She slipped her palm into his. “Camila.”
“Rad,” Travis said, still smiling. Still holding Camila’s hand.
“Where’s my G.D. Kit Kat flurry?” Fer yelled over her shoulder. She handed a stack of napkins to a frustrated mother with a crying baby on her hip.
Travis finally let go of Camila's hand. He flipped around, grabbed a Styrofoam cup from the stack, and held it triumphantly to Fer. “On the double, my Fer-y friend.”
Camila went back to sweating and filling orders, but with Travis there to help, everything ran smoothly. Travis taught her the secret of the perfect swirl, how to scoop from the ice cream tubs without cross-contaminating flavors, and how to sweet-talk the customers until they dropped their spare change into the “Tips Much Appreciated” jar. The young mothers flirted with Travis. The teenagers slapped him five through the window.
By three o'clock the long line had dwindled to a few stragglers slumped over the shaded picnic tables. Fer and Camila leaned hip to hip against the splattered counter. Camila laid her head on Fer's sweaty shoulder. “For a girl who slept through most of your classes last semester, you sure worked your ass off.”
Fer flicked a sprinkle off Camila's arm and shrugged. “I've found my one true calling.” She nodded her head to the machine. “Flurry engineer.” She took a Kit Kat and snapped it off in her mouth.
Travis sauntered over, sweat beading under his shaggy bangs, and smiled easily. “Ferina, how we doin on ye ol supplies?”
Fer nodded to a pad of paper on the counter beside her. “I got an inventory list going. When you talk to Lizzy, tell her not to be such a cheap ass with maraschino cherries. And no more generic Andes Mints for Christ's sake.”
Travis scanned the list, nodding. Then he lifted his eyes to Camila. “How's the first day, young padawan? Have you harnessed the force?” He picked up a cone and waved it around like a light saber.
Camila cracked a smile. “I think I did more harm than good. I'll do better tomorrow.”
Travis waved a dismissive hand. “Psha, don't even sweat it. Plus, you still have the after-dinner rush to get your sea legs.”
Camila was about to respond when her cellphone rang from her pocket. Was it Mama? Her heart began to race.
A twelve-year-old boy was peering up at the laminated menu stuck to the side of the order window. “Go ahead,” Fer said, nodding toward Camila’s phone. “I'll take this one.”
Camila nodded, pulling her phone open. The cracked screen showed her an unknown number with an out-of-town area code.
“Hello?”
“Camila Acha?” an unfamiliar male voice asked.
“Yeah?” She stepped toward the back and put a finger in her ear to drown out the background noise.
“My name's Ben.” He paused. “My mom is your Aunt Beatriz.”
Camila felt a cold sweat break out across her back. “She is?”
“Yeah.” His voice was tense, almost angry. “Your call last night really messed her up. She's been crying all night.”
“I…I'm sorry. I just… My mom needs help.”
He snorted into the phone. “You're mom has some nerve asking for help after what she did.”
“What did she do that—”
“Look. Don't call here again. We don't want all that drama back in their lives.”
“Wait, I—”
He hung up.
Camila stared at the phone, feeling slapped.
After a moment she pulled out the slip of paper with the family names on it. Slowly penned the word Ben below Aunt Beatriz. Then she ran her pen through it.
She had gained and lost a cousin in a matter of minutes.
Mama had a lot of explaining to do.
Tuesday 9:05 p.m.
Camila opened the freezer and pressed her forehead to the cold metal door. Her shirt clung to both pits, her ponytail had come loose, and wet strands were stuck to the back of her neck.
Her first day on the job was over.
“Brutal, right?” Fer asked as she slumped against the wall. Sweat dappled Fer’s forehead and glistened on her upper lip. Her size-eighteen body sagged from every angle. She dug out another Kit Kat and snapped it between her teeth.
Camila scraped some ice from the clump clinging to the freezer wall and pressed it to the back of her neck. “Why didn’t you tell me this job was like working in the depths of hell?”
“Because,” Fer said, chewing, “misery loves company. Can’t sweat my ass off alone.”
Camila threw a hunk of ice at her. Fer dodged and threw the remaining Kit Kat half at Camila’s head. “Hey!” Camila said. “That’s chocolate abuse.”
“Here,” Fer dug another out of the jar in between the Heath bars, Nerds and chocolate chips. She tossed the Kit Kat in a clean arch. Camila caught it and took a bite.
“Perks of the job,” Fer said, chomping on another. “Lizzy doesn’t care if we eat the merchandise as long as we don’t go crazy. Now,” Fer rubbed her palms together, “Travis took off early to smoke a bowl or whatever, so I’m in charge.” She raised an eyebrow and twiddled her fingers evilly. “Mwa, ha, ha. You will do my bidding, minion.”
Camila crossed her arms over her chest. “Minion? Who let you copy all year in Algebra?”
Fer dropped her maniacal smirk. “Fine. Forget the minion part. Just take out the trash and I’ll mop up.”
Camila looked at the bulging trash barrel next to the counter. Then she spied the one overflowing onto the cement outside. She suspected she was still a minion.
She yanked out both bags, dropping a glop of chocolate ice cream on one shoe and smearing something unidentifiable on her arm. Then she dragged them to the dark back lot where the dumpster sat reeking. The rancid smell of garbage made her gag, but she held her breath and heaved the first bag in.
“Umph,” said a voice from inside the dumpster. Camila froze. A head appeared.
“Oh I…” she stammered. Her mouth dropped open as a man peered out at her from the dumpster.
He was tall with brown hair and dark eyes and handsome as hell. He grabbed the lip of the dumpster and swung himself out. Despite his size—over six feet, broad shoulders, muscular arms—he moved like a gymnast. In the orange light from the bulb over the door, she took him in. Maybe twenty with a crop of sexy stubble on his cheeks. He stood facing her, his back to the dumpster and his eyes tracking her every movement.
She took a step back.
“Sorry,” he said, watching her face. His whole body was clenched.
“Sorry?” She blinked. “I’m the one who threw garbage on your head.”
He said nothing, just watched like a frightened animal. She scanned his clothes, the too small T-shirt, tight women’s running shorts, no shoes. What was he doing in a dumpster?
“Were you…” She looked up at his face. “Were you looking for something to eat?”
Even in the dark, she could see the embarrassment flood him. He shook his head and tucked his hands behind his back, a banana peel clutched in one fist.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “We have fresh bananas.”
His eyes followed her as she set the garbage bag on the ground.
“Stay here,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” As she walked back into Lizzy’s, she could feel his eyes on her the whole way.
Inside the building, her thoughts buzzed. What was she thinking? She was going to go back into a dark alley with some stranger who was twice her size, armed with nothing but a handful of bananas? She was nuts. She glanced at Fer, who was mopping the back corner with her headphones stuffed in her ears, some indie rock blaring. Camila snagged a bunch of bananas from the counter, tucked them under her arm and raced out the back.
When she got back, he was gone.
She searched the dark alley, walking to the smelly dumpster and peering in. No sign of him. Her arms drooped. The bananas were a pitiful offering.
“Camila!” Fer yelled from the doorway behind her. “Quit dickin’ around out th
ere.”
Camila shot a glance toward the door. Should she tell Fer? And risk the scolding of her life? She walked back, the bananas at her side. “I thought these were bad. I was going to throw them out.” She held up the bananas and shrugged.
Fer picked up the bunch. “These are fine,” she said, inspecting them. “Besides, you shouldn't hang out here alone. This is rapist central when it gets dark.”
Camila nodded, walking back inside with Fer.
She turned and looked once more. Would he be safe out there alone?
Little Mack
Tuesday 9:34 p.m.
When the whiskey was gone, Little Mack let the glass bottle clink to the pavement. He watched it roll back and forth on its side, his bleary eyes separating it into two bottles, then three, then back to one. His head lolled onto the soiled pile of clothes and his eyes rolled up to the stars.
Sleeping in the alley wasn't all that bad in the summer. Bugs sometimes bit him up and gangs of teenagers liked to give him a hard time, but right now the breeze felt just fine on his hot skin, the stars were out and his belly sloshed with liquid happiness. Been a while since he'd had a belly full of whiskey. Too long.
Little Mack watched the stars blur and sharpen above. Vaguely he noted Cassiopeia, a constellation his mother used to point to on those early mornings at the bus stop when she’d stand with him on the crisp snow, their breath puffing in tandem. An ache widened in his chest, but he squashed it. That was a million years ago and his mother was in the cemetery eight blocks away. He visited her last week and fell asleep on her grave.
Little Mack patted his distended tummy. The streets had been busy today and he'd made a good haul. Cross-legged with his sunglasses on, his “Every little bit helps. God bless you,” sign tucked in his lap, he'd made twenty dollars. The Black Velvet whiskey was his reward for the bumper crop of loose change. Sure, he'd feel like hell tomorrow, but tonight he felt alright.
“Alright, alright, alllriiight,” he mumbled, smiling. He got a whiff of his own breath and winced. Next twenty he got he’d buy a toothbrush and some tooth paste. Wouldn’t matter tonight. No smoochin’ or coochin’ happening at the back of Chang’s Chinese Buffet, where everything smelled like old grease and egg rolls.
Noise from the back of the alley drew his attention. Sometimes cops woke him up and told him to move along. Sometimes asshole teenagers with red eyes and shaved heads tried to kick his ribs and step on his fingers while he slept. One time he'd awoken to one peeing on the back of his head. Punks.
In the dark, his eyes scanned the alleyway beyond. Nothing but garbage bins, scattered trash and cracked pavement. Above, fire escapes clung to the sides of buildings. From this angle they looked like stairways to heaven. He started humming that tune under his breath and let his eyes slip back up to the stars.
Another noise, scraping on the pavement this time. He stopped humming. Was something moving back behind that trash bin? Little Mack squinted, but couldn't stop the landscape from sliding back and forth. He lay his head back down. Too hard to keep it upright.
Little Mack closed his eyes. He was about to drift off when glass fell and shattered behind him. He pulled his eyes open, fear creeping up his numb limbs. He could hear slow, steady breathing. A dog? He pushed himself up on his elbows.
Something was in the alley with him. And it sounded big.
His heart pounded in his ears. He could smell something rancid and feral. His hand trembled as he pulled himself upright again. Was he hallucinating? Sometimes when the drink took hold he saw things. Could be the Black Velvet talkin—
Two blood-red eyes stared from the shadows, hollowing him out.
He scooted back, spooked. What had eyes like that? An animal? A monster?
A deep low growl rolled out of the slash of shadow beside the brick wall.
“Dear Jesus!” Little Mack squealed. He tried to stand and fell. Panic choking him, he scampered on his hands and knees. Pain punctured his palm, glass maybe, but he ignored it. Headlights cut through the night ahead. If only he could make it to the road.
The thing behind him broke into a run.
Faster, faster Mack crawled. The end of the alley seemed miles off. His heart thudded into his throat. He'd die before he made it. His heart would give out, or— A car zoomed past twenty feet away. He was almost there.
Paws the size of bear claws slammed into his back. He crumpled to the ground, the air spewing out of his lungs. A tremendous weight pressed on him. The animal stench was everywhere. Stars swam across his vision. Paws grabbed him and flipped him over like a toddler. His head smacked mercilessly on the pavement. The world shifted and spun.
“No,” he gurgled. Vomit churned up his throat. He raised his eyes and saw a rope of saliva dripping off two rows of six-inch fangs. Hot, rancid breath pulsed against his face. He thrashed back and forth, but he was pinned. Even the whiskey couldn't dull his terror. He started to sob.
Little Mack turned his eyes to Cassiopeia as fangs cinched around his throat.
Camila
Tuesday 9:47 p.m.
Camila stumbled in the trailer door, banging her knee against a stack of books. The paperbacks sprawled across the entryway.
“Shit!” she said.
“Watch your mouth,” Mama's voice said from the interior of the dark trailer.
A wreath of smoke bobbed above the couch. Her mother’s narrow face scowled at her over the tattered couch back.
“Sorry.” Camila stepped inside. All day long questions had been burning inside her. What had happened with Aunt Beatriz? Was her cousin, Ben, telling the truth? Her eyes locked on the TV newscast, her family problems momentarily forgotten. The dog park down the street was on the news again? She watched as the camera panned over a large crater dug into the earth. Another giant meteor had crashed in the woods park? She leaned in.
Mama blocked her view, her dry lips pursed into a frown. “Where have you been all day? I been worried sick.” She smashed her Marlboro into the overflowing ashtray as if it offended her.
“Work, remember?” Camila's eyes stayed locked on the TV screen. Three craters had been found in the ten mile perimeter. Holy crap, three craters? That was news.
Mama shook her head slowly, her mouth open. “You shouldn’t work so hard, mi amor.”
“Yeah, well, someone has to,” she snapped.
Mama stiffened and Camila instantly felt bad. This was not the way to get Mama to open up. She tried again. “It's not that hard, really. I've perfected the soft-serve swirl.” She twirled a finger in the air. Mama lifted a small smile, nodding. Her eyes strayed back to the TV. Two minutes of connection was all Mama had in her.
“Mama,” Camila said, easing herself down on the couch near Mama's feet. The cushions sagged heavily. Camila picked a candy wrapper out of the crack between the cushions and began folding it, mulling over what she wanted to say. “I got a call today.”
Mama didn't look up. “Nice, honey.”
“From a guy named Ben.” Camila watched Mama carefully.
“Yeah,” Mama lit another Marlboro with the flick of a gas station lighter. The smell of butane and carcinogens spiked the air.
God, this was getting her nowhere. She decided to go for it. “Ben is Beatriz's son. Aunt Beatriz.”
Mama sat bolt upright, her eyes flaring open. “Beatriz? My sister Beatriz?”
Camila nodded, biting her lip.
Mama's face tightened, lines deepening around her smoker's mouth. “What he want? Money?”
“Just to reconnect,” Camila lied. She pulled at fuzzies on the afghan, a blush heating up her cheeks. “Mama, what happened with Beatriz? Why don't we ever see them or Abuelo?”
Anger flared in Mama's eyes. She swung her legs around to the front and stood. She started pacing and cursing in Spanish.
Camila held her hands up. “Slow down. I can't understand you.”
“What I said,” she turned, her finger pointed, “is that I don't want you talking to them ever again. They'll
infect this familia with their lies. They'll tell you things about me that are not true.” Mama walked to the kitchen counter and slammed her palms down.
“Relax, relax,” Camila said, sliding up behind her. She was expecting a reaction. She was not expecting this. Agitation could set off mood swings and push Mama into a manic phase. “I won't talk to them. If they call, I'll just hang up.” The lie felt thick in her throat.
Mama walked back to the couch, muttering in Spanish. Camila turned toward the bathroom, rubbing at a smudge of chocolate on her forearm. If that was the reaction she got when she asked Mama about her family, she'd need to figure out another way to learn what she needed to know.
Inside the bathroom, she pulled off her stained work shirt. She tugged up the sink plunger and turned on the faucet. She’d hand-wash the T-shirt here, let it dry on the porch tonight, and pray to God that no bird took its morning constitutional on it.
A spot of bright orange drew her eyes to the trash. Her heart began to pound as she reached in.
The orange pill bottle was missing the white childproof lid, but it didn’t matter. The pills were gone.
With shaking hands she pawed through the crumpled tissues, the toothpaste tube, and the maxi pad wrappers. At the bottom of the can, her fear turned into anger. She gripped the pill bottle with white knuckles, threw open the door, and stomped out into the living room.
Mama sat smoking. Camila stood in front of her, blocking the TV and held up the pill bottle.
“Where?!” she asked, realizing now how any second she’d burst into tears. “Where are they?”
Mama leaned forward and peered at the bottle. “What you screaming at? Lower your voice!”
“No, Mama!” She never yelled at Mama. She couldn't stop. “Where are your pills? What did you do with them?”
Mama crossed her arms over her small chest. “I know what you did this morning to my cereal. I’m not taking that poison. I flushed them all. Over. Gone.”
“No!” Tears streamed down her face. “Why? You need these!”
20 Shades of Shifters: A Paranormal Romance Collection Page 151