“Cracker, bathroom’s waiting. Go to it. Quick, quick, girl.” Natice snaps her fingers.
“I ain’t cleanin’ up nothin’!” Cracker says.
“Pick it up, Cracker!” Lori rises from the back table and heads toward us. Cracker stands there, not moving. “All of it. You lost. Do it.” She holds Cracker’s eyes, demanding her to collect the pizza crusts off the ground.
“Why? Ronnie’ll jus’ eat ‘em later,” Cracker says.
“No, I won’t. I ain’t hungry no more,” Ronnie answers.
“That’s a first,” Cracker says then begrudgingly picks up the trash and dumps it in a nearby garbage can.
“Bathroom’s waiting, Cracker,” Natice says.
“Fuck you.” Cracker jabs a middle finger at Natice.
Cracker doesn’t clean the bathroom, but I don’t care. I’m just happy to have avoided a fight with her.
I write my number on a napkin and hand it to Mark. “Call me.”
“Old school.” He smiles and tucks it into his jeans.
“So do you have a girlfriend?”
“Why you wanna know?”
“‘Cause I don’t date other girls’ boyfriends, especially in Jersey. It could get my ass kicked.”
He laughs. “That’s true.”
“So? Is there anyone else?”
“Nope. Nobody.”
I hold Mark’s stare and instantly think about the blonde I saw exiting his house. Mark has just lied to me. And he did it easily. “Great.” I smile.
Later, I drive Natice home and tell her my version of what happened in the liquor store.
Natice shakes her head, picturing the beating. “Shit, the last thing you wanna do is call Lori a whore.”
“Yeah, it was pretty brutal. Cracker kicked the guy in the nuts.”
“Shit.” Natice grits her teeth.
We both laugh, even though, at the time, it was anything but funny.
“Poor bastard.” Natice smiles, then she looks over at me, impressed. “That was a hella cool move, though, giving Cracker an empty wallet.”
“If she wasn’t such a twat, I would’ve given her the money.”
Natice laughs. But the truth is, there was never any money in the wallet, not even a driver’s license. The wallet was stuffed with coupons.
“It’s kinda crazy, though, you being in that same store when it happened,” Natice says.
“I was jus’ looking to buy beer,” I say casually.
Natice nods, tapping her hands on her thighs. Then she side-eyes me, and in a voice that sounds oddly suspicious asks, “Why didn’t you go to the store across from the Shell?”
Her question stops me. Why is Natice asking me this? And how does she even know there is a liquor store across from my motel? I grow paranoid, thinking Natice knows I’ve been following them this entire time. “I tried going into that store a few times, but they carded me. I just happened to find the one Lori was in. Lucky for me. Not so lucky for that guy,” I say nervously.
Natice takes in my answer, and it’s hard to tell what she is thinking. “Shit. Tha’s for sure. We know he won’t be going in there again.”
I smile. “Not unless he’s stupid.” I pull into Natice’s driveway, ready for her to be out of my car and for the questions to come to an end. “A’right, see ya later.”
“Hold on, girl. Geez, what’s the rush?”
“I gotta pee.” I bounce in my seat as if I really do need a bathroom.
“Whaddya doin’ Sunday morning?” Natice says, not looking the least bit in a hurry.
“Nothing, why?” I say in a rushed voice.
“You wanna play basketball with us?”
I stop fidgeting, and my body comes to an immediate halt. I don’t have to think twice about it. “Yeah, sure,” I say in a high-pitched voice, startled by my own excitement.
“A’right, cool.” Natice drum rolls on her thighs. “We play every other Sunday down at these courts on the other side of town. It’s run by the city as a way to give back to the community, which is bullshit, since all those mothafuckers are crooked. But whatever. They pay for officials. Water. It gets a pretty good turnout. It’s rough, so you can’t be fragile.”
“Do I look fragile?” I say.
“No. So you in?”
“I’m in!”
“Well, a’right. You can pick my sexy ass up at eleven.” Natice holds up the palm of her right hand, and I give it a high-five.
“You got it, Fathead.”
Natice wags her head and reaches for the door handle. “You’re funny. You know that, Ally?”
I stare after Natice, thinking I genuinely like her. Then I quickly remind myself she’s friends with Lori and Cracker, and she’s their alibi. So whatever happened to Jenny, she’s equally guilty. Then I think about what I agreed to do—play basketball.
I realize I haven’t played since Jenny’s death.
Chapter 23
It’s a sunny day, but not nearly as hot as it has been, when Natice and I arrive at the park. There are two basketball courts side by side, separated by graffiti-covered bleachers and surrounded by trees and rotted grass. A young crowd, mostly female, is gathered in the bleachers, watching a serious game of men’s hoops that is already in progress on one court. I watch as a monstrous man impressively grabs a rebound and dunks it. A group of girls scream, and the bleachers ring with excitement.
Natice leads me toward Lori and Cracker at the end of the second court. Along the way, we spot Ronnie making a quick exchange with a kid who barely looks fifteen years old. The kid pockets a small bag, and in return, Ronnie strolls off with his money. But what is interesting about the exchange is that Ronnie is holding the little girl from her profile picture in her arms.
“Ronnie got knocked up by some dope-head friend of Vince’s,” Natice says. “But that baby is adorable.”
We are halfway down the court when a skinny teenage boy with curly hair runs up to Natice. He wears a dirty tank top, and I can see his bones under his skin.
“Yo, Natty! My girl, Natice Gentry.”
“Sweetie, I have no money for you,” Natice says as we keep walking.
“Oh, come on, baby. Where’s the love? Gimme some love today. You know you my favorite diamond. And diamonds are a man’s best friend!” He laughs. He is cracked out, and his teeth are slightly yellowed. He turns to me. “What about you? Hey, pretty girl, what’s your name? What about you?”
Natice introduces him. “This is Glendon. And don’t give him any money.”
“Ah, dogged! Baby, where is the love? You harsh today. Very harsh, my beautiful black diamond.”
I stare at the boy’s face, thinking I know him from somewhere. I assume it’s from the pizzeria or maybe from one of Ronnie’s posts. Until he says, “Yo, Natty, when you gonna be my girlfriend? When you gonna go out with me?” Then it hits me—he’s the boy from the East Cantor basketball game, the one who fell off the bleachers and whose friend yelled out to me, “Number 15, my boy wants to go out with you!”
“Yo, pretty brown-eyed girl, what’s your name?” Glendon stares right at me.
Without even looking, I pull money from my pocket. “Here. Happy Birthday.”
It’s a five-dollar bill, and he snatches it greedily. “I’ll be your boyfriend for ten! It’s a one-time offer!” He laughs then runs away, happy.
“Why the hell you give him money?” Natice asks.
“Dude, he stunk. I wanted him to leave,” I say, heart pounding.
Natice laughs. “Yeah, he does smell. But, uh, hate to tell you, giving Glendon money has the opposite effect on him. Now his stank ass is always gonna be buggin’ you.”
“Great.” I follow after Natice with the weight of a thousand stares bearing down on my back. Each step I take is like walking on very thin ice. What if someone else
from the East Cantor game is here? What if that brute or her sister is watching? I swallow hard, thinking any second this ice is going to crack, and I’m going to plummet into an icy cold death. Once again, I have to remind myself how drastically different I look with blond hair. But still, what if someone recognizes my face? I search the crowds for anyone who might be staring at me with recognition. I tell myself if the brute or her sister is here, what could they possibly do or say? “Hey, that’s that dead girl’s sister!” “The one who was shot and murdered!” “The one from Middletown!” They may not even know a girl from our team was shot that night or that she was my sister. And if they did start to think it was me out here playing basketball, they’d probably think themselves crazy for it. I mean, why would I be in Cantor?
“What the fuck is she doin’ here?” Cracker greets me with her usual charm.
“Shut up, Cracker! I told Natty to bring her.” Lori smacks Cracker on the back of her head.
“Oww! What the fuck?”
Natice laughs. “Girl, you should just keep your mouth shut.”
“Fuck you, Natty.” Cracker walks away, holding her head.
“You ready to play?” Lori asks me.
“Hell yeah, she’s ready.” Natice slings her arm around me.
“I haven’t played in a while,” I say nervously.
Lori looks at me as if I have lied to her. “You shoot like you have.”
“I was lucky.”
“Get lucky today, Cheerleader. We play for money.”
A moment later, Ronnie arrives, lugging her daughter, who sucks on a princess pacifier in her mouth.
“Look how you’re holding her. Gimme Keisha.” Natice takes the child from Ronnie. “How you doing, baby girl?” Natice playfully bounces Keisha in her arms. Keisha smiles at Natice, and the pacifier drops out of her mouth. Ronnie picks it up and begins playing a game of peekaboo with her.
“Boo!” Ronnie says. “Boo!”
Keisha smiles and giggles. It’s an odd juxtaposition: two gang members playing a game of peekaboo with a child.
A whistle sounds. “Five minutes!” a ref yells.
“Everyone, come here! Listen up!” Lori waves us closer together. I join the girls, stealing another paranoid glance at the bleachers. I don’t see anyone I recognize, except for Vince, manspreading amongst his usual crew, who prepare to get day hazed as they light up a fat joint. His presence unnerves me, but it always does.
“A’right, this is how we’re gonna play,” Lori says. “I got center. Natice and Cracker are guards. Ronnie, you’re forward. Cheerleader’s gonna take point. Hands in! Hands in!” Lori places her hand in first.
We movie into a huddle and drop our hands on top of one another in a pile. Each hand has the same small black diamond tattoo. Except for mine. I think any second, these girls are going to realize who I am.
“On three, we yell ‘diamonds,’ bitches,” Lori says. “One, two, three…”
I catch Cracker staring at me. I hold her eyes as we yell… “Diamonds!”
A group of five other girls from a neighboring town square off next to us. As I walk onto the court, I clear my throat and try to ignore my nausea. I stop and stretch, holding onto my calves, mainly to catch my breath. My eyes land on a scuff mark on the top of my white high-top sneakers. I take in a long breath of air then stand, and before I can give it any more thought, a whistle sounds. Natice dishes the ball into me and heads down court. I look into the crowd and see Glendon watching me. I dribble with a weak hand, and the ball is quickly stolen out from under me. My opponent, a small black girl, blows past me and easily scores on a layup. I catch the ball as it drops from the net.
“What the fuck, Cheerleader?” Cracker yells.
I look into the crowd, and once more, Glendon’s eyes are fixed solely on me. I carry the ball up-court, wishing I had never agreed to play. I’m jacked up on fear and rush getting rid of the ball, making a flimsy pass to Natice, and the same girl who picked it off before does it again and scores for a second time in a row. The opposing girls celebrate as we move back into an offensive position.
Cracker chucks the ball at me, hard. “Try not to give it away!”
I dribble nervously and try to focus. Natice works to get free. My mind is all screwed up. I am out of breath and out of shape. Ronnie has just gotten herself open. She is surprisingly quick for a big girl. I fire the ball down to her. She jumps and dumps in two points.
“Finally!” Cracker high-fives Ronnie.
I move back on defense, and Natice slaps my ass. “Nice job, Cheerleader.”
Glendon’s attention, thankfully, is no longer on me or the game. His skin and bones shuffle down the bleachers toward the street, most likely to score his next high. My paranoia temporarily subsides.
On the next drive, I go in hard for a layup and score. In time, I slowly ease back into the game I used to love. Natice and I work together as if we’ve played for years. I block for Lori, forgetting she may have killed my sister. I pass the ball to Cracker, forgetting that I hate her.
At the break, we are winning by ten. Lori offers me water and congratulates my play. And just like that, I’m a part of their crew. I’m included. I have deceived everyone, including myself.
I make a point not too score too much during the game. I don’t want to bring attention to myself. I feed the ball to Cracker as much as I can, hoping she’ll ease up on me and that it might even make her my friend. As the game wears on, a succession of great plays unfolds. My mind grows silent, and for the next thirty minutes, I remember why I love this game so much.
Chapter 24
After the game, I drive Natice back to Lori’s house to celebrate our win. The maroon Toyota Camry is already in the driveway when we arrive. I park in the street and kill the engine. I stare at Lori Silva’s house as I have so many other times before. But this time, I am about to enter. Invited.
“Are her parents home?” I ask Natice as we step out of the car together. I already know, thanks to the case folder, that Lori doesn’t have a father, and on the night of the shooting, her mother was in jail. But I have no idea where her mother is anymore. I’ve yet to see the woman.
“Lori don’t have a dad. And her mother’s never home.”
“A house to herself. Nice. So what’s her mom like?”
Natice shakes her head. “Drug addict. A fuckin’ mess. She never should’a had kids. Aborted at least four babies. And those are only the ones Lori knows about.”
“Fuck.” I’m honestly blown away.
“Yeah, you can say that. Vince basically pays for everything. Otherwise, this house would be gone.” We reach the front door, and Natice turns to me. “But look, don’t mention it. Lori’s kinda sensitive ‘bout it.”
“Yeah, no worries. It’s not exactly a conversation starter.”
“Just don’t forget.” Natice opens the unlocked front door, and I follow after her. My entire body tenses up the moment I step inside Lori Silva’s home.
The best way to describe Lori’s home, if you can even call it that, would be to say it looks like a fraternity house, or what I imagine a college frat house looks like. It’s dark and depressing. Tattered drapes barely let in any light. I stay close to Natice like a shadow. The carpet is so gross I’d probably catch a disease just by lying on it. There are at least three holes punched into the walls. Natice flicks her painted fingernail at a cardboard skeleton that’s missing part of its leg. It hangs as a decoration tacked to a closed door. “In case you haven’t noticed, Halloween is twelve months outta the year around here.”
We walk past a sectional sofa that faces the only nice thing in the room: a large plasma TV. In front of the sofa is a glass table that seems to collect rings from soda cans. Several Diet Coke cans litter the grimy surface. On the floor is a small white bowl that overflows with cigarette butts and ashes.
Natice hea
ds to the kitchen, and I’m right at her hip. The kitchen is small and cramped and as run-down as the living room, but thanks to a few open windows, there’s a lot more sunlight, making it slightly less depressing.
Cracker sits at a table, stuffing Cracker Jacks into her mouth and arguing with Ronnie about how many points she scored.
“You had twelve, Cracker.” Ronnie holds Keisha like a rag doll as she rummages for food. There are dirty dishes stacked in the sink, and the refrigerator is covered in grease stains. Lori’s home couldn’t be more different from mine. I suddenly appreciate my mom.
“I had sixteen! You can’t count!” Cracker tells her.
“Yo, Lori, you ever clean this shit hole?” Natice says.
Lori cracks open a forty-ounce bottle and hands it to Natice. “The maid comes next week,” Lori says sarcastically then pulls another large bottle from the refrigerator and hands it to me. “Drink up, Cheerleader.”
It’s a Colt 45, a brand of malt liquor I’ve never seen before. “Sweet.” I take a huge gulp and hope the effects hit me quickly. Despite Lori’s friendliness, I’m far from relaxed being in her home. On court was different, but now, standing beside Lori in her own kitchen and knowing why I am here—to send these girls to prison for the murder of my sister—every nerve in my body is as sharp as a razor’s edge. I take another sip of my beer and try to at least appear normal.
“Ronnie, gimme that child,” Natice says. “She ain’t some rag doll.”
Ronnie hands Keisha off, and Natice sits down in a chair and tickles Keisha’s toes. “Mmmm. This is what I wanna eat!”
Keisha giggles. I stare at her blissfully innocent face, and it helps to calm me down. She really is a cute kid.
Ronnie opens a cabinet and looks inside. “Damn, Lori, there’s never shit to eat in this house.” She slams the door closed and heads to the refrigerator.
The front door opens, and Mark swaggers into the living room, tossing a magazine down on the grimy table.
“Watcha doin’, Romeo? Come have a drink with us!” Natice bounces Keisha on her lap.
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