Page 38 of Filthy Rich

Chapter 10

Jake

Dear Dad,

I know you said never to write you about voice lessons or singing or acting, but something pretty cool happened. I stole a song from another foster kid and I got famous with it instead. And I did such a good job stealing it that she thinks she wanted me to have her song.

I swear, these people really are so stupid.

The label just sent me a check for two hundred grand for the song I stole—and to cut a few others with them. I’m not sharing any of it with the Fansees or the girl who wrote it. I think this is the beginning of our greatest con yet. You need to get out soon and help me pull one over on all the stupid Americans who like this kind of crappy, sentimental music.

Your son,

Jake

Once I cut the engine, I turn to face Octavia, and I swear, the look of confusion on her face is almost enough for me to call it. After scouring the internet for unique dating ideas, this one seemed like a winner.

But now it seems really dumb.

“Alright, what are you paying me for?” Octavia narrows her eyes.

“No, no,” I say. “I’m not paying you. I’m paying for myself.” I nod. “You have to buy some stuff, and I’ll do the same, and then we take the stuff back to my apartment, and we each have to make something for the other person’s dinner with what we bought.”

Octavia blinks. “Your apartment?”

I groan. “No, not like that. It’s not creepy. I just can’t go to a normal place, because?—”

As if on cue, someone raps on the window. “Hey, are you Jake Priest?” A mother and her teenage daughter are leaning closer and closer.

“No way, Mom. I told you—he wouldn’t be caught dead in this old junker.”

I shake my head. “Nope, sorry. Not famous, but I get that a lot.”

But then the mother sees Octavia, and her mouth drops. “It is him. I knew it.” She points. “Look!”

“See?” I jab my thumb at the mother. “Let’s go quick, before they start shouting and other people notice.”

Octavia starts to buckle.

“No, not go, go. Go inside.” I shake my head. “They have bags of stuff. They’re headed out, so they can’t really follow us in if any of it’s refrigerated.” I smile. “Let’s go inside.” I jam a hat down over my head and toss the sunglasses to Octavia again.

She bites her lip for a moment, and I wonder whether she’s going to beg off on the whole thing, but then she nods, and shoves the sunglasses over her face. “Let’s go.”

Moments later, we’re both racing toward the entrance like we’re running from the police, and Octavia’s giggling like it’s all a big game. “Did you see her face?” She’s heaving a little. “That mother looked appalled, like we were the jerks.” She shakes her head. “She came and banged on your window like it was her right, but running from her was rude?” She rolls her eyes. “People, man.”

“People, man, indeed,” I say. “They are the worst.”

Octavia frowns then, like she’s thinking about all the ways people suck. I can’t have her all bummed out on our date, so I slap my forehead. “A timer. We need some kind of timer.” I set a twenty-minute timer on my phone, show it to her, and snatch a small black plastic shopping basket from a stack. “And don’t try to follow me, either.”

She frowns. “We’re on a date and you’re ditching me? Really?”

I blink. “No. That wouldn’t make sense, would it?” I shift my basket to the left side of my body. “But no sneaking a peek at what I grab.” I arch one eyebrow. “I can’t have you copying my epic ideas.”

“Are you a chef?” she asks. “Did you pick this to show off your hidden talent?”

I lean closer, close enough to realize she smells like honeysuckle. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

She narrows her eyes at me, and then she snags a basket of her own, shoving her borrowed sunglasses up onto her head at the same time. That movement shifts her hair back, away from her face, and I can’t help my smile. She looks nice with her hair pulled back. I’m guessing she never does it because of the burns, but I like seeing more of her.