by Arthurs, Nia
She was small—barely over five feet. Rich, dark brown skin. Large, Bambi eyes with all the innocence in the world. Oval face. Plump, bee-stung lips. Wild, black curls.
“This is Monique,” Baz introduced. “She’s writing an article about the band.”
Monique.
Our eyes connected. My hand twitched. The night I spotted her in The Greasy Monkey came crashing back to me.
Dad. A hooker on bent knee. A velvet room.
I grabbed Dad’s hand and begged him to come home. Mom was drinking again. If she kept on like that, she’d die.
He shook me off. “Get out of here.”
“No.” I stepped over the worker who stared sheepishly at the floor.
Dad glared at me. His hands balled into fists.
I stood my ground. My mother’s life was on the line.
“Fine.” He zipped up his pants and muttered, “This woman is always making trouble.”
Anger bubbled in my chest. My heart thudded. I couldn’t hold myself back. “You’re the one making trouble.”
Dad froze. “What?”
Fear grabbed my throat. I moved away. Slowly. Tentatively. I felt the velvet curtain at my back. Stepped through. “Nothing.”
Dad followed me, his eyes narrowed. “No, say it again.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Say it!”
“I didn’t—”
He slapped me. Hard. So hard my brain jangled in my skull. But it was more than the pain, more than the bite of my tingling skin that filled me. Hatred, raw and white-hot, burned every bone in my body, every nerve, every cell.
I wanted to fight back, but it wouldn’t do any good. This was the man my mother decided to love. This was my father.
I was staring out at the gambling hall, breathing hard to control my temper. That’s when I saw her. A girl. Brown skin. Long hair. Frail body wrapped in a gaudy green dress.
She stood staring at me, slack-jawed. For a moment, I thought she was a sex worker, but no… she looked too innocent for that.
A moment later, the man sitting at the roulettes table threw his hands up and pulled her in for a hug. She didn’t refuse him.
“Dad,” she said.
I realized she was with her father. The understanding in her eyes suddenly made sense. Both our dads had failed us.
Somehow, that comforted me. I couldn’t stop staring at her that night. And again when I met her in the hallway at school a few months later.
For a brief moment, our eyes had met. I took a step forward to speak to her, but she’d ducked her head and scurried away. Her rejection hurt more than my father’s slap.
Was she that embarrassed to talk to me? Did she think she was better than me?
From that day on, my affection turned to irritation.
“This is James.” Baz threw an arm around my shoulder. “Our guitar guy. He can sing too. And play drums. Keys. Basically everything.”
“Hey,” I said.
Monique straightened her shoulders and slapped her notebook closed. “Hey, James.” She dismissed me with a cool toss of her head. “Well, thanks for the interview, guys. I can’t wait to write this up.”
Is she seriously leaving because I came?
Monique moved forward. I slid into her path. Not expecting me to block her, she slammed right into me. My nerves lit up everywhere she brushed against my body. My eyelashes flickered, stunned by the reaction.
She reeled back and glared at me. Then she stepped to the left.
I moved that way.
She moved to the right.
I slid that way too.
She planted her hands on her hips and tilted her chin up to meet my gaze. Her brown eyes crackled with annoyance. “Excuse me.”
I folded my arms over my chest and leaned forward. The bravado Monique had a minute ago bolted. It took my irritation along with it.
My eyes lingered on her lips. My mind went blank. What would she do if I closed the distance, right this minute, and kissed her?
2
Bad Boys Are Trending
Monique
Some guys are cute. Others handsome. And then there are those who are drop-dead, hold-my-weave, I’m-dying gorgeous.
James Sawyer belonged to the last category.
My heart flapped against my chest, shaking like a dress left on a clothesline during a hurricane. My brain yelled at me to step back, but my muscles revolted.
I couldn’t move.
Couldn’t think.
Couldn’t breathe.
When I feared I would explode from holding my breath, Baz came to my rescue. He yanked James back, breaking the shimmering tension between us.
“What are you doing, man?” Baz frowned.
Eric pointed to my face. “She looks like she’ll pee her pants.”
I shook off the spell James Sawyer casted on me. Summoning my courage, I glared at him. “What was that?”
Eric chuckled. “He was just messing with you.”
“Well, it wasn’t funny.”
James had yet to defend himself. He just stared at me with a disarming smirk. Those brown eyes danced with intrigue, burrowing so deeply into me my soul squirmed.
What was he thinking right now? Did I even want to know?
I covered my discomfort with anger. “I’m not here to play around so cut the crap.”
“Don’t be mad, Monique,” Eric cooed. “He’s sorry.”
I scoffed at James. “You’re letting your friends apologize for you?” I turned on my heels, utterly disgusted. Who cared about a super hot face when the person was horrendous on the inside?
“Wait,” James said.
I froze and turned slightly. Is this my apology? “What?”
“You forgot about me.”
I whirled to face him, eyebrows knotted.
“You didn’t interview me,” James added.
“Really?” Baz quirked a thick brow. “That’s what you’re upset about?”
“Everyone else got to say something for the article.”
Duncan, the group’s drummer, checked his phone as it vibrated. “Guys, they’re calling us to get on stage.”
James planted his feet on the ground. “I’m not leaving until I get interviewed.”
“Are you kidding?” Eric hissed. His blue eyes narrowed. “We don’t have time for this.”
James pierced me with his gaze. “Well, Monique, whether my band has a guitar player today is up to you.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Eric thundered.
Baz tugged on James’s arm. “Let’s just go.”
Sensing they were all reaching their breaking point, I blurted, “Fine. I’ll do the stupid interview.”
“Great.”
My fingers trembled as I opened my notebook. “Okay, uh… when did you join—?”
James held up a hand. “Not right now. I have a gig.”
The sound of applause thundered from the gym. I heard girls screaming James’s name, stomping their feet, acting like they were at a Taylor Swift concert rather than a rally with an unknown high school band.
“Come on, J!” Baz urged as he and the other guys fled down the hallway.
I curled my fingers into fists. I was annoyed with myself for falling into James’s play, but more than that, I hated being dismissed.
“Hey!” I screamed at his back.
“Meet me in the parking lot after the rally.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I’ll see you then.” He flashed another heart-stopping grin before turning and jogging behind his friends.
I scowled at the floor. Jerk.
I had no intentions of staying for the rally. The assignment was to get a behind-the-scenes piece about the band. I’d done that. Besides, Harley was waiting for me at Pandora’s.
I headed for the exits when curiosity tugged me the other way. The music grew louder as I slipped around the podium. Just beyond the bend, a sea of girls pulsed close to the stage, thrusting their
fists in the air and screaming in adoration.
I snorted at the signs they held. There were a few tame ones with James’s picture printed above phrases of ‘I Love You’ and ‘I Heart James’.
Then there were the psycho posters—one asking James to marry her and another with her phone number cut out of bright, sparkly foam paper.
I covered my mouth with a fist, stunned by the sheer power that one man had over all these people. Half these girls had no idea how arrogant James was. Or maybe they did. Maybe that was their thing.
Bad boys seemed to be trending nowadays.
I grunted and turned away from it all. The music was nice enough. Nothing to rave about. Even though Harley was a crazed rock fan, I didn’t like the genre. It was too loud. Too angry. Too… rebellious. Jazz and R&B were more my thing.
The farther I walked, the softer the music became until I was outside and couldn’t hear a thing. Without stopping to second-guess myself, I trotted toward the bus stop and caught a bus to Pandora’s Café.
The scent of coffee and knowledge hit me the moment I opened the door. A bell jangled and Lauren, the proprietor, smiled at me. “Hey, Mo.”
“Hey, Laur.” I waved.
If one looked up ‘crazy cat lady’ in the dictionary, they’d probably find a picture of Lauren. She had thick glasses, knotted hair, baggy clothes and a cat climbing over her at all times. Despite her quirks, Lauren was the kindest person I’d ever met.
“Hey, Mittens.” I reached out to the cat prancing on the counter.
It hissed at me.
Lauren chuckled. “This is Terra, not Mittens.”
It looked exactly like Mittens. I had no idea how Lauren told them apart.
“Geez, I get their name wrong once and they hate me for life.”
She grinned and slid a cup of frozen coffee with lots of whipped cream over to me. “Harley is waiting for you.”
“Thanks.” I saluted her and headed past the row of bookshelves to the back where a cramped bay window overlooked the street.
Harley leaned against a pillow, his lean fingers flipping through a book. I hid behind a bookshelf and watched him. The sunlight poured over his blond hair, turning it into a thick mass of golden wheat. He wore khakis, a blue shirt that made him even paler and worn sneakers.
A familiar tenderness welled in my chest. Even though I was an only child, I was never alone. Harley had been by my side since we were kids.
It was pretty hard to make friends in kindergarten without some type of incentive. Being poor, I had nothing to my name except a box of broken crayons and a dolphin-themed bag.
Harley didn’t care. One day, he set his lunch box next to mine and shared his gummy worms. We’d been sharing food, secrets, laughter and tears since then.
I tiptoed to him and, when I drew closer, threw my hands over his eyes. “Guess who?”
“I know it’s you, Mo.”
“Do you?”
He pulled my hands down and twisted his neck to look at me. His blue eyes didn’t hold their usual sparkle. “Hey.”
“Hi.” I shrugged my bag off and sat beside him. “Why the long face?”
“No reason.”
“Come on.” I nudged him with my leg. “You can’t hide from me. I know something’s up.”
He sighed and dodged my question. “How was your interview?”
“You were right on all counts. Eric is an airhead with a big mouth. Duncan is always out of it and Baz is cool.”
“And James?”
“What about him?” I stared at the hem of my shirt and picked a loose thread.
Harley let out a loud groan. “Don’t tell me you fell for him too!”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“You didn’t have to.” He swerved close to my face and stared into my eyes. “I know you too well.”
I pushed him back. “James was a jerk. Just like you said.”
“Exactly. You know they only picked him to play guitar because he’s rich and good-looking, right? He didn’t earn that.”
“Here we go again,” I mumbled.
“They said it was because I ‘wasn’t ready’, but it’s not like we were practicing to play with Bon Jovi! Besides, I was willing to work hard and get better. But I guess I’m not like James Sawyer who can afford to hire the best music tutors money can buy.”
“Mm-hm,” I said, absently paging through a nearby magazine.
“You know what hurts even worse? I asked Eric to give me another shot and he said that James wanted to keep the band as is. Do you believe the nerve of that guy?”
“Yeah...”
“Mo!”
I dropped the magazine. It splattered to the floor. “What?”
“You’re not even listening to me.”
“Yes, I was. You got kicked out of your own band and James Sawyer sucks. We both know this.”
Harley narrowed his eyes. “You’re making fun of me.”
“No way.” I caressed his shoulder. “You know I’m always on your side.”
He leaned back, his eyes roving my face. “How’s your mom?”
“Working two jobs to pay for all our bills. How’s yours?”
“Baking cupcakes for my little sister’s pageant. She’s horrible at baking by the way, so they’ll probably all get poisoned.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Little kids getting food poisoning?”
“No, I meant your mom baking.”
“My mother’s never baked for us. Since Paisley started doing pageants, it’s the only thing she can think about.”
“At least she has the time to stay at home and take care of the two of you. I wish I could help my mom out more.”
“You already work at the bookstore everyday and wait tables on the weekends. What more can you do?”
I shrugged. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough.
“Let’s talk about something else,” I said.
Harley obliged and I enjoyed the conversation and the coffee for another fifteen minutes before it was time to punch in.
I usually cleaned up around the bookstore and helped customers pick out books when they happened to wander in. Harley sometimes stuck around to walk me home, but tonight—thanks to his sister’s pageant, I caught the bus solo.
When I walked inside our dingy apartment, I was stunned by the darkness. Flipping on the light, I stopped short. My father sat in the sofa, his face in his hands.
“Dad?” I asked.
He moaned and looked up at me. I noticed the beer bottles scattered around his feet. His eyes were bloodshot and when he tried to stand, he ended up crashing back into the chair.
“Dad!” I screamed and leaped toward him. “Are you okay?”
“I’m so sorry, Momo.”
I clutched his hand, terrified. What did you do now? “What happened?”
“I lost it all.” Fat tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Lost what? Your paycheck? Your keys?”
“The rent money. Our savings. Everything.”
My jaw dropped. How did my father even get his hands on that? Mom would never give him access to our money knowing his addiction.
“It was supposed to be a good game. I had a feeling it was my turn. Those bastards must have cheated or something…” Dad muttered expletives under his breath. “I took it from Mom’s hiding place thinking I could buy her a nicer stove and fridge if I just won—”
“Dad,” I struggled for breath, “tell me your lying.” I tugged on his other hand and sank to my knees. “Tell me you left something. Anything. The bank account?”
“Empty.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “It’s okay.” We could use my college fund. I’d been setting aside a little every month since I started working. It wasn’t a lot but it could tide us over.
Dad avoided my eyes.
I sensed his guilt and leaned forward. “No… you didn’t.”
“I’m sorry, Momo.”
I fell back on the
grimy floor. Dad had truly gambled everything away. What were we supposed to do now?
3
Who The Masks Are
James
I sprinted to the school parking lot. A cool wind chilled my skin. I looked left. Right. Monique wasn’t here. Still, I held onto hope. Most of the cars were gone, but she could be crouched behind a lamppost or something.
I inspected every inch of the concrete. No Monique.
Did she come and go? Did she even show up at all?
I frowned and climbed into my car. I should have gotten her phone number. In hindsight, I should have done a lot of things. But at the time, her flashing eyes and slightly parted lips had been too distracting.
Guess I’ll just have to track her down at school tomorrow.
I started my car and grabbed the steering wheel. My fingers tightened on the leather. The silence was chilling. I felt cold even though the car was stuffy. I cracked a window.
My phone rang.
I ignored it and stared straight ahead, mentally thumbing through the places I could go. In all those options, I never considered going home.
My phone went silent.
Maybe I could crash at Baz’s again? His parents weren’t all that thrilled when I showed up the last time, but they were impeccable hosts and I’d felt welcome anyway.
I rejected the thought with a shake of my head. Baz’s folks would start asking questions if I showed up too frequently. Better to leave his place for emergencies.
I tapped my fingers on the dashboard.
My phone rang again. I checked the screen, expecting to see Marissa’s name.
It was The Greasy Monkey.
I scrambled for the phone and answered. “What did she do?”
“Nothing much this time,” a gritty voice said. “Just some screaming and cursing.”
I let out a breath. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
I threw the phone down and slammed on the gas.
The drive to The Greasy Monkey seemed longer than usual. But I knew it wasn’t. Since I’d travelled this road so often, the time stamps were imprinted on my brain.
From school, it took ten minutes and thirty seconds.