by Sunniva Dee
A flash. Praises and smiles. Nadine shows me the picture, some romantic silhouette she’s giddy over, and that makes me light. Once Ricky the bus boy leaves, we’re taking selfies too—silly.
It’s easier to study those selfies from the same side of the table. I steady my arm over her backrest and support my chin on her shoulder. When she looks up, her eyes are so deep, so dark, they’re honey-flavored espresso that’s thicker than syrup. “Nadine?”
“Yes?” Her reply comes out as a whisper. It flips my stomach so I have to suck in air before I can talk again.
“Don’t be like that.”
“Like what?” She doesn’t know how hard I work to keep her out. Dad used to talk about “wickedly clever females.” He might say she knows what she does to me. Wicked women are probably out there, but looking at Nadine, it’s hard to believe.
“Don’t be so sweet. You make stuff hard.”
Depending on the venue, fight night will have a small or a medium-big crowd, so we’re unprepared when we enter a chockfull room. Bear waves at us from the third row, and Liza turns too, grinning and flapping her fingers at Nadine. It’s nice that my best friends accept Nadine this way.
She pulls on my hand, and we head over, reaching them just as some guy starts to argue with Bear about him hogging extra seats. He backs off, muttering under his breath when he realizes we’re right here.
Keyon’s fight comes up last. He’s fierce and determined, a head taller than the other guy, who’s flown in from California to fight him. I haven’t heard his name before, but the commentator makes sure we all know he’s someone to look out for, a fight that’s been anticipated.
He crashes to the ground midway through the second round, an uppercut sealing Keyon’s deal.
I stand. Nadine rises next to me. I watch Keyon shake hands and slap shoulders with his opponent once his own win has been announced. My fists open and close at my sides.
“Go talk to him,” Nadine whispers. “You so want to. Look at you.”
Yeah. I was seconds from walking up there, thrusting my hand out and introducing myself. Hey, I’m Cugs. I believe you know my sister, Paislee Marie Cain? Nadine’s reminder was what I needed to pull myself together.
“I need to take a leak,” I say. “I’ll be right back.” Keyon’s focus is on me. I applaud politely, blending in with the rest of the audience, but he squints against the lights, still looking. Someone from the front row smacks a high-five with him through the mesh, taking his attention.
It must have been my mohawk.
Hot. Sweaty in the cramped space. Four tight walls, no air conditioner, a darkness that eats oxygen. Dad’s knee nudges mine accidentally, and I shift to accommodate the two of us in this wooden dungeon beneath our “clients’” stairs.
“Who’d have guessed they’d come home early?” My father’s whisper is barely distinguishable, but the floorboards outside stop creaking.
“Did you hear something?” a man asks.
“Hear something? Like what?”
Silence.
“I don’t know. Someone.”
“Ooh, ghosts.” The woman’s voice is teasing, but the guy grumbles out, “Cut it, Kelly,” before they move away.
I let my breath sieve out carefully. My exhale is relief and sadness over being back to stealing. Thanks to my injuries, I was excused from this grim side of life for a whole month, and now I’m spoiled.
My father nudges me on purpose this time. I know what he’s thinking. He doesn’t want me to feel safe just because the owners left. They could be searching the house as we speak. We’ll remain in the closet for a good while, probably an hour or two. I force my muscles to relax, wish the fear out of my veins, and then I uncurl my fingers from around my phone and stare at the screen.
New Facebook messages. A few from friends and one from Nadine. On top of them all is Paislee’s.
I roll it open and hold the phone vertically to keep the light from hitting my father.
Do you remember the summers in Rigita? They’re freezing cold. We’d still go to the beach, because you were obsessed. You’d run into the water and shout, “’Slee! Jump in, ’Slee! You’ll love it. The water’s burning hot!”
I do remember that. I press my lips together so I don’t laugh. Mom would wade out and gather me out of the water. “Okay, now, that’s enough. Your lips are blue, baby boy.”
I’d squirm and complain, wanting to swim more. “But Mom, just a little while longer. Please?” She’d kiss me, a series of short, loud smacks on the cheek while I wiggled to get out of her arms. “No, no, no! Can I go again if ’Slee comes?”
My finger hovers over the screen of my phone, the memory urging me to respond. Amused, I suck my lips between my teeth; my nickname for Paislee couldn’t have been much easier to pronounce than her real name.
Why did I call you ’Slee? I type, but then my father’s eyes are on me like he reads me, and I erase the message and close Facebook.
An hour later, I open my phone again. I scroll slowly through the messages I’ve received from my sister since I accepted her friendship. Forty-three.
Not once have I answered, and yet she keeps reminding me of the things we did. She tells me what Rigita is like now. How Mom is. She tells me about her job at a small mirror factory. Paislee wants to drink green coffee with me. Paislee wants to be in contact with me. With each message, my urge to reply grows stronger.
What if she’s nothing like she was? She and Mom, they excluded me. I’m not in their world anymore. They forgot me as soon as we drove off.
That night is on repeat, Mom screaming to Dad that he was doing it all wrong. He was leaving in the wrong manner. It was planned—Mom was in on it—she wanted him to leave with me.
“Don’t talk to my daughter like that!” she shouted. My daughter, not their daughter, and she had no word for me.
There’s a faded text at the top of my screen indicating an unread message from Paislee. It’s a picture of two animals embracing each other, an emoticon of something like deer, one a little smaller than the other. They have tears in their eyes and small smiles on their faces.
I could remove Facebook from my phone.
“Nice hair,” Keyon says.
I have to stop myself from rearing away, calling even more attention to myself. “Thanks,” I say and rake a hand through my mohawk. Nadine has trimmed the sides for me. Too bad the blue, red, and white is growing out.
“Good fight,” I offer, because it was.
This is the third weekend in a row with Keyon on the fight card. His commitment fires me up. It’s in vain, of course, since I’m going nowhere after high school, but Coach allows me to train again, and with the back brace tightened and my ankle taped against an overstep, I give it my all at practice.
“Thanks, man.” He focuses a little too hard on me. The sweat is still drying on him after his fourth-round knockout. It took him a while this time, which made the fight even more thrilling than usual. “Do we know each other? I feel like I’ve seen you before.”
“Yes! You definitely have. We’re your biggest fans,” Nadine gushes. She leans into my side. Then she tips a few fingers into my back pocket and beams at Keyon. “We’ve been to, like, a dozen fights of yours.”
His brow lowers, maybe realizing we would have been to all his fights the last year if that were true. “Cool.”
It’s getting warm in here.
“You do fight a lot,” I defend Nadine’s statement.
“You do,” she agrees with me, smiling big.
“True, true. Gotta get ready for the big stuff, ya know.” I don’t recall Keyon as the happy-go-lucky type back in Rigita. I was little and probably missed out on quite a lot, but his grin seems wider, a more colorful version of his best days back home. “What’re your names?”
Truth or lie? I can’t think of an answer I can
live with. I freeze.
“I’m Nadine Paganelli, and this is my boyfriend, Charles George Cain.” A few things run through my mind simultaneously: she didn’t say Cugs; and—Boyfriend? Am I? I shouldn’t be.
“Charles George?” Keyon shakes my hand and studies my face like he wants to learn more about me.
“Yes, his father named him after his two paternal grandfathers. He doesn’t like his own name,” Nadine adds to the TMI factor, and I pinch her hip.
“Do you go by Charles or George?”
Oh no. Nadine’s going to say “Cugs,” and I’m going to not know what to do.
“Just George,” I hurry out while she says, “Just Charles.”
Keyon nods, a strange expression on his face. I’m damn sure I’m blushing like a toddler on a sugar rush.
“All right then. I’ll see you around… George?”
“Sure, just call me Chuck.”
What?
Nadine giggles. I squeeze her tighter to shut her up. She doesn’t object but her amusement doesn’t subside either, and the urge to physically muffle her is overwhelming.
Keyon slams a thick hand down on me, and my shoulder sinks under his weight. “’Til next time, Chuck.”
“’Til next time…” I copycat and trail off like the biggest dork.
“Chuck!” Bear shouts from his car. “Waffle House?”
Nadine mouths, I’m sorry, though I doubt her honesty at the moment. As weeks turn to months, I see new sides of her. This particular one, tattling, first to Keyon and then to Bear, is low on my popularity list. I’m best off not acknowledging.
“Yeah, let’s do waffles.” I sound cool and unruffled. I think. Until Liza snorts and Bear joins her, leaning into her for a combined guffaw-and-hug fest.
“Shut up, hyenas.” I shake my head. “I blew it, all right? Big deal.”
“What the hell, man? Chuck? Ah if it weren’t for the bathroom run, I’d have made it so much worse for you.”
“I’m aware. Liza, I owe you one.”
Dad texts me while I’m the closest I’ve ever been to Heaven. Four big plates with the thickest waffles are lowered to our table. They’re steaming hot and flooded with chocolate syrup, pecans, whipped cream, and strawberry jam.
“Yumm.” Bear prolongs the mmm to his girlfriend’s entertainment.
“Doesn’t he sound like a bear when he does that? I swear, your name’s so right on, honeybun.”
Nadine reacts to my father’s message before I do. She turns my phone face down. Surprised, I look up to find her fixing my stare expectantly. I’ve thought about ignoring him lately—I’ve thought it often—but it’s weirdly soothing to have someone else make the decision.
“That your dad?” Bear slurps his coffee. It’s too hot to drink straight up, but that’s not an excuse for Bear. He always slurps his beverages. “He’ll never stop the whole keeping tabs on you deal, will he?”
“Because it’s late,” Nadine says lightly.
“Not that late.”
“Not everyone’s as chill as Liza’s and your parents,” I say.
“You think he’ll chill once you’re eighteen? ’Cause seriously, it’d be nice to see you out sometimes on Saturdays.”
“We’ve had this convo before, Bear. I’ve been out on Saturdays.”
“Rarely.”
“I am tonight.”
“As I said, ‘Rarely.’”
My hand slides over my phone, but I don’t turn it. For the first time, I switch it off without even checking what Dad wants. Air wheezes out of my lungs, and Nadine’s gaze steadies on me. All this time, Liza and Bear have thought that I’m overprotected, but Nadine knows.
“Once I’m eighteen I do what I want,” I tell everyone, shoveling slippery pieces of delicious into my mouth. Nadine’s eyes glide to my hands, then to my mouth.
“What?” I turn my dirty fingers into claws.
She smiles, shaking her head a little. “You like waffles.”
“I do. And?”
“Nothing, except I think you should have waffles more often.”
I kiss Nadine while Bear grumbles, “Get a room.”
“You like me,” I remind Nadine.
We’re parked by a small beach where I’ve had happy moments. I want to add to them. Liza and Bear were supposed to come too, but I must have jinxed us at the Waffle House because Liza’s mom called demanding her presence by twelve thirty sharp or she’d be grounded for a month.
“I do like you.” Nadine’s voice is as soft as the breeze here in Florida. Step-Cynth says it’s “silky as lotion” and “good for your skin,” and “it makes you never look old.”
I lean back on my elbows. The ocean putters by, the waves small but buzzing and waiting for my response. I cock my head. “I like you too.”
Nadine lowers herself next to me. We didn’t bring a blanket, but the sand isn’t cold. She scoots up on my arm, and I hold her close.
“I wish you didn’t hang out with me,” I whisper though I don’t mean it. Then I pull her lip into my mouth, testing it with my teeth. Her breath shudders, a quiet stirring of the air between us.
“Really? I wish you’d stop doubting yourself.”
I want her closer, so I twist on my side and align our bodies. For once, we’re alone. All parts of her are warm and good against me. I’m afraid I’ll want much more than she does.
I tell her she’s pretty. She sighs at that. Her hands move over my chest, but then they’re determined, pushing against me until I’m down on my back.
My chest expands, excitement and disbelief filling my lungs when she climbs up. She prowls and sinks down over me, extending fully so her breasts are against me and her mouth meets my throat.
“Agh,” I say.
“What?’”
“Don’t tempt me.” I jut up beneath her, and it’s amazing to hear her lose her breath. Lifting my head from the ground, I find her lips. I kiss her hard and fast, my arms tightening around her without my help.
Wow, to hold her like this—
Nadine’s breathing doesn’t sound right. Her fingers dig into my arms like she’s not sure what she wants.
“Are you okay?” I force myself to slacken our embrace.
“My purse.” When she swallows, it sounds like something is lodged in her chest. Air presses out in small wheezes at a time, but her inhales don’t seem to help. She crawls off me. Fumbles around us.
“Need... my purse.”
“Whoa, you’re not okay. I think you left it in the car.”
She nods faster, standing. “Got… something.”
“You got something for that? In your purse?” I touch her sternum.
Her yes is a frantic nod.
Confused, she scans the surroundings, but doesn’t focus on the path. It’s dark, and the way up to the car unassuming, but it’s panic that clouds her vision.
“I’ll get it for you.” I stand, take a step, but then she claws into my waist like someone drowning. I tug her with me, hike her to my side, and we half-run, half-stumble up from the beach.
Nadine breathes in short wheezes by the time we’re there. I hand over the purse. Her fingers work frantically, inefficiently. The zipper doesn’t budge, so I snatch it back and unzip it.
“What am I looking for? Inhaler?”
“Yeah.”
I fish out the small cylinder and hold it up in the dim light from the parking lot. Nadine’s eyes enlarge, lips parting as she gets ready to suck relief into her lungs.
I can’t seem to let go. We just stand there, Nadine against the backdoor of the car, my knees steadying her thighs. We hold the inhaler in the small space between us, pressed tight against her mouth. It is a life raft. I’ve never been more thankful in my life. I rub her shoulder as she fogs herself, the muscles in her body relaxing one by one a
s the medicine begins to work.
Afterward, we sit in my car. The thought of her driving home alone now stresses me out. It makes me tuck her in against my neck and play with a lock of her hair.
She’s relaxed, at ease, but I can’t stop tapping my fingers against the steering wheel. This might be routine for her. I hope it isn’t.
“What are you allergic to? Is it asthma?”
“Yup. It came on fast this time.”
“Was it me?”
“What?” She turns her head a little so she can meet my stare.
“I mean, maybe you can’t breathe and kiss at the same time? Or did I squeeze you too hard?” I sound awkward. I don’t want her to tell me I’m right.
Nadine’s eyes gleam with quiet humor. “Unless you’re suddenly the bearer of heavy pollution, I’m pretty sure it’s not you.”
“Oh good. I was bummed, there, for a moment.”
“Aww, you’re cute.”
“Mm, no. I’m more of a ruggedly handsome football player type,” I explain. “But seriously, Nadine. Are you sure?” Discreetly, I accommodate myself beneath the zipper. “If you tell me I’m going to be the death of you, my willpower will probably take the hint.”
“It’s nitrogen dioxide.”
“It’s what now? Where do you get that stuff?”
She rolls down the window, pointing up the hill to the looming shadow of a power plant. “From there. I lived close to one the first few years of my life, and I developed asthma from it. I’m allergic to a few other things too, but nothing gets me like a good power plant.”
I turn her face to me and lean back so I can give her a cautious kiss on the mouth. “A few more questions.”
“Okay...?”
“Those ‘few other things’ you speak of, could they be, say, stinky boys?”
She laughs a free, unobstructed laugh that has the power to calm a guy down. “No, I think I’m the opposite of allergic to boys.”
“The opposite, huh?” I give her another kiss. It’s careful, but I follow it up by tickling her beneath an arm.
“Quit it!” She twists her body away from me.