Roxanne rose early Saturday morning, gulped a mug of coffee thick with sugar and cream, and snorked a bowl of cereal in her bedroom without a spoon while she dressed and tied on her new skates. She left the bowl on the floor, even though she rolled past the kitchen on her way out. She imagined Anna smiling and shaking her head later as she scooped it up.
The grass was dewy, but the street in front of the house was dry. The asphalt looked like it had been laid down a month before. In this hood, she imagined, they'd probably rip up the whole road and start over the first time somebody dropped a tire in a dip. It stretched away in either direction, curving gently to follow the unseen beach. Even though there were only about a dozen houses on each side, it was nearly a mile long. And it was all hers.
She switched on her MP3 player, and Ian van Dahl filled her ears and limbs. The heavy high-energy electronic beat was perfect for blading, and she took off up the road, bouncing to the music.
The wind moved through her hair and chilled her face. She wasn't wearing a helmet or pads; falling on skates or anywhere else was a thing of the past. She'd planned to work up a sweat, so she'd dressed light, just a leotard, and added a tiny skirt in case Mr. Lynch poked his head out the door to watch her. She knew how silly that was, but he'd already made a remark or two about booty display, and she felt strangely reluctant to risk a disapproving look from him. She switched off skating backwards and forwards, warming up, until she reached the outside gate.
She was just in time for the guards' shift change. Brent, the older guy who reminded her a little of Mr. Lynch, was just rolling out the gate, and Ricardo, the good-looking Mexican guy, was rolling in. Anna had told her his last name was McCall, thoroughly weird. They all traded waves, and then she turned back for her real workout.
She worked her way down to the other end of the street, performing field moves and other fancy footwork. By the time she reached the gate at the far end of the road, she was doing simple jumps and spins.
She paused with one hand on the gate and let her breathing ease. She felt a smile touching her lips. Even though it had been a long time since she'd last bladed, she hadn't fluffed once, and she was quite pleased with herself. And, besides, just getting out and moving felt unbelievably good.
She glanced up to see a big butt-ugly guy in a windbreaker looking her over from a doorway on the other side of the gate, maybe fifty yards away. She remembered Mr. Lynch warning her that the people who lived on the other side didn't like strangers nearby. She pulled her hand off the gate like it was hot. But the man gave her a smile, and a wave that might have been a greeting or a warning. She smiled back and turned away.
Now she felt ready for the tough stuff. She headed back towards the house, building up speed, and performed a series of jumps, spins, and spirals. Without Gen, some of her moves would be impossible on rollerblades instead of ice skates, but she doubted there was anyone living on the street who'd know. She hydrobladed for fifty yards to the front of their house, then rose for a camel spin, which she morphed into a one-armed Biellmann, holding it for ten turns before she stopped, blowing hard and feeling loose as cotton candy.
Slow, heavy clapping brought a smile to her face before she realized it was coming from the wrong side of the street. Her good mood frayed at the sight of the man in the doorway, the Middle Eastern-looking guy Kat and Anna had warned her about, but she kept the smile on anyway. "Thanks."
"You should be in the Olympics. You're very good." He was looking her over, and suddenly her wardrobe choices didn't seem so sensible. The damp fabric stuck to her like papier-mâché, detailing her abs and bra; she was very glad she'd worn the skirt. "You live around here, I take it."
"Right across the street."
"Really." He stepped off the low stoop and walked through the grass towards her, smiling. She thought about bolting for her front door, but it didn't seem the proper way to deal with a neighbor, even one who smelled so strongly like trouble. Mr. Lynch. Kat. Anna. Somebody, poke your head out the door.
The security cruiser rolled up and eased to a stop at the curb, between her and the neighbor. "Good show, Rox. Morning, Mr. Rafiq. You're up early. Everything okay?"
The man's smile vanished. "Yes. Fine."
Rick looked through the car window at her. "Bet Anne's got breakfast ready. After a workout like that, you must be starving."
"You bet. Thanks, Rick," she said, with a little extra emphasis, and headed for the door.
Anna was working in the kitchen, as expected, and turned to her with a smile as she entered. The cool blue eyes were clear and penetrating. "So, do you want another breakfast?"
"Just coffee." She stopped. "You heard?"
Their strange little housekeeper nodded. "Microphone at the mailbox. Right now, Rick is oh-so-respectfully describing the horrific consequences Mr. Rafiq might incur, just from letting the wrong people see you talking together. He's mentioned your age, and Mrs. Sylvestri right next door, and how a little gossip would be all his ex-wife would need to haul him back into court to renegotiate his settlement. Now he's reminding him who else lives in the house across the street. Even though Mr. Lynch is polite and reclusive, he's acquired a certain reputation in the neighborhood. I suppose his scars have something to do with it. That and the occasional visits he pays to the Mafiosi down the street." The mug was pressed into her hand, warm and fragrant, and she sipped it standing up while Anna wiped the counter. "Still, Mr. Rafiq is a creature of habit, and you're a serious temptation. I estimate a sixty-five percent probability, plus or minus seven, he'll approach you again the next time he sees you alone." She glanced out the kitchen window, and her rag paused. "The hummingbird is back. Isn't he beautiful? He's feeling lazy today. Wing beats are down to forty-two per second."
She stood next to Anna and watched the bright little creature hovering over a flower on the other side of the pool, its wings an invisible blur. "I'm never gonna get used to the way you sound like Anne of Green Gables one minute, and the Terminator the next."
"Me neither. I'm aware of the dichotomy, but I doubt I'll ever fully integrate. Some machine experiences don't translate well into bio terms, and vice versa." The rag resumed. "Actually, some don't translate at all."
-0-
Melanie woke to a knock on the bedroom door. She'd gotten in plenty early for a Friday night, but she'd been too wound from the concert and, frankly, Bobby's company to sleep right away, and it seemed she'd only closed her eyes. "Melanie?" Mom's voice through the wooden panel. "You have company." Instead of moving away, her mother opened the door and stepped in. "Dear, does your brother have a girlfriend now?"
"I wish. Maybe he'd loosen up." She rubbed a wrist across her eyes. "What time is it?"
"Almost nine. What about the one who was here last night? The beautiful redhead?"
"Oh. Kat? I think they're just splitting the atom together in physics class. She's okay."
"I caught them in his room when I came home."
That woke her up. "No."
"They were dressed and upright. They said they were using the printer. But you couldn't have got a loaf of bread between them, and what they were talking about had nothing to do with physics. I thought, if I'd poked my head into his bedroom five minutes later, I might have caught them at something."
"Mom, he was really uptight about letting her in his room to use the computer, but they needed it for study. And Kat doesn't seem the aggressive type. I don't think you've got anything to worry about."
"I wasn't exactly worried. I was wondering if I should have stopped for coffee. That boy needs some distraction."
She shuffled into the kitchen to find Alex and Lori waiting at the table. "It's Saturday. What the hell are you doing up at nine AM?"
"Waiting for you." Lori leaned forward. "Dish. What was it like?"
"Jeez, let me get some juice down." As she filled her glass, she said, "Surpassing excellent. Just as promised. He was outgoing, entertaining, and attentive. And a good listener. He didn't so much as try to play with my hair. And he dropped me off before midnight with a smile instead of a kiss."
"Gay," Alex said, pushing out a lower lip.
"Absolutely not." She looked down into her glass. "I've never felt more in the presence of a male in my life. I was so on him, I actually got a little paranoid about it, thinking he might have slipped something in my Diet Coke. But like I said, he never even reached for my hand. And he took Kat home with him when he dropped me off. If I want to take another step with him in that direction, I'd really need to figure out their relationship first."
Lori's eyelids drooped. "So, are you gonna see him again?"
She sat at the table. "See, that's something I want to talk to you about." She looked at their expectant faces. "He plays guitar."
-0-
Kneeling in the grass, Anna diligently raked debris out from under the last bit of untended hedge separating the Lynch and Sylvestri properties and deposited it into a large plastic bag. When the side door of the Sylvestri house opened, she put on a smile that disappeared an instant later as one of the neighbor's Corgis pushed its way out, barking furiously.
Mrs. Sylvestri shouted, exasperated, "Rotten! Get your furry carcass back in here! Rotten!"
The dog paid no heed. It rushed to the hedge, burst through, and confronted her, growling and barking, teeth bared and front legs planted, frantically warning his mistress of something strange and dangerous nearby. Anna stood slowly, her head rising above the four-foot hedge for the neighbor to see. "He doesn't like me much, does he?"
"Anne. I didn't see you. I'm so sorry, dear. Rotten! Come! Come!" When the dog reluctantly obeyed, the woman slipped a leash on its collar. It continued to watch her suspiciously, its ruff raised and a low growl in its throat. "I just don't understand it. Vicious loves you. And Rotten doesn't act this way around anyone else, I swear. Maybe it's your perfume or something."
"Or something," she agreed. "How does he get along with the new housekeeper?"
"Better than I do. I swear, the girl has to be shown everything, and I've got to keep an eye on her all the time."
Anna brushed dirt off her hands. "Perhaps she'll get better once she settles in."
"If she lasts that long. She's nothing like you, dear. If you change your mind and come to work for me, I'll put Rotten in a cage whenever you're here. I was shocked speechless when he went after your leg that time you came over to cook. It looked like he meant business."
"He didn't even break the skin, Mrs. Sylvestri. No harm."
"Well, maybe a walk on the sand will mellow him out. Do you suppose I'll see those girls of yours running on the beach today?"
She shook her head. "Roxanne got up early and rollerbladed. Sarah's going shopping, I think."
"I understand your concern about them now, dear; they're lovely. You should talk the other one into getting out. I haven't seen her outside at all, except for when she's splashing around in your pool." She shrugged. "At least she's getting some exercise, I suppose."
"She works out in Mr. Lynch's basement, too. He has a bench and free weights down there."
The woman nodded. "Trying to get her weight down, eh?"
"I think she's just trying to develop her strength. I really can't see her dropping much weight. I suppose she'll weigh two hundred pounds for the rest of her life."
Mrs. Sylvestri clicked her tongue. "What a shame. She has such a pretty face."
"Shame?" She heard the side door open; her discriminating software identified the approaching steps.
"Yes. I was kind of a blimp when I was her age. I know what it's…" Her voice trailed away as Caitlin drew near the fence.
Anna smiled. "Caitlin. I don't believe you've met Mrs. Sylvestri."
The redhead looked down from her six-and-a-half-foot height and reached easily over the hedge to offer a hand. "Just traded waves from inside the pool. How do you do?"
"Hello," the woman said faintly as she shook hands, craning her neck up to meet the girl's eyes. The dog yapped excitedly and tried to reach her, wagging its brushy tail.
"Anna, is there any problem with me borrowing the hatchback for an hour or so? I'd like to pick up a couple of books at the library."
"No, hon, so long as you're back in time for Bobby to drive to his audition. I'd love to see him play guitar in a band, wouldn't you?"
The girl nodded. "I'm sure he's good enough. I just hope they pass him on his talent. The lead guitarist is the girl he went out with last night." She produced a key fob and pressed it; the middle garage door rose to reveal a modest hatchback sedan, rather out of place in the posh La Jolla neighborhood.
"Well, if they take him on because he's pretty, they'll recognize his talent before long, I'm sure."
"Better scoot then. Nice meeting you, Mrs. Sylvestri."
The dog resumed its growling. Mrs. Sylvestri shook its leash to quiet it, but after a moment it began again.
They watched her walk back into the garage, squeeze into the little car, and roll down the drive. "'Big girl'," Mrs. Sylvestri quoted. "'Two hundred pounds. Horribly self-conscious. Constantly teased by boys.'"
Anna nodded. "Yes. See what I mean? What a trial it must be to look like that at her age."
"I thought she was fat, not… built to twelve-tenths scale."
She raised her eyebrows. "Oh. Did I say something to give you that impression?"
"No, not exactly…" The woman shrugged. "It seemed a natural assumption."
"Ah." Anna tied off the bag of yard waste and pretended to be having difficulty heaving it into her wheelbarrow. "It seems I get set on my ear a great many times when I make assumptions."
"John should hire a gardener. He's going to wear you out, having you do all the heavy labor around that house."
"I don't mind. I'm stronger than I look. Really."
Sarah came out the side door. "Did Caitlin leave yet?"
"Just a minute ago," Anna replied. "She'll be back in an hour or so."
Rotten sat, suddenly silent, and stared at the dark-haired girl, head cocked, fascinated.
"I wanted to get a ride from her."
"I could drive you, if you like."
Sarah walked past the two at the hedge. "No, thanks. Wouldn't want you to risk burning your cookies, or whatever."
The dog rolled over on its back, pawing the air. Sarah bent to pet it, and it wriggled in ecstacy. The dark-haired girl stood. "Dogs are very perceptive, aren't they? But not very bright. Toss this one a few table scraps, and he'll probably fawn all over you." She strode down the driveway and turned towards the gate.
Glenda Sylvestri turned to the little housekeeper. "Bet you'll be glad when she's gone back to school."
"Oh, no. I love having all of them around. And it doesn't look like they're going back to that other school. I think Mr. Lynch arranged for them all to finish their classes right here, at MacArthur. Some sort of exchange program; I don't know the details. But I'm glad Bobby and his father will have a chance to spend more time together."
-0-
Sarah, hiking down the sidewalk, had just cleared the Sylvestri property when the community security patrol rolled up behind her. She glanced back and stiffened. Looking at her through the open window was the same guard who had delivered her to the house, ten days before. "Miss Sarah. Would you like a lift?"
"It's half a mile to the gate, and another block to the bus stop. I'd much rather walk."
"Miss, Let me take you to the gate. I really need to talk to you for about a minute." He added quietly, "I swear, I'll keep both hands on the wheel."
She considered. "Does the passenger door open from inside?"
He colored slightly. "The front one does."
She rounded the car and got in. He rolled the car forward. "I wanted to apologize."
"You did that already."
He shook his head without taking his eyes off the empty road in front of the car. "No. I apologized for inconveniencing you while I was doing my job. Now I need to apologize for…" He took a deep breath. "I've never done anything like that in my life. I don't know what came over me. I won't try to explain it away. But I'm very sorry, and it won't happen again. I'm here to protect you, not…" He huffed. "Are you even eighteen?"
"I'll be seventeen in two weeks."
"Jesus Christ." He shook his head. "If you're not in a forgiving mood, one word to my supervisor and I'll be gone. Your choice."
"Actually," she said thoughtfully, "I don't think I'd have to talk to your supervisor. I could just tell Mr. Lynch."
He grew still as a statue; his face became a mask. "I suppose you're right." The car drew up to the gate and stopped.
She opened the door. "But I won't, this time. Be as good as your word, and it never happened." She twitched an eyebrow. "Except the little housekeeper knows. She might look at you differently now. Ripples in a pond, Rico McCall." She shut the door and passed out to the street.
