The Princess of Las Pulgas Read Online Free PDF

Franklin leaves the room.
    Mrs. Franklin tucks Jessie
into bed and marches Kip out the door. I follow Sean into the hall
and down the stairs to the entry. I don’t want to be alone with
him, and even if I have a lot to say, none of it’s fit to speak in
the Franklins’ house. Besides he’s very distracting—tall,
handsome—a poster boy for “Come to the Bahamas.”
    I look down at the floor
then scan the pictures on the wall. Twisting my bracelet around, I
pretend to be fascinated by my wrist and concentrate on staying
mad. I deserve to be mad. Even if he
didn’t mean to terrorize me, he deserves some kind of
punishment.
    He clears his throat, but
I’m not noticing him. No
way .
    “Sorry I gave you such a
scare.”
    What a lame apology.
    Mr. Franklin comes from the
office, my jacket over his arm and his phone in the other. “We need
a new handset. The pads are wearing out, but the phone works,
Carlie. You were upset and probably didn’t press the TALK button
hard enough.” He places the phone on the entry table. “Come on.
I’ll walk you home.”
    “I’ll do it.” Sean steps
next to me. “I think I still need to apologize some
more.”
    “Thanks, Sean.” Mr.
Franklin says. “It’s been a long night and I’m tired.”
    I don’t want him to walk me
home. I can go on my own. But the
tightness around my head is there—that last bit of cold fear hasn’t
vanished. I slip into my jacket, grateful for its
warmth.
    Mrs. Franklin comes
downstairs from Kip’s room holding the empty yogurt dish, remnants
of the illegal chocolate bits clinging to the edge. She shoots me a
“you-know-better” look. Maybe the health food diva won’t call me to
baby-sit again. That’s just fine.
    Still, I need money for that dress. I’ll
call tomorrow and apologize. For what? The bedtime yogurt snack?
For keeping her kids safe from an intruder even if he did turn out
to be a nephew? I’m the one who deserves the apology.
    At the front door, Mr.
Franklin hands me the scrumptious sum of twenty-five dollars. Then
he opens his wallet again. “Here.” He hands me another ten. “You
did a great job tonight. I’m sorry I didn’t say so earlier, but,
well, finding the you gone and Kip’s bed empty was quite a
shock.”
    They’ll call me again.

Chapter 11
     
    Sean and I walk alongside
each other, letting the sound of the ocean fill in for the lack of
conversation.
    “How far is it to your
place?” he asks
    I point toward the
two-story house across the street, home for as long as I can
remember. The wide path winds to the main entrance, and the leaded
glass panels in the door glow from the entry lights Mom leaves on
until we’re all home. Inside, the vaulted ceilings cast soft
shadows in the living room and at the back, I see someone, probably
Mom, in the kitchen.
    “That’s the Edmund place,
isn’t it?”
    I’m still not talking to him.
    “You’re Carlie, Madame
Lenoir’s star pupil in French 3.” He fills the uneasy silence
between us by staring at my house. “You’ve taken down your
Christmas tree already.”
    I’d like to punch Sean
Wright in the jaw. I’m in no mood for chitchat with this guy. I
don’t bother to tell him we never took that tree inside, that it’s
likely to turn brown where it stands next to the front door because
my dimwit brother hasn’t hauled it to the curb for pick up. My
hands still shake even though I’ve stuffed them inside my jacket
pockets.
    “Look, I’m really sorry,”
he says as if repeating his apology is going to erase
tonight.
    “Sorry? What kind of lame
word is that for making me think we were about to die?” I stayed
calm as possible hiding in Jessie’s bedroom and on this stroll home. Now I’m
having a hard time not yelling. “And what were you doing all that
time, playing video games?” You should be
hung by your very beautiful, tanned neck!
    “Désolé de vous avoir donné une telle
frayeur!”
    “Oh.” The sound I make is
so small I’m not sure it made