Pretty Girls Read Online Free PDF

of the week-long fundraiser where the whitest men and women in North Atlanta sat around in Dolce & Gabbana sampling perogies and Swedish meatballs made by their children’s nannies.
    “I’ll resend you all the emails,” Penelope offered. “Anyway, I was wondering if you could bring some Spanish dishes. Arros negre. Tortilla de patates. Cuchifritos .” She pronounced each word with a confident Spanish accent, probably picked up from her pool boy. “My husband and I had escalivada while we were in Catalonia last year. Ah-mazing.”
    Lydia had been waiting four years to say, “I’m not Spanish.”
    “Really?” Penelope was undaunted. “ Tacos , then. Burritos . Maybe some arroz con pollo or babacoa ?”
    “I’m not from Meh-i-co , either.”
    “Oh, well, obviously Rick’s not your husband, but I thought since your name is Delgado that Dee’s father—”
    “Penelope, does Dee look Hispanic to you?”
    Her shrill laughter could’ve shattered crystal. “What does that even mean? ‘Look Hispanic.’ You’re so funny, Lydia.”
    Lydia was laughing too, but for entirely different reasons.
    “Goodness.” Penelope carefully wiped invisible tears from her eyes. “But tell me, what’s the story?”
    “The story?”
    “Oh, come on! You’re always so private about Dee’s father. And yourself. We hardly know anything about you.” She was leaning in too close. “Spill it. I won’t tell.”
    Lydia ran a quick P&L in her head: the profit of Dee’s undetermined heritage making the Mothers cringe with anxiety every time they said anything mildly racist vs. the loss of having to participate in a PTO fundraiser.
    It was a difficult choice. Their mild racism was legendary.
    “Come on,” Penelope urged, sensing weakness.
    “Well.” Lydia took a deep breath as she prepared to sing the Hokey-Pokey of her life story, where she put the truth in, pulled a lie out, added an embellishment and shook it all about.
    “I’m from Athens, Georgia.” Though my Juan Valdez mustache may have fooled you . “Dee’s father, Lloyd, was from South Dakota.” Or South Mississippi, but Dakota sounds less trashy . “He was adopted by his stepfather.” Who only married his mother so she couldn’t be compelled to testify against him . “Lloyd’s father died.” In prison . “Lloyd was on his way to Mexico to tell his grandparents.” To pick up twenty kilos of cocaine . “His car was hit by a truck.” He was found dead in a truck stop after trying to snort half a brick of coke up his nose . “It happened fast.” He choked to death on his own vomit . “Dee never got to meet him.” Which is the best gift I ever gave my daughter . “The end.”
    “Lydia.” Penelope’s hand was over her mouth. “I had no idea.”
    Lydia wondered how long the story would take to circulate. “Lydia Delgado! Tragic widow!”
    “What about Lloyd’s mother?”
    “Cancer.” Shot in the face by her pimp . “There’s no one left on that side.” Who isn’t in prison .
    “Poor things.” Penelope patted her hand over her heart. “Dee’s never said anything.”
    “She knows all the details.” Except the parts that would give her nightmares .
    Penelope looked out at the basketball court. “No wonder you’re so protective. She’s all you have left of her father.”
    “True.” Unless you counted herpes . “I was pregnant with Dee when he died.” White-knuckling detox because I knew they would take her away from me if they found drugs in my system . “I was lucky to have her.” Dee saved my life .
    “Oh, honey.” Penelope grabbed Lydia’s hand, and Lydia’s heart sank as she realized that it had all been in vain. The story had obviously moved Penelope, or at least interested her, but she had come here with a task and that task was going to be assigned. “But, look, it’s still part of Dee’s heritage, right? I mean, stepfamilies are still families. Thirty-one kids at this school are adopted, but they still