Sojourner is already on the mats stretching. I haven’t seen her since Sunday. Yesterday, but it seems longer. She looks gorgeous. I’m smiling before I realise it.
‘Hi.’ I slide down into a hamstring stretch. ‘Thanks for inviting me yesterday.’
‘Hi,’ she says. ‘It was a pleasure.’
I try to think of something else to say.
‘Hi,’ Jaime says. I haven’t noticed her because I can’t stop looking at Sojourner. I can tell from her grin that she knows it.
‘Hi,’ I tell her.
‘Did Rosa get in trouble?’ Sojourner asks.
I nod.
‘I’d be happy to talk to her if you think it’d help.’
I need to change the topic. Jaime keeps glancing from me to Sojourner and smiling.
‘What?’ I ask, hoping that Sojourner has told her she likes me.
‘Nothing,’ Jaime says when Sojourner glares at her.
‘It’s something,’ I say, though I should probably leave it alone. This is between me and Sojourner. But I need to know. My face burns.
‘Well,’ Jaime begins.
Sojourner shakes her head.
‘It’s okay,’ I make myself say, though now my neck is burning too. ‘You don’t have to tell me. Thanks for inviting me to your church, Sid. You were right. The choir is amazing.’
‘So you liked the music?’ Jaime asks.
I nod.
‘Did you like anything else? Did you feel anything else?’
‘You are so dead,’ Sojourner says. ‘I told you that in confidence. You said you wouldn’t tell.’
Jaime giggles. ‘I know, but I can’t resist. How long have you known me, Sid? You wouldn’t have told me if you didn’t want me to blab.’
‘I keep thinking one day you’ll grow up. One day you, Jaime Maria Abreu de Leon, will earn the trust I have so stupidly placed in you.’
‘You sound like your mom. FYI.’
Sojourner makes a face.
‘He likes you,’ Jaime says. ‘You like her, don’t you, Che?’
I don’t know what to say. Should I agree? Sojourner knows I like her. ‘The music was great,’ I repeat. The words feel like dead fish falling from my tongue.
Are my zits glowing redder than red on top of the red of embarrassment spreading down my neck?
‘She thinks you found God,’ Jaime says.
‘She what?’
‘I did not say that!’
‘Sure you did. You said he looked like the spirit had moved him.’ Jaime looks at me and raises an eyebrow that’s Leilani-like in its power to let me know that she knows exactly what part of my anatomy was moved and that it’s a long way from my soul. ‘You didn’t find God, did you, Che?’
I shake my head.
I might be (sort of) lying to my parents about sparring but I’m not going to lie to Sojourner. ‘No. I didn’t feel anything spiritual or religious. I liked the music, the energy. I liked how warm and friendly everyone was. They seem like good people. But I still don’t think there’s a God.’
Sojourner flinches.
I was moved, though, I want to tell her. I realised I might be in love with you. I thought she was starting to feel something for me. But it wasn’t about me; it was about Jesus. Fuck.
‘I knew that,’ Sojourner says but she sounds sad. ‘I’m still glad you came.’
I stay for sparring. I’m wearing a mouthguard that fits and headgear that doesn’t smell like the sweat of a thousand other fighters. This time I’m up against the meathead. I can beat this guy. As I think that, he lands a right cross on my already-bruised nose. I grunt.
‘Gotcha, Steakhouse!’
He doesn’t think I can beat him. He winds up for a cross. I duck.
Every time I evade, he tries to punch harder, but I can see it coming. His chin goes up, telling me where his punch is aimed. Every time he misses he gets sloppier. He tries to grab me. I sidestep, feinting back. He misses completely. I land a flurry of jabs and crosses.
He lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a roar and a wail and tries to tackle me. ‘Fucker!’
Dido steps in and pushes him away.
‘You’re sparring, not fighting. Relax. Breathe. Stay in control. Look at me. Are you calm?’
Meathead nods. He isn’t looking at Dido. He isn’t calm.
‘You don’t look calm.’
‘I’m calm!’
Dido puts up her hand. ‘You’re not. Bout’s over.’
He takes off his gloves, sweat flying out in an arc, throws them over the ropes, tears off his headgear, glares at me, looks like he might throw it at my head.
Dido grabs his chin and makes him face her. ‘You’re not calm. You’re nowhere near calm. If you lose control you will never win a fight. Do you want to win? Do you want to be a fighter?’
For a moment I think Meathead is going to punch her but he deflates. ‘I want to be a fighter,’ he mumbles. ‘Sorry.’
‘Good. You know what to do.’ She releases him.
Meathead walks over to me and holds out his fist. He touches his wrapped fist to my gloved one.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbles even more indistinctly. ‘Got anger issues.’
‘Get some ice on that eye,’ Dido commands. ‘On your nose, too, Che. Neither of you should be hitting that hard. I want to see more control. But you’re throwing punches now, Che. Good.’
We climb out of the ring. Sojourner and Jaimie climb in. Sojourner touches her glove to mine, gives me a half smile.
I sit with ice held to my nose and watch Sojourner school Jaime for blurting out her secrets. She’s so fast, so focused. I learn more watching her spar than from a thousand regular lessons.
If only she weren’t religious.
If only she didn’t care that I’m not.
If only Rosa weren’t trying to make trouble between us.
When I get home Rosa and Seimone are working on a jigsaw puzzle on the coffee table. They’ve taken their gloves off to do it. They look up as I slip off my shoes and slough the backpack. I wonder what Seimone is doing here so late.
‘Sleepover?’ I ask, wondering if that’s a good idea.
Rosa nods. ‘Leilani was being mean so Seimone’s staying here until she can be nice again.’
Seimone giggles. ‘Lei-Lei’s the worst. She always takes Maya’s side. Hi, Che.’
‘Your nose is red again,’ Rosa announces.
‘It is kind of red,’ Seimone says. ‘Do you have a cold?’
‘Hi, Seimone. My nose is fine. Where are Sally and David?’
‘Study. Working.’
‘Did you finish your essay?’
Rosa makes a vomiting noise.
‘What essay?’ Seimone asks.
‘She has to write an essay on why lying is wrong.’
Seimone makes an ooooh sound. ‘Did you get caught lying?’
Rosa shrugs. ‘Everyone lies. Adults never get in trouble for lying.’
‘Yes, they do,’ I say. ‘It’s called perjury.’
‘Lying is fun.’
I grab some ice, wrap it in a cloth, hold it to my nose.
‘Thought you said your nose was fine? Liar.’
‘It will be soon.’
‘Someone punched him,’ Rosa tells Seimone. ‘He likes punching people.’
Seimone shudders.
I sigh. ‘It’s called boxing, Rosa. It’s a sport.’
‘He doesn’t spar,’ Sally says coming into the kitchen, pouring herself some tea. ‘He learns how to box without actually boxing. It’s beneficial for overall fitness. Nose bothering you?’
‘I’m being cautious.’
Sally nods and pats my shoulder in approval. I feel my face burning and am grateful for the fast-melting ice. Rosa’s right. I’m lying.
Rosa smirks as if she knows.
‘Finished your essay yet, Rosa?’ Sally asks. ‘You have to give it to us before you go to bed.’
Rosa flounces towards her tablet on the couch and taps at
it. ‘How do you spell hypocrisy?’ she asks.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The address Leilani gave me doesn’t look like a shop. There’s a black door with a picture of a cotton reel on it. I’m about to press the buzzer when the door opens and a burly guard looks at me disdainfully. As Leilani instructed, I tell him I’m with her and he reluctantly lets me in.
It is a clothes shop, or boutique, I guess. Unless there’s an even fancier word. Even I can tell from looking at the elegantly displayed clothes and the art on the walls that this place is ridiculously expensive.
Leilani is chatting with one of shop assistants, who’s tall and thin with gold hair that stands out against her brown skin. I have no idea how you turn your hair gold.
‘Hi, Che,’ Maya says, waving at me. She’s almost lost in a huge black velvet chair, kicking her feet back and forth.
‘I didn’t know you were coming.’
I sit on a metal stepladder next to her. There’s a large sports bag on her other side.
‘Your tennis gear?’
Maya nods. ‘I’m sick.’
She doesn’t look sick.
‘Sick of Seimone. She’s being the worst. So Leilani said I didn’t have to go to the museum.’
‘Why isn’t Leilani in school?’
‘I think she said independent study? Who knows? Leilani makes her own rules.’
Maya has the same red heart necklace as Seimone.
‘Where’d you get that?’
‘Rosa has Seimone’s now, doesn’t she?’
I nod.
‘Our grandmother gave them to us.’ She holds out the heart for me. ‘It’s a ruby.’
‘I’ll get it back for your sister. I promise.’
‘Seimone says she gave it to Rosa. But she would never.’
The gold-haired shop assistant shows Leilani a dark red dress, fanning the skirt out to demonstrate the contrasting orange pleats. Though she doesn’t call it a dress, she calls it a piece.
‘Hey, Che,’ Leilani says as if she just noticed me. ‘The olds are ridiculously thrilled we’re hanging out today.’
I nod. ‘While the other littlies go to a museum. They’re in heaven.’
‘Che, this is Deanna.’
Deanna holds out her hand. Her fingers are long and elegant, each adorned with a ring. We shake briefly.
‘I see what you mean,’ she says, giving me the same up-and-down look as the man on the door.
I’m wearing tracky dacks and a T-shirt. ‘I’m not into clothes.’ ‘Evidently. But we can teach you the joy of them, can’t we, Leilani?’
‘Anything’s possible,’ says Leilani in a tone that implies anything but teaching Che about clothes.
‘What about this piece?’ Deanna holds up green and silver pants. She’s asking Leilani, not me.
‘Cool,’ Maya says.
‘We don’t want to scare him. When Che goes out, everything he wears is a size or two too big. He sticks to jeans and T-shirts or short-sleeved collared shirts.’
That description is scarily accurate. ‘How do you know what I wear?’
‘I’ve seen far too many photos of you, Che. You wear clothes in all of them. No polos, Deanna.’
I’m not sure what a polo is.
Deanna holds out a black shirt. Leilani nods and Deanna passes it to me.
I look at the price tag. ‘How can a shirt cost a thousand dollars?’ I ask in a louder voice than I intended. It’s a regular black shirt. The buttons aren’t made of gold or diamonds. The fabric’s soft, I’ll give it that, but I have cheap T-shirts that feel as nice.
Maya laughs.
One of the other assistants looks at me as if she’s realised a giant cockroach wandered into her shop. She gives Leilani a sympathetic look.
Surprisingly, Leilani doesn’t roll her eyes. ‘Do you know how clothes are made?’
She continues without giving me a chance to answer.
‘That shirt was not made in a factory or by piece workers in their own homes, paid well below minimum wage with no coverage if they’re sick or injured. The people who cut and sewed that shirt were paid above-union wages in full-time jobs with full benefits. The cloth was woven at a mill where the workers likewise. That shirt was made from cotton grown without pesticides by small-scale farmers. It was designed by one of the most brilliant designers in Japan, who also happens to be one of the most ethical. Not one person was exploited to produce that shirt. Unlike a five-dollar T-shirt, it’s being sold at its true cost. A thousand dollars is how much it costs to make a shirt this gorgeous when no one is exploited.’
My hand sweats where I’m holding the hanger. Will I have to pay for the shirt if my sweat drips on it?
‘Even if you care nothing for ethics,’ – Leilani’s tone says she expects such hideousness of me – ‘that shirt is an investment. There are only five in the world. In a year or two, you’ll be able to sell it for more than you paid for it. That is why the shirt costs one thousand dollars.’
‘Exactly,’ Deanna says. ‘Very well said, Lei-lei.’
I blush. Before I landed here I’d’ve said I’m not a blusher. It would have been true.
So only rich people can afford to be ethical? The T-shirt I’m wearing is fair trade. It’s from one of the parentals’ previous ventures. I’m tempted to ask Leilani why she doesn’t weave her own clothes.
I return the shirt to Deanna and try to find something my parents won’t freak out about. The only thing, I mean piece, I can find under two hundred dollars is a tie.
‘Try these,’ Leilani says, thrusting two shirts and three pairs of jeans at me. There’s no way I can buy any of them. I have two credit cards – one is the parentals’, the other is Papa’s – they’d all freak if I spent as much as fifty dollars on a shirt.
I push open the heavy wood-and-metal door to the change room. I’ll tell them I didn’t like anything. The light makes even my skin look okay. Can they get that effect with lights? Or is the mirror distorted? It’s ridiculously flattering.
I touch the first shirt. It’s scratchy, but the second one fits great and is softer than the thousand-dollar shirt. Maybe it costs a million dollars.
In the dressing-room mirror it’s the same blue as my eyes. I know that’s a trick of the light, but I can’t help liking that about it. The first pair of jeans are so comfortable it’s like wearing another skin. They’re tighter than I usually wear, narrower too. I like them.
I wonder if Sojourner would like me in them. I imagine us walking together: her in her tulip dress and me in these fancy clothes.
When I walk out Leilani laughs. So it was just the lighting.
‘Much better.’
I’d expected her to mock me.
‘It’s almost like you’re an actual human being and not a breathing, slightly sentient, gym monkey.’
‘Fuck you too, Leilani.’
Maya looks up from the game she’s playing on her phone to laugh.
‘He does look better,’ one of the shop assistants says, sounding surprised. ‘We have that shirt in other colours. If you’re interested.’
‘Perfect,’ Deanna says.
I really like the shirt. I wouldn’t have thought I’d have such strong feelings, but I feel different wearing it, cooler. I have that I-don’t-want-to-take-this-off feeling, which I haven’t felt since I was six and evil Uncle Saul gave me a Superman costume for Chanukah ’cause he thought it would piss off the parentals. I wore it till it fell apart.
I follow Deanna, as if under a spell, and then I’m standing in front of a mirror while she and Leilani discuss which colours work best for me.
She brings out shirts in different shades of blue and green. I like them. I sneak a look at the price tags. They’re over a thousand dollars. The jeans too.
I go into the change room and put my own clothes on and hand the pieces to Deanna.
‘Which ones are you taking?’
I shake my head.
Leilani is wearing the red and orange dress.
When she turns it sparkles in the light.
‘Cool,’ I say.
Maya nods.
‘I’m getting it. Give me a minute. Shoes next.’
How much can shoes cost? Though I know how much some trainers cost. They can be pricey, but never a thousand dollars. I’ll buy some. If they’re as comfortable and amazing as those shirts it’ll be worth it.
Maya walks outside with me with her giant tennis bag over her shoulder.
‘Want me to carry that?’
‘It’s okay. Coach says carrying it’ll make me stronger.’
‘That or it’ll break your shoulders. Looks heavy.’
Maya shrugs. ‘I’m really strong.’
‘Here you go,’ Leilani says a few minutes later, stepping onto the street. She hands me two shopping bags. ‘I bought you the shirts and the jeans and a jacket.’
‘You can’t—’
Leilani puts up her hand. ‘Stop! I did. What you mean to say is thank you. But not too profusely. I shop here a lot. I don’t pay full price. If we’re going to be hanging out you have to dress nicely. I have a reputation to uphold.’
I don’t want to be rude. ‘I can’t take them.’
‘You should take them,’ Maya says. ‘They look good on you.’
‘Do you not like them?’
‘I didn’t get to try the jacket, how do I know?’
Leilani waves that point away. ‘You tried on the shirts. You liked them. I could tell.’
‘I did. But I can’t afford them.’
‘I can.’
‘But now I owe you and I can’t pay you back. I can’t throw money at things to get what I want.’
‘Don’t be mean,’ Maya says. Her hands are on her hips.
‘I’m not being mean. I just – I can’t. I can never afford these. Not in a million years. I can’t buy Leilani anything like this.’
‘You don’t have to, silly,’ Maya says. ‘Leilani has all the clothes she needs.’
‘I don’t,’ I say. ‘I don’t have money. Not like you two. How can I pay you back?’
‘Would you take them as a favour to me?’
‘What?’
‘You look great in them, Che.’
Maya nods.
‘It makes me happy to give them to you. What’s the point of money if I can’t use it to make my friends happy?’
‘We’re friends?’
My Sister Rosa Page 13