THE TRAGIC + DIVINE

by MELODY FELIX-PRIETO

  “Her,” I said quickly. “The girl with the blue hair.”

  Milo glanced in the direction of the racers, assessed his competition then chuckled. “Let’s make it more interesting. Around here we also race for Pinks. If I win, you go out with me.”

  “Pinks?” I asked confused. As in ownership papers like in the movie Grease? “No way,” I snorted shaking my head. “I can’t bet my car.”

  Milo rolled his head back in laughter as if I didn’t get the joke then said, “Are you afraid of a little bet?”

  I wanted to tell him to go screw himself, but I didn’t want to appear as a weak little girl who was afraid even though deep inside, I was terrified of losing.

  “Fine. But if I win you leave me alone.”

  “Deal.” Milo whistled to the heavyset man taking bets. “Hey Skinny, get her down for Alva.”

  “How much?” Skinny asked.

  Without giving much thought, I yelled, “Five hundred!”

  Milo raised an eyebrow clearly shocked by my response, his face softened then a slow smile crossed over his lips. “Big spender.”

  “What are you doing?” Julian asked in a whisper.

  “Buying my ticket out of Dixon.”

  Skinny took note of my bet, it was too late to back out. There was a rush of adrenaline that took over my body. I’d never been the type to take risks when it came to money, always being cautious about my spending, saving every penny I earned because I was determined to leave Dixon. And of course, I never gambled because of my dad. It was his gambling addiction that tore my family apart, the reason my mother had to work two jobs to support us and ultimately pushed her into the arms of Paul.

  I suppressed a curse as a sudden sense of guilt overwhelmed me. What if I lost? This was by far the stupidest thing I’d ever done. And to make matters worse, I only had a twenty in my pocket. I was so screwed.

  “I got a bad feeling about this,” Julian said reading my mind. He stuck one nail in his mouth.

  “Babe, the race is about to start.” The red-head from Eve’s Paradise wrapped her arms around Milo with no concern for Julian or me—until she saw me. “Who’s this Pink?” she asked shooting me a deadly glare with her burgundy eyes.

  Did she just call me a Pink? What was that supposed to mean?

  “The girl in the black Mustang,” Milo said without taking his eyes off mine. My cheeks flamed. I hugged my body tightly.

  “I’ll see you on the front line Scarlet,” Milo told her.

  She had a name, and it sounded evil as hell. Scarlet grabbed Milo by the jaw and smacked him with a long steamy kiss as her vision remained steady on me; she was marking her territory. Milo didn’t move or pull away. If Scarlet was trying to make me jealous, it wasn’t working. I felt nothing but disgust.

  “Get a room,” I said walking away, Julian trailing my step.

  It was hilarious how dumb girls acted the moment they felt threatened by someone else. Scarlet’s kiss only confirmed my suspicion Milo was a player.

  “You like him don’t you?” Julian asked.

  “What?” I stopped dead on my tracks. “No! I think he’s disgusting.”

  “Whatever is going on between you two, it must be sizzling hot. I could feel the heat from miles away,” Julian said with a sassy attitude only Julian could pull off. “That’s why the red-head just stuck her tongue down his throat.”

  “Nothing is going on between us,” I insisted.

  “You’re gonna stand there and tell me you don’t think that fine piece of angel ass is sexy?” Julian narrowed his eyes. “That boy is finger-lickin’ hot! I’d eat him for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

  I shook my head standing firm. “Then you take him. Go for it.”

  “Are you a lesbian?”

  “No.” I replied offended.

  “Julian!” I heard Dawn’s shrieking voice as she slapped her arms around Julian. “You need to meet my boyfriend, Dylan.”

  Boyfriend? Or friend with benefits?

  I glanced up and found Dylan standing beside Dawn. He was wearing a leather jacket over a fuchsia Hawaiian shirt with black flowers open at the chest with thin gold chains wrapped around his neck. The cigarette in his mouth burned brightly as a cloud of white smoke billowed out of Dylan’s mouth. He held a bottle inside a brown paper bag. He looked like a complete douche bag who reeked of bad news.

  “It’s nice to see you again—Alexis, right?” Dylan asked taking another cancer-ridden hit of his cigarette. I noticed his fingernails were painted black and found myself wondering if angels could get sick like humans.

  “Want a shot?” Dylan offered, but I declined with a grimace.

  “I’ll take another shot,” Dawn said taking the bottle. She chugged down half of the dark liquid until I forced it out of her hands.

  “I think you’ve had enough,” I snapped.

  Dawn smelled heavily of alcohol, her eyes were bloodshot, and she was acting like a giggly drunken idiot.

  “Quit being such a lame-ass!”

  I choked back my pride instead of saying something I might regret. Dawn was drunk—and drunk people said stupid shit without thinking or considering other people’s feelings. I was so ready to get this race over with and go home. Looking down at my watch, I saw it was a quarter until midnight. I growled. Getting up for school was going to be a challenge.

  A loud buzzing sound caught my attention, the crowd parted like the red sea to make way for the racers. Julian and I stepped onto the sidewalk as I watched Milo take his place by the rest of the competition. He must have sensed me staring because he turned his gaze in my direction and winked at me with sly confidence. Even from far away, Milo had a way to make me feel uncomfortable. I shifted uneasily. Worry gnawed at me quickly followed by regret. Milo was up to something.

  Scarlet positioned herself in the middle of the road with a red flag in hand. Skinny took his place next to her.

  “All pinks come forward!” Skinny announced.

  Four girls walked out of the crowd and onto a platform next to the racers. Sweat broke out all over as dread vibrated inside me. That’s when the meaning of the word Pink hit me like a pile of bricks. They weren’t racing for cars. They were racing for girls. We were the Pinks.

  “Ah shit, I think I just screwed up big time!” I told Julian.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re racing for girls.”

  “So?”

  “I just subconsciously entered myself into the bet,” I said biting my nails. I paced back-and-forth.

  Julian gazed in the direction where the Pinks were standing—all waiting eagerly and eyeing the racers flirtatiously. Julian arched an eyebrow once he realized what I was talking about.

  “Oh,” Julian said.

  I held my breath when Scarlet raised the flag in the air causing a ripple of cheers from the crowd to echo throughout The Underground. The surge of energy sent goosebumps down my arms. She waited there for what seemed like forever. The anticipation was killing me. Even though I hated the idea of gambling, I had to admit it was pretty exciting.

  I continued to hold my breath when the flag dropped. The racers floored it and took-off causing the crowd to go wild with excitement.

  Milo and Alva left the competition behind with only the wake of their dust as they sped past us. They were so close together, I couldn’t tell who was winning. I grabbed Julian’s hand squeezing it as hard as I could. They sped further down the street toward a dead end—a hard concrete wall with no exit, but neither of them held back.

  “Oh my god!” I turned to Julian. “They’re going to crash!”

  Just as they reached the dead end, Milo’s wings extended like a parachute and he glided around a concrete column with no effort then raced back toward the finish line. The crowd cheered at the spectacle. When Alva drifted around the column a pair of black wings extracted from her back. My eyes went wide with shock. Alva was an angel!

  The buff angel fishtailed around the column, his wings extracted
, but something went wrong. His right wing snapped back and bent in half forcing him to fall off the bike. The angel groaned in pain as the motorcycle skidded across the racetrack and Trent passed him. A group of quill lovers ran to his side. The angel’s wing convulsed uncontrollably but somehow healed and took on its normal shape again.

  The angels can heal, I realized.

  Focusing back on the race, Milo and Alva were head-to-head. Alva sped up a little, she was an inch ahead of Milo. My body involuntarily started jumping in pure frenzy. I was going to win!

  With one swift move of his handlebars, Milo cranked up the speed on his bike leaving Alva behind as he blew past the finish line. My happiness vanished just as quickly as it appeared. And just like that, it was over. All the color drained off my face. It suddenly felt like someone stabbed me with an ice-cold knife in the back.

  The crowd flocked to Milo and congratulated him for his win. On the verge of tears, I choked back a tight knot that formed in my throat. How could I have been so stupid to gamble away my money? Hadn’t I learned anything from my dad? I glanced over to the finish line where Milo met my gaze with a sense of ownership.

  I huffed, crushed over my loss, and fuming over Milo’s annoying confidence. I dug myself knee-deep in a hole I might not be able to get out of. And to make matters worse, I only had a twenty dollar bill in my pocket. Maybe I could leave an IOU while I went home to pick up some cash?

  I glanced away from Milo and over to Skinny who was collecting money from those who lost the race. He was big and bulky—the type of person who would love nothing more than to break my bones. Looking down at my fingers, I admired every single line and imperfection—I loved my fingers, I didn’t want to lose them. I sighed. God, I watch too many movies.

  When I saw Skinny heading in my direction, I dragged Julian by the shoulder toward the exit.

  “We have to get out of here.”

  CHAPTER

  13

  It was Tuesday morning. My alarm had gone off thirty minutes ago, but I was still glued to my bed staring blankly at the ceiling. I spent the night replaying my loss over and over in my head which only sunk me further into a depression. And to make matters worse, I left The Underground without paying.

  The possible repercussions of my actions weighed heavily on my mind. Images of Skinny banging on the front door with a crew of thugs flooded my thoughts—Isaac getting caught up in the mix, kneecaps breaking—I shuddered at the thought, buried my head in my pillow and screamed.

  There was a knock on my door, but I didn’t answer. I saw Isaac stick his tiny head inside. He walked in with a tray full of Eggos and orange juice.

  “What is this for?” I asked surprised.

  “Just ‘cause,” he said placing the tray on the bed.

  “That’s sweet.” I nodded taking a bite from a waffle. “How much?”

  Isaac never did anything without an ulterior motive. He probably heard when I came home late last night.

  “I don’t want anything,” he said. “I heard you crying last night.”

  “I wasn’t cry—” I cut myself off, who was I kidding? “Okay, maybe I was.”

  I couldn’t sleep because I was paranoid. So I cried. I cried like a little bitch until I put my big girl panties on and spent the rest of the night color coordinating my closet. It’s never been so organized in my life.

  “Have you been waxing your ears? You have very good hearing if you heard me all the way from your room,” I said tossing the covers aside. Isaac’s room was on the west wing of the house. Mine was on the opposite in the back, the only bedroom on the second floor above a bonus room Paul used to store his Army junk.

  He shrugged. “Not really.”

  After taking a quick shower, I threw on a pair of jeans and black hoodie, headed downstairs, knocked on my mother’s door a few times, but there was no answer. I was hoping to catch her before she fell asleep. Cracking the door open, I found her on her knees in deep prayer—she was praying to that thing she kept in the closet.

  I knocked on the door again—a little louder this time, until she repeatedly blinked as if she were coming out a trance. When she saw me by the door, her expression turned sour.

  “You know I hate when you interrupt me.”

  “I need a ride to school. I’m late.”

  “What’s wrong with your car this time?” she asked.

  “Uh—” I said in thought. “The alternator. It will take a couple days to have it fixed.”

  “Your car is a piece of junk,” she said as she stood up. “You should think about getting a new one.”

  Her words stung a little even though I’d grown accustomed to her negative comments. If only she knew the real truth behind the ‘Stang’s constant repairs, she’d stop nagging me.

  “A car from the dealership would be nice,” I replied with a smile.

  She snorted as she reached for her coat. “I don’t own a car from a dealership. What makes you think I’ll get you one?”

  It was true. Every car my mother had ever owned—including mine—was purchased from one of those ‘Buy Here, Pay Here’ auto lots where the cars had many defects, and the interest rates were through the roof if you had crappy credit. But when you’re practically a single mother, you really didn’t have much of a choice. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ my mother always told me.

  Minutes later we were on our way to school driving through downtown. I stuck a hand out the window allowing the cool morning breeze to flow through my fingers. I admired the muscles flexing with every move, but my momentary bliss was shattered when a black SUV suddenly appeared behind us.

  I sat up straight. My senses on high alert even though there was no reason to be alarmed. My mother wasn’t speeding. She wasn’t breaking any laws. It was probably an unmarked police officer. That thought quickly changed when the SUV accelerated until it was right on our tail.

  Gripping the door handle, I looked over at my mother who was mind-deep in the radio broadcast. The SUV cut to our left as it tried to blow past us. We were neck-in-neck with the vehicle. I couldn’t make out the person inside because the windows were pitch black.

  Then I remembered the money I owed for last night’s race. I sunk low into my seat clutching my seatbelt. I had a feeling whoever was behind the wheel was trying to run us off the road.

  “Mom we need to stop.”

  “Stop?” she asked shooting me a look like I’d gone out of my mind. “Why?”

  I tried to come up with the best plausible excuse without sounding crazy. “I need to vomit!”

  The SUV veered toward us like it was going to hit us. I yanked the steering wheel to the right, the Expedition ran over the sidewalk. My mother slammed on the brakes as I watched the SUV speed away.

  “Have you lost your mind?” she screamed.

  My mother exited the Expedition and groaned when she noticed the tire was flat. I sat in my seat breathing heavily, my hands shaking uncontrollably and too shocked to speak. The SUV was headed toward us, right? I wasn’t sure anymore. Maybe my mother was right, I’d lost my mind.

  After calling a tow truck, and getting lectured by my mother, I finally made it to school right before lunch. I got through all my classes avoiding everyone, irritated by my circumstances, and even though I was in school, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being followed. In every shadowed corner, I thought I saw a dark figure lurking—watching—but it always turned out to be a figment of my imagination.

  All through seventh period, I found myself distracted and paranoid. I kept glancing out the window waiting for Skinny’s thugs to show up and drag me out of school. I thought about faking being sick and going home, but I had plans to digitize the developed film for El Rey del Desmadre after school, so I decided to tough it out and wait. I stared at the clock as it slowly ticked away.

  Turning to the window, a tall man wearing a dark hoodie stepped out of a parked car. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, my skin prickled, as he waltzed toward the school. Sweat began to b
uild up at the base of my skull.

  Calm down. It’s nothing. It’s your mind playing tricks on you. I told myself.

  I almost jumped out of my seat when the phone rang. My English Lit teacher answered in a whisper. He eyed me suspiciously. Something felt wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Sensing my paranoia rush to the surface, I grabbed my backpack and stormed out of class before the last bell rang, leaving my teacher stunned. I was risking getting detention, but I had to get out of there.

  I rushed into the empty hallway toward the AV room, and right down the hall, I saw the man in the hoodie, his face obscured, come to a stop at the sight of me. Backing away slowly, I turned around and headed back toward my classroom. Behind me, the pounding footsteps grew closer and louder.

  The shrill of the last bell sent me running as students poured out into the hallways rushing to get home. Losing myself in the crowd, I pushed through my art classroom and halfway through the door I saw Milo leaning against a bar stool.

  At first, I was too shocked to react. My throat tightened, constricted of words, but once I gained my composure I asked, “Wha…what are you doing here?”

  But I already knew the answer. Milo came to collect a bet.

  “I was in the neighborhood,” he said in his usual nonchalant voice.

  BS, I thought. I stuck my head out the door, scanned the hallway, but the man in the hoodie had vanished. My mother was right; I’d lost my mind.

  “You live in Atlanta forty miles away, and you just happened to be in Dixon?” I asked unconvinced. “You know stalking is illegal, right?” I found myself repeating the exact same words spoken by Dylan the night we followed them out of Eve’s Paradise.

  “Oh, come on, you didn’t miss me?”

  “What’s there to miss?”

  “You see, that’s what I like about you—” he strolled around the room picking up random objects from the desks—“You’re upfront. Unlike many other girls.”

  “Like Scarlet?”