Girl on Point

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Girl on Point Page 23

by Cheryl Guerriero


  Everyone drinks.

  “I never stole from my mother,” Cracker says.

  Everyone drinks except Natice. “You all are rotten,” Natice says.

  Lori is next. “I got one, and all you bitches better be honest. I never, in seventh grade, puked in someone’s bed and then covered that shit up with a sheet and let my ass crawl into it!”

  No one drinks.

  Finally, Ronnie lifts her beer and takes a sip, then promptly spits it out laughing.

  “I knew it! I knew it was your stank ass!” Lori says.

  Ronnie continues laughing. “Yo, that peach schnapps fucked me up!”

  Natice playfully kicks Ronnie. “You nasty!”

  “All right. My turn. My turn,” Ronnie says, calming down. “I never stole a Mercedes Benz!”

  Everyone drinks, except for me.

  “I never got chased by the cops.” Cracker smiles into the camera and takes a sip. The rest of us follow.

  “I never killed anyone,” I say.

  It’s followed by silence—then Cracker drinks. And so do I.

  “Bullshit,” Cracker says.

  “Why would it be bullshit?” I respond.

  “You killed someone?” Cracker aims the camera at me.

  I meet her stare. “Yeah.”

  “So what happened?” Lori asks.

  “Yeah, what happened?” Natice sounds surprised I never told her this.

  “She played Russian roulette with them,” Ronnie jokes.

  They all laugh, except for Cracker.

  “About eight months ago, I was driving home from a party. I went through a stop sign. Hit a guy. He lasted a week in the hospital. Then he died.”

  “Shit, that doesn’t count,” Cracker says.

  “How the hell does that not count?” Natice asks.

  “Fucking drunk driving?” Cracker shoots back.

  “If I hadn’t hit him with the car, he wouldn’t have died,” I say.

  “So it was an accident!” Cracker says.

  “She still killed a guy,” Natice says.

  “Don’t be stupid, Cracker.” Ronnie rolls her eyes.

  “What’s fucked up is that the guy had been drinking too. When they opened up his car, there were cans of beer all over the place. They never tested me for alcohol. They thought he caused the accident.” I do my best to look remorseful.

  Lori takes a sip of beer. “Shit. You’re lucky. If it was me, they would’a arrested my ass without a test and with the empties in his car.”

  “Whatever. That still don’t fuckin’ count,” Cracker says.

  “So who’d you shoot?” I ask, aware the video camera is still recording. “Some old lady for her purse? A teenager for a stick of gum?”

  “Who said I shot anyone?” Cracker asks.

  “I see. You strangled them to death.”

  The girls laugh.

  Cracker stares at me, camera in hand. “I noticed none of y’all drank.” She looks around at the others.

  “Shit, I didn’t kill anyone.” Ronnie takes a sip of her beer, seemingly out of thirst.

  “So who was it?” I ask.

  “Someone who got in my way.” Cracker promptly shuts off the camera.

  The room turns quiet, and something tells me Cracker knows I was trying to get a confession out of her. I see the familiar look of distrust surface in her eyes and fear any second, she is going to share this with the group, but instead she surprises me and says, “I never did an armed ATM robbery… on my own.”

  Everyone drinks, except for me.

  “Who thinks it’s time that Cheerleader does?” Cracker says.

  I take a sip of my beer. “I do.”

  The last thing I want to do is attempt another armed robbery, but I also don’t want Cracker any more suspicious of me then she already is—or Lori, for that matter. Maybe I pushed it too far with the “I never killed anyone” question. Or maybe I’m just feeling paranoid. But I did show up at Lori’s house with a video recorder and then suggest we play that game.

  “Look, Ally, if you all are doing this, I can’t be a part of it,” Natice tells me. “I jus’ can’t do guns.”

  “Let’s go!” Lori emerges from the upstairs. In her hand, she holds a pair of Latex surgical gloves and her gun.

  My anxiety level rises from a six to way past ten. Last time, I got lucky and nobody got hurt. But what if I’m not lucky tonight? “Natice, I got an idea.” I crack my gum and quickly whisper it to her.

  “You ready, Cheerleader?” Lori asks.

  “Let’s go,” I say confidently.

  “Natty, you in?”

  Natice looks at me then turns to Lori. “I’m in.”

  “A’right! Natty’s in!” Lori claps.

  As we head out the door, I’m grateful for one thing: I now know that Lori stashes her gun upstairs, although I wonder exactly where, since the cops were unable to find it, if it is the same gun that was used in the store robbery. My guess: Lori keeps this one hidden somewhere in her mother’s bedroom.

  Chapter 46

  We make a quick stop at Ronnie’s house before heading to the Turnpike. Forty minutes later, I am sitting in the backseat of the Olds with a nude nylon stocking covering my face and Lori’s gun held in my latex-covered hand. We’re someplace in South Jersey, staking out an ATM and waiting for victims.

  I pull at the stocking. “Fuck, I can’t breathe under here.”

  The girls laugh, including Natice. The nylon stocking belongs to Ronnie’s mother. The woman has no clue her daughter’s depleting her supply, and this time, Ronnie stole it from a drawer in her parents’ bedroom while they slept, inches away from her.

  “We got a winner!” Ronnie yells.

  A black BMW pulls up to the ATM with a guy and a girl inside.

  Lori shouts, “Go!”

  My adrenaline kicks in as I jump out of the car and sprint toward the BMW.

  As I get closer to the car, I see the girl and guy starting to fool around. The girl has just lowered her head into the guy’s lap when I open the door and land in the backseat. They both jump. The girl screams as she sees the gun aimed at her.

  “Please don’t kill us!” the girl begs.

  “Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” I scream.

  “Please don’t shoot,” the guy says calmly, holding up his hands.

  “Go to the ATM, and take out as much money as you can! She’s gonna stay here with me until you come back.”

  “Brent, don’t! Don’t!” the girl cries.

  “Shut up! I swear to God, shut up!” I aim the gun directly at her.

  “Okay. It’s cool. I’m going!” The boyfriend zips up his fly.

  “Where’s your phone?”

  “Right there.” He points to the console.

  “Leave it. Come back with the money. And everything will be cool. Do you understand, Brent?”

  “Yeah.” He sounds scared and uncertain.

  “Brent, no!” the girl screams.

  “She’ll be fine as long as you bring me the money. Now go!”

  Brent looks at his girlfriend then stares at the gun in my hand, rethinking his decision to leave the car. He starts shaking his head no. “I can’t do it. I’m not going.”

  I aim the gun at him. “Brent, you have five seconds to leave this car. Do you understand? I promise you. All I want is your money. I won’t hurt her. I swear.”

  But he doesn’t move. He remains in the front seat, and I worry that any second, Cracker will hop in the car with her loaded gun. After weighing the decision a moment longer, Brent decides he can trust me. He turns to his girlfriend.

  “It’s cool. I’ll be right back. Just stay calm. Okay?”

  “Hurry!” she says.

  He finally gets out of the BMW.

 
“Don’t do anything stupid,” I say to the girlfriend, keeping the gun trained on her.

  She muffles her cries, and we both watch Brent. He hurries up to the ATM, inserts his card, quickly presses some buttons, and nervously looks back at us. Seconds later the money slides out. Brent yanks the cash out of the slot and runs back to the car.

  “Here. It’s nine hundred.” He hands me a wad of bills.

  “Good job. I’m proud of you.” I stuff the money in my pocket before snatching his cell phone off the console. The drunk girlfriend, without being asked, throws her phone to the backseat. I grab it and run out of the car.

  I haul ass to the Olds, dive into the backseat, and Ronnie speeds away.

  “Nine hundred.” I pull off the stocking and gasp for air. I hand the money to Lori, who greedily counts it.

  “Nice job, Cheerleader!” She hands me a beer.

  I take a swig, and the girls cheer. I have officially committed my first armed robbery. Although it isn’t quite armed. What Lori, Ronnie, and Cracker don’t know, and what Brent and his girlfriend didn’t know, is that the gun wasn’t loaded. While I sat in the dark waiting for their car to arrive at the ATM, I discreetly ejected the magazine and gave it to Natice for safekeeping.

  Natice looks over at me with a smile, and when no one is looking, she slides the magazine back to me, and I lock it into place.

  “Here you go.” I hand Lori her loaded gun.

  Chapter 48

  Pop finally has enough of Natice and me coming in late and calling out sick, and he fires the both of us the day after the ATM robbery. I don’t mind because working at the pizzeria has already served its purpose. Not only am I friends with the girls, but I am a branded member of their Black Diamond gang. Natice doesn’t care because she has saved a good amount of money, and next January, she is heading to California.

  “Congratulations! This is awesome!” I tell Natice, admiring her acceptance letter to Loyola Marymount. She has it taped to the mirror in her bedroom.

  “I can’t believe I did it.” Natice stares at it. “January can’t come soon enough.”

  We celebrate by drinking beers and talking about what Natice thinks college is going to be like and who she might get roomed with. It’s something I was never able to do with Lea or anyone else from my high school. The last thing I could do is get excited about anyone else’s life. But right now, I’m riding Natice’s high right along with her.

  I end up spending the night at her house since her stepfather is not at home. I want to ask Natice about Cracker and who she shot, knowing that Cracker was not joking the other night when she said she had. But Natice is in such a good mood, and every other time I have brought up the subject of Cracker or Lori killing anyone, she’s gotten angry. I don’t want to push it. And it still bothers me that I have no idea how involved Natice was in the store robbery. Not to mention all the crimes we committed together. By the time I get what I need, will Natice even be able to go to college?

  The next day is Sunday, and we are playing basketball. The game is especially rough, and the referees have to intervene a few times to prevent a fight from breaking out between our team and the girls we’re playing. The game is almost finished when the girl who is guarding me grabs my shirt. She won’t let go, and I feel her nails pinching my skin. “Ref!” I yell. He doesn’t even turn his head, and I reel back hard with my elbow and knock her to the ground.

  Another fight almost erupts, and Vince and his boys have to separate our two teams. There are threats of kicking one another’s ass and tons of cursing, and the refs promptly call the game to an end. The one thing they do not tolerate is fighting.

  As we walk off court, Lori compliments my rough play. “Nice job, Cheerleader!”

  “Thanks.” I see Glendon, the crackhead from the East Cantor game, watching me from the bleachers. I keep walking off court, hoping that maybe I’m wrong, but when I look back, he is still staring in my direction.

  I try not to think about Glendon as we pack into my car and head over to Ronnie’s house. Her mother has prepared an Argentinian meal for us. Both of Ronnie’s parents were born and raised in a small town south of Buenos Aires.

  Ronnie’s house is tiny, but unlike Lori’s and Cracker’s, or even Natice’s, it feels like a real home. It smells amazing, thanks to what Mrs. Rodriguez has been cooking all day, and there’s an immediate sense of being welcomed when I walk through the door. Family photos, many of Ronnie’s daughter, Keisha, cover every inch of the living room, along with a collection of Catholic artifacts. I count at least seven crucifixes.

  Ronnie’s mother has just put Keisha down for a nap, and I get the feeling that Ronnie’s mother is raising her daughter more than Ronnie is. I like Mrs. Rodriguez immediately. She’s a sweet woman who hugs each one of us as we enter her home. She grabs Lori’s face and kisses her.

  “So guapa!”

  I wonder if Mrs. Rodriguez knew what Lori does outside her home, she would still call her beautiful. Then she notices me. “¿Quien es ella?”

  “This is Cheerleader, Ma,” Ronnie says.

  “What is cheerleader?” she asks.

  The girls laugh.

  I introduce myself in Spanish. “I’m Ally. Thanks for having me over for lunch. It smells amazing.”

  Ronnie practically falls over. “Shit, this bitch speaks Spanish!”

  Her mother gently smacks Ronnie on the head. “¡Dios mio! The mouth on my child!”

  “Sorry, Ma.” Ronnie walks straight toward the kitchen. “Where’s the food?”

  Moments later, we sit down at the kitchen table and dig into a plate of beef empanadas. I’ve never had an empanada before. It’s a light pastry filled with spicy beef. “It’s delicious,” I say in Spanish.

  Ronnie laughs, still amused by the fact that I speak Spanish.

  “Where’s your good-looking husband?” Natice asks.

  “Ay, running around with other women.” She turns to me, noticing I’ve taken a break from eating. “Eat, eat.”

  I smile and take another bite.

  Ronnie inspects her mother’s hair as her mother bends over the table to fill the plate with more empanadas. “Ma, you gotta let me give you a new haircut.”

  “What for?” her mother says.

  “You been wearing this tired old style for years. Look at this. You got split ends. It’s all dried out. Forget the haircut. You need to condition this head.”

  “It’s fine.”

  Ronnie feels the ends of her mother’s hair. “You can’t be running around lookin’ like this. Let me fix it.”

  “No. Another day.” Her mother pushes Ronnie’s hand away. “Last week, she wanted to dye my hair red.”

  We break out laughing.

  “What’s wrong with red hair?” Cracker is the only one not amused.

  After lunch, we go back to Lori’s house to celebrate Ronnie passing her beauty school exam. Ronnie received her license in the mail yesterday.

  I crack open a forty and take turns with Natice. My drinking, I’ve noticed, has progressed to every day.

  Cracker bounces a basketball as she reads Ronnie’s test score off a piece of paper. “Eighty?” she says, unimpressed.

  “Yeah, eighty,” Ronnie answers. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Shit, you better be scorin’ a hundred if you want to cut my hair.” Cracker hands the paper back to Ronnie.

  “Damn, Cracker, can’t you never just say nice job or good work?” Ronnie says.

  “The day that happens, I’ll blow crackhead Glendon,” Natice replies.

  “Nice job. Good work,” Cracker says.

  “You gotta mean it!” Natice swipes the ball from Cracker’s hands.

  A cell phone beeps. “That’s my five o’clock. Be back in five, bitches!” Ronnie says, reading a text message and then heading off toward the school.

/>   “Better watch out. Fines are double in the schoolyard!” Natice jokes.

  Twenty minutes later, we are talking about heading over to Vince’s to hang out while waiting for Ronnie.

  “What the hell is taking her so long?” Lori looks toward the schoolyard.

  “Probably haggling over prices,” Cracker says.

  “This ain’t no Best Buy!” Natice yells, imitating Ronnie.

  We laugh, and by now, even I know Ronnie well. She sells drugs like a used car salesman. A noise grabs our attention—a pop or a crack.

  “What was that?” Lori says.

  The second time we hear it, it’s clear—it’s a gunshot. We all sprint toward the schoolyard.

  Natice arrives first. “Oh God! No!” She runs to Ronnie, who lies on the ground, bleeding from her chest. Natice kneels down and lifts Ronnie onto her lap. Ronnie’s face is severely beaten, barely recognizable.

  “Call 9-1-1!” Lori screams.

  I dial in a nervous rush, and a female voice answers. “This is 9-1-1. What is your emergency?”

  “My friend has been shot!”

  “What is your location?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a school off Oak Street!”

  Cracker looks up at me. “Tell them to hurry!”

  “Hurry!” I yell, sick to my stomach. My throat is tight with tears.

  Lori drops to the ground and takes hold of Ronnie, becoming covered in her blood. She begs Ronnie, much the way I begged Jenny. “Hang in there, Ronnie! Don’t you fuckin’ leave us!”

  Natice is crying. “Ronnie, we’re here, girl! We’re here, baby girl!”

  Tears fill my eyes. I stare at Ronnie, begging God, Please do not let her die.

  Cracker walks in a circle, her hands pressed against her face, repeating “fuck” over and over. Suddenly, Cracker stops and picks something up off the ground. It’s a thick gold necklace. “Lori!” Cracker yells.

  Lori stares at the gold necklace and instantly knows who it belongs to. Even I know. It belongs to Tonya, the girl from the Locust Park gang.

  “Keep it! Put it away!” Lori says, her face lined with rage.

 

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