The Leveller - Julia Durango Page 0,17
I say, figuring I might as well let the whole mewling cat out of the bag. Chang will figure it out sooner or later, just like he always does. “He’s run away inside the MEEP and left a mess behind him.”
“Then let Diego Salvador go in and find him. It’s their mess, not yours. Let them deal with it. This is none of your business.”
“Chang’s right,” says Moose, his voice serious now. “Let those rich people sort out their own problems. You need to come home, Nixy.”
I sigh. “Look guys, it’s nothing I can’t handle. And besides, Salvador employs both my parents. Just lay off the hacks until I get back, okay? I’ll even split some of my paycheck with you. Gotta run.”
“Nixy—” Chang starts, but I hang up before he can say anything else.
It’s showtime.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
OKAY, SO WYN SALVADOR LOOKS LIKE A SLEEPING ANGEL, IF ANGELS are hot guys with long lashes and lips that beg to be kissed. This irritates me, as I’d rather he sported a jerk face when I give him the takedown he deserves.
An older woman sits at his side and smiles at me sadly. “He is a handsome boy, yes?”
I can’t help but smile back at her. This must be Mama Beti, and she is, quite frankly, as adorable as her name. She wears a flowered cotton sundress and a matching yellow wrap around her head that shows off the fine angles of her face, the coffee-with-cream color of her skin, the deep brown eyes and long lashes. Both the Salvador men—father and son— obviously inherited their looks from this woman.
Mr. Salvador, Kora, and Dad are all huddled in the corner in front of a portable computer stand. Kora is tapping something into the keyboard while Dad and Salvador murmur behind her. Mama Beti sits in an overstuffed chair next to Wyn’s bed, a sturdy metal walker parked nearby. She reaches an arm out to summon me. When I walk over to her she takes my hand in hers.
“You must find him for me,” Mama Beti says in accented English. “He is not hiding, he is lost. Do you understand me, linda?”
I’m about to remind her my name is Nixy, not Linda, but then I remember from Spanish class that linda means pretty, and I blush a little bit under her gaze. It is intense, this Mama Beti gaze.
“I’ll find him, I promise,” I tell her.
She squeezes my hand. “My grandson likes beautiful things. Maybe that will help you search for him. Look,” she commands, sweeping a ropy yet elegant hand through the room.
I look around Wyn’s room and I see what she means. Though the room is dominated by Wyn’s bed and the IV machine attached to the needle in his arm, now I observe the ocean blue walls and white-painted bookshelves that display a large collection of baubles and seashells, polished rocks and exotic handicrafts, in addition to dozens of books on art and architecture. A huge picture window looks out at the sea. I have to admit, Wyn’s room certainly isn’t the typical teenage boy dump I usually encounter: clothes on the floor, empty soda cans, burrito wrappers, posters of sports teams or the TARDIS on the walls (depending), and an oversize computer monitor, extra-smudged.
“See? Beautiful things, like you,” Mama Beti says. I run a hand through my hair and wonder if Mama Beti is sincere or just working me. I hold her gaze for a moment and decide she’s sincere.
“Thank you,” I say, then turn back to Wyn, who lies next to her. If it weren’t for the IV hooked up to him, you’d think the guy was taking the sweetest nap in the world. The corners of his mouth are turned up a bit, as if he’s dreaming of baby dolphins or a basket of kittens, rather than operating a virtual torture maze.
A servant comes in then, pushing what looks like a portable operating table. Kora directs him to the far end of the room near the bookshelves, but apparently Mama Beti has other plans.
“Aquí, Juanito,” she calls, waving to the area on the other side of her chair. “This way, I look after you both,” she says to me.
That’s when I realize the operating table is for me. Dad sees my face and puts his hands on my shoulders. “There’s still time to say no, Nixy. You don’t have to do this.”
I glance over at Mama Beti, who is kneading her hands in worry. “I