Delia 1: Delia's Crossing by V. C. Andrews

Author:V. C. Andrews [Andrews, V. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2008-01-06T05:00:00+00:00

14

A Warning

I could see that Señor Garman was not happy waiting for me outside by the car when I came out to go to school. He leaned back against the Rolls-Royce with his arms folded, his hands on his elbows, and glared at me as I approached. The morning sunlight, unhampered by a single cloud, danced over the polished metal around him. He had taken Tía Isabela to the hospital to await the outcome of Edward’s operation and returned.

Everyone in the house now knew what was happening, knew that this was the morning of Edward’s critical eye operation. Sophia was raging with fury that her mother had not told her the night before. When she asked if I knew, I nodded, which made her even angrier.

“So now I’m to be a bodyguard to a Mexican teenager,” Señor Garman muttered. “How did you manage to convince Mrs. Dallas?” he asked me. I wasn’t completely sure what he was saying, so I didn’t answer. He grunted and opened the door for me.

A few days ago, I was walking quite a distance to take a public bus to school, and now I was being driven by a chauffeur in a car that might be worth all of the cars together back home in my village. I sat rigidly and waited for him to get in and start away. Before we did, I saw Casto Flores drive up in the dull light brown station wagon. The right rear fender had a deep dent in it, and it looked as if it needed a good washing.

Sophia came out and looked at the Rolls and then the station wagon before marching down the steps in a huff to get in. She looked as if she were holding her nose. I saw that it amused Señor Garman.

“You’re in this, and the princess is in that. Let me know your secret,” he told me.

My secret, I thought, is to win the trust of my cousins and then reveal their secrets.

The sight of a golden Rolls-Royce with a chauffeur bringing a poor Mexican girl to the public school not only raised eyebrows, but stopped conversations and all activity in the parking lot and at the front of the school. I was almost too embarrassed to get out when Señor Garman came around to open the door for me. I clung to my workbooks and kept my eyes down. He asked what time I came out of the building at the end of the school day, and I told him so quickly he had to have me repeat it. Then I hurried to the nearest entrance, walking, I was sure, as would a Japanese geisha. I heard some catcalls and laughter but ignored everything.

The news of my luxurious transportation to school preceded me with electric speed, however, and I overheard students asking one another who I was. Before, I was nothing more than a passing shadow, another Mexican teenager not worth noticing. No one had even asked my name or given me more than a passing glance.

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