Angels on Sunset Boulevard by Melissa de La Cruz

time she had gone too far. There was a picture on the Web for everyone to see. His pride had been hurt. And maybe his heart, as well. He wasn’t sure. Was it even possible to fall in love at seventeen? He wasn’t a cynical guy but he was pretty sure what he and Maxine had had wasn’t love.
    He walked over to where Taj was waiting patiently. “Everything all right?” she asked, noticing the dark flush on his cheeks.
    â€œEverything’s perfect,” he said. “Now, I’m a bit rusty, but you wanna skate down the hill and I’ll call you a cab? It’s on me. Don’t worry about it. Can’t have pretty girls like you walking around town at three a.m. by themselves. It’s not safe.”
    â€œPretty girls?” Taj smiled.
    â€œVery,” Nick said, smiling back. Somehow, seeing Taj had taken the sting out of the conversation with Maxine.
    She taught him how to balance on the board, and together they coasted down the hill, all the way back to Sunset, where Nick, as promised, called her a cab and gave the driver a twenty to take her home.
    â€œWhat are you doing next week?” Taj called from the backseat, while Nick stood on the curb.
    â€œI don’t know. You tell me.”
    â€œWell, maybe you’re having dinner at my house on Friday night. I make a mean
kapusta.
And if you don’t know what that is, you’ll have the privilege of finding out.”
    â€œOkay, then,” Nick agreed. “I’ll call you, at the station.”
    â€œDo that.”
    The cab drove off, and Nick stood on the sidewalk, watching until it disappeared over the hill. He felt lighter and more energetic than he had in a long time. He also noticed that his headache was gone. Dinner at her house. Who ever invited anyone to dinner anymore? He couldn’t remember the last time a girl had cooked for him. Maxine ate exclusively at restaurants where celebrity presence was guaranteed. If there were no paparazzi idling on the sidewalk, she wasn’t interested. Maxine … Nick shook his head. Already it felt as if they had broken up last year instead of just several hours ago.

Nick
    THE PHONE WOKE NICK WITH A START THE NEXT morning, bright and early at eight o’clock. It was a shrill, electronic ring which echoed throughout the ten-thousand-square-foot house and bounced off the marble floors.
    â€œHelllo?” Nick grumbled, still underneath his pillow.
    â€œMay I speak to Miss Langley?” a crisp voice asked.
    â€œYou mean Mrs. Huntington,” Nick corrected. He turned and buried himself under the comforter. He’d forgotten to draw the curtains the night before, and the sun was streaming into his bedroom.
    â€œNo, a Miss Langley. A Miss … er … Fish Langley?”
    â€œFish? Who is calling please?” Nick asked sternly, tossing the pillow to the floor and sitting up finally. Might as well just get up; he’d never be able to get to sleep again, what with the light.
    â€œThis is Citibank. If you please, sir, we’d like to talk to her about her account,” the caller said in slightly accented English. Nick pictured a hapless Indian clerk in Bombay reading from a script.
    That was odd. They both had debit privileges on their parents’ Citibank checking accounts, but if the bank wanted to talk to an account holder, why would they want to talk to Fish?
    â€œHold on,” Nick said. He pressed the intercom. “FISH! PHONE FOR YOU!”
    There was no answer from Fish’s room. She was probably ignoring him. It really was too early to deal with anything like this.
    â€œI’m sorry, she’s not here right now,” Nick said.
    â€œThank you very much, sir. We will try again later.”
    Nick put the phone back on its base. Maybe the bank was trying to sell something—they always were.
    He yawned and decided to take a morning run.
    When he returned from a slog up and down the canyon, sweaty and refreshed,