Living Violet

by Jaime Reed

  Soda in hand, I meandered through the aisles, perusing the new releases. Nothing looked appealing enough to waste a week of reading, so I moved to the bestsellers. It was hard to ignore the shrine dedicated to the Specter Saga and the squealing tweens bowing down at its altar, but I tried anyway.

  By doing so, I caught the silhouette of law enforcement leaving the music section. The voyeur in me itched to know what was going on. At first, I assumed the cop had come to catch a punk shoplifting, but then I remembered what Linda had told me earlier. They were still investigating the incident in the parking lot. It would only make sense to interview the last person seen with the victim.

  Curiosity had me by the throat as I reached the metal detector of the music department. Not seeing anyone at the counter, I strolled around, picking up random CDs and reading the covers.

  “You break it, you buy it,” someone said right behind me.

  I jumped and saw Caleb holding a half-eaten chocolate-chunk cookie the size of my hand.

  I put the CD back and faced him. “Are you following me?”

  “You’re in my department, so I would have to say ... no. You see something you like?”

  “Not really. It’s all the same.”

  He took a bite of his cookie and nodded. “Most of it, but there’re a few diamonds in the rough. Here, come listen to this.”

  Caleb led me to the endcap and stopped in front of the music sampler. He placed the headphones over my ears before I could object. Long fingers punched away at the display, and in seconds, a deep, soulful voice caressed my eardrums. I closed my eyes as the drum and bass picked up tempo, bringing my heartbeat along for the ride.

  Once the thirty seconds of heaven ended, my eyes opened and found Caleb behind the counter with a customer. He met my gaze for a moment and flashed a smile before steering his focus to the young woman in front of him.

  I removed the headphones and took my time approaching the register, overhearing the woman stammering and giggling. What this guy did to get these girls to act stupid around him was beyond me. The woman looked well put together, and she didn’t appear to have a problem getting a man, if the wedding band was any indication. But she gawked at Caleb like a man hadn’t crossed her path in decades.

  And Caleb, the cocky SOB, rang up her order as if drooling women were part of standard procedure. He went along with the company spiel about membership cards and clearance items, and the woman scrambled for her credit card.

  Not wanting to waste any more of my lunch break, I inched toward the exit. “That was a good song. Thanks.”

  He threw me a look that told me to stay and handed the woman her merchandise.

  “I knew you’d like it.” He turned to face me. “It’s a group from Brazil. I have all of their albums, back when they did underground house music. This one’s a bit more mainstream.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ll be sure to check them out.”

  “I’ll let you borrow the CD, if you want,” he offered.

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Caleb watched me, studying me, possibly trying to learn the mechanics of my existence, when the woman spoke up.

  “Um, I’m sure you’re asked this a lot, but, um ...” She licked her lips and fingered the chain on her neck. “Do you wear contacts?”

  Caleb’s eyes dragged from mine as he regarded the customer. “Do you have a quarter?” Seeing her obvious confusion, he threw in, “It’s for a charity fundraiser.”

  “Sure, let me see.” She dove into her purse, no questions asked. Unsatisfied with the delay, she deposited all of its contents on the counter. When she found a quarter, she presented it to him, her chest heaving from her rigorous search. Charlie wasn’t even that happy when he found the golden ticket in his Wonka Bar.

  Smiling, Caleb plucked it from her manicured fingers and reached to the shelf under the register. The clatter of coins soon followed, announcing the latest donation into the Caleb vanity bank.

  Having kept his audience in suspense long enough, he put the woman out of her misery. “Thank you, and the answer is no. This is all natural.”

  “Wow,” she gushed.

  I rolled my eyes and went to the music sampler again. There had to be a reason for that woman to throw herself at Caleb. It was distracting the way he kept looking at me, and I completely forgot the name of the band I just heard. He said that he would bring me the CD. Or maybe he just said that to be nice, like when people say they’ll call you back when they really mean, “I’m done talking to you.” Why was he being nice all of a sudden? He had barely talked to me before. I still had no idea what the police said to him, so I really needed to think up a game plan before going for round two with that fool.

  These thoughts plagued me while I scrolled through the display, trying to find the song that echoed in the back of my head. So it didn’t come as a big surprise when Caleb snuck me from behind again.

  “It’s called ‘La Boya,’ ” he whispered in my ear.

  I spun around to him sporting that smug grin that I wanted to slap away. Before I lost my nerve, I went down the list of questions I had memorized.

  “Is your girlfriend okay? What did the cops say to you? Why are there so many chicks on your jock? Do you have a sugar deficiency, or what? Are you really gonna let me borrow that CD, or are you just as flakey as I suspect?” This was not the smoothest way to get into someone’s business, but I had to pour it all out before he distracted me again.

  His eyebrows shot to his hairline. “Yes, I promise to bring you the CD. I’ll even bring you a playlist that you might like.”

  My jaw dropped. He’s gonna make me a playlist? That’s kinda sweet.

  “And I just like junk food. I have a fast metabolism, and sugar is the only vice I have, so cut me some slack.”

  I was still on the playlist part.

  “I did go by the hospital, and the girl is fine. She’s getting released day after tomorrow.”

  That got my attention. “The girl? You don’t even know her name?”

  His eyes lifted to the ceiling for the answer. “Megan, Meegan, Morgan, or something.”

  The warm and fuzzy feeling was officially gone. “You don’t even know the name of your girlfriend?”

  He looked at me like I was crazy. “She’s not my girlfriend. I just met her that day.”

  “And you just start molesting her on the book floor?”

  “She jumped on me. I was on my break.” He shrugged, unapologetic.

  “You—what?”

  “The police asked if I knew her, and I told them I saw her in the store, and it’s true.”

  I just shook my head, my mouth open in shock.

  “Chicks dig me.” He shrugged again as if that answered everything. To prove his point, he winked at three more awestruck women circling the counter.

  Not one to be ignored, I stepped into his line of vision. “Do you have any self-restraint?”

  He met my gaze for a long beat before saying, “Plenty.”

  “You might want to apply some of it to the workplace.” With my chin hiked in the air, I left the music section.

  I couldn’t believe this guy. His arrogance was breathtaking. A woman almost died, and he was completely nonchalant about it. Those women remained camped out by his register, waiting for him to grace them with his presence. If they started slinging underwear at him, I was going to have a talk with Linda. In fact, I should talk to her either way out of general principle.

  I wove through the maze of bookshelves toward the break room when Caleb leapt out of nowhere and blocked my path. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re jealous.”

  I tried to walk around him, but he blocked me with a side step.

  “Jealous of what?” I asked.

  When I moved to the right, he did the same. “Of my popularity.”

  I stopped moving. “Oh please. I know practically everyone in this town.”

  “I mean with the opposite sex.”

  My hands pinned to my sides, m
y fists clinched. He may stand over six feet, but my killer right hook could bring him down to size. “Are you implying that I don’t have game?”

  The side of his lips curled. “No. I’m implying that you have a tendency to scare people off. You don’t have the same reaction with me that most women do. For a while, I thought you hated men.”

  At his words, my muscles relaxed. I gave up worrying what people thought of me long ago, but that didn’t lessen the sting. “I don’t hate men.”

  “Then prove it. Go out with me.”

  My mind went blank for a second, so I wasn’t sure if I had heard him right. “Go-who-what?”

  “Go out with me. Nadine gave me two tickets to Europia Park since she works there, and I want you to come with me.”

  “Get Nadine to take you.”

  He gave me a weary look as if I should know better than to ask. “Catching Nadine on a day off is as common as Halley’s Comet.”

  He had a point. Vacations and sick leave must be against her religion or something. “Then why don’t you call one of your disciples to go with you?”

  “Because I want you to come with me. Besides, they would be all over me, and I actually want to see the park. I’ve been in Virginia for two years, and I’ve never been there.”

  Indignation came back with a vengeance. “You are so arrogant!”

  “Yet you won’t say no.”

  “Oh yeah? Check this out. No!” I tried to skirt around him. When that didn’t work, I raced to the other end of the aisle and ran into his chest.

  He tapped his chin in contemplation. “Tomorrow would be a good time. We’re both off tomorrow. Why don’t we meet here and we can take my car?”

  “How about I stay home, and you go get your little groupies to show you around?”

  “I already told you why, and this would be a great way to get to know me.”

  “I don’t wanna get to know you,” I argued, sounding every bit the five-year-old.

  “It’s not a date. I just want to hang out.”

  Jabbing a finger in his chest, I met his gaze dead on. “First off, how do you know when I work? Second, you’re assuming I have nothing else to do but show you around a theme park all day, and why isn’t it a date?”

  “Because you don’t want it to be. And our work schedules are posted in the break room.”

  “Oh.” I dropped my hand. “Well, I’m still not going.”

  His advance made me retreat until my back pressed against the shelf.

  “I’ll tell you what, meet me here at noon, and if you’re not here by twelve-fifteen, I’ll go alone. No pressure, though I’m sure you wanna know why what’s-her-name had her heart attack.”

  He slowly backed away, his eyes watching my reaction. And boy, he had quite a show. All kinds of horror scenes flashed before my eyes in every subgenre, from psycho killer to swamp monster.

  “What do you mean?” I called after him.

  “Tomorrow. Noon.”

  “What? What the hell kind of cliffhanger is that? If there was foul play, there’s no way I’m going anywhere with you.”

  He turned and walked on. Now it was my turn to chase. He only made it to the end of the row before I caught his arm. “Did you have something to do with it? Did you poison her, or something?”

  Dude had the nerve to laugh. “No.”

  I pulled his arm again. “Then what?”

  Instead of answering, he scooped my face in his hands and kissed me, if one could call it a kiss. His mouth barely touched mine, which made it that much more powerful. The soft pillows of his lips traced the seam of my mouth, seeking access as he gently nudged mine apart.

  At the feather-light contact, a sudden heaviness pulled at my chest. My arms began to tingle as if they had fallen asleep. The sensation soon reached my feet, and I couldn’t feel the floor under me.

  My eyes flew open and met an eerie purple abyss. His eyes were odd from afar, but seeing them up close scared the bejesus out of me. They possessed a soul of their own, a life that shouldn’t exist, an entity that shocked the eyes and confused the senses. It stared back at me, sending an electrical charge through my nervous system, a feeling that made my lower region ignite. Just as I thought I would pass out, Caleb pulled his lips away.

  Firm hands gripped my shoulders as he pressed his forehead against mine. Taking a deep breath, he whispered, “Tomorrow. Noon.”

  And with that, he walked away, leaving me to question the state of my sanity all on my own.

  5

  Mia stretched across my bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Let me see if I got this right,” she began. “That creepy guy at your job asked you out on a date?”

  “It’s not a date!” I yelled from the hidden vortex in my closet.

  “Okay. If it’s not a date, then why am I here, and why do you wanna borrow my top?”

  “Because I can’t fit into your jeans,” I replied.

  “You can wear my sweatpants; the ones with ‘Juicy’ on the back.”

  “Mia, there ain’t nothing juicy about what I got back there.” I looked over my shoulder toward my butt. “That would just be false advertisement.”

  Though I needed Mia’s keen fashion sense, I also needed her as a solid alibi. I had told Mom where I was going, but left out who was coming with me. Mom wouldn’t let me out the door without a thorough FBI background check on Caleb Baker. Then she would probably call Dad, and I wanted Caleb to live long enough to give me the music he had promised me. My parents’ non-dating rule derived from their error in judgment as teenagers, and they didn’t want to relive the sequel through their daughter.

  “Why does it smell like feet in here?” Mia asked with a wrinkled nose.

  “I was working out earlier.”

  She glanced at the DVDs on top of my television. “What’s the big deal about Tae Bo? It’s so old school. Why don’t you do the stripper workout? Dougie seems to appreciate my workout regimen very much.”

  “I bet.” I shuddered. “Unless I plan on working the pole after high school, that particular skill is not gonna benefit me. Besides, Tae Bo is way cheaper than a kickboxing class.”

  “You’re so strange, Sam.” Mia sprang up and dove into the suitcase she brought over that was armed for any fashion emergency. “Let’s see, something to wear ... oh, what about the capris?”

  I tossed a shirt over my shoulder. “Muffin top.”

  “The cutoffs?”

  “Wedgies.”

  “Well, damn. I don’t know what to do. You didn’t give me much notice here.”

  “It’s cool. I got a backup plan.” I went to the door. Mia was right on my heels on the short trip to Mom’s room.

  Clicking on the closet light, I surveyed the lay of the land. My eyes stopped at a pile of summer clothes in the back of the closet. On the top sat the infamous “skinny clothes” that Mom didn’t have the heart to toss out in case she stuck with her diet. Unfolding a pair of black jean shorts, I realized it was a lot of wishful thinking on her part. Mom still owned a great figure, but that dime piece had some rust on it.

  Turning to Mia, I presented two pairs of shorts. “Which ones—the red, or the white ones?”

  Leaning against the doorjamb, she scrutinized each item, assessing the style, the cut, and the age of the textile worker who wove the fabric. “The white ones. They make you look more ... virginal.”

  I moved to the dresser drawers. “Keep on with the jokes.”

  “I’m just saying. I think it’s cute that you have a crush. You know, it’s the summer of love.”

  “Blasphemy! You dare speak such guile under thy kinsmen’s roof.”

  “I love it when you get all medieval on me. That means I’ve hit a nerve.” Mia plopped on my mom’s bed. “So, what are you gonna do with your hair?”

  “You’re looking at it.”

  She grimaced. “How does it naturally stand up like that?”

  “Physics,” I answered, knowing exactly what she meant. As the sworn enemy of the hu
mid Virginian summer, my funky riot of curls would not be denied. Today, my hair was pulled back in a huge Sistah Soldier afro puff on the top of my head. A red and white streak on the right side stood out against jet-black curls, resembling the Bride of Frankenstein with a candy stripe.

  I slid on the white shorts, moved to the full-length mirror, and took inventory of the one known as Samara Nicole Marshall.

  Dad called me “baby girl” for a legitimate reason. I had a baby-doll face. A great deal of cheeks and forehead catered to small features bunched in the center with barely a chin to anchor it. My wide eyes were so dark they looked like two big pupils. There’s something to be said about biracial kids: they all have great skin, a rich caramel complexion that defies the gods of dermatology. I had to smile at that, my one crowning glory.

  Mia stepped beside me and struck a pose, her brown ponytail slapping me in the face. Right on cue, she cataloged her microscopic flaws: claiming to be the only Filipino in history who couldn’t tan, plotting to remove the light bump on the bridge of her nose, and debating whether to inject fat into her thin upper lip.

  She stood two inches taller than my five and a half feet, sporting a sleek, fat-free physique that I secretly envied. I looked down at my boyish figure, which carried all its weight in the midriff, leaving scrawny limbs swinging in the breeze. It could be just baby fat or the inability to put the fork down, but my Treasure Troll beer gut would not go away. These were not the enduring qualities of a hottie, but rather a starved orphan in need of a child sponsor.

  “So if you don’t like this guy, then why are you going to Europia Park with him?” Mia asked, combing her hair with her fingers.

  “He said he knew what happened to that girl in the parking lot, and it’s a free ticket.”

  “You think he was involved? Maybe he’s a drug dealer and he gave her some bad stuff.”

  “I don’t think it’s that. There’s something odd about him.”

  Mia’s look was incredulous. “And you wanna go off with him? Good thinking, Sam.”

  “That’s why you’re here. I need you to come with me.”