I inhaled deeply then replied in shaken breaths. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Why?” He placed one hand on the wall to my left, and the other to my right on the balcony railing. I tried to dodge around him but he had me trapped.
“Because I find you”—irresistible—“intimidating.”
His hand was on my back now slowly snaking its way down to my waist.
“Annoying”—and hot as hell. And I’m afraid you might be a cheating bastard like Dylan and Eddie.
With his other hand, he tugged the belt loop of my jeans and pulled me into him.
“I think it’s better this way”—because I think I might have feelings for you, I thought.
“Do you think about me when you’re alone?”
“No.” Maybe.
“I bet you even dream about me,” he whispered into my ear sending a tingling sensation down my neck.
I scoffed. “You’re the last person I think off.”
“Do you want me to kiss you?” He traced his lips slowly over my ear then down my cheek toward my neck leaving goosebumps where his lips touched. Milo’s eyelids became heavy. What was happening to me? Closing my eyes, I nodded. My lips parted expectantly, waiting for Milo to kiss me but—nothing happened. I heard a soft chuckle.
“See, I told you, you were lying,” he purred.
What? I opened my eyes to find Milo grinning.
“You’re such a pig!”
“A pig you were about to kiss,” he said pointing at himself.
“Seriously, stay away from me!” I slammed the door behind me causing the frames on the wall to collapse. Cursing under my breath, I realized my stupid mistake. My mother’s quick steps sounded like a freight train. When my mother threw open the door, I was on the floor picking up the books.
“What was that?” She yelled breathless and half asleep.
“Sorry,” I said. “The frames fell off the wall.”
“Go to bed,” she growled. “It’s almost one o’clock in the morning.”
I let out a long sigh of relief.
What the hell was wrong with me? That was the second time today I almost kissed Milo.
CHAPTER
16
The girl behind the counter smacked her gum noisily as I filled out a job application at Willy’s International Market. A fancy name for a small country store with only half an aisle dedicated to the ‘international’ section which comprised of taco shells, Americanized salsa dip, and ramen noodles. Paying Milo back was top priority, I didn’t want to owe him any more than I already did.
I glimpsed at the girl’s name tag—Darlene—before handing her the application. She walked to the back room where her boss scanned over the information I listed. He was a man in his early forties with a receding hairline, an oversized mustache, who wore ugly brown pants paired with a cheap tie.
Even though Darlene was a few registers down from me, I heard her whisper, “that’s her,” into his ear.
That’s her. I’d heard that a lot lately. The ‘angel sympathizer’ was another one being loosely tossed around. It annoyed the hell out of me. Nothing but a bunch of small minded people with nothing else to do but gossip. Darlene’s boss cleared his throat, straightened his tie and walked in my direction.
“You are Alexis Mi-Minera?”
“Minerva,” I corrected.
“Great. It says here your last job was at the Corner Mart? Why did you quit?” he asked.
“I didn’t,” I replied. “I had an altercation with someone from school…” I trailed off when I saw him jot some notes on my application. Why did I even mention my run-in with Savannah? Pushing Dixon’s sweetheart into a display of candy wasn’t going to win me any popularity contests. Everyone in town loved Savannah because she acted sweet and innocent in public, but very few people knew it was a mask that hid her real personality.
“So, why do you want to work at Willy’s International Market?” he asked with too much pep.
“Honestly?” I asked. “I need the money.”
He smiled politely before jotting more notes. “What’s your association with the angels?”
“Do you ask that to every person who applies for a job?” I snapped.
“We don’t hire angel sympathizers,” he stated icily. “It’s bad for business.”
“You can’t do that.” I said trying to remain composed.
“We don’t take kindly to your kind. You have a good day now,” he said with a fake smile.
I walked out crushed. This was my fourth stop today and every single place I applied told me the same ‘we’ll let you know,’ lie. When I looked back, I saw the manager toss my application into the trash. It felt like someone had sucked all the air out of my body. At this pace, and with my new reputation, I was never going to find a job. I was risking becoming Milo’s little bitch for the rest of my high school life—even if the thought of Milo hanging around excited me.
I let out a loud groan. Damn you Milo and your angel charm. Despite my better judgment, I still found him so irresistible. Frustrated with my lack of luck—and inability control my emotions—I kicked the vending machine so hard it sent a sharp pain up my leg.
“Shit!” I screamed loudly.
As I drove home, I saw Mitch stranded by the side of the road, the chain on his bicycle had fallen out. I pulled over and tapped him on the shoulder. Mitch’s face brightened.
“Do you need a ride home?” I signed.
He shook his head, and tried to convince me he was fine.
“I insist. Come on,” I waved him over.
After Mitch helped me tie down his bike in my trunk, he led me to the outskirts of Dixon into the countryside where we drove by cow pastures and small farms. Throughout our drive, Mitch kept a hand out enjoying the afternoon breeze. I watched in awe as he embraced the wind like a beaming child. Although Mitch was a grown adult in body, on the inside, he was young like Peter Pan. I suddenly became jealous of his joy. I wanted so badly to be a kid again, to replace my worries and fears with happiness. I wanted my innocence back.
Mitch signaled for me to pull over on the side of the road near a woodsy trail. I glanced around confused; there weren’t any houses nearby. The road was desolate.
“Where is your home?” I signed to Mitch.
Mitch pointed into the woods. I sat in my car momentarily confused. Mitch lived in the woods?
He got out of the car and untied his bike. Following after him, I helped Mitch unload his bicycle off the ‘Stang.
Mitch raised a finger like a light bulb had gone off in his head. He reached into his front pocket and handed me a piece of fresh lavender. I smiled, took the flower and inhaled its sharp scent. I wondered where Mitch got the lavender; I always thought it couldn’t be grown in Georgia because of the humidity. Mitch waved goodbye, as I waved back something strange happened. A sudden sense of peace overwhelmed my senses followed by the smell of lavender and chamomile. When I looked up, Mitch was gone.
There was a police car parked in the driveway when I reached my house. My mother was speaking to officer Brian Taylor, a tall, lean man with a military buzz cut in his late twenty’s; the officer who arrested Priscilla on numerous occasions for running away.
I wasn’t sure why my mother had called him until I drove past the neighbor’s shrub that obscured the garage door. In big bold red letters, someone had spray painted ‘Quill Lover’ with a heart around it. I slammed on the breaks, my eyes glued to the message.
Mason.
I warily stepped out of the car unsure of what to expect. Across the street, the neighbor’s nosy, judgmental eyes felt like daggers on my back.
“Donde andabas?”
Shit. I hated when my mother spoke to me in Spanish. It meant I was in trouble. My mother fixed her angry eyes on me waiting for an answer.
“I was looking for a job,” I said.
Sensing the tension between us, officer Taylor ripped out the police report and handed it to my mother along with his card.
“Call me if anything else happens.”
“Thank you,” my mother replied taking the card. “I will.”
As the police car pulled out, my mother turned to me with a menacing glare. “What’s going on?”
I shook my head and hugged my elbows. “I don’t know. I’m as confused as you are.”
“Don’t lie to me!” she screamed. I looked around embarrassed by the show we were putting on for the neighbors. I clutched my backpack and ran inside.
“Please tell me you are not involved with those…creatures,” my mother demanded as soon as we stepped through the door.
“I’m not,” I said. I wasn’t lying. Nothing was going on between Milo and me.
“You know she is,” Paul said. He was leaning into the living room door frame chewing tobacco holding a clear plastic bottle full of brown spit. Gross. “This is the same crap Priscilla did.”
“Paul, stop.” My mother warned.
“Don’t tell me to stop,” Paul argued back. As their argument escalated, I heard the house phone ring. I rushed into the dining room and picked it up.
“Hello?”
“He—hello?” A familiar voice said. “Alexis?”
“Who is this?” I asked alarmed.
“It’s Priscilla.” Her voice was low and controlled.
Startled, I almost dropped the phone at the sound of her name. The last time I spoke to my sister was seven years ago right before she ran away. Whenever she called the house to check-in, she always spoke with my mother. I ran to the back of the house.
“Is it really you?” I asked in a low squeal.
She laughed, her voice shaky. “Yeah, it’s really me.”
It felt so good to hear my sister’s voice again.
“Where are you? How come you haven’t been home—”
“Listen, Alexis, I really don’t have a lot of time to talk,” she interrupted. “I just wanted to call and check-in, see how everyone is doing?”
My smile vanished. I was disappointed by her hurried tone. What was so important in her new life that she couldn’t talk to her family for more than five minutes? Or call more often? Or visit?
“We’re fine,” I said in a dark tone hoping Priscilla caught my disappointment.
“How about you? How have you been? Are you still planning on running off to Los Angeles next year?” she asked.
My lips involuntarily curled at the tiniest hint of a smile at the thought. “I’m working on it.”
“And Isaac?”
I was about to open my mouth to respond when I heard the loud beeping sounds of someone pressing the numbers on the keypad.
Beep, beep, beep…
“Hey, do hear that?” I asked.
“Hear what?”
“That beeping sound,” I replied.
“I don’t hear anything,” Priscilla said quickly.
At first, the beeps were random and sporadic. But then they turned into a continuous rhythmic sequence of three quick beeps, followed by three longer beeps, then three quick beeps again; beep, beep, beep—beeep, beep, beeep—beep, beep, beep.
Strange, I thought. Where have I heard the sound?
“Uh, I have to go. I’ll talk to you soon!”
“Wait,” I said. The only sound left behind was the dial tone. Priscilla’s abrupt goodbye had the hairs on my neck rise so high, it sent tiny waves of alarm to the pit of my stomach. Why was Priscilla in such a hurry?
I dismissed the thought and walked back to the living room where my mother and Paul were still arguing. Paul flicked his eyes at me then pointed at my shirt.
“I mean, look at her, she’s practically begging for it, wearin’ that tight shirt exposin’ her chest.”
My eyes almost bulged out of my head. I skimmed over my v-neck shirt. What was Paul implying?
“It’s true. She’s angel bait. I bet you anythin’ she sneaks him into her room the way Priscilla used to.”
I was so mad I didn’t think through what I said next, “Screw you!”
Paul reached for my arm so fast, I didn’t have time to flinch. He gripped it hard, growing numb with every second that flew by. “What’d you say to me?”
“Let me go!” I yelled trying to shake him off.
Paul pushed me onto the couch, I gasped in shock. Tears welled in my eyes. I turned to my mother who just stood by as it all unfolded before her. She didn’t even bother to interfere.
“Are you going to let him do that?” I cried out to her.
“You both need to stop this, right now!” she yelled.
“You let this girl get away with murder. What she needs is a good ass-whoopin’,” Paul said sliding his belt off.
I shot up from the couch, tears spilling down my cheeks, then ran out the door to my car. Backing out of the driveway, I drove over the speed limit without a care of whether I got pulled over. I hated Paul with every single cell in my body. I was resentful towards my mother for allowing Paul to treat me this way. There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t suffer from Paul’s abuse. When I was a kid, he cornered me inside my closet and whipped me with a thin tree branch after I accidentally broke one of his CD’s. The next day at school, one of my teachers asked about the bruises on my arms. My mother’s threats to send me to a group home with the promise I’d never see her, Priscilla and Isaac again floated in my mind as I lied to my teacher and claimed I’d gotten hurt playing soccer.
I drove without direction for about thirty minutes until I decided to cross over to the opposite side of the railroad tracks to what was considered the ‘bad’ part of Dixon where the government apartments were located.
It didn’t take long for Julian to open the door, eyes wide by my unexpected visit. He was wearing a Tiffany blue satin floral robe and house slippers.
“Alexis,” he said surprised. “What are you doing here?” His grandmother Mable didn’t like Julian having friends over.
From the other room, I heard Mable yell, “Julian who is it?”
“It’s just a Mormon!” he hollered back.
“Tell ‘em were not home.”
Julian’s expression switched from surprise to concern when he noticed how puffy and red my eyes were from crying. “Oh, girl, what happened?”
“Paul.”
“That bastard again? Come inside,” he said getting out of the way.
You wouldn’t think Julian’s apartment was so lovely on the inside given the location of the apartment complex and the worn out condition of the exterior. His grandmother Mable had beautiful antique furniture that was handed down to her by family, the real stuff made of wood. Once I was in the comfort of Julian’s room, I noticed a bunch of small plastic bags filled with white dust on Julian’s bed. It didn’t take me long to figure out what they contained.
“You’re dealing?” My eyes widened.
Julian placed a finger over his lips motioning me to be quiet. “Don’t look at me with those judge-y little eyes!” Julian closed the bedroom door. “Not everyone has a cushy lifestyle with a big bank account to fall back on.”
“I don’t have…”
“Girl, not you. Everyone else who is filthy rich in this town.”
Julian delicately placed the tiny bags inside a shoe box. Taking one, I examined the thin crystal-like powder inside that resembled white glitter.
“What is it?”
Julian nervously glanced around. “If I tell you, promise you won’t tell anyone?”
“Who would I tell?”
“Dawn.” Julian glared at me.
I frowned then zipped my lips. “Promise.”
“You are looking at the ashes of a dead angel,” Julian said with mysticism in his voice. “It’s called Angel’s Ash.”
I tossed the bag on the bed utterly disgusted. “That’s a dead angel?”
“Not all of him. Just a tiny piece.”
“That’s gross. Why would anyone do that?” And when did Julian start selling drugs? Ever since I could remember, Dawn, Julian and I were so close
there wasn’t a secret we never told each other, other than Priscilla of course. I couldn’t help but feel a little hurt Julian didn’t confide in me sooner. It made me wonder if Julian was snorting this stuff.
“This shit right here”—he lifted a small bag admiring it—“will get you so high you’d think you’re in heaven. I’ve heard, anyway,” he said calming my suspicion. “It’s an up and coming drug. Rare and very hard to find. I wouldn’t be surprised if, by this time next year, Angel’s Ash was the hottest drug on the market.”
“How did you get it?”
“My dealer.”
“Obviously. I’m not stupid. How did your dealer get it?”
“Girl, I don’t ask questions. I just take orders, move the stuff, and get paid. People gots to work around here,” he said with a snap of his fingers. “You should understand that more than anyone else.”
“I get it, but—”
“Why this?”
I nodded.
“Because…people in Dixon are racist, homophobic assholes, that’s why. No one wants to give me a job because they think I got AIDS or something. My meemaw can barely make the hundred-thirty-dollar rent on this place with social security. If it weren’t for me, she’d starve to death. I’m all she’s got.” Julian’s face suddenly became heavy with sadness. I felt so bad he had to go to extreme lengths to make money.
Julian had a tough upbringing. He was the youngest out of four brothers. Both parents were drug addicts who sold drugs out of a run-down motel on the outskirts of Dixon. The Flaim’s living situation got so bad the boys ended up in foster care. Eventually, the brothers were separated because the state couldn’t find a family who would take all four. When Julian turned fourteen, his grandmother Mable took him in.
I didn’t know Julian was going through such a tough time in his life. I’d been so fixated on my selfish problems, I never once asked Julian how he was doing.
“I’m sorry, Julian,” I said giving him a tight side hug.
He perked up then patted my arm. “Don’t be sorry. I ain’t.”
“Wouldn’t the angels get pissed if they found out you were selling their ashes? Doesn’t that, like, put a target on your back?”
THE TRAGIC + DIVINE Page 15