A bus arrives, but it isn’t my route. Everyone else gets on, leaving MJ and me alone.
“Was Big Mama upset about the fire?”
“No. I told her it was an accident and she was just glad I was okay.”
“Is she planning to file an insurance claim?”
“Why you asking that?”
“Just wondering. I mean, that’s what people usually do when they have accidents. You’ll probably need the fire report if you do.”
“Nah, Big Mama said the small amount of damage ain’t worth jacking up her premiums, plus the deductible is hella steep. She says there’d be questions about how it started and with me still on probation and everything—”
“Because she believes you started it.”
“That’s what she believes because that’s what happened,” MJ says, her voice full of threat.
“My bad, don’t get all tense,” I say, deciding on another approach. “So . . . you’re up early this morning. You don’t have your GED classes until the afternoon, right? That was one of the reasons you said you didn’t want to go to regular high school, because the hours sucked.”
“Yeah, that and after two years of high school courtesy of L.A. County juvie, I could care less about pep rallies and proms.”
“You mean you couldn’t care less.”
“Exactly. Just want to finish my last semester and get my GED.”
MJ also couldn’t care less that she just did one of my pet peeves, so I go back to my questioning.
“The GED classes are from four to six, every weekday, is what I thought you told me.”
“Yeah, but I have a job now. That’s where I’m going. Eddie hooked me up with a part-time cashier job at the bodega.”
I guess things are going well with Eddie, her new boyfriend and son of the Center Street bodega owner. I wonder what Eddie would think about Hoodie Dude.
“That’s cool, except it must interfere with your classes.”
“I only started yesterday, and I only work the morning shift. I open the store and leave at noon. I’m serious about getting my GED and never miss class.”
“See, if I had a new job, at the end of my first day, I’d probably blow off my classes and go celebrate. Is that what you did yesterday between four and six?”
“I told you—I never miss school. Damn, Chanti. Why every other conversation with you gotta feel like I’m talking to my probie? Make me think maybe you should leave me alone. And why you so interested in my class work, anyway?”
“Just want to make sure you get that diploma. Like you said, I got your back,” I remind her as I fish my bus pass out of my bag.
“Well, if that’s true, maybe you could help me with my math homework.”
I’m thinking a tutoring session would be the perfect opportunity to do some snooping at her house when she adds, “Meet me at Treets at seven? Since I’m making a little cash now, I’ll buy.”
“Why not your house?”
“It still smells like smoke. Probably a health hazard.”
“Then why are you and Big Mama still living there?”
“Where else would we go?”
I don’t get a chance to answer her because my bus pulls up just then. MJ might think she’s just been saved by the crosstown, but I have other plans.
I was at Langdon Prep less than a month when Lana discovered I could get into trouble—through no fault of my own—whether I’m at a fancy school across town or at my nearby public school. And as much as I hated Langdon, I told Lana I’d stay when she gave me a chance to leave my scholarship and transfer back to North Denver Heights. I guess I owe Michelle an apology because when school started, I accused her of going to a school because a boy she liked went there, and I ended up choosing to stay at a school for the same reason. I turned down Lana’s offer because Marco and I were still an item and I had an ally in Bethanie, the other scholarship girl. Now that she’s moved away, I realize I’m going to have to make new friends, especially since Reginald won’t arrive for another six weeks. Otherwise Langdon will be unbearable for the next year and a half.
That’s why I look for Annette Park in the cafeteria at lunch. I probably hold the title of least-liked girl at Langdon, but Annette is definitely a contender. If you know our history, you might think she’d be the person most likely to start a campaign to get me expelled. But politics make strange bedfellows, and everyone knows politics don’t get any stranger—or more ruthless—than they are in high school.
I find Annette alone at the table where she and her crew used to hold court over the whole school before I brought down their leader. I fully expect her to haul off and slap me, or at least knock my tray out of my hands, so I’m completely thrown when she looks up and smiles. If Headmistress Smythe hadn’t already expelled Annette’s former queen bee, I’d be pretty worried right about now. As it is, I instinctively look around the cafeteria for signs of impending foul play. But everything seems normal, like any other school cafeteria, except today’s menu includes pâté on crostini and hand-tossed goat cheese pizza. It’s my favorite place at Langdon—not a fish stick to be found and I’m sure they’ve never served those cheese-covered cardboard rectangles they tried to pass off as pizza at my old school.
“Can I sit here?” I ask, still a little wary.
“Yeah, but why would you? Don’t you hate me? Everyone else does, and you’re the only one with a reason to.”
She’s got a point, but before I can explain myself, she starts talking again.
“I’m not really like her, you know. I mean, like Lissa Mitchell,” she explains, invoking the name of the she-beast that caused me nothing but grief from the day I set foot on campus.
“Where are the other two—Lissa’s clones? Why don’t you guys have lunch together anymore?” I ask.
It’s something I’ve been wondering about from the minute Headmistress Smythe had to admit her favorite student had violated more than a few of Langdon’s rules of conduct and had to throw her out. It was even more painful for Smythe because she originally accused me of committing the violations until I cleared my name. Smythe never liked me from the get-go, thanks to how she met my mother—during one of Lana’s undercover jobs in which Smythe somehow became indebted to my mom. I know Smythe thinks Lana is a convict and by default, I’m just a crime away from my own prison sentence. There’s more to it than that, of course, but Lana won’t tell me what actually went down between them—a mystery for another day.
“If they’re anything like me, they’re somewhere having lunch alone, just like they did B.L.”
“Huh?”
“B.L.Before Lissa.”
Wow. I used to call the girls in Lissa’s crew her minions, but maybe disciples would have been more appropriate.
“When was that?” I ask, spreading goose liver and capers on little toasts. It sounds gross, but it’s sooo good. Rich people know how to eat.
“When I was a freshman. Every year, Lissa picked three new freshmen to be in her circle.”
“So after a year, she fired you from your job as lackey? No offense.”
“I’ve had some time to think about it since practically no one talks to me now. That’s exactly what we were—her lackeys. Lissa looked for easy marks, girls who don’t yet know who they are and could easily be convinced to become someone else. Where better to find those girls than in freshman class? Only freshmen were crazy enough to do her bidding, so she had to get a new batch every year when the last recruits figured her out.”
“But you’re a junior.”
“I guess I was the easiest mark of all. Two years later and I still don’t know who I am,” she says, then adds a weak smile, the kind people make when they want you to think it’s all good but it really isn’t.
“Let’s not talk about Lissa anymore,” I say. And because we have nothing else in common to talk about, we finish our goat cheese pizza mostly in silence. But sometimes silence is just right.
Chapter 9
When MJ arrives at
TasteeTreets at seven on the dot, she finds me in the same booth she and Hoodie Dude shared yesterday. Maybe sitting here will unnerve her and trip her up on the lie she told me. After all, I saw her having burgers with him. I’m sitting in her same spot, facing the front exit so I can see her and anyone else who comes through the door—a habit I picked up from Lana.
“Hey, you picked my favorite booth,” MJ says as she drops her heavy math textbook on the table with a thud. So much for unnerving her. “I’ll order for us. Super Combo Three, right?”
I nod, thinking MJ is a good study of people, even if she doesn’t always use the information wisely. She already knows I’m not very adventurous with the TasteeTreets menu—I almost always order the Super Combo #3: quarter-pound burger with cheese, fries, and a chocolate shake. MJ is almost as good as Lana at reading me when I’m running a game, even better than my BF Tasha and she’s known me forever. That makes my job tough so by the time she returns with our food, I’ve decided on the straightforward approach.
“I know you told me to leave it alone, MJ, but I really think we should tell the police about that guy I saw.”
“You supposed to be helping me with my math homework. If you just gonna question me about some guy you think is an arsonist, I want eight dollars for that Super Combo.”
“I can’t help you with your homework until we’re done eating or our food will get cold, and we have to talk about something while we eat, right?”
“We don’t have to talk about that. Besides, what would you tell the cops? ‘I saw some guy watching the fire along with the rest of the street and I’m thinking he’s a criminal because I’ve never seen him before’? Yeah, I’m sure they’ll jump right on that.”
“I can give them more than that. I have a description,” I say, watching MJ’s face for a reaction as she squirts an obscene amount of ketchup on her fries. I get nothing, so I continue. “He was approximately five-eight or five-nine, a hundred and sixty pounds, medium complexion, between eighteen and twenty-four years of age.”
“Do you know how much like a cop you sound? It’s kind of funny” is the only reaction I get from MJ. “Not to mention that could be just about anyone.”
“He was wearing a brown hoodie with an elaborate white scroll design across the back. . . .”
Now MJ stops scarfing down her fries and looks up at me. I finally got her attention.
“. . . and I think I saw writing on it . . .”
Now she stops mid-chew and looks more than a little worried.
“. . . maybe the numbers oh-four.”
I’m not ready to show my full hand yet so I don’t mention what I actually saw. She relaxes enough to start chewing again, but I can tell she’s thinking about it, wondering what to say next.
“Oh hell, I know who you talking about now. You should’ve gave me the 411 on Sunday and we could have avoided all this threatening-to-go-to-the-cops drama.”
“I didn’t make any threats. I just thought you’d want to catch the guy that might be responsible for trying to burn down your grandma’s house.”
“You mean my boyfriend?” she says.
“Eddie? I know for sure it wasn’t Eddie. He’s like six-two, way taller than Hoodie Dude.”
“No, I mean Lux.”
“What? I’m confused.”
“The guy you’ve been calling Hoodie Dude, the arsonist, etcetera. His name is Lux and he’s my man.”
“I thought Eddie and you were—”
“I know what you thought and I keep saying you’re wrong. Eddie and me are just friends.”
“But what about . . . you know?”
“Okay, so Eddie comes with benefits.”
I don’t know what to make of this new development, so I’m inclined to think she’s lying. Guilty until proven innocent is the way I see it.
“You’ve never mentioned Lux before.”
“I don’t tell you all my business. You already find out enough without my help.”
“How long have you been going out? I mean, maybe you don’t know him as well as you think.”
MJ looks like she wants to tell me to shut the hell up and eat, but I guess she’s been my friend long enough to know that if she doesn’t give me answers, I’ll go find some on my own, and possibly the wrong ones.
“I known him long enough to know he’s the last person who wants to see my house burn down, and I mean the very last. He called 911.”
“I told you it was me who called.”
“Probably lots of people call 911 when there’s a fire.”
That’s true, if it’s a blazing fire. I suppose people in the houses behind MJ’s may have seen the smoke and called, but Lux was out front when I noticed him. Of course, I was kind of busy yelling for MJ and Big Mama, ringing doorbells and banging on rejas before I spotted him in Ada’s yard. Maybe that’s when he was calling 911. I take a long drag of chocolate shake while I consider this.
“Before Lux and I left the house that morning—”
“He was over that early?”
“Like I said, he’s my man,” MJ says, looking suddenly smug, like she’s just discovered the proof that will finally convince me Lux couldn’t be the firestarter. “Big Mama was out of town, so Lux stayed over. Anyway, before we left, I put some fireplace embers from the night before on the back porch. I guess they wasn’t as cooled off as I thought. That’s probably what started the fire.”
“Seriously? You accidentally started the fire with hot embers?”
“You say it like I’m stupid. I’m not the only person that ever started a fire like that. Besides, I’m from southern Cal—what I know about cleaning a fireplace?” MJ says, looking at me like she’s trying to will me to believe her, and I do. I may not believe hot embers were the cause of the fire, but MJ does. “People always think I’m stupid.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling guilty, “so you put out the embers and headed to work, but Lux says he called 911. I thought he’d left the house with you?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So why was he still there to see the fire and make the call?”
“He must have left something at my place and came back to get it.”
“You don’t know? Seems like y’all would have discussed the fire by now. It’s been a couple days.”
“No, we discussed it,” MJ says, not looking as smug as she did a second ago. “He definitely came back to the house for something and that’s when he noticed the smoke.”
“How was he going to get inside? I know Big Mama wouldn’t let him have a key to her house. She’d kill you and then kick you out if you gave him one.”
“I don’t know. I guess . . . maybe I forgot to lock up and he noticed that.”
I let that one slide because I’m on a roll and MJ is starting to crack.
“All right. He comes back, notices the smoke, calls the fire department. So why did he leave when you got there?”
“Huh?” MJ says, sounding genuinely confused.
“He was standing in Ada’s yard before you got home from the bodega. I talked to you a few minutes, then I spotted him walking toward Center Street. If you’re his girlfriend, wouldn’t he stick around long enough to talk to you, make sure you were okay?”
“I’m getting tired of you interrogating me like I’m in the box, Chanti,” MJ says, and I know she’s stalling, thinking up an explanation. “Only reason I’m putting up with you is I need help with my math and I know you’ll just snoop until you find out, anyway.”
“True dat.”
“Lux didn’t stay around because he knows I’m creeping on Eddie.”
“Eddie, who isn’t your boyfriend?”
“Okay, okay—I’m seeing them both. I’m eighteen, too young to be with just one dude.”
I almost feel bad grilling MJ like this because her eyes are starting to have the cornered-animal look, but I can’t tell the truth from the lies. Like she said, she recently turned eighteen and if she does time now, it’ll be for real, no more juvie. If she�
��s on her way down a path that might take her back to jail, my interrogation will help more than hurt my friend. At the very least, she’s hanging out with a Down Home—a fact I still haven’t let on I know—and that alone is a violation of her probation. On the other hand, a cornered animal can be dangerous if they think the only way out is to attack, so I tread lightly but don’t pull my punch.
“If Lux is a good guy and cares about you, why was he smiling as he watched the fire? And why would he stop smiling when the fire trucks arrived?”
This news was the final assault and I wait for MJ to go on the attack, so I’m surprised when she just deflates like I’ve let all the air out of her. Half her story may still be a lie, but she truly believed she started the fire. I may have finally convinced her Lux may not be who she thinks he is; this last information was the piece she was missing to put two and two together. But the confused expression on her face as she pours half the bottle of ketchup on her burger makes me think everything just added up to five.
When I get home from TasteeTreets, I find Lana there. I’d hoped to beat her home, but after that interrogation, I spent an hour helping MJ with her geometry.
“Where have you been?” Lana asks. “It’s almost nine o’clock.”
“I thought you had a late stakeout.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“MJ needed help with her homework so we met up at TasteeTreets. Look—I brought you a fish dinner.”
Lana takes the bag from me and says,“ Ooh, still hot.” Lecture averted.
After she pours herself some iced tea and brings a bottle of malt vinegar to the table, I figure it’s a good time to pick her brain. Lana is always happy when there’s an order of Tastee’s fried catfish and hush puppies in front of her, so I’m hoping all that greasy goodness will camouflage any questions about my new case. MJ really believed she started the fire, and she may even be messing around with Lux since he is a member of her former gang, but there were many lies woven in with the truth.
Sweet 16 to Life Page 5