Who Made You a Princess? (12 page)

My shaky self-confidence staggered and stood up. “It is, but that’s not a bad thing. Let’s take it one day at a time, okay?
I like you a lot, but I’m not into formal, especially with someone I used to make sandcastles with.”

The smile was back. “As you say, one day at a time. Now, shall we hear the rest of the show?”

That wasn’t going to be a problem. Kenny Wayne was in fine form, tearing up the air with his guitar. I sank into my chair
and then into the music. In fact, I was so into it that it was a bit of a shock when Rashid reached over and covered my fingers
with his.

And the funny thing? His hand felt really good.

If that doesn’t mess you up, I don’t know what will.

I have to say, even with his perfect grammar and custom-made suits, Rashid was fun to have around. When he got up with everyone
else to dance in the aisle, Farrouk and Bashir stiffened and kept their thousand-yard stares scanning in every direction,
but Rashid grabbed me right there in front of them.

So then I had to add
good dancer
to the list.

I mean, whether he was six or sixteen, this guy was hard not to like—and the fact that closed doors had a habit of swinging
wide for him didn’t hurt, either. Which was why we found ourselves at the afterparty with the band at Yoshi’s, grooving to
their headliner and trading banter at two in the morning.

I stopped looking at my watch after that. Once you get past midnight, it’s all the same, anyway. All I know is, when we finally
cruised up the school driveway, gravel crunch-ing under the tires of the limo, there wasn’t a light on anywhere in the building
except for the dim sconces in the entry hall.

Wordlessly, Rashid took my hand and pulled me into the common room opposite the stairs, where it was so dark I could only
see a little of his face as the light from the hall played over it.

I expected him to drop my hand and tell me something romantic, like he couldn’t wait for the dawn, but he didn’t. Instead,
he pulled me closer.

“Rashid?” I whispered uncertainly.

“I had so much fun tonight, Shani.” His breath moved the little curls by my ear. “I wonder, will it always be like this?”

“It’s only our first date,” I said. “Last night didn’t count. And I don’t know.” How many concerts and clubs did he plan to
take me to? “I want you to tell me something. For real.”

“Of course. I would never lie to you.”

That’s what guys always say, and you roll your eyes and hedge your bets. But for some reason, I believed Rashid. He was a
stand-up guy who didn’t, as Mac would say, mess you about. That’s the only reason I had the guts to ask what I needed to know.

“Why me? Out of all the girls in this school, why pick me?”

He smiled. That much I could see from the hall lights. The dark hid his eyes and one side of his body. “You are modest, deep
inside.”

As opposed to my outside? What was wrong with red shoes and a flirty neckline? I pulled back a little. “What does that mean?”

“It is only one of many reasons. Our families. Our childhood memories. You have grown up to be beautiful and intelligent.
You dress well and you have presence. But more than these, you are compassionate and loyal and fun. Does that satisfy you?”

“That little laundry list could apply to any one of my friends, too. Why not one of them?”

“Because I feel most comfortable with you. You do not treat me like a prince. You treat me like a friend. As though the years
since our summers in Greece had not passed.”

“But they did pass. I’m not that little girl anymore, Rashid.”

“I know.” He smiled in a way that told me he liked it that his friend was all grown up.

“And I have lots of male friends. I’m not going to write them off just because you want me to…be exclusive.”

“Of course not. I know you have many friends. But I hope to be more than that.”

Oh. Um. Now would be the time to tell him about your breakfast date, girlfriend. The one happening in, like, four point five
hours.

I took a breath and opened my mouth to say, “About those other friends—” when his arm slid around my waist and he tilted his
head down and kissed me.

And I totally forgot my words.

D
ESPITE THE FACT
that I don’t drink anything stronger than Mountain Dew, and Rashid doesn’t drink at all, when my phone rang at some horrific
hour the next morning, I could hardly see to answer it. Was there such a thing as date hangover?

“Glmph?”

“Shani? Hello?”

“Guhh.”

“Shani, it’s Danyel. Are you okay?”

“Uhhh-huh.”

“Are we still on for breakfast?”

I tilted the phone’s bright face toward me: 7:57. Was that morning? Duh, breakfast. Of course it was morning. “What day is
it?”

“It’s Sunday. We were supposed to have breakfast at my sister’s and go to church together, remember? I’m outside waiting for
you. Are you sure you’re okay?”

My mind processed these facts with all the speed of a glacier careening across a continent. “Oh. Right. Yeah, I’m okay. I
just didn’t get much sleep.”

I’d lain awake in the dark for a long time, listening to Carly’s and Mac’s even breathing and thinking about Rashid’s kiss.
He’d made it crystal clear he wanted to take our friendship to the next level, and that kiss had given me a hint of what it
could be like. I mean, I never thought I’d be in danger of being swept away by a guy, but that shows you what I know. I felt
like I was standing on a stone above a waterfall, looking out at the rushing torrent that would claim me if I took a single
step.

The problem was, there were people on this side of the river, too. People I wanted to stay with just as much.

Danyel cleared his throat. “So, are we on or do you want to skip?”

The words might have been cool, but underneath them was the rough sound of hurt. He’d expected me to be as glad to see him—as
prepared, and yeah, like, dressed—as he clearly was to see me. He’d driven all the way up from Daly City to Pacific Heights
to pick me up. Until two days ago, I’d been crushing on him to the point of telling him about it, and now what? Was I just
going to hang up and go back to sleep because I’d been out too late with another guy?

Of course not. The only step I was going to take this morning was through the door in Spencer’s foyer. “I’ll be down in fifteen
minutes. Don’t leave.”

“Not happening.” The smile was back in his voice, and I felt a little better as I snapped the phone shut and rolled out of
bed.

Luckily I’d showered, uh, four hours ago, so I could skip that part. And I’d only had the extensions put in two weeks before,
so no hair worries. I splashed my face with water as cold as I could make it run and woke up enough to make a coherent decision
on what to wear.

A skirt, not too short. My new Philip Lim 3.1 tuxedo shirt with the ruffled cuffs. A bright silk vest over it that Mom had
sent from Paris in the summer, after she’d been to someone’s trunk sale on the Left Bank.

Shoes. Hmm. I considered my inventory and thought, what would Lissa do? The girl always looks fabulous but she’s practical,
too. She wouldn’t let Gillian go to this big sci-fi trade show in heels because her feet would have committed suicide by the
end of it. Since I didn’t know what was going on today, I decided on boots—my Sergio Rossi suedes with what Carly calls “swashbuckles”
on the sides.

Speaking of…I glanced to my right. Mac blinked at me over her mound of covers.

“Oh, look.” She yawned. “A roommate. Have we met?”

“Very funny. I went out last night—”

“We noticed,” Carly said as she surfaced, too.

“—and forgot that Danyel was coming at eight to pick me up.” I flipped open my phone: 8:13. “Gotta go.”

“Aren’t you coming with us?” Carly asked as I scooped up my roomy Helena de Natalio tote and tossed the phone into it.

“Danyel’s taking me to his sister’s and I’ma go to church with them.” A final check in the mirror and I was good to go.

“Fill us in later,” Carly said, a little hesitantly.

Guilt poked me, right under my heart. Okay, so I hadn’t been around much yesterday, but we’d spent all Friday evening having
an adventure together, hadn’t we? And she knew me. It wasn’t like I was Party Central with every club in town on speed dial.

“You know it,” I promised, and hit the door at a run.

BLAME IT ON
sleep deprivation. Or the fact that I’d told Danyel I liked him and then gone and kissed someone else. Whatever. Because
breakfast was Awk. Ward.

Malika passed me a bowl of applesauce. “Try this on your pancakes, Shani. I made it myself. Our backyard is only big enough
to hold one tree, but it produces enough for a whole orchard.”

I took the bowl. “You made this?”

Danyel’s brother-in-law Sol smiled at his wife as if she spun the thread to make their clothes, too. “What, you think applesauce
only comes in cans?”

“I don’t think anybody thinks that.” Even I could hear the stiffness in my tone. But hey, did we really need the putdown this
early on a Sunday morning? Before church?

“He was just teasing,” Danyel murmured beside me. “Ease up.”

Ease up? It wasn’t me dissing people I’d just met. I handed him the applesauce and poured syrup on my pancake instead.

“You’ll be hungry halfway through service, you don’t eat more than that,” Malika said. “How about some seven-grain toast?”

“She made that, too,” Sol put in.

“No, thank you.”

Malika smiled, too, though her eyes were busy sizing up Danyel and me and speculating on just what I was to her brother. She
could speculate all she wanted. Even I didn’t know the answer to that.

“You on a diet, girl? You don’t look big enough to cast a shadow on a hot day, but who knows with girls now. It’s all about
that top-model nonsense.”

“I never watch that show.”
Project Runway
, now, that was different. But mostly I just listened while I did homework. She was the one taking notes.

“How’s Rose doing after her first month of kindergarten?” Danyel changed the subject as he handed half a banana to his niece,
who, I have to admit, was about as cute as kids came. And they were off and running on the fascinating subjects of finger
painting and the alphabet, leaving me in peace to eat my pancake—I hate them, did I tell you?—and steal a couple of eggs off
the plate when no one was paying attention.

After breakfast, church turned out to be a relief. Danyel’s family visited over their shoulders with people as we all settled
into the pew, but no one said much to me—though somehow the pastor figured I should be going with the youth group to do whatever
they did. I just looked at him and stayed planted where I was, and he got on with it. The service wasn’t like the one at Lissa’s
church in Marin. Instead, it was more like the one I’d gone to with Gram as a kid. I even knew some of the songs, and got
a little of the spirit as I let my voice go. Malika watched me out of the corner of her eye, her eyebrow raised just enough
to tell me I’d surprised her.

Huh. Yeah, I can sing. That probably doesn’t make up for not liking your pancakes, though. Or for liking your brother.

“… and Mary’s chosen the better part,” the pastor said, “and she’s sitting at the feet of Jesus, listening to what He says.”

I tuned in. The pastor was pretty interesting. There was nothing wrong with what Martha was doing with all her housekeeping
and serving and homemade applesauce. Somebody had to keep the place clean with a dozen dusty guys overrunning it. But there
was Mary, ticking off her sister because she’d rather listen to Jesus than help with the dishes.

Yeah, no kidding. I’d be right there with Mary, too. I mean, if a person gets the choice, it seems like a no-brainer, right?
How else is a person supposed to learn?

After a couple more songs, during which I watched Danyel’s fingers move as he held the hymnbook—I don’t think he realized
he was doing the chord changes—the service let out.

“You’re coming back for lunch, right?” Malika said. Then she leaned to look behind the seat of his truck. “Why’s your stuff
in here?”

“I don’t think so, Mal. I’ve got to take Shani up to the city and drop her off, then head south. School tomorrow.”

“The BART station’s only ten minutes from here. Why don’t you two stay and eat and then you can drop Shani there?”

Oh, happy thought. Just what I wanted—to be dropped off at the train station like a suitcase. This woman did not like me,
and that was that. Carly was so lucky. Brett’s parents thought she walked on water. She got hugs every time she went over,
and his mom had given her an all-access pass to the fabric stash from Italy.

What do I get? Botulism in a bowl and BART.

“Thanks, Mal, but I want to take Shani back. We don’t get a lot of time to just talk.”

“You can talk here.”

“Sis.” He gave her a hug that meant good-bye. “Leave it.”

She hugged him back. “Can’t blame a sister for trying. It’s not like we see you every weekend.”

“I’ll try to get up here more often.” He hugged Sol, and gave little Rose a big, smacking kiss that made her giggle and hide
behind her mama’s (no doubt homemade) dress. “Come on, Shani.”