June

I rolled the windows down, enjoying the warm California wind blowing through my hair. My belly hurt from laughing, and a grin was still stuck to my face. Sam and I were going to write a book, or multiple, like J.K. Rowling had done, and we were going to get filthy rich. Well, I was going to get filthy rich, he was rich enough already. It didn't bother me, though. Mom's old car worked just as well as their expensive brand-new Mercedes-Benz. And at least I had my mom. Sam had never mentioned his parents, not even once, and we'd been friends for two weeks already.

I looked sideways at her, the best mom in the world, and was remembered of Valentina — they were so alike, like Valentina was her niece instead of my dad's. Both so pretty and alive. Oh, I had so much to tell Valentina! "Mom, can I call Vale when we get home?"

"Of course. You have lots to tell her, I'm sure."

"Oh, yes. Me and Sam, we're going to write a book. It's gonna be a bit like Harry Potter, but different — without the magic school. Sam's character is an old wizard, and mine is queen Mencia, and she rules over a country named Eyana..." I rattled on and on, not having been this content since two months ago, when I'd still been surrounded by my whole family.

"I'm sure if you keep on practicing, you might write something good one day," she said, and by the earnest expression on her face, I could guess what was coming: a warning. She liked to warn me. Dad said she couldn't help it, that abuela made her that way. "But you need to remember you can't make a living out of publishing books. Artists lead a hard life, living from paycheck to paycheck."

"I know. But maybe we get lucky like J.K. Dad said I have a very refreshing writing style."

She snickered at that. "Your dad isn't exactly the most objective critic. That fool loves everything you do."

Yeah, probably. Didn't mean it wasn't true, though. I thought I was a good writer. Better than Sam, anyway, although I'd never say that out loud. Making up stories with him was a lot more fun than doing it by myself, and he was definitely a lot more creative than Valentina, who's fantasy didn't seem to go any further than dark-eyed princes on horses or motorcycles. I giggled, imagining Sam's reaction if I'd add one of her characters to our book.

"Te veo feliz, corazoncito," mom said.

"Well, I am happy. Sam is really nice."

She smiled like she always smiled when I was telling a lie, and I already flustered red, even though I hadn't done anything wrong. "It's not only Sam. That brother of his, hm, Nathan?"

I tried to prevent my mouth from straining because that would betray my thoughts immediately. How did she know? Well, I guess she was a woman as well, and even though she was married, that obviously didn't stop her from noticing when a guy was absurdly attractive. Like Nathan. Just now, he had wanted to open the door for me again, only at the last minute, he'd changed his mind. With a smug smile, he'd said: "Oh, I forgot. You don't want me to open doors for you."

I'd attempted to not blush scarlet. "It's fine. As long as it's the polite thing to do." And I had managed to keep a straight face while he'd reached for the door handle, laughing. He was very handsome when he laughed. Like he was doing it only for you. I wondered if he had a girlfriend. He probably did. I should ask Sam. Or not. He might get suspicious.

"I mean, a boy like that, it's like he came straight from some movie poster, don't you think?" Mom seemed to be enjoying this conversation thoroughly. I, on the other hand, wasn't.

"Mom, please shut up."

"He said he's studying to be a lawyer. At Stanford."

"I know. I think he's really smart."

She huffed, and for a second, she raised her eyebrow. "Smart, you say?"

I sighed. "I know they're rich, but trust me, they're not like that."

"Well, if you say so... I think you should go there more often, June. That house! Your father and I couldn't buy something like that even if we'd never eat and sleep again. What an easy life! If I were you, I'd marry one of those boys."

For the first time in California, I was glad my aunts weren't here. They'd just make it worse. "Mom, please, stop talking!"

Instead of talking, she started laughing. Marrying Nathan wouldn't be the end of the world, I guess. The second I saw him, I realized I'd probably found my first sexy Cali surfer boy — minus the surfer part. But I didn't care for the beach anyway. I was so going to tell Valentina about him. Maybe she could marry him; he'd just turned nineteen, so they were closer in age anyway. She'd like him. She always liked it when boys treated me like they treated other girls; she said it told her what kind of men she was dealing with. I wasn't sure if I understood what she meant.

Mom turned on the radio. Ariana Grande's voice blasted from the speakers, and she started to sing along like she was a pop star herself. The warm feeling in my belly grew, and I joined in, even though I knew I sounded like a cawing crow. "I love you, mom," I said, as I saw her tired face and realized how hard she was trying to be fun for me.

She smiled what dad called one of her diamond smiles. "Yo también te quiero, mija."

The next few weeks, I spent most of my afternoons at Sam's house. My parents both worked late; mom until seven, dad until ten, and sometimes he had to do night shifts. Truth be told, I hadn't seen much of dad since we moved. Often, I wondered if I'd had missed him less if I'd stayed behind in New York.

Nathan, on the other hand, was almost always home unless he had an evening lecture, and so I preferred being at their place. I'd always thought I was good at being alone. Turned out, it was easy to be by yourself if you'd been surrounded by your cousins and nieces and nephews and aunties all day, but it was much harder if you came home from school and no one was there to get you a soda and ask you about your classes.

High school was alright, even though Matt Granton continued to steal my lunches. He hadn't appreciated it when I'd added a big red pepper to my mom's tacos, so now Sam and I sometimes received two pushes instead of one. It wasn't a big deal; together, we could handle anything. After school, we usually took the bus together and walked the last ten minutes home, him carrying my backpack. Once or twice, Nathan surprised us with the Mercedes-Benz and made a show of opening the door for me and bowing like I was some kind of queen.

Valentina had said I should ask him for a plane ticket so we could fly her in and she could seduce him and be happy and rich for the rest of her life. Not only did that sound like a ridiculous plan, secretly, I also didn't want to share the boys with her. For once, I was the only girl in the house, and I was getting used to such luxury.

I loved sitting at that long wooden table in that white kitchen, cups of tea and bowls with oranges in front of us, Sam and me with our textbooks and Nathan behind his laptop, reading some boring article or writing a paper or helping us with our homework. For dinner, we usually had take-out. At first, I'd thought they were trying to treat me. Later, I realized this was normal for them. They probably even didn't know how to prepare a meal themselves. I thought of cooking for them sometime, to thank them for all the take-outs I couldn't pay for, but I was scared I'd be really clumsy in front of them. I didn't know this kitchen very well yet, and abuela wasn't there to help me drain the boiling water.

It was so strange to me that there was never a woman standing behind that beautiful stove, that there was never the smell of freshly baked onions greeting you in the evenings. Where were their mom and dad? I hadn't dared to ask up until now; somehow, it felt like a taboo. There were pictures of the four of them, a few smaller ones, and one huge portrait in the living room, shot by a professional photographer. I didn't like those much. They didn't feel alive, like the pictures of me and my family. What happened to that pretty woman and that stern-looking man? Were they dead? Were they abroad? Were they spies for the U.S. government? The only pictures I liked were the ones of who I assumed to be their grandparents, a balding man with Sam's nose and a contagious grin on his face, and a kind-looking woman with grey hair in a bun, showing off the ring with a pretty green stone she wore on her left hand.

But in all of the pictures that contained them, Sam was a small boy, and Nathan was never older than a middle schooler.

"Open it."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

"You guys aren't tricking me, are you?" My eyes traveled from Nathan to Sam, arms crossed, trying to glare at them the way my mom could, making you want to disappear into a hole. They were both grinning, and for the first time, I realized they didn't look alike at all. At first, I'd thought they did, both white and blond with blue eyes, but now I noticed Sam's hair was a shade lighter than Nathan's, and definitely shorter: Nathan wore his in a careless ponytail today, Sam's was nicely styled. Sam seemed short next to his brother; his growth spurt must not have come yet. And then the eyes: Sam's blue was like a frozen lake, while Nathan's was more like the ocean at night. Oh, and the freckles. Sam had a lot of those, Nathan had zero. I'd tried to count them once during a particularly boring maths class and failed hard. Someone needed to devise a freckle-counter.

"Tricking you? Have we ever tricked you, June?" Nathan's eyes were laughing. I liked it when they did that. "We know full well we're not smart enough to trick you, don't we, Sam?"

"Oh, err... yeah... he's right."

Mm. Could I trust them? It had been two weeks since I first stepped foot inside this house, and it already felt like a second home, even though I'd found it creepy modern at first. I'd kept thinking I would break something or mess something up. There was a carpet in the living room that had what appeared to be silver Christmas balls attached to it, and I had no idea if it was art or a carpet you could actually sit on — I'd asked, but neither of them knew.

By now, it was clear to me it didn't matter to them that Sam broke a plate more expensive than all of my mom's china, because there was enough money to simply replace it. I wondered what Sam would think when he'd finally see my house. Would it be a shock to him? I didn't get why the hell he attended public school when they could've easily paid for private education.

At the moment, I had different problems to deal with. Like what would happen if I'd open up the kitchen drawer, like they'd instructed me to do.

"Come on, Junie, what do you think is in there? A bomb?"

I glowered at Nathan. Ever since the two of them had discovered I hated being called Junie, they were doing it all the time. Sigh. Boys. What to do with them? "Well, Sam I trust, but I can never be too careful when it comes to you, Nathan Redstone. After all, you open doors for me."

He chuckled, and Sam rolled his eyes. "Come on, just open the freaking drawer!"

"Okay, okay... I suppose it's the polite thing to do." I was too curious for my own good.

Oh — I hadn't really known what to expect. I mean, it was the drawer where they kept their (ridiculously artsy) cutlery, what could a girl expect from that? I detested the damn things: the knives were so thin I couldn't hold them very well, and the forks had weird bumps on the handles. It made eating a lot more difficult than it was supposed to be. Sam had been cutting up my meat for me whenever I stayed over for dinner, and I really didn't like that. It made me feel helpless, and I didn't like feeling helpless. I already dropped enough food as it was. I didn't need the extra challenge of having to get rice to your mouth using an object that had as much in common with a spoon as a car had with a banana. Instead of the usual three to five, I'd have ten peas flying from my lap whenever I stood up from the table.

Instead of being confronted with those museum-piece annoying unpractical things, though, I was met with a set of perfectly regular knives, forks, and spoons. They resembled the ones we had at home; they'd probably cost ten times as much.

I was flabbergasted.

"Look at that. I think we rendered this girl speechless. That's a first."

Sam beamed at me. I lunged myself at him, crushing him in a bone-breaking hug. Laughing at his shock, I detached myself and attacked Nathan this time — he smelled really nice; I should try to find excuses to hug him more often.

Sam was blushing when I'd released the both of them. "It was only the polite thing to do," he mumbled, and I laughed loudly.