disappear. It's only longer, stretched across the continent. Her on one side.

Me stuck fast on the other.

It's Not So Bad When my dad's home. He's an investment banker in the fine old city of San Francisco.

Too far to commute every day, so he keeps an apartment there four nights a week, comes home for regular three-day weekends.

Used to be regular, anyway.

My dad's my hero, and when he's home he makes Mom stay off my a.s.s. I don't say words like ”a.s.s” when he's around.

Don't want him to think I'm a ”foul-mouthed b.i.t.c.h,” as my mom enjoys calling me. Wonder where I got the mouth from.

Anyway, Daddy loves me, and if he happens to play favorites, the dice usually roll my way. Probably just making up for Mom. But hey, that's okay. One out of two ain't bad.

I just hate when they argue.

Because it's usually about me.

More and More Lately It seems like Mom makes a point of staying gone when Daddy's home. She golfs. Plays tennis. Spends hours at the gym.

Sometimes she visits a friend in Monterey. I a.s.sume a female friend, but wouldn't put it past Mom to have a thing going on the side.

Pretty sure she doesn't have a bi side, but whatever floats her lead- bottomed boat, as long as it means she's hanging out anywhere but here.

I love when it's just Daddy and me.

Usually it's here in SC, but once in a while, I'll go into the city, spend the weekend with him there.

San Francisco has to be the most beautiful place in the world, with its stunning old homes, stacked like Legos on its incredibly steep hills. There are museums. Galleries.

The symphony and the ballet.

Daddy has taught me to appreciate all of these things, and not give a sideways glance at SF's uglier underbelly. Homeless people.

Panhandlers. Drug dealers, pimps, and Tenderloin freaks, often only a street or two removed from the thriving business district and the vibrant waterfront tourist traffic. A city of enigmas.

I like enigmas. I mean, face it. Semi-absent father. Absent- for-the-moment sister. Totally absent mother, not a whole lot of affection, but plenty of time all on my own, I'm a walking, talking poster child for early promiscuity. Aren't I?

Well, Not Exactly See, between the longtime local hype about AIDS and a real-time example of how rotten young mothering can make a person (Mom was only nineteen when she had Kyra; I followed a little over three years later), not to mention how truly disgusting venereal diseases look in those movies they show you in school, I have not been in a hurry to let just any guy pluck the rosebud. True love first, I've always said, and that has been enough to keep me a virgin.

Up until now. I mean, technically I'm still a virgin at fifteen.

But I'm also in love, and I'm pretty sure Lucas loves me, too. We've been skin-on-skin. I just haven't let him talk me into ”all the way in.”

That's Liable to Change Any time. I've been holding out, wanting to be certain that he loves me for more than my bod. But how can you really know that?

We've been together almost a year. He's a senior at Kirby, the same private college prep school that prepped Kyra for Va.s.sar.

She was valedictorian, of course.

I take AP cla.s.ses at Empire. Less pressure. Less having to live up to valedictorian expectations.

Lucas and I met at a Kirby honor choir performance last spring. Kyra sang two solos. Lucas stood in the back row, mostly faking the words. Once in a while he actually belted out a few in a deep, mellow ba.s.s. I couldn't help but stare. And not at Kyra.

Lucas stole my attention completely.

I mean, he's freaking beautiful.

His hair falls, a lush gold cascade, well past his shoulders. It frames the steep angles of his face perfectly.

His eyes are green, but almost clear, like cool emerald pools.

You want to dive deep down into them and swim awhile.

That first night, after the sheet music was all stored away, I went looking for Kyra and cookies, not necessarily in that order.

I found her, talking with Lucas.

And for not even close to the first time in my life, the little green monster sank its fangs into me.

Kyra wasn't interested in Lucas.

Her taste in men runs toward PhD candidates (total geeks). But I wasn't sure Lucas knew that.

So I took dead aim at making darn sure he did, pus.h.i.+ng straight in between them. ”Hey, sis,” I said, ”Mom is looking for you.”

That Was Mostly a Lie But it worked. Kyra kisses Mom's b.u.t.t almost as much as Mom kisses hers. She took off with a simple, Excuse me.