by BB Easton
Your turn.
Love,
BB
P.S. Be safe.
“BB, you are basically in the fire,” Juliet said.
“Okay, M-M-M-Mom,” I said, shivering as I rolled my eyes, doing my very worst frozen Goth Girl impersonation.
Juliet laughed and stood next to me, sweeping her long braids over one shoulder to keep them from burning in the raging bonfire behind us. “I can’t believe all these people come out here to race in the middle of fucking winter,” she said, scanning the crowd of bodies and trucks and cars and kegs gathered around us.
“I kn-n-n-ow, right?” The warmth was finally starting to creep into my bones, which were only separated from the flames by a burgundy flight jacket, the thin cotton of my band T-shirt, and an even thinner layer of translucent skin. “At least there’s beer,” I said, holding up my red plastic cup.
Juliet crashed her matching cup into the side of mine. “I’ll drink to that.”
As she took a sip, a faint smile played on the corner of her mouth. That little bitch was having fun.
I wrapped my arm around Juliet’s elbow and dropped my cheek on her shoulder. “I’m so happy you came out,” I said.
“Me, too,” she answered wistfully. “Now, get the fuck off me before all these cute boys get the wrong idea.”
I laughed. “Oh, don’t worry. They know I’m here with Harley. He’s used me to hustle money out of most of them.”
Used. Did I just say used?
“Where is he, by the way?” Juliet asked, looking around. “I don’t even see his—oh my fucking God.” Juliet gripped my arm with one hand and almost pulverized her flimsy cup with the other. “BB. Is that who I fucking think it is?”
I squinted and looked in the direction she was looking, but all I could see was just a shitload of people. “Who? Where?”
“The girl hanging out with the ride-or-die crew over there. Purple LA Lakers coat. Long black hair.”
What little warmth I’d gleaned from the fire froze to solid ice inside my veins. I didn’t want to look, but I had to. For my own protection.
The last time I’d seen Angel Alvarez, she’d been flying out of Knight’s truck, running toward me and screaming like a fucking banshee. She would have beaten my ass right there in Trevor Walcott’s driveway—in front of everybody at his graduation party—if she hadn’t tripped over the curb and landed at my feet instead.
I didn’t think I’d get that lucky twice.
I followed Juliet’s line of sight and found a sea of violet. Angel’s older brother, Carlos Alvarez, was some high-ranking asshole in a Latin gang where everybody wore purple—mostly in the form of bandanas and LA Lakers gear. And they all rode crotch rockets like they thought they were DMX and the Ruff Ryders. I’d seen guys dressed like that at the track before, but it never occurred to me that Angel might be with them.
I finally spotted the girl Juliet was talking about. Her long, straight hair was dark instead of brassy blonde, but everything else about her fit—height, weight, hourglass figure, Lakers jacket and baggy jeans. Her ability to strike fear into me without even looking in my direction.
Thankfully, she and her crew were a good sixty feet away from us, but still, being sixty feet away from a tiger was still sixty feet too close even if it did have its back turned.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” I whisper-yelled over the steady roar of the fire, crowd, music, and engines.
“Hell if I know. You haven’t seen her here before?”
“Fuck no!”
As Juliet and I studied the apparition before us, Harley walked up with a giant smile on his boyish face. His lip ring hugged his plump bottom lip, and the light from the fire made the surface of his flame-blue eyes sparkle.
“Hey, pretty ladies. Are y’all watchin’ this shit? Bubba’s smokin’ all the other rednecks! I dropped a new big block in his truck last week, and those assholes don’t know what the fuck just—” Harley waved his hand in front of our faces. “Y’all okay?”
Juliet looked at Harley and said, “We won’t be if Angel fucking Alvarez looks over here.”
Harley’s smile disappeared. “Who?” He growled the word.
“That girl, over there with the gangbangers. She tried to steal BB’s boyfriend last year and then tried to beat her ass. She’s fucking psycho.”
I looked at Harley, suddenly more afraid of his reaction to Juliet’s mention of Knight than I was of Angel. His eyes were hard and his jaw was clenched.
Shit. Here we go.
“I’ll be back,” Harley snarled, stomping off in the direction of the cholos. Briefly turning around, he pointed at the ground in front of us and barked, “Stay here.”
Wait. What? Harley was mad at Angel?
I’d thought he’d be mad at Juliet for bringing up The Ex Who Shall Not Be Named. Harley didn’t even know Angel. Did he?
Just before Harley reached the sea of amethyst-colored assholes, I panicked and pulled Juliet away from the fire by the arm. Ducking down behind one of JR’s enormous tires, we watched as Harley exchanged words with my one sworn enemy—Angel Alvarez.
“What the fuck is he saying to her?” I whispered.
“I don’t know, but it looks like he’s chewing her ass out.”
“Is he fucking crazy? Doesn’t he know who her brother is?” I was flattered that Harley wanted to defend me, but stomping into the middle of a gang meeting to start shit with the leader’s little sister was one of the stupidest things I’d ever seen him do.
“I don’t see Carlos over there,” Juliet whispered.
Thank God.
“But his boys don’t look too happy.”
I peeked around the tire again and saw two thick, neckless dudes standing next to Angel with their chests puffed out. Their plaid flannel shirts were buttoned only at the collar, and purple bandanas were tied around their bald heads. They didn’t try to interfere though. Maybe they had some kind of respect for Harley since they raced their crotch rockets on his track.
As I tried to wrap my head around what was happening, a shrill, scrappy voice rose over even the loudest engines and stereos. I couldn’t make out every syllable, but where, fuck, and she rang out clear as a bell. Those words hijacked my brain right through my ears and pressed play on memories I’d been trying to bury for months.
Angel and her hood-rat friends heckling me in the hallway. Boxing me in at my locker. Posturing to fight in the parking lot. About to jump me in Trevor’s driveway.
“Knight told me you can’t suck cock for shit.”
“Knight loves me now, bitch.”
“I might be pregnant.”
Angel had been completely full of shit back then—I knew that now—but that didn’t exactly keep me from hyperventilating behind JR’s truck at the sight of her. My whole body was shaking—and not because of the cold.
“BB…BB!” Juliet shook my shoulder. “Angel’s leaving. And Harley’s coming back over here! Act cool!”
Cool…cool. What’s that? Uh…
I spotted the nearest keg and ran over to it with Juliet close behind, ducking to keep from being spotted. Once we got there, we stood up and refilled our crumpled plastic cups, pretending to be engrossed in some hilarious conversation. I watched Harley enter the clearing where the bonfire was out of the corner of my eye and reveled in the five seconds that it took him to realize that I wasn’t there before he spotted me in the crowd.
When our eyes locked, a grin I wasn’t expecting spread across my face. Warmth bloomed in my chest and unfurled into my extremities. Heat trickled up my neck and stained my cheeks. My lungs stopped working, but my heart beat double-time.
Harley James might have been on the wrong side of the law, but he was still my fucking hero. Not only had he gone toe-to-toe with Knight for me—a feat no mortal had ever even considered before him—but he’d also just stomped into a cluster of gun-carrying gangbangers to chase off my archnemesis—Angel Alvarez.
I wanted to kiss him.
I wanted to cry. And when Harley walked over on those long legs with that sexy swagger and pulled a tiny ring out of his pocket with a twinkle in his eye, I really, really, really wanted to just say yes.
MARCH 5, 1999
DEAR BB,
YOU REALIZE I’VE SPENT MOST OF MY LIFE TRYING NOT TO THINK ABOUT MY CHILDHOOD, RIGHT?
FUCK IT. YOU SAID JUST THE GOOD STUFF, SO THIS SHOULD BE QUICK.
MY FAVORITE CARTOON WAS TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES. I WATCHED THAT SHIT EVERY MORNING BEFORE THE BUS CAME. RAPHAEL WAS MY FAVORITE. HE WORE THE RED MASK AND WAS A FUCKING ASSHOLE.
I LIKED BASEBALL. I WOULD’VE HIT SHIT WITH A BAT ALL DAY, EVERY DAY, IF I HAD THE CHANCE. MY FRIEND’S MOM SIGNED ME UP TO PLAY AND EVEN CAME AND PICKED ME UP FOR EVERY GAME SINCE MY MOM WAS USUALLY TOO FUCKED UP TO TAKE ME. I WANTED TO BE A PROFESSIONAL BASEBALL PLAYER WHEN I GREW UP.
I WANTED TO BE A VETERINARIAN TOO. I HAD ALL THESE LITTLE JARS AND SHIT ON MY WINDOW SILL WHEN I WAS A KID WHERE I KEPT BUGS AND LIZARDS AND TADPOLES. I REALLY WANTED A DOG, BUT OF COURSE CANDI COULDN’T BE FUCKING BOTHERED, SO I CAUGHT MY OWN PETS.
I LIKED TO DRAW, BUT I STOPPED FOR A WHILE BECAUSE ALL THE DRAWINGS I GAVE TO CANDI USUALLY ENDED UP IN THE TRASH. THEN I GOT THIS BADASS ART TEACHER IN THIRD GRADE NAMED MRS. BRADLEY. SHE LET ME SIT BY MYSELF AND HUNG ALL MY DRAWINGS UP ON HER BULLETIN BOARD, RIGHT NEXT TO HER DAUGHTER’S.
HER DAUGHTER DREW ALL THIS GIRLIE SHIT, RAINBOWS AND FLOWERS AND SUNS WITH GODDAMN SMILEY FACES ON THEM. I WONDERED IF I WOULD BE THAT HAPPY IF I HAD MRS. BRADLEY AS A MOM TOO. I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW YOU, BUT LOOKING AT YOUR PICTURES MADE ME HATE YOU. IT WASN’T FUCKING FAIR.
THEN I SAW YOU. YOU CAME INTO MY ART CLASS ONE DAY AND INTERRUPTED YOUR MOM WHILE SHE WAS TEACHING. YOU WERE FUCKING TINY, BUT YOU BURST IN LIKE YOU OWNED THE PLACE WEARING A HOT PINK T-SHIRT WITH GREEN SHORTS. YOUR HAIR WAS THE COLOR OF A PENNY, JUST LIKE MRS. BRADLEY’S, AND I KNEW IT WAS YOU. THE HAPPY LITTLE BITCH WITH THE NICE MOM WHO HAD DRAWN ALL THOSE SMILEY FUCKING RAINBOWS.
YOU SAID YOU NEEDED LUNCH MONEY AND WALKED OVER TO YOUR MOM’S DESK TO GET IT OUT OF HER PURSE YOURSELF. MY DESK WAS RIGHT NEXT TO HERS, AND I GAVE YOU MY WORST EAT-SHIT LOOK, BUT YOU JUST FUCKING SMILED AT ME. YOU WERE PROBABLY LIKE SIX, AND WHEN YOU SMILED YOU WERE MISSING YOUR TWO FRONT TEETH. YOU WERE THE CUTEST FUCKING THING I’D EVER SEEN.
THEN YOU LOOKED AT THE DRAWING ON MY DESK AND SAID, “I LIKE DAT DWAGON.”
FOR THAT SPLIT SECOND THAT YOU SMILED AT ME AND SAID YOU LIKED MY DRAGON, I FELT FUCKING HAPPY. I WANTED TO FUCKING STEAL YOU. SO I STOLE ONE OF YOUR DRAWINGS OFF THE BULLETIN BOARD INSTEAD.
I DON’T REMEMBER FEELING HAPPY AGAIN UNTIL THE NIGHT I FOUND YOU PUKING IN THE FUCKING ALLEY OUTSIDE OF MY WORK. YOU WERE SO FUCKED UP, BUT YOU SMILED AT ME AND YOU ASKED TO SEE MY TATTOO DRAWINGS AND YOU SAID YOU LIKED THEM.
YOU NEVER STOOD A FUCKING CHANCE, PUNK. YOU WERE ALWAYS GOING TO BE MINE. YOU JUST DIDN’T KNOW IT.
I LOVE YOU.
KNIGHT
P.S. YOU’RE THE ONLY FUCKING PERSON ON FUCKING EARTH WHO’S EVER GOTTEN ME TO TALK ABOUT MY CHILDHOOD BEFORE. YOU REALLY ARE GOING TO BE A GOOD SHRINK.
March 19, 1999
Dear Knight,
I can’t believe you remember all that! You know, you’re pretty sweet for an asshole. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.
Do you ever draw dragons anymore? I’ll trade you a smiley sun AND a rainbow for a badass fire-breathing dragon.
Hope you’re okay. Be safe.
Love,
BB
P.S. Michelangelo was my favorite Ninja Turtle. He was a smart-ass who loved pizza.
April 2, 1999
DEAR BB,
I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TRYING TO FUCKING DO. NICE TRY, BUT PRETENDING LIKE I’M A FUCKING KID AGAIN ISN’T GOING TO JUST MAGICALLY MAKE SHIT BETTER. MAYBE FOR YOU. MAYBE FOR SOMEBODY WHO HAD A MOMMY AND A DADDY WHO TOLD THEM THEY WERE SPECIAL AND WIPED THEIR ASS AND PUT THEIR PICTURES UP ON A BULLETIN BOARD WHETHER OR NOT THEY WERE ANY FUCKING GOOD. BUT GOING BACK TO WHEN I WAS A KID ISN’T A FUCKING OPTION BECAUSE THAT MOTHERFUCKER DIDN’T SURVIVE. KNIGHT IS ALL THAT’S LEFT, AND HE DOESN’T FEEL LIKE DRAWING FUCKING DRAGONS.
I LOVE YOU.
KNIGHT
Just pee and go home, BB. Pee and go the fuck home.
Maybe I could have just one little beer.
No! The movie’s over. You addressed all your graduation invitations. And it’s nine forty-five. If you start pounding beers, you’re gonna end up banging Harley, and if you bang Harley, you’re gonna get home late, and if you get home late one more fucking time, you’re gonna lose your car for a month, and if you lose your car, life as you know it will cease to exist.
You’re right. I’m just gonna go out there, tell Harley bye, grab my invitations, and go home.
No beers?
No beers.
No weed?
No weed.
No sex?
Nope. No way. Not on my watch.
“Hey, lady.” Harley’s voice rumbled through the thin bathroom door. “You wanna do some shots?”
“Sure!” I yelled back, standing to button my skintight black jeans.
What? I snapped at myself. You didn’t say no tequila.
I turned to flush the toilet but stopped dead in my tracks when a fucking black tarantula in the corner of the shower caught my eye. I choked on a scream and was about to beat it to death with the trash can when I realized that it wasn’t alive. At least, not anymore. Creeping closer, I realized that the hairy black nightmare was actually just…hair.
Long.
Black.
Hair.
Blood rushed to my cheeks and ears, fast and hot. My skin was ablaze, and my heart felt like it was doing jumping jacks in my fucking chest.
A woman. Who is obviously not me. Has been naked. In that shower.
Jesus, BB. Get a grip. It was probably one of their sisters. Don’t they have, like, four of them? Or a neighbor with a busted water pipe. Or a long-haired dude from work for all you know. What is your problem?
As I stared in the mirror, talking myself down from Cloud Crazy Bitch and waiting for my blotchy pink face to return to normal, I saw exactly what the fuck my problem was.
Clutching cold, hard evidence in both of my shaking hands, I stomped down the warpath and into the living room. “What the fuck is this?” I screeched at Harley, who was lounging on the couch, shirtless, pointing the remote at the TV and drinking Cuervo straight from the bottle. There was a shot glass on the coffee table overflowing with amber liquid—presumably for me.
“What the fuck is what?” he asked, finally muting the TV and pulling his eyes away from the giant glowing screen.
“This!” I hissed, thrusting both fists out in front of me—one containing a few sad strands of black hair, the other clutching a purple toothbrush.
I couldn’t read Harley’s expression in the strangely lit room. The wall of neon signs lit him from behind, and the enormous television set in front of him overexposed him from the front. Harley lowered the remote and bottle to his lap and turned his head toward me. Every millisecond that I had to wait for his response brought me one heart palpitation closer to full-blown cardiac arrest.
“It’s a toothbrush.” His voice was teasing and sarcastic, and I didn’t fucking appreciate it.
“Yeah, I know what the fuck it is. Does it belong to the same girl who lost half of her weave in your shower?”
“Yeah,” he said, completely devoid of sarcasm that time, “it does.”
I felt like the floor had been pulled out from under me and I couldn’t tell if I was floating or falling. My hands dropped back down to my sides, my heart dropped into my stomach, my stomach dropped into my bowels, and my bowels felt like they were about to drop out of me completely.
I should say words.
I swallowed, testing out my tightening larynx, and croaked out, “Who?”
Okay, that was only one word.
Harley leaned forward, setting the liquor bot
tle on the table, and rested both forearms on his knees. “You know who.”
I fucking know her?
As I stared, unseeing, at a neon Budweiser sign on the opposite wall, waiting for my broken, grief-stricken brain to solve the riddle, a projectile sailed across the room and hit me square in the face.
I blinked in shock as one of my skull pillows bounced off of me and landed on the floor a few feet away, knocking over the stack of graduation invitations I’d just addressed. The sound of deep, rumbling laughter brought my attention back to Harley just as he tossed another pillow at me like a Chinese star. That one ricocheted off my bicep.
“It’s fucking Victoria’s! What the fuck, woman? Who else would it belong to?”
Victoria…Victoria…wait. Oh my God.
“You’re fucking Goth Girl?”
Harley laughed again, harder that time, as he walked across the room to where I was standing in a confused state of suspended animation. Grabbing me by the shoulders, Harley shook me gently. He spoke slowly and with great amusement, “Your friend, Victoria, is fucking my brother, Davidson. Remember?”
A wave of relief, followed by a tsunami of embarrassment, washed over me.
“Oh my God!” I cringed, burying my face in his bare chest.
Harley’s skin was rough and hot against my cheek, and laughter vibrated beneath. Thick, colorful arms wrapped around me and squeezed.