Who's Your Daddy? by Lynda Sandoval Read Free Book Online Page B

give me gray hair before I’m twenty.”
    “Yeah. But that’s one of the things I like about Lila the most. She jumps in with both feet.” Without looking first!
    “True. I just wish—” She pressed her lips together.
    “What?” I asked Caressa. Her eyes looked sad.
    “Eh, nothing. I just wish we’d finished.”
    I knew Caressa was really let down about the whole dateless thing. She wanted to know who her prospects were. Well, we all did. But Caressa had an extra strike against her that Lila and I didn’t. She’s GORGEOUS. Her mom’s Hawaiian and her dad’s African American, and let me tell you, she got the very best of both of their genes. She has this amazing, smooth, caramel-colored skin, as though she’s always kissed by the sun; long wavy brown hair naturally highlighted with deep copper; and vivid green, slightly tilted eyes. Plus she’s supersweet.
    Don’t misunderstand me, I think Lila and I are both cute enough girls (though I could do without my red hair and pale skin), but Caressa’s in a whole otherleague. Lucky her, right? Not really. Lila and I aren’t subjected to much cattiness from the other girls, because they don’t see us as competition. Poor Caressa intimidates both the boys
and
the girls, but the girls really take it out on her. If only they could step back and see how truly vulnerable, humble, and genuine she is …
    But, anyway.
    The whole dumb supper debacle was depressing, and I didn’t want to dwell on everything that could’ve been. Instead, I stood. “Well, let’s clean up. I just have a creepy feeling now and I kind of want to go home. I hope that’s okay.”
    “You go ahead, Mer.” Caressa smiled sadly at me. “I’ll clean up. It’ll give me something to do since you won’t be spending the night after all.”
    I have to say, I was glad she offered. Something told me I should go home right then. I felt compelled. “Are you sure?”
    “Uh-huh. Go on. I like cleaning. It calms me.”
    “Okay, then.” She stood as I put on my coat, then hugged me good-bye. I squeezed back.
    “Drive carefully.”
    “I always do.”
    Caressa raised one of her perfect eyebrows in a skeptical expression and planted her fists on her hips. “That’s not what Lila told me about the drive over here earlier tonight.”
    I giggled. “Yeah, yeah. ’Night, Caressa.” And with that, I jogged across the portico and got into my trusty Volvo.
    The drive from Caressa’s to my house is always pitch black. There aren’t streetlights up here in the mountains unless you are on the main roads. I mean, I had my headlights, but driving home always felt like being inside a fragile bubble of light that could pop at any moment and leave you choking on pure, unending blackness. That lovely thought made me shiver, so I turned up my radio for company. I was cheered to hear they were playing Beethoven’s “Triple” Concerto in C Major, Op. 56. It has always been one of my favorites.
    I usually choose to listen to the classical station from Vail, because the music is beautiful and uplifting. I know people think I’m strange because I don’t listen to the regular music most kids do. Really, if I wanted to switch to the pop station, all I had to do was press a button. My parents weren’t there to admonish me, and it wasn’t asif I’ve never heard pop music. When I spend time with Lila and Caressa, I listen to what they want to hear. But they’re also respectful of my family’s way of life and open to new experiences, so sometimes we listen to classical. That’s what I love about my best friends. They don’t try to make me into someone I’m not, even though I must seem like a space alien to them at times, and they try to show enthusiasm for my interests, too.
    The whole point is this: my parents might have raised us in a nontraditional way, but I don’t mind it. In fact, I like it for so many reasons. My parents never seem as harried and stressed out as other adults, and our house is always a