“What happened to the cop?” I ask.
“Nothing. You know, you see these riots and shit over cops killing black kids. It’s bullshit. Nothing happened to Mendoza. I don’t have the money to get a lawyer or whatever, but I have my ways of paying that mother-fucker back.”
My heart seizes with a spasm of fear. “Like how?”
He shakes his head, as if embarrassed to tell me. “Just stupid shit, but I’m going to haunt that guy. He’ll never forget my face. Just like I’ll never forget he killed my brother.”
Chills snake along the surface of my arms, and I don’t know if it’s the mid-December breeze that gives me goose bumps or the way Gabe’s purring voice curls around the words never forget.
I wait for him to tell me more, because I feel like there’s something else to what he’s saying, but he gets quiet.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out. It’s just still hard for me. I’m still mad, you know?”
I nod, actually glad he opened up.
“Well, I’m sorry, too. I was really mean the other night,” I say, breaking the silence. “I just got way too drunk. Crazy drunk.”
He shrugs and stops pushing the cart. “It happens.”
We stare at each other for one of those frozen moments, and for a second I think he’s going to kiss me. I might even want him to, but he doesn’t. He pulls off his backpack and opens it up. Inside there are two cans of spray paint.
“Wanna help me give Mendoza some shit?” he asks.
CHAPTER 26
Ruth
I’M MAKING FRIENDS. Eventually I just sucked up my nerves and flat-out asked a girl named Dora if I could hang out with her, right out of the blue. She said, sure, and her group has embraced me ever since.
They’re all “art quad” people, student artists, actors, and musicians. All of them have their quirky weirdisms, so my shyness is accepted without pause.
Alice is a thick-bodied redhead who likes to be poetic in the way she talks. She prides herself on finding underground music before it becomes mainstream, and loves sharing it with me.
Dora has the body of a Barbie, only she has glasses and is as white as a deep-sea shark. Even her hair is white, like an angel’s. And I don’t imagine Barbie can paint the details of a man’s face the way Dora can. She smiles at everything, even when she’s mad she smiles.
Ada isn’t the traditional Armenian. She’s wild. Her hair flows freely in a loose bouquet of black curls that she keeps gorgeously untamed. She says what she thinks and doesn’t care who hears or takes offense. I’m not entirely convinced she’s not the daughter of a Greek god. And her laugh. It’s infectious.
All of them know Josh. They ask about us every day. We’re not official, but he drives me home after school without question, and more often than not, we park somewhere and listen to music while we talk, side by side in the front seats of his VW Golf.
Tonight is special, though. It’s Winter Formal. We’re all going as a group, but I’m hoping he’ll kiss me or ask me out. Something has to happen.
I’m already dressed, even though the limo isn’t picking me up for another hour. I line my eyes with black pencil, brush on some glittered bronzer, and stain my lips a deep scarlet. My black dress is strapless but full on the bottom, kind of like a 50’s poodle skirt but more modern. I’ve even managed to wrangle my frizzy curls into a low sweeping side-bun that looks super classy.
“Hey. I’m going to drive by some of Lucy’s friends’ houses to see if she’s there,” Mom says, peeking into the bathroom.
Her hair is like my before shot, a frazzled mess, probably because she’s been dragging nervous fingers through it as she waits.
“She still hasn’t called or anything?”
“No.” I can see the tension in her face.
“I’ll go with you,” I say, worry and anger fighting for the territory of my heart. “We’ll be back by the time the limo comes.”
“Are you sure?” The way she says it isn’t really a question. I hear the true meaning in her desperate tone, like a secret message that whispers please, please, I need you.
“Yeah. I’m sure she’s at Dani’s.”
She’s not, of course. We drive around, and I knock on five of her other friends’ doors in my Winter Formal getup. Every failed attempt to find her makes me a little more livid.
“You have to ground her or something,” I say to Mom as I re-enter the car.
“I tried. She doesn’t take me seriously.”
“Well, take away her cell phone or something.”
We’ve had phones since San Jose, thanks to my grandma pitching in, but it’s hard to make the payments. Mom tries really hard to make sure they stay on, so it pisses me off that Lucy never answers it. I imagine her staring at our twenty missed calls and purposely ignoring them.
“I can’t take it away. I need it to get a hold of her,” Mom insists.
“She never answers. It doesn’t matter. Or tell her she can’t hang out with these people anymore.”
“You know I’ve tried.” She nods her head in defeat. “But I’ll talk to her.”
“I have to go back home or I’ll miss the limo.”
“Okay.”
Just as we get home, the limo pulls up. I try to disregard the fact that my sister is missing, but the night has been marred by my worry. Mom sets down her purse and checks her phone again. The crease in her brow has been there so long it has turned into a deep-set wrinkle.
“Should I stay?” I ask.
I can see the threat of tears building. The bags under her eyes are deep wells of sadness.
Alice leaves the limo to come get me. I watch through the window. Her sparkly pink dress is deglamorized by a pair of black and white converse sneakers.
“No. Go. Go have fun.” She forces a smile, but she means it.
The doorbell rings.
With a heavy sigh, I follow my selfish heart through the door and forget about Lucy and the trouble she’s in. I kiss Mom’s puffy red cheek, and I leave her too.
Inside the limo the energy is wild and doesn’t let up. Alice and I shove our way through the group. They’ve left a place for me next to Josh and our eyes connect as soon as I’m in. I squeeze my body in beside his and he grabs my hand like it’s something he does all the time. It makes me hold my breath for a second, but I go with it, trying to pass my smile off as a response to Ada’s laughter. It’s deep and contagious. She talks too loudly about the time she ate a chewed piece of edamame Dora had already eaten and how they’re like sisters because of it.
My hand sweats. My heart swells like a bright red balloon floating above the party. The warmth from Josh’s side pressed against mine has me hyper-aware of all the places we’re touching, and I’m so thankful for the energy around us. It distracts me from my anxiety and leaves no room for awkward silences.
The limo drops us off in front of our school, and we mob to the dance like a flock of honking geese. I’m almost sad to see our little herd disperse as we enter the gym. Inside it’s too loud to talk, so the rest of our group trickles into the swarm of sweaty people, finding other friends and dancing in small cliques. The ceiling has been transformed into a light show that floods the floor and collapsed bleachers with neon color. It feels like a nightclub compared to the simple dances back home.
It only takes one Armenian pop song to force the crowd into a wide circle that inspires the dominant culture’s traditional dance. I stand on the sidelines and try to memorize the way they move in case I’m forced to join. They hold hands and hop in a circle, kicking their feet into the center. I’ve never seen anything like it.
It feels too awkward to jump in, and Josh’s shoes are cemented to the floor where we’re standing. I watch until I feel his hand pull at mine, and I follow him outside.
“That was crazy,” I say, as the noise of the dance fades, like music under water.
We naturally gravitate toward the art quad, but it’s different at night, spooky and romantic with cascadin
g shadows and secret places to make out. The cold air chills my bare thighs, but I don’t care. Every nerve ending is alive with anticipation.
“I haven’t had a chance to tell you, but you look really beautiful.”
I cross my arms, immediately self-conscious. “Thanks,” I say, but it doesn’t feel like the right response.
Goosebumps cover my arms, and I try to rub them away.
“Here,” Josh says, taking off his navy sports coat and draping it over my bare shoulders. “We can go back if you want.”
I clutch it to my body.
“No. I like it out here.”
“I’m just not into the Armenian group circle dancing thing,” he explains.
I smile at him, glad I’m not the only shy one. “I kind of noticed.”
We sit against the videography building where I take photography class. The overhang shades us from the moon.
“We should go get everyone else and go bowling instead. That would be awesome, wouldn’t it? Bowling all dressed up?”
“That’s definitely more up my alley,” he says, laughing at his own pun.
I laugh too. “You’re such a dork.”
“I know. In the best ways, though.”
He leans into my side, pressing our shoulders together, and despite the constant nervous rush he causes in me, I feel perfectly comfortable sitting there with him.
“These dances always remind me of that book, Perks of Being a Wallflower,” he says. “I’m that kid. What’s his name? Have you read it?”
I shake my head.
“Charlie,” he remembers. “I’ll let you borrow my copy. It’s really good. Plus, that’s how I discovered The Smiths.”
“The Smiths?”
“Great band. There are a lot of music references in the book. It’s cool. You get to read a good book and look up all the music he talks about. They’re on my ipod. I’ll show you tomorrow.”
It’s quiet out here. I listen as he clears his throat, and I know he’s nervous.
“So I wanted to ask you something.”
His change in subject drags my gaze away from the dark blinking ribbon of starry sky.
“How do you feel about being my girlfriend? I don’t know if that’s how you’re supposed to ask someone, but—”
“Yeah,” I laugh, trying to disguise my excitement. “I mean, it’s fine. Yeah, I want to be your girlfriend.”
He nods to himself, but I can see a smile pull into the side of his cheek. Now that the pressure’s off I relax a little more and he seems to do the same.
He turns to look at me. “You know, Mark is right,” he says, focusing on my mouth.
Mark is Ada’s boyfriend. He’s equally as blunt as Ada and says whatever he thinks.
“Right about what?”
“He said you have the most kissable lips he’s ever seen.”
My heart thumps. This is it, I think to myself. He gets quiet, and leans toward me, tilting his head just enough. I inhale a subtle gasp and sink under the soft pressure of his kiss. The rush of being close, of warm breath in cold air and the perfect sync of our parted lips, feels like the frantic ruffle of bird’s wings in the closed cage of my heart.
I will the moment to last, but the tiny purse I have with me vibrates on my lap and then its shrill ring loudens until we pull apart.
I already know who it is. And I know why she’s calling. And I know that I have to answer.
“Sorry,” I say, reaching for it.
He listens in silence as I press the phone to my ear.
“Hey, Mom.”
“I’m out in front of the school. Lucy was arrested. I’m so worried, Ruth. They won’t tell me anything. What if she’s hurt? What if something terrible happened?”
She’s crying, of course, her frenzied words struggling through impeded breath and sniffling. I wonder if Josh can hear her hysteria. It embarrasses me, so I try to act like everything is fine.
“Okay,” I say as calmly as possible. I force a smile. “I’m coming. Be right there.”
I hang up before she has time to get weepy again.
“You have to go?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I answer, standing and brushing the dry leaves from my dress. “Sorry. My mom needs my help with something. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
He stands to walk with me, eyebrows furrowed in suspicion or confusion, but I’m already half-running. Fleeing like Cinderella from my perfect night.
CHAPTER 27
Mom
I WATCH THE ENTRANCE of the school with impatient intensity, waiting for Ruth as my emergency blinkers tick on and off. Worry sits like a sunken rock in my chest, but I’m calmer now. I roll down the window, even though it’s cold out and breathe in the cool fresh air. I could have done this on my own, I think. I shouldn’t have called her.
As soon as I see Ruth, dashing toward the car in her new dress, I want to take it back. What kind of a mother leans on her children like I do? But it’s such a comfort to see her.
“Hey,” she says, breathing hard as she opens the door. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I can hear the guilt in my own voice. “I’m sorry I freaked out and called you. You should stay. I can go get her. I don’t need you to come.”
“Are you kidding?” She shuts herself inside the car as her dark eyebrows sink. “No way. I’m not going to stay and dance while Lucy’s in jail, Mom. Let’s go.”
I drive away without fighting her on it. As much as I’m ashamed to admit it, I need her, even if that makes me weak.
Once I park, the two of us speed walk in equal strides. Now that I’m here, I’m afraid of what’s coming next. The clear glass doors of the police station are alight, glowing against the night. An officer sits at a high counter and behind him I see my daughter in a cell.
“Lucy,” I call to her, hoping to pacify her fears or maybe my own.
She doesn’t look up, and I can’t tell if it’s her shame or pride that puts a wall between us. But her refusal to acknowledge me doesn’t lessen my need to save her.
“That’s my daughter,” I say to the officer, really seeing him for the first time. He’s my age and slightly overweight in his midsection but not in his face. His short brown hair has greyed on the sides, and he has strange eyes, so light brown they’re almost yellow like a coyote, though they are searching and kind. “Can she come home? What happened?”
Ruth stays close but quiet, staring into the cell with tight angry lips. I put a hand on her arm to settle her, feeling protective and defensive about Lucy’s situation. Whatever the reason she’s here, it’s not her fault.
“Can you come with me to my office, Ms. Wilcox?” the officer asks, running a hand over his stubbly cleft chin.
“It’s Rachel,” I say. I’m keeping my husband’s last name for the kids, but it doesn’t feel like mine anymore.
I follow him into a room with open windows and a large desk. We sit on opposite sides of it, facing each other.
“It’s nice to meet you, Rachel,” he says. “I know you’re probably pretty upset, but everything’s okay. She’s fine. She was out after curfew with a gang of kids from FTC. We pulled her in on suspicion of tagging. Since she’s a minor we needed you to come pick her up.” He clears his throat. “I uh...wanted to tell you something about your girl out there. She’s a good girl. I can tell.” He smiles at me, and we share a moment of understanding. She’s not a bad kid. “We had a long talk and she agrees that she just got caught up with the wrong crowd. She wants to do better, but she told me she feels neglected at home. Apparently you’re gone a lot?”
“Yes, but I’m in school and—”
“Can I give you some advice?” His voice is gentle as he leans forward in his chair, but I can’t help but feel a little wounded by yet another man telling me how wrong I am. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m a terrible mother. “Lucy told me you recently divorced and moved here. She feels like she’s lost you. If you don’t want to lose your daughter, I think it would be best if yo
u concentrate on giving her the attention she needs. She’s a good kid, and she’s crying out to you.”
“She’s blaming me?” I don’t believe what he’s saying. I’d done everything, risked everything because she’d asked me to. I don’t wait for him to answer. “Thank you for your advice officer. I just want to take her home.”
“She’s free to go. No charges have been filed. Let me get her for you. Follow me.”
As we approach the cell, Lucy finally acknowledges my presence in front of the officer. She stands and rushes to the door. “Hi Mom.” Her eyes brim with tears that don’t fall. “Sorry.”
My heart softens as I wrap her in a hug, even though she pulls away almost immediately.
I fill out some paperwork while the girls wait in volatile silence.
“Thank you, Officer...” I search his nametag for a title.
“Mendoza,” he finishes for me.
“Thank you, Officer Mendoza,” I say, handing him the clipboard.
I walk out of the station exhausted. It’s been a long night, and I can finally shed the binding ropes of emotional tension. The three of us make our way to the car, hiking the ramp of the parking garage.
“You okay?” I ask Lucy, reaching out for her shoulder. She shrugs away.
“I’m fine.” Her voice is a quiet mix of shame and defiance.
“What happened?” Ruth pushes, and I can tell by her sharp tone she’s trying to judge the amount of blame to dole out.
“None of your business,” Lucy says in a calm matter-of-fact way.
Ruth’s eyebrows shoot up. “None of my business? Do you—”
“Come on girls,” I plead. “She’s sorry, Ruth. Just let it—”
“I’m not sorry,” Lucy cuts in.
I stop, paused in the middle of the cement drive. “But you said you were. In the station. You—”
“In front of him. Yeah. So he’d let me go.” Lucy keeps walking and I speed walk to catch up. “I didn’t mean it. Fuck him. Fuck the cops.”
“What?” Ruth snaps at her.
“Fuck you too, Ruth. Maybe you should have just left me there if it was such a big deal to come get me.”
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