The Truth about My Success Read Online Free PDF Page B

year-long tan and start muttering about Paloma’s skin and hips and image, never mind the breaking and entering part. Or the joint. Forget the joint; Leone would never notice it. She’d have gone into shock when she saw what Paloma was wearing.
    Paloma tosses the chicken bone onto the pile on the floor. This is living.
    Maria was right, of course. Paloma’s new friends are not from the Internet. She met them by chance when she was giving her bodyguard the slip one afternoon and they helped her get away. At this exact moment, they remind her of a group of characters that appeared in another episode of
Angel in the House
– though anyone who isn’t Paloma might have trouble seeing the similarity. In the show these characters were members of a biker gang whose rough, often scarred, exteriors hid hearts of gold, and it was up to Faith Cross (Paloma) to make them and everyone else realize that. In real life, Paloma’s new friends aren’t a gang and only two of them ride bikes, and those are Vespas. The others drive cars. It’s too soon to tell of what metal their hearts are made, but, as well as the ponytail, there are several piercings and tattoos among them so, to Paloma, they look like they might someday own Harleys and secretly do good deeds. They seem to have the drink and drugs and illegal entry parts covered.
    She prefers the taste of Diet Coke to beer, but there isn’t anything to mix with the Diet Coke and her mother doesn’t disapprove of Diet Coke on its own, so she sips at her can, pretending to enjoy it. Just as she pretends to understand what the others are talking and joking about.
    “Hey, Suze,” calls Micah. It is Micah, the group’s lock picker, who recently rescued her from Paradise Lodge – her hero. “You wanna toss me another brew?”
    They don’t know who she is. These kids are not the target audience of
Angel in the House
– they’re too old and too hip, they carry around guitar cases and artist’s portfolios, not Faith Cross pencil cases and lunch boxes, so she told them her father’s a producer. They think that’s cool. It means she gets to go to big-deal parties and hang out with celebrities and attend premieres. At least three of them want to be filmmakers. Indie films, of course, not Hollywood crap.
    Paloma opens the cooler. “There’s none left,” she reports.
    Micah turns to the boy sprawled beside the other cooler. “Sammy? You got another can in there?”
    Sammy shakes his head. “Cupboard’s bare, dude.”
    “I guess we better make another run.” Micah turns back to Paloma. “Suze? You got some more dough?”
    The one thing they do know about Paloma that is true is that she’s rich. When they went to Disneyland it was Paloma who paid. When they went bowling it was she who paid. When they hung out all night watching movies it was Paloma who bought the pizzas and soda and beer. Just as it was Paloma who filled the coolers today and picked up the tab for the buckets of salad and chicken.
    “No. We spent it all.” Once she’s gone through her pathetic allowance (hardly enough to keep a fish in shoes) Paloma has to rely on what she can steal from her parents (which, since they both work for her, isn’t really stealing; it’s more like taking it back).
    “What about that old magic plastic?”
    “I told you. My mom cut them in half.” That would be after the Disneyland bill. The picture some creep put on Facebook of her in a giant teacup waving her T-shirt in the air didn’t help.
    Micah makes a rude remark about Paloma’s mother – whom he has never met and never shall meet – but his is a philosophical nature and he bounces right back from this disappointment. “Right,” he says. “Then it’s Plan B, ain’t it?” There are more ways to get in to a house than through the front door. “Come on, Sammy. Come on, Suze.” He shakes his head as she reaches for her coverup. “No, leave it. Come as you are. Leave your bag here.”
    Plan B is simple enough. They