by Amber Hart
His eyes narrow. “Who says I want to attend this school?”
I take the last step toward him, closing the gap between us. When we were little, Melissa and I used to collect glass bottles. Whenever we accumulated twenty, we’d break them on the concrete. When the glass shattered, the slivered pieces made a breathtaking prism of light.
I cut myself on the glass by accident once. It was painful, but worth it. The beauty was worth it. It’s funny how the bottle was never as beautiful as when it was broken.
You will not shatter me, I silently tell Diego. Somebody already did.
“If you don’t want to be here, then don’t come back,” I say.
A taunting smile spreads across his face. My first thought is that he has nice teeth, but then I scold myself for thinking about him like that.
“My name is Diego,” he says, like he’s letting me in on some kind of secret.
“Well, Diego,” I say, “better hurry. Class starts in two minutes.” I step around him to lead the way.
While we walk to math, I feel Diego’s eyes on me. I don’t know what it is about him. All the other confident students had nothing on me, and I swear I’ve heard it all, but he seems different. He shines. In a dark way. When he looks at me, I get a tingly sensation, like I’m being zapped by electricity.
It doesn’t matter. He’s rude. And besides, I have a wonderful boyfriend. Jason. Think about Jason.
“Quit staring at me,” I say, glancing at him.
He laughs, and strands of black hair fall into his eyes. I imagine it’s a little like looking at the world through charred silk.
“Why? Does it make you uncomfortable?”
He’s messing with me to get under my skin, like a pesky little splinter.
It’s working.
“Yes,” I answer.
In his white shirt, Diego’s skin is dark. Perpetually tanned by heritage.
I keep Diego’s schedule out of his reach. He inches closer, no doubt to grab it and run. I try to concentrate on the newly painted beige walls and tiled floors. Every few feet hangs a plaque about achievement or school clubs or tutoring programs.
When we come to the door, Diego rests an arm on the wall and leans toward me.
“I have a proposition for you,” he says in a sultry voice.
It’s hard to seem unaffected.
“I don’t do propositions,” I say dismissively.
He grins, his mouth arching up like the curl of a wave.
“But you haven’t even heard me out,” he says.
“Don’t need to.”
He ignores my comment. “What do you say we forget about this thing where I follow you around like a little dog? And when the guidance counselor asks, I will say you were superlative.”
“Big word,” I mumble. This guy did not do well on his entry exams, but he says things like superlative? What’s with that?
He glares at me; I sigh.
“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to drop the tough-guy act for two days. You’ll be rid of me soon.”
I turn to leave but Diego grabs my arm gently. My breath catches.
“It’s not an act,” he says, jaw hard.
I wave him away nonchalantly, like his touch didn’t just do all kinds of crazy things to my body—things that make me want to forget about the warning blaring in my mind.
I need to stay away from him.
I need to forget him.
Will you touch me again please?
I walk away. He watches me go.
“By the way,” I say as I flick a look over my shoulder at his hardened face, “I see right through you.”
Don’t miss the next novel in Amber Hart’s Before and After series.
Maybe Me will be available this fall!
1
maria
Night wraps around my body, sticky and hot, though it’s nearly midnight.
“Maria!” my brother Javier yells to me, catching me on my way down the driveway. “Where you goin’?”
Spanish music thumps, bass shaking my veins, coming from inside our house.
“Fresh air,” I lie.
What I’m actually doing is leaving. Thought I could handle it, Javier visiting from college to celebrate getting his Associate’s degree, bringing his girlfriend who isn’t Latina. Breaking all our rules of tradition.
“You promised,” my brother says, eyes narrow.
I did. I promised to try. I made a deal that I wouldn’t ruin the party—which is also for my older brothers Eduardo and Pedro, who recently graduated college. I promised to give Javier’s girlfriend a shot. They’ve been together for years, it’s about time I accept her, he says. It’s not that she’s horrible, it’s just that she’s not Latina. And in our family, that’s a serious crime.
“Do you still have a problem with Melissa?” he asks.
Yes. “No.” It’s easier to lie.
Javier’s lips press into a frown. “You sure?”
“Yes.” I smile, but it’s fake.
“Then why does it seem like you’re avoidin’ her all night?”
“I’m not. Just . . . dame un minuto por favor,” I say in Spanish.
One minute, that’s all I need, is what I say. I can’t stand another second of this, is what I think.
Javier relents. Kisses me on the top of my head.
“Cuidado, okay,” he warns, eyes taking in our surroundings.
He’s been jumpy ever since he arrived yesterday, watching his back. I wonder what his deal is. I glance at the neighborhood. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a jumble of small houses. Gray mist drifts, tangling around tree branches that are still ripe with leaves even though it’s autumn. The Florida night is calm, heat lightning in the distance. Patches ignite the sky like a fireworks show. The concrete is littered: cigarette butts, an empty beer bottle, graffiti art. It’s nice, especially compared to what we came from.
“Keep your eyes open,” my brother says.
“Okay,” I reply, though I don’t see any danger. I’m only standing in the driveway, after all.
Living with overprotective brothers has taught me to put on a pretty smile and promise to be good. Not that I’m lying or anything. I do want to be good. Don’t want to repeat their past mistakes of getting in with the wrong crowds, gangs, cartels, weapons, violence.
“Just a minute, then come back in,” Javier says.
“Of course,” I say. My voice is laced with sincerity.
If I admit that I want to leave, Javier will have an excuse to make me stay. So I’ve done what I always do. Taken the safe route. Agreed to join him in a minute.
Javier walks inside. I count to twenty before taking off. No one’s there to stop me.
Because I’m always good.
Because no one expects me to break the rules.
My heels click on the concrete sidewalk. Clock, clock, clock. Loudly penetrating the silence of the night. A puncture hole large enough to announce my presence if anyone was around to hear. They’re not. The streets are empty.
My long, wavy hair sticks to my skin, wet and slightly curling. I pull it off my back. Moonlight drips over my shoulders, highlighting beads of sweat. I walk quickly.
A few moments alone, away from a house full of family, that’s what I need. A short walk. Then I’ll go back.
It doesn’t take long for me to realize that I’ve walked farther than I intended. I stare at my surroundings. The block is mostly tiny apartments and condos. Some small houses squeeze between. I marvel at the difference a few blocks can make. Our tiny piece of Orlando has so many faces. Down by the water, it’s huge mansion styled houses. A little closer inland, there’s the middle class. Next comes lower class, where we live. Poor, but making it. Much better than the life we knew in Cuba. And then there’s this neighborhood, the one I’m walking through, so run down that I wonder how people live here at all. It’s made up of crumbling buildings. Concrete instead of lawns. I stop to stare at a dog chained up outside, linked to a fence, barking fu
riously at me.
I decide to turn back. I don’t know this neighborhood, and I’ve gone far enough. Maybe by the time I get home, I can think up a reason to lock myself in my room and forget that tradition is falling through our fingers.
But I don’t make it home.
The dog stops barking. Three guys step out of the shadows, quiet as the night. My heart lurches and slams into my throat. It’s their look that worries me. They say nothing, creeping closer.
I glance down at my outfit. Realize how I must look to them. A yellow dress, skintight. Black heels. Makeup.
Think fast.
I try to see a way out of what’s happening. Three guys closing in on me. I should have listened to Javier. Or maybe I should have listened to my gut and never agreed to the party in the first place.
Should haves broken by a sliver of a second, a mistake now made.
I try to run. It’s the only way. And maybe I would actually stand a chance of getting away if it weren’t for the heels I’m wearing. I try to ditch them. Too late.
My back slams into a wall, shoved by one of the guys chasing me. My head cracks against brick, aching immediately.
“In such a hurry,” the guy says, and laughs darkly.
The smell of alcohol radiates from him. The other two catch up. All tattooed. One is small—maybe I could overpower him—but with the other two, I don’t stand a chance.
“I like the chase, mamacita,” one slurs.
I whimper.
What have I done?
I push against the guy holding me to the wall but it’s no use. He’s too strong. I think of Javier’s warning. He would kill these guys if he were here. I look around for help. Flickering lamp posts and empty streets are all that look back.
“Dejame ir,” I say, shoving the one holding me again.
But somehow I know he’s not going to let go willingly. I bring a heel down on his foot. His hand slips a little. Enough for me to push past.
Rip. He catches my dress. Tears it at the shoulder, revealing a glimpse of my yellow lace bra.
Run faster, I tell myself.
But the smaller guy catches up. Snatches me by the arm and doesn’t let go.
Of all the things to happen to me.
I scream as loud as I can. A large hand covers my mouth and part of my nose, making it hard to breathe.
And then, suddenly, his hand is gone and I’m screaming again. Someone throws my attacker to the ground. Punches him once in the face. Twice. Three times. He hits the second guy, then the third. I catch a glimpse of the guy saving me, hoping it’s my brother or someone I know.
It’s not.
What I see is an unfamiliar boy. Eyes an ashy gray like smoke. Hair as black as the sky.
“Back off,” he says, eyes hard.
But he’s not talking to me.
“You don’t tell us what to do, puto,” one of the other guys spits.
“Back off,” he repeats, revealing a switchblade tucked in his palm.
He stands between me and my attackers. I let my scream die away. Hope builds. While they’re distracted, I make a run for it.
“Damn it,” I hear my protector curse.
He runs after me. And I wonder if maybe I was wrong. Maybe he’s after me too. Maybe he’s just as bad as they are.
I take a turn down a dark street. Another turn after that. I’m getting lost now, but I don’t care as long as I get away.
Someone catches me. Shoves me into an alley. Up a few stairs into a front entrance alcove.
“Quiet,” my protector warns.
Then I spot them, the guys who attacked me, running by. Not seeing us in the darkness that disguises our hiding spot.
He waits a moment. Makes sure the coast is clear.
“You need to come with me,” he whispers. “Don’t run again.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I fire back. Not a chance.
He pockets the knife. Captures my stare.
“Those guys you ran into? They belong to a bigger gang. There are more out here. And they’ll definitely be looking for you.” Pause. “And me.”
I notice the way he stays close, but leans away. As if to tell me he means me no harm.
“You’re welcome to take your chances,” he says. “I won’t force you to come with me.”
I bite my lip. Consider it. “Where do you think we should go?”
He catches his breath. Runs a hand roughly through his hair.
“I know a safe place, just down the way. You need to get off these streets.” His stare slips down my body. “Especially in that.”
I’m reminded that my bra is showing, that my dress is ripped.
“Okay,” I agree, seeing no other option. “But give me your knife.”
“What?” He talks quietly, careful to not give away our spot, voice low and deep. “I’m not giving you my knife.”
“Yes, you are,” I say. No backing down.
And then he does the strangest thing. He smiles, displaying a row of white teeth that overlap just the slightest bit. Dimples poke through both cheeks.
“Fine,” he says, withdrawing the knife from his pocket.
He hands it to me. It’s warm from his touch.
“Let’s go,” are his last words as we take off to maybe, possibly, save my life.
READER QUESTIONS
1. From the beginning, we learn that Melissa and Javier have complicated lives. Melissa’s pain stems from childhood abandonment, from her scars, and from missing her best friend. Javier’s comes from memories of his homeland, and from losing members of his family. What do you think about their decision to hold the pain inside?
2. Javier is obsessed with justice. Do you agree with his decision to take matters into his own hands, outside of the law? Is retribution ever the answer? Have you had to make decisions outside of what you were told was the “right way”?
3. Melissa is harboring the truth about what caused her scars, though she doesn’t want to tell Javier at first. Have you ever loved someone who is sick? Do you think Melissa handled it well, knowing that her life could be cut short?
4. With her mom always working, sisters away at college, and her best friend living in another country, Melissa feels alone a lot. Is there a difference between feeling alone and actually being alone? Can you be alone but feel content? What about being around a lot of people but feeling alone? Has either of these situations happened to you?
5. Javier’s home, Cuba, is a violent, desolate place that reminds him of his demons, of why he had to learn how to fight. What do you think of Javier’s tendency toward violence with the ones who harmed his cousin? Does a person’s upbringing determine his or her behavior, or is it something ingrained from birth? What traits are valuable to you?
6. Javier’s mom does not want him dating outside of his culture. What do you think about interracial, mixed culture relationships? What does diversity mean to you?
7. Both Melissa and Javier have strong family bonds, despite the differences in where they come from. How important is family? What’s your definition of family? Can family be linked by more than blood?
8. Even when Melissa learns of Javier’s involvement with the gang, she still loves him. Do you think love is a choice? Should love be unconditional, or should it have boundaries?
9. In the end, Melissa helps Javier believe in himself and in a brighter future, one where he can go to college and make his own choices freely. Likewise, Javier helps Melissa learn how to let go of fear by telling her that her scars are beautiful, and by loving her no matter what. What is your greatest fear? What, exactly, does freedom mean to you? And perhaps even more importantly, what is hope?
PLAYLIST
“Corazón Sin Cara” by Prince Royce
Reminds me of Javier, of how I hope he sees me.
“Blown Away” by Carrie Underwood
Why did Dad have to create these storms?
“Still into You” by Paramore
I can’t erase the memory of
Javier’s lips.
“Swing Life Away” by Rise Against
Your scars for mine.
“I Want Crazy” by Hunter Hayes
Who knows how much time I have left? I want this feeling, this kind of love.
“22” by Taylor Swift
We end up dreaming instead of sleeping.
♥~ Melissa
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2015 Amber Hart
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
KENSINGTON and the K logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-6177-3118-1
ISBN-10: 1-61773-118-1
First electronic edition: January 2015
ISBN-13: 978-1-61773-119-8
ISBN-10: 1-61773-119-6