The Last King of Texas - Rick Riordan (45 page)

We bought two lemons with peppermint sticks and sat
in the shade of a live oak. Jem was showing some kids a trick with a
yo-yo. Michael was betting the other kids a carnival ticket each that
Jem couldn't do it three times in a row.

"I don't know about this new Jem/Michael
alliance," I muttered.

Ines twirled her peppermint stick. Her lips were
turning unnaturally red from the candy. "Hardly fair to the rest
of the kids in the world, is it?"

We watched as Jem completed the third
around-the-world/walk-the-dog combination with the yo-yo and Michael
started collecting tickets, smiling for the first time I'd ever seen.
He suggested the other kids try double or nothing. The junior high
band managed a drumroll and a horn crescendo, then unraveled into a
very odd waltz arrangement of Glenn Miller's "String of Pearls."
I got the feeling it wasn't really supposed to be a waltz
arrangement, but I wanted to give them the benefit of a doubt.

"I'm wondering," Ines said. She had her
legs crossed at the ankles, the tips of her loafers tapping the air
with the music. "Should I thank you, or apologize for inflicting
myself on you?"

"No apologies," I assured her.

"My problems almost got you killed, Tres."

"Technically speaking."

"And now I feel like I've been adopted. You and
Erainya, George and Kelly, your other friends."

"It's an odd family," I admitted. "But
our weirdness makes us strong. You'll fit right in."

She slapped my knee. "How can I thank you?"

"Feed Robert Johnson every day?"

"Guess again."

I smiled. Jem and Michael trotted over to us and
plopped down on the grass, still counting their winnings. Jem
appropriated my peppermint lemon and told me he was going to like
this school.

The junior high band's waltz kept going. A daddy in a
three-piece suit was now dancing with his little girl on his toes.

It looked like fun. "How about this dance?"

Ines smiled radiantly. "That's what you want as
a thank-you?"

"It's one of the things on my wish list, yeah."

Michael let out a giggle, then caught himself. His
mother looked at him, amazed. His ears turned bright red. She looked
back at me and her eyes grew suspicious.

"What's the joke?" she demanded.

"You want to dance or not?"

"A dance. To this music."

I nodded. "Have to start somewhere."

She pointed her peppermint at me, daggerlike.
"Someday, Tres Navarre, you'll regret saying that."

The hell of it was, I believed her immediately.

But when she stood and offered me her hand, I took it
anyway.