“I don’t give a shit!” Cracker responds.
“I tell you what. If I ever get the chance, I will,” Lori says.
No one says a word after that.
I walk toward the front and see Detective Thoms and Moreno still in the parking lot, arguing. Thoms points to the pizzeria, yells something to Moreno, and disappears behind the wheel. Moreno takes a few seconds to cool off before getting inside the car. His door is barely closed when Thoms speeds off.
I walk away from the window and look back at the girls. Cracker and Ronnie have moved on to the basketball toss game. Natice is in the bathroom, and Lori sits at her back table alone. She looks up and catches me staring at her.
I feel something for Lori that surprises me—compassion.
Chapter 38
“You’re gonna shoot a fuckin’ cop now?” I can’t get Natice’s words out of my head. I suspect that she meant Cracker has shot someone before and that now she wants to shoot a cop. My guess is the before is my sister or the store clerk, and my goal today is to find that out as I watch Rocky with Mark.
We’re lying on his bed, eating Ben & Jerry’s ice cream straight from the containers. Mark has his favorite—cookie dough—and for me, of course, he remembered my favorite: chocolate fudge brownie. On screen, Rocky is ice-skating with Adrian while Mark tells me how Rocky got made. He says that Stallone was a struggling actor and had maybe two hundred dollars to his name when he wrote Rocky.
“A movie studio wanted to buy it for a hundred thousand dollars, but Stallone wouldn’t sell the script. The only way he would let the studio buy it was if he got to play Rocky. They said yes, and Rocky and Sylvester Stallone were born. Stallone didn’t quit on his dream.”
“What’s your dream?”
“I’m gonna produce music. For a year, I’ve been hounding companies in New York and Philly, tryin’ to get a job. I’ve been stalking ‘em.”
“Sweet.” I say, genuinely impressed. I toast his spoon with mine, and it makes a small clinking sound.
“Yeah. Most sent we’re-not-hiring bullshit emails, but then outta nowhere, I got a call from this label in Philly that said I could do an internship.”
“Look at you. That’s badass.”
“Yeah, they almost didn’t give it to me ‘cause I’m not in college. But I kept hounding ‘em. ‘Please, I’ll do anything. I’ll sweep the floors!’ Yo, it paid off. I start in September.” His face lights up. “I can’t wait! I’ll be working forty hours a week for free. But I don’t care. I’d pay them to let me work there!”
“I expect free music.”
“Yo, absolutely.”
Inside, however, I know by the time Mark starts that job, he and I will no longer be friends. For all I know, he may go to prison along with Lori if it turns out he withheld information about her involvement in Jenny’s murder.
“What’s wrong?” He catches the sadness in my eyes.
“Nothing.” I think about how different Mark is from his sister. I’m grateful Lori is at Vince’s for the night. I wouldn’t have felt comfortable in the house if she were home, even with our newfound phony friendship.
“Come here.”
“No,” I say, well aware of what he wants from me.
“Fine, I’ll come to you.” Mark moves in for a kiss, but I turn my head to the side. He makes a second attempt, and I roll over on top of him, pinning his arms to the bed.
“Yo, I’m gonna call you Rocky.”
“Whatever, Adrian.” I look down at him.
“That’s right. I’m a lover, not a fighter.” He laughs.
“So tell me something about you that I don’t know, other than you’re sensitive.”
Mark smiles. “I watch soap operas.”
“Soap operas?”
“Yup.”
“Which one?”
“Days of Our Lives.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Yo, it’s pretty good, Ally. You should check it out.”
“Okay. What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? The worst lie you’ve ever told?”
Mark gives this question plenty of thought. “I could tell ya, but I gotta get somethin’ in return.”
“Name it.”
“One kiss.”
“Just one?”
“You’ll want more.”
“Oh really?”
I lean down, and our lips meet. Mark’s are soft and gentle, unlike kissing Jay, whose make-out sessions always left my mouth feeling scratched and raw. We kiss for a while before Mark smiles up at me.
“I like you,” he says.
“Me too.” It’s not exactly a lie.
“C’mon, Rocky.” Mark pulls me back down beside him. He slips his arm around me, and we go back to the movie.
Unfortunately, Mark never answers my question, and I fall asleep right after Rocky climbs the steps in Philadelphia.
I wake up to something cold and hard pressing against my forehead. I open my eyes to see Cracker standing above me, holding a gun to my forehead. She pushes the barrel deeper into my skin. I feel the blood drain from my face, and I think of my parents now with two dead daughters. I’ve wanted to die so many times before, but not at the hands of Cracker. Will my body be found? Will my parents wonder what I was doing when they discover I never went to camp? What will they think? I want to tell my father how much I love him. I want my mother to know I forgive her for the awful things she said to me in Jenny’s bedroom, something she never apologized for. “Please don’t…” is all I can think to say to Cracker. But the words don’t come out. I think for sure I am dead.
Then Cracker smirks, and it becomes obvious that this sick bitch was fucking with me. She lowers the gun. “Lori wants to see you outside.”
It takes me a moment before I’m able to breathe and crawl out from under Mark’s arm. I sit up with the shakiness of a car crash survivor, heart thumping, short of breath. “What for?” I finally say.
“Come find out. And don’t wake your boyfriend.”
I look down at Mark as he sleeps, and my gut nudges me to wake him, but I leave him alone and rise unsteadily to my feet. I slip into my shoes, grasping onto the chair for balance.
“Go. Move.” Cracker motions me with the gun to walk ahead of her.
“Do you mind putting that away?”
“Just fucking walk.” Cracker lowers her arm.
Mark stirs but remains asleep as I leave his bedroom. Cracker follows closely behind me, gun in hand. I steady myself against the wall, placing one foot in front of the other on the carpet. The house is eerily quiet. I can barely see what’s in front of me as I walk down the stairs, through the dark living room, and into the kitchen, where the back door has been left open.
“So what is it?” I ask.
“You’ll see,” Cracker says.
I step outside, and waiting for me are Lori, Natice, and Ronnie. Nobody says a word.
“What’s up?”
Lori walks over to me and puts her arm around my shoulder like a good friend. “C’mon, Ally. Let’s go for a walk.”
A flashlight clicks on, and Natice steps ahead of us, leading the way toward the abandoned schoolyard. Ronnie moves to the opposite side of me, and Cracker continues to follow from behind. I am blocked in by all four of them.
“We got a problem,” Lori says. “The problem is you ain’t one of us.”
It only takes me a second to realize Lori knows exactly who I am and that I made a big mistake by not waking Mark. But if I had woken Mark, would he have done anything?
I follow Natice’s every step, wondering what she is thinking, and as I’m about to make a run for it, Lori stops me.
“So whaddya say, Ally? You wanna get your ass jumped in?”
I hold her stare, and I see the faintest smile emerge. Then I look at Natice and Ron
nie; they’re smiling too.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Something we’re bringing back, just for you,” Cracker says, excited for whatever is to come.
“C’mon, Cheerleader! Say yes!” Ronnie yells.
“Black diamonds are forever, baby!” Natice holds up her fist and shows off her tattoo.
I don’t have to think twice. “I’m in.”
What follows is a beating far worse than what I witnessed in that liquor store. Lori punches me in the face. Cracker hits me in my gut. I bend over and struggle to breathe, feeling the pain of both blows. A series of punches follows from all four. I’m hit in my face, head, and body. Everywhere. I take a step forward, trip, and hit the ground. From there, I’m kicked mercilessly, shoes and sneakers from all angles. I huddle in a small ball, trying to keep my face from being kicked in. My arms are struck. The back of my head is kicked. I wish for the beating to end. I almost black out. Then I hear Lori’s voice.
“Get up! Get up, Cheerleader!”
Natice and Ronnie help me to my feet. I feel drunk. I can hardly see. I cough and spit out blood, and it drools off my lips. I leave it hanging there as I am punched in the stomach by Ronnie. Then for another ten seconds, I am hit and kicked. It seems like an eternity. Finally, someone takes hold of my head. I look up to see Lori’s face. The last thing I remember is her knee. Everything goes black after that.
Chapter 39
I crack open my lips, and it feels as if a knife has sliced them apart. My face hurts, and my head feels as if it will explode at any second. My left eye is swollen so badly I can barely see out of it. I look down at my throbbing right hand and see that my pinky finger is grotesquely swollen. I sit up and take notice of my surroundings. Sharing the bed with me are tons of stuffed animals. On the floor below me are piles of clothes, and pushed up against a wall is a desk cluttered with books. For a moment, I think I’m in Jenny’s room. But I am not. I’m in Natice’s bedroom.
I push myself to the edge of the bed and moan as I rise to my feet. I’m standing on a bright-purple carpet. I take a step and catch my reflection in a mirror. I almost cry. I look like Rocky Balboa.
“What the hell are you doing?” Natice rushes in from the doorway and yanks me away from the mirror. “Girl, do not look in that mirror.” She gently sits me back down on the bed. “How’s your head?”
“Is it still there? It fuckin’ kills.”
“Here, take this.” She hands me a glass of water and a small white pill.
“What is it?”
“Vicodin.”
The same drug my mother takes, although she takes three or four at a time. I pop it into my mouth and chase it down with a gulp of water.
“I think you should stay here for a while. You don’t want your grandmother seeing you like this.” Natice examines my left eye.
“Don’t worry. I’ll just tell her I got in a car accident.”
“That’s not a bad idea.” Natice looks impressed.
“I was kidding.”
A minute later, I make a call to my Middletown cell phone and pretend to talk to my grandmother. I ask if I can spend the rest of the week at a friend’s house. Of course, my pretend grandmother says yes. After the call, Natice applies a splint to my finger, forming it with two old Popsicle sticks and tape.
“There. Not bad,” Natice says.
“Beautiful.” It looks ridiculous.
We both laugh.
“Oww. My face hurts.”
An hour later, the Vicodin has kicked in, and I realize why my mother takes it. I feel numb inside, like a zombie with zero feelings. “So when did you guys decide to do this?”
“About two weeks ago. Cracker was against it until she realized she’d get to punch you in the face.”
“Of course.”
“We were just waiting until my stepfather wouldn’t be home.”
“So where is he?”
“Right ‘bout now, he’s probably in Georgia. He’s a truck driver. Delivers beer all over the damn country.”
“I hope he left some behind.”
“Shit. I a’ready put half a case in the fridge. Thank God, he’s hardly home.”
“Why’s that?”
Natice shrugs. “He’s kind of an asshole.”
“Any grandparents? Or just him?”
“Just him. My mom grew up in foster care. But she did a’right for herself. She got out of the system, put herself through college, became a nurse.”
“What about your dad?”
“Never met him. All I know is that he worked at the same hospital my mom did. Prick was already married with kids.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, he wanted her to abort me. But she didn’t, and here I am.” Natice smiles.
“Is that your mom?” I ask, noticing a framed photograph of a beautiful black woman on a nearby shelf.
“Yup.”
“Wow. She’s stunning.”
“Yeah, she was.” Natice stares at the photograph for a moment, then she stands up, pulls another photo off the shelf, and sits back down next to me. “Look at this.” The photo includes Ronnie, Lori, Cracker, and Natice when they were all much younger.
“Look at my hair. Platinum blond. I have no friends, Ally. ‘Cause if I did, they never would’a let me walk around with this head.”
She holds the picture for me to see. Her hair looks worse than any bad hair day I have ever had. We both laugh.
“Owww, don’t make me laugh.” I grab my jaw.
I call in sick to the pizzeria, using the excuse I got into a bad car accident, and for the next three days, Natice and I order in food and watch movies nonstop in her bedroom. Old shit from the early 2000s: Final Destination, Elf, Scary Movie, Love and Basketball, and 300. We binge watch Scandal and a bunch of new shows on Netflix.
We are lying on her bed when Natice crawls up underneath my arm and kisses my cheek. She smiles at me. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Stop wanting me, Natice.”
She laughs and elbows me.
“Owwwwww…” I smile, holding my tender side.
Natice is easy to like, and her affection, much like Mark’s, feels good. It’s something, before Jenny’s death, I could never get enough of. A kiss or a hug or to be told, “I love you.” I was like a bottomless pit for affection and love. Since Jenny’s death, I’ve been unable to accept it. Until maybe now.
When we aren’t watching movies, or when I’m not fast asleep thanks to the Vicodin, Natice entertains me with stories of her and the girls, none of which ever includes the convenience store robbery. One day, feeling brave, I flat out ask the one question that will put an end to my stay in Cantor.
“Has Cracker or Lori ever killed anyone?” I try to sound casual about it.
“Why you asking me that, Ally?” Natice says harshly. “If they did, you think I’d tell you?”
My mouth hangs open, and I stutter for a second. Then I shrug as if it’s no big deal. “They carry around guns. Sooner or later they go off, right?” I purposely look as far away from her dresser as possible, hoping Natice follows my stare and doesn’t notice my iPhone recording our conversation.
“It’s none of your damn business.” Natice kicks at the bedspread to flatten out a wrinkle.
It’s the only uncomfortable moment between us. But I realize that Natice is not only protecting Lori and Cracker, she’s also protecting me. She quickly changes the subject, and I’m at least grateful Natice doesn’t hold grudges or stay angry long. She asks me about Mark and then about my family, wanting to know if I come from a normal home.
“What’s normal?” I say.
“Shit. I don’t know. But if there is a normal, I’d love to know what it feels like.”
“Me too. But I get along great with my dad. My mother… I don’t know, sometimes
I wonder if she even likes me.” I feel like shit because I know she doesn’t like me. Right before Jenny’s death, I overheard my mother tell a friend of hers that she couldn’t stand the sight of me and that I was a bitch. They didn’t know I was in the house when they were talking in the kitchen. I’ve always felt as though my mother hated me. No connection. Nothing. My mother hates me, and that’s the truth.
“I’m sure your mom likes ya.” Natice gives me a hug. “And if she doesn’t, I do.” She kisses the top of my head, and I almost cry.
“Thanks, Natty. I mean that.” I dread having to go back to my empty motel room. Then, sensing Natice is more vulnerable or willing to open up, I ask, “How did you get over your mom dying?”
“I don’t know. I think at first, I dealt with it by getting in all sorts of trouble. Then I guess I jus’ accepted she was gone. I still talk to her. People probably think I’m crazy, but I don’t give a shit. Though some days it’s weird. There’ll be a day I forget I had a mom. And that scares me. But I jus’… I don’t know… what choice do I have, ya know?”
I nod, feeling sorry for both Natice and myself. But unlike Natice, I know for certain there will never be a day that I forget Jenny.
A few times, I wake up to find Natice studying while listening to music on her headphones. And when Natice isn’t in the room and is off taking a shower or doing something downstairs, I take the opportunity to search her bedroom. If I can’t get a confession out of her, my hope is that she keeps a diary or journal, and within its pages is something incriminating about Jenny’s shooting. It wouldn’t be odd or out of the ordinary for Natice to keep a journal. But so far, I haven’t found anything.
What does happen, though, is that Natice and I grow closer as friends.
“You talked in your sleep last night,” Natice says as I wake up beside her.
“I did. What I say?” I ask, nervous to hear the answer.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t understand you. Something ‘bout going to the beach.”
“I must’ve been dreaming.”
“You think?” She shoots me a look then rises from the bed. “I’m gonna take a shower, and then I’ll make breakfast. You want pancakes or eggs?”
Girl on Point Page 19