She's So Money Read online

  “The tutoring office is for pussies,” Camden said.

  “The library?” I suggested. “We could use a study room.” Camden sped up yet again, so I had to as well. He was still holding on to my backpack strap.

  “We’ll figure it out in the car,” he said, pushing me through the door to the student parking lot. I grimaced as the cold outside air hit me, and I wrapped my coat tighter around myself. “Besides,” he added, “you owe me for chucking my book bag into the trash yesterday.”

  “I didn’t do that. . . . Okay, I totally did that,” I said.

  “Exactly,” he answered. “So suck it up. We’re going where I want.” Which is how, two minutes later, I found myself standing next to Camden’s ridiculously over pimped gas-guzzler of a black Escalade, then sitting in it after he threw open the door and prodded me into the passenger seat. The interior was black leather, with a custom G.P.S. screen built into the dash, a flip down DVD screen in the ceiling, and multiple random gadgets I couldn’t identify. Through the cracked open window, I heard some guy walking by mutter to his friend, “Wow, is Cam King slumming with the nerd chicks now, or what?” I made a move for the door, and the locks clicked. Camden grinned at me.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, giving up and fastening my seat belt. If I was going to get in trouble for being in a guy’s car, I figured I shouldn’t add injury to injury by smashing my face through the windshield.

  “I dunno. My house, I guess,” he answered. He was fiddling intently with his iTrip, banging it several times against the dashboard before it finally started working. The stereo suddenly blasted Kanye so loudly, I could barely hear myself talk.

  “My parents are going to kill me,” I shouted.

  “What?” he yelled back, turning down the music.

  “I said, my parents are going to kill me.” I reached up and pulled my hair out from where it had gotten pinned between my back and the seat.

  “Huh? Why?” Camden asked. He looked genuinely puzzled.

  “Well, aside from the fact that I’m supposed to either go straight home or straight to the restaurant after school unless I’m tutoring, they’re totally paranoid about me going to random people’s houses.” Outside the window, I saw Brad Slater walk by on his way toward his car. He did a double take when he saw that I was sitting in Camden’s passenger seat.

  “Dude, that’s really freakin’ weird,” Camden said.

  “You’re telling me.” Wait, I had just agreed with him. Ew. “But anyway,” I added quickly, “I’ll get in trouble if we go to your house. Can we just like, go to Starbucks or something?”

  “You have a cell phone, don’t you?” he asked. I nodded and pulled it out of my backpack. “Well, the whole point of a cell phone is that when people call you, you can lie about where you are.”

  “I don’t know. My parents are pretty good at figuring out—”

  “Oh my God!” he exclaimed, rolling his eyes. “You’ve never even tried it, have you?” He looked at me, mouth slightly open in disbelief.

  I suddenly felt very lame. Then I felt lame for feeling lame. Then my phone rang.

  “It’s my mom,” I squeaked, not picking it up. A few months ago, Nat had changed the ring for her on both our phones to “Mama Said Knock You Out.” At the time, it had cracked us both up, but now it was striking fear into my heart.

  “Good, now’s your chance.” Camden turned the key in the ignition, backed up out of the parking space, and gunned the car out of the parking lot. I glared at him as I flipped open my phone.

  “Hel—hello?” I couldn’t hide my nervousness.

  “What is all that noise?” my mom asked.

  I frantically motioned for Camden to turn down his music even further. “Uh, nothing. Somebody just walked by with a really noisy iPod.” Camden turned the volume down, then turned it way up for a split second, then back down, this time all the way. I slapped his hand and glared at him. He grinned as he pulled out of our school’s back driveway and onto the street.

  “Where are you?” my mom asked.

  “The library?” I winced, looking out the window of Camden’s car at what was very much the football field behind the school and not the library.

  “Okay . . . well, I want to go over the schedule with you again for when we are gone, so . . . see you at four thirty.” She sounded extremely suspicious, but at least she had hung up. I breathed a sigh of relief and turned to see Camden laughing at me.

  “You are the world’s worst liar,” he said. He turned the music back on and absentmindedly drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

  “Thank you. I love being driven somewhere against my will and then insulted,” I said, looking out the window. The football field and track, then houses, then trees, then the bridge over the river and the golf course, all positively whizzed by—Camden was driving sixty in a forty zone. “Uh . . . do you have a radar detector in this thing?”

  “Of course,” he said, speeding up to eighty for no reason before screeching to a halt at a red light, then slamming his foot on the accelerator again the second it turned green.

  The area immediately surrounding Weston High is filled with smaller houses like mine, but Camden had been speeding so much that we were already miles away. Here the houses were bigger, the lawns more extensive, the garages three car instead of two car. He started to turn into a really fancy gated neighborhood called Arbor Pointe, according to the big granite boulder by the security booth, but then he stopped and kept the car going straight instead.

  I looked at him. “What, did you forget where you live?”

  “We need to make a few pit stops first.”

  He started heading toward downtown, driving sixty all the way to EZ Wash, where we churned through a complete wash and wax. “Your car was like, perfectly clean already,” I pointed out.

  “And now it’s perfecter and cleaner,” he answered, driving seventy all the way to McDonald’s, where he ordered himself a Value Meal, then told the woman working the window that she had “the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen” in order to score extra fries.

  “That chick was like, fifty,” I said.

  “And that’s why the line worked on her,” he answered.

  After that we went to the drive through liquor store, where he bought a bottle of Maker’s Mark with a fake ID—although it didn’t seem necessary, considering that the tattooed guy with the shaved head at the window greeted him with a friendly “What up, C?” and the amount of cash Camden gave him was well over what the bottle actually cost. Finally, he turned the car around and appeared to be heading back to his house, albeit the long way; we were practically at the mall on the opposite side of town by now, and he looked like he was about to purposely wind around the streets of downtown instead of taking Main Street right through. I glanced at my watch. Great—I had to be at work in an hour. Maybe it was actually good that he was speeding like a maniac.

  “Oh, dude, dude, dude . . .” Camden suddenly started braking.

  “What now?” I asked, annoyed.

  Camden slowed the car to a crawl and stared out the window. “Track chicks,” he said reverently.

  I followed his gaze. Indeed, we were just outside the field of Pembroke, our rival high school, where the girls’ track team was lining up to start what looked like a sprint drill. They were wearing those very short track team shorts, although a few of them were still acknowledging the early spring cold by wearing spandex leggings underneath. The ones that weren’t lined up yet were jogging in place or stretching, and Camden was staring appreciatively.

  “That’s it, I’m getting out of the car,” I said. I unbuckled my seat belt.

  “Oh sure, you really have the balls to jump out of a moving vehicle,” he said, not taking his eyes off of the track girls.

  “It’s not moving right now,” I pointed out, and reached for the door handle. He immediately stepped on the gas and moved the car two feet forward, then slammed on the brakes. My backpack and books slid off my lap and
landed at my feet.

  “Ow!” I take a lot of A.P. classes and let me tell you, the textbooks aren’t exactly the world’s lightest. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Just showing you that there’s no way you’re gonna pull off some sort of Lara Croft escape maneuver.”

  I reached for the door handle again, but he immediately repeated his trick, causing me to slide forward and hit the dashboard.

  “Ow! I could call the cops,” I said, rubbing my elbow. “This is kidnapping or something.”

  “Please, like anyone would believe that,” he said, grinning. “Want me to kiss your wound and make it better?” He reached for my elbow and I shrank away.

  “I have to be at work soon,” I snapped.

  “Noted.” He stepped on the gas again as I struggled to put my seat belt back on, and before I knew it, we were pulling into the big circular driveway in front of his house. Or mansion, more like—my own house could probably have fit in his front hall, which showcased a huge, curving staircase, a marble floor, and a giant, intricate, very glittery chandelier. It was extremely warm inside; his family clearly had no problem jacking up the heat, whereas my parents always insist on setting the thermostat so low that I wear my coat inside the house half the time. I followed Camden to his kitchen, the entirety of which was a shiny, gleaming black, just like his car. He opened some cupboards and fished out bags of SunChips, Doritos, Oreos, and Pop-Tarts, all of which he held out to me. I shook my head.

  “Okay.” He shrugged. “Let’s go down to the basement.” He pulled off his fleece and started out of the kitchen.

  I didn’t move. “How do I know you’re not some kind of serial killer with a perverted sex dungeon down there?”

  He grinned at me. “Well . . . I’m not a serial killer.”

  “So says you.” I trudged down the carpeted staircase after him. “But Ted Bundy was apparently very popular in his day, and just so you know, I’ve got my keys in between my fingers right now, which means that if you try anything, I can totally punch you and stab you at the same time, and—oh my God, it’s like freakin’ Narnia down here!”

  We were at the bottom of the stairs, and Camden had flung open the door to his basement. I glanced around and saw a glass enclosed workout room with a bike, an elliptical, a rowing machine, and about a zillion free weights; a pool table with a giant KING PROPERTIES, INC. logo in the middle; a door that was slightly ajar and through which I could see a few rows of home theater seats and a giant screen; a wet bar; a hot tub; and a guy taking his clothes off and getting into said hot tub.

  Wait a minute.

  “Uh, Camden?”

  “Yeah?” he asked.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What?” he said. “I can’t study if I’m not relaxed. This relaxes me.”

  Down to a pair of blue boxers, Camden got into the water. I noted the six pack and then mentally kicked myself for noting the six-pack. Then I noted the pecs and mentally kicked myself again. The arms, I’d noted before. I mentally punched myself in the head for that one.

  “Hop in,” he said, eyes closed as he slid in up to his neck, resting the back of his head against the edge of the hot tub.

  “Yeah . . . no,” I answered. I took off my backpack and coat and let them drop to the floor, but I didn’t move any closer.

  “Come on,” he said, still with his eyes closed. “There’s probably a bikini lying around here somewhere from last weekend. I threw this awesome party, you should have—nah, you shouldn’t have came.”

  “Wouldn’t have wanted to,” I agreed.

  Camden opened his eyes and studied me. “Seriously, though, get in. We can just put our books on the edge here.” He reached into a mini fridge that was next to the hot tub and cracked open a Red Bull, then indicated the seating area around the hot tub.

  “No!” I exclaimed, remaining standing. I pondered just leaving. Of course, I couldn’t really figure out how I was going to get back to school in time for my mom to pick me up without Camden driving me, so I was actually kind of stuck.

  “Okay, stay in there if you want to. But I’m staying out here.” I walked over, reached into his book bag, took out his Algebra book, and then sat down. “We’ll make this fast. How long does it usually take you to do your problem sets?”

  “No idea. I don’t usually do them. How long does it take you?”

  I looked at his assignment sheet. It was ridiculously easy. “Like, ten minutes,” I said.

  “Cool. Then how about you do this assignment for me, and I’ll pay you a hundred bucks?”

  “What? No!”

  Was he crazy?

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “Because that’s cheating!” I exclaimed.

  “Come on. What do you usually make at tutoring, fifteen bucks an hour? And you could make a hundred in ten minutes. I thought you people were supposed to be good at math.”

  “Yes, my people all do math for fun, while simultaneously dry cleaning our karate outfits and giving each other manicures and pedicures, all in between our numerous piano and violin recitals,” I said, slamming his book shut. “Do your own freaking work. Although I guess that’s a completely foreign concept to you, isn’t it? Since you’ve been deep throating a silver spoon your whole life.”

  “That is so hot that you just said that,” Camden said, lazily swigging his Red Bull. “Besides, I’ll work one of these days when I have to. I’ll either go into real estate like my dad or find some rich old widow who wants . . . uh . . . services.”

  “That doesn’t sound like work,” I said.

  “Of course it is, if she’s old,” he answered.

  I had to smile at that one, and he took the opportunity to forge ahead. “So, will you do this problem set for me? It’ll save us both time. And you know, my friends would probably want in, so you could potentially make a ton of—”

  “For the last time, no!” I crossed my arms and glared at him.

  Camden sighed. “Fine. Read the first question out loud, will you?”

  Finally. I turned to the correct page and was starting to read when my phone rang.

  It was my mom. Eeep.

  “Hi, Mom,” I half whispered, trying to sound calm and bored, as if I were in the library.

  “You are not in the library,” she said. I felt all the blood drain from my face. “I called the school library and the librarian says you are not there right now,” she continued.

  “What? I am too,” I said defensively. I could see Camden listening in on my half of the conversation and beginning to smirk. “She just . . . she doesn’t know what I look like.”

  “She says there are no Asians in the library right now.”

  “There are always Asians in a school library; that’s where most of us live,” I exclaimed. Silence from my mom; a snicker from Camden. “I was probably in the bathroom when she was looking,” I said quickly, trying to cover. “I’m here. She just didn’t see me.”

  “Okay. I am coming to get you,” Mom said, and hung up.

  I shut my phone and looked at Camden in a panic. “Oh my God, you have to get me out of—”

  “Your clothes?” he interrupted. “Sure. You’ve probably got a sexy little bra happening under there.” He reached for the edge of my shirt, and I jumped up and reached for my backpack.

  “Yeah, yeah, very funny, but no. I mean out of here! My mom is coming to pick me up right now, and I’m supposed to be at the library! You have to drive me back to school!” I flung my arms into my coat and then through my backpack straps.

  “Dude, just calm down and call her back. Put me on the phone. I’ll pretend I’m a student teacher—”

  “No! We have to go now! Please!” I stared at him, my eyes simultaneously angry and begging.

  “Okay,” he said, as he got out of the hot tub.

  Naked.

  I squeaked in horror and turned away; the boxers from before had apparently made a run for the border. Camden laughed and put on a towel.


  “Told you I like to be comfortable when I study.” He grabbed his car keys and his clothes. “Let’s go.”

  We sped like hell all the way to school, Camden every once in a while glancing over at my panicked face and white knuckles clutching my backpack and telling me to chill out. I ignored him and prayed the entire time that my mom would drive over a nail and get a flat tire, or that there would be a massive multi-car fender bender in her path (no injuries, of course), or that she would forget something and have to drive back and get it. The Escalade screeched past a kid on a bike and into the driveway in front of the WESTON HIGH sign, and I was overjoyed to see that my mother’s car wasn’t there yet—we’d gotten back in time. I unbuckled my seat belt with one hand and opened the car door with the other.

  “What, no thank you?” Camden asked.

  I gaped at him as I hung halfway off of my seat. “For what?!”

  “For the superior driving skills that got you back in time.”

  “Are you serious?” I said sarcastically. “Okay, fine. Thanks for saving my life, although first you almost ruined it.”

  “Welcome,” Camden said cheerfully, ignoring the second half of what I’d said. “Maybe next time we’ll actually get some work done.” He grinned, ran his hand through his wet hair, and then playfully flicked the water at me.

  “Maybe.” I got out of his car. “But probably not, because I quit.”

  I glared at him, slammed the door, walked away, and didn’t look back.

  chapter five

  “You are in charge all weekend,” Dad said as we stood in the empty restaurant on Saturday morning, after going over a bunch of last minute management details: time cards, cash register accounting, ingredient substitutions in case we ran out of something, the phone and fax numbers for our contacts at Sysco Food Delivery. “Monday through Wednesday, Krai and the rest of the staff will take care of lunch, but you come here right after school for dinner.” He looked around for my brother. “Nat!”