Things settle down, and Lori, Cracker, and Ronnie return to the back room.
I look out the window and see Tonya and her friends drive off in what looks like a brand-new car. Natice peers over my shoulder.
“Who are they?” I ask.
“Locust Park.”
“What’s their deal?”
“They’re in the wrong neighborhood, and they ain’t lost,” Natice says before walking away.
I stand at the window, wondering if Detective Thoms could be wrong. What if it wasn’t Lori or Cracker who shot Jenny? What if it was another group of girls?
The next night is my only night off from the pizzeria, and I’m lying on my bed staring at a shirtless Channing Tatum dancing on screen. I’ve started leaving the TV on even when I’m not here because I never want to walk into my room and have it be silent. Right now, I’m trying to focus on Channing so as to drown out the noise in my head. It’s a daily, if not a minute-by-minute battle, fighting what goes on between my ears. And what I tell myself is never kind. I’m usually defenseless against the first thought. I don’t even know it’s there, but then I’m fanning the flames, encouraging other unkind thoughts. By the time I’m done, I’m drowning in a cesspool of feelings that usually bring me to one last remaining thought—if I kill myself, all this pain would end.
I change the channel on Channing, and after clicking through several other TV shows that make me yawn, I chuck the remote onto the pillow and pop off the bed. “Fuck it.” I grab my car keys, stuff my iPhone in my jeans, and head out the door. Ten minutes later, I’m doing a drive-by of Lori’s house. It’s not the brightest idea now that Lori knows what I look like. How the hell would I explain sitting in my car, stalking her house? I was just driving past, and my car died. Yeah, that’ll work. Despite my brainlessness, I loop Lori’s block and find a new spot to stalk.
Mark’s Mustang is parked in the driveway, and about twenty minutes later, he comes out of the house with the same blonde I saw him with a few days earlier. The two climb into his Mustang and drive off. Not too long after that, I hear a blast of loud music as Ronnie and Cracker show up in the Jesus-mobile to pick up Lori.
Ronnie honks the horn several times before Lori finally emerges from the house. She climbs into the car, and they drive off, leaving behind a wake of loud music. Ronnie drives like a maniac, and I almost lose sight of them until the last second when I catch the Jesus-mobile pulling into a liquor store. I circle around the block, and when I come back, I see Lori and Cracker go in the store, while Ronnie remains in the car. I wait to see if a cop will show up, or anyone else for that matter. But no one does. Clearly, they are not being watched closely by Detective Thoms. They’re all underage.
I pull up alongside Ronnie’s car, and when I step out of the Olds, she’s too busy texting to see me enter the store. A bell on the door rings, and an older white man looks up from his newspaper. His bloodshot eyes stare after me as I pass the counter.
“Just pick something!” I hear Cracker say as I turn down the first aisle. She and Lori are facing an open refrigerator, trying to decide what type of beer to get. Inside are the forty-ounce bottles of beers I’ve never seen before, like Country Club, Olde English 800, Wildcat, King Cobra, and Hurricane.
Cracker sees me and immediately stops what she is doing. “What the hell, Cheerleader? You following us?”
Lori turns and stares at me as if it is true.
My face turns red. Play it cool, I tell myself. They have no idea who you are. “Yeah, Cracker, I am. I was hoping you and I could share a Bud Light together.” I keep walking.
“Shit. I bet you do. Bitch, Diet Coke’s over there!” Cracker yells after me. Lori laughs, and they return to arguing over what to get.
I walk to the end of the aisle where the soda is, feeling stupid. What did I think I was going to accomplish by coming in here? Just then, I notice a man in his fifties, thinning hair, eyeglasses, tall and lanky, and looking like a total pedophile, in a button-down shirt and dirty dress pants. Something about the way he is eye-raping Lori and Cracker bothers me. Lori catches it too.
“What the hell you looking at?” Lori says to the man.
“Just admiring you ladies.”
“Ladies? What the fuck is with everyone sayin’ ladies?” Cracker says.
“Well, stop staring. You creepin’ me out,” Lori says.
Lori and Cracker open the fridge and pull out two large Country Club bottles.
“You need help buying that?” The man walks closer to them.
“You a cop?” Lori responds.
“No.”
“Then fuck off.”
“What’s your name?” He smiles, unfazed. And I wonder if he’s mental.
“Lollita Bollita Senorita,” Cracker says in an oddly accented voice.
The man’s eyes explore Lori’s body. “Do you like to party?”
Lori stops as if she has heard him wrong. “What’d you say?”
“How much?” He pulls out a wallet.
Lori takes her hand off the bottle she is holding and faces him. “Do I look like a fucking whore to you?”
The man takes a step back. “Sorry. My mistake.”
He’s about to walk away when Cracker snatches the wallet from his hand.
“Hey! Gimme that!” The man reaches for his wallet.
Cracker stuffs it down into her bra. “Nah. Mine now.”
Lori and Cracker laugh and turn to leave.
The man reaches out and grabs Cracker’s arm with his bony hand. “Where you going?”
“Get the fuck off me!” Cracker yells.
It all happens in seconds.
Cracker smashes the bottle she is holding across the back of the man’s head. The bottle shatters on the ground. Glass and malt liquor spill across the aisle. The man stumbles forward and hits the floor on both knees. He doesn’t completely fall over until Lori kicks him in the face. His glasses go skidding across the floor, and the man lands hard on his side, trapped against a shelf. Lori and Cracker kick him mercilessly. I hear the thumps of their shoes against his face and body. The man pathetically holds up his hands, but it does little to help. Blood pours from his nose.
“Get out! Get out of the store! I’ll call the police!” the clerk yells. He picks up the phone to dial, but he doesn’t do anything with it except hold it in his hand.
Finally, Cracker gives the man one last vicious kick between his legs before walking away with Lori, who stops in front of me, breathing heavily. “You didn’t see nothing. Right, Cheerleader?”
I hold Lori’s crazed stare and simply nod, too scared to speak.
“Get out!” the clerk yells.
Lori walks away from me and drops money on the counter. “You didn’t see nothin’. Right?” She holds the clerk’s stare, and something tells me he knows full well who she is. I look around and don’t see any cameras.
He pushes the money aside. “Get out!”
“Sorry about the mess!” Cracker laughs as Lori hustles her out of the store.
I walk over to the man, who is now balled up on the floor, clutching his groin. There’s a gash on his forehead, and his face is full of blood. I stare down at the man, and my heart aches for him, but then I also think he asked for this, treating them like whores. I step closer, and his eyes plead for help. I reach over his body and pick up something that’s wedged under the shelf.
The clerk stares after me, expressionlessly, as I leave the store with the man’s wallet in my hand.
Chapter 22
The pizzeria is empty except for Cracker and Ronnie, who play the basketball toss game, and Lori, who sits at her usual back table with Vince and another friend of his, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. It’s pouring rain outside, and only a handful of kids have come in tonight.
Pop has a few rules, and one is no drinking. He doesn’t c
arry a liquor license, so if he gets caught with alcohol in the pizzeria, it can cost him a fine. But Pop allows it for Vince.
Pop even comes out from the kitchen to say hello.
“Pop, what’s goin’ on?” Vince smiles.
“I got a large pie for you.” Pop slaps Vince on the back like a son.
“The Towering Inferno?” Vince tugs at his stubbled jaw with his tattooed hand and leans deep into his seat, legs stretched out in front of him.
“What else? No one eats that ass-burning shit but you.”
“A’right.” Vince brings his hands together in a heavy clap.
Lori and Vince’s friend laugh. The Towering Inferno has five different types of cheese with three types of jalapenos.
“Everything good? You need anything?” Vince asks.
“I need to win the goddamn lottery,” Pop growls as he wanders back to the kitchen.
Unlike the other stores in the area that have been robbed or vandalized, Pop’s Pizza never is, mainly because of Vince. As Natice puts it, “People know if they fuck with Pop, they fuckin’ with Vince. And nobody fucks with Vince.”
Everyone is afraid of Vince, including me. But Vince looks after Pop as if the man was his own father, and in return Pop, who is only really nice to Vince, protects Vince from the police. The cops routinely stop in and ask questions about Vince, and Pop blatantly lies, saying he hasn’t seen Vince in weeks. Then he’ll offer the cops free pizza and soda.
The need for a bathroom always becomes very urgent every time a cop car pulls up in front of the shop because I always expect Detective Thoms to walk through the door. But so far, he’s yet to appear.
Vince stamps out his cigarette in a plate, kisses Lori goodbye, and walks off with his friend, leaving Lori alone to chain-smoke.
“Pop, thanks for the Towering Inferno!” Vince yells, picking up a large boxed pie off the front counter, then heads out into the pouring rain.
Lori is still sitting at the table when I go over and clear off the empty beer bottles. I feel her eyes on me the entire time, and being so close to her makes my skin crawl. I keep waiting for her to say something about the liquor store beating, but she doesn’t. Neither she nor Cracker has said a word to me since they entered the pizzeria. Cracker went straight to the basketball toss game and hasn’t left it since.
“You suck. You suck. You suck,” Ronnie says, heckling Cracker as she plays.
“Go away! You’re so annoying!” Cracker shoves Ronnie.
Ronnie laughs, finishing off her fourth slice of pizza and tossing the crust onto a nearby plate. I walk past and head to the bathroom to wash my hands. I don’t bother to close the door, and I’m only in there a minute when I hear a familiar voice.
“Cracker-barrel, you and me, girl! I got next game.”
I peek out from behind the door, and walking in, soaking wet from the rain, is Mark Silva.
“All right, you wanna go first?” Cracker’s face softens, and her voice sounds feminine for the very first time.
“Nah. You got it, girl.”
“You wanna go first?” Ronnie mocks Cracker’s feminine voice.
“Shut up!” Cracker’s entire face burns beet red.
It’s also the first time I see Cracker look embarrassed.
Mark wipes the wetness out of his hair and acknowledges his sister with a nod.
“What up, sis?” His rain-soaked T-shirt sticks to his body, showing off his well-muscled chest.
“What up, Romeo?” Lori says.
Mark smiles and heads straight to the bathroom. I prepare to act surprised, but Mark beats me to it. “Hey!” He stops at the sight of me. His dimples deepen high into his cheeks. Then he notices my red Pop’s Pizza T-shirt. “You work here?”
“Yeah. I begged Pop to hire me.” I tell the truth for the first time.
“Yo, that’s crazy.” He laughs. “So what happened to you? You never came back.”
“I got busy,” I say with a bit of flirtation.
“Oh really? You got busy?”
“Yeah. I got a job.”
“Yes, you did. Pop’s got taste,” he says.
“Mark, you playing or what?” Cracker yells, her hateful tone returning.
“Hold on.” Mark says without taking his eyes off me. “It’s Ally Walker, right?”
“You remembered? Surprise.” I smile.
He laughs again. “That’s right! I told ya, I don’t ask every girl for her number. So how long you been workin’ here?”
I don’t get the chance to respond.
“Mark, don’t be messing with Cheerleader. Bitch has work to do.” Cracker flings Ronnie’s plate of crusts onto the floor. “Come on, Cheerleader. Clean it up!”
“Dammit, Cracker. I was gonna eat those!” Ronnie stares down at the crusts like a sad kindergartner.
I knew it was only a matter of time before Cracker picked a fight with me. Why the hell did I have to flirt with Mark Silva right in front of her?
“Do it, Cheerleader! Now!”
“C’mon, Cracker. Don’t be such a punk,” Mark says.
“Shut up, Mark! You fuckin’ pussy!” she yells.
“Sorry, I’m on break,” I say.
Cracker drops the basketball and heads right toward me. “What’d you say?” She gets in my face.
Her hot breath reeks of booze, and even though she is several inches shorter than me, she is downright scary. Her psychotic stare makes my mother’s crazed look seem tame in comparison, and I won’t have to worry about my fucked-up orange hair anymore because she’ll probably tear it out in clumps. Then I see her fingernails—long and dirty. I can already feel the damage they’ll do across my face.
“Cracker, c’mon, be nice.” Mark places a hand on her arm.
Cracker shoves it away. “Well, what you got to say?”
“I’m not fighting you. If I fight, I’m fired. No thanks.”
“Oh, Cheerleader’s scared.” Cracker smirks and becomes even uglier.
“Fuck’s goin’ on?” Natice shows up from having been down in the basement. “Cheerleader’s gonna do a split!” Ronnie says.
She and Natice still have their bet going on when I’ll quit. So far, I’ve lasted longer than either of them expected.
“Go clean my shit up. I ain’t playin’ with you!” Cracker shoves me.
My heart does summersaults. I really wish Pop would come out from the kitchen. If I pick up Cracker’s trash, I’m her bitch, and she’ll never leave me alone. And if I don’t, we’re going to get into it. Neither appeals to me. I see Ronnie juggling the ball, waiting to see what I will do.
“Fine. You wanna play a game. Let’s play.” I walk past Cracker and stop in front of Ronnie.
“What up, Cheerleader?” Ronnie asks.
I grab the ball from Ronnie’s hands and face Cracker, who hasn’t moved. “Fifty bucks I beat your ass in a game. If I win by ten, you also pick up the trash. And clean the shitter.”
“Oh no she didn’t!” Ronnie yells.
“Oh yes she did!” Natice slaps Ronnie’s hand.
“You scared?” I cradle the ball.
“Nah. Cracker’s too cheap,” Natice says.
Lori looks amused but doesn’t say a word. She takes a drag off her cigarette and waits to see what Cracker will do.
“C’mon, Cracker-barrel! Put your money where your mouth is!” Mark chimes in.
“Shit, I’ll take her money.” Cracker walks up to me.
“You wanna go first?”
“Drop the quarters, Cheerleader. You’re gonna pay twice.”
“A’right. It’s on.” I pull four quarters from my jeans and drop them into the machine. “You’re up. Light it up if you can.” I step aside, and Cracker takes the ball from my hands.
“Shit. You better have the fifty,” Crac
ker threatens.
“I have it, but I won’t need it.”
“Oooo, I like Cheerleader!” Ronnie says.
Mark moves to my side, and we watch together. Cracker hits the red button and starts out strong, sinking three perfect shots in a row before she begins to miss and words like “whore,” “bitch,” and “cunt” fly out of her mouth. By the time Cracker’s turn ends, she has a total of fifty-five points. It’s a decent score but beatable.
“Wanna make it a hundred?” I step up to the machine.
“Hell yeah,” Cracker responds.
“Fire down below, you ain’t got no hundred,” Natice says.
“Call me that again, Natice, and see what happens!”
Natice strikes a pose. “Well, it’s true, ain’t it?”
Ronnie nods her head in confirmation. “Ten bucks on Cheerleader!” she yells.
Cracker shoves her. “Ho.”
I step up, hit the start button, and the scoreboard rises.
“Go, Cheerleader! Go, Cheerleader!” Ronnie sings, dancing alongside Natice.
I drop in one ball after the next. I miss the last two throws, but I crush with sixty-eight points.
“Ooooo. You got showed up, Cracker!” Natice howls.
“You owe me a hundred,” I say.
“Fuck you,” Cracker replies.
“That’ll cost more,” I answer. It’s followed by laughter.
“You want your money, come collect.” Cracker says.
I knew if I won Cracker would never pay me. I dig a wallet out of my back pocket and toss it at Cracker. She snatches it from the air, knowing at once where it came from.
“Where’d you get this?” Cracker says.
“You left it behind. It dropped out of your bra.”
“That’s cause she got itty-bitty titties. Shit just drops straight down,” Ronnie jokes.
Cracker opens the wallet. “It’s empty?”
“No shit. There was a hundred in there. Now we’re even.”
“Oh snap, crackle, pop!” Natice says.
“Cheerleader is wacked!” Ronnie laughs.
Cracker chucks the wallet onto the floor.
Girl on Point Page 11