by Seven Steps
It was already nearly forty minutes after our initially agreed upon time, and my mind was going crazy with questions. What if Ollie and his friends were gone? What if I’d come out here for nothing? What if Ollie had gotten himself arrested? What if—
“Well, well, well. Look who’s here.”
Jeff sauntered down the street. Ollie walked slightly in front of him, while Able and Jean walked behind.
Relief flooded through me. But it only lasted until I saw Ollie’s face. He wasn’t just mad. He was furious.
But why? He’d invited me to come. Why would he be mad when I showed up? Was it because I was late? If so, that was a hypocritical excuse. Ollie was late everywhere.
Jeff smiled and spread his arms wide. “Welcome to your new home.”
I looked around. New home? Where? Here?
Before I could ask a question, Ollie stepped forward.
“You should leave now, Princess.” His voice was strong but reluctant. “This isn’t your life.”
“Nonsense,” Jeff said. “Her life is her own business, isn’t it, Jasmine?”
I nodded.
I could see that something was going on between the two guys, but I wasn’t sure what. Whatever it was, it made my gut twist.
“See,” Jeff said. “She wants to be here. She’s excited to be here. And we’re ready to welcome her, right, gentlemen… and lady.”
Able and Jean looked at Ollie expectantly.
Ollie’s hands dug deep into his coat pocket. I’d remembered that coat from when he saved me from the runaway taxi cab the night of the Spring Fling.
“Follow me,” Jeff said. He reminded me of one of those guys who ran the sideshow at the carnival. All charm and just a touch of creepy. Something seemed off about Jeff, but I didn’t feel exactly unsafe around him. And so, I followed him deep into the alley, with Jean and Able flanking me.
Then Jeff’s voice boomed, “RATZ!”
Ollie, Jean, and Able responded with a sound that was half hiss, half snarl.
Just like a rat.
I assumed this was their customary welcome. Was I supposed to respond in kind? I’d never hissed or snarled before.
Jeff faced the rest of his crew. Then, he pulled me next to him, so I could face them too. I waved and nodded, feeling awkward and out of place.
“Um… hi.”
“We’re so happy to have you join us,” Jeff said. He placed his hand on my lower back and guided me to face the alleyway wall.
He sounded like a ringmaster greeting a crowded circus. Grandiose and enthusiastic.
I chanced a glance at Ollie, who sat atop a dumpster with his arms crossed, looking sour.
He was supposed to help me with my portraits. Was this part of it? And, if it was, how was this supposed to help me?
“What am I joining you for?” I asked Jeff.
“Let’s call it artistic growth.” He looked deep into my eyes. “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? To improve yourself?”
“Um… yes.”
“Speak up, dear. They can’t hear you in the back.”
“Yes. I want to improve my paintings,” I said a little louder.
I scanned the faces of Jean and Able. They looked on with great interest. Unlike Ollie, who seemed angrier and angrier by the second.
But why should he be angry?
This was his and Jeff’s idea.
“Excellent. We can help you with that,” Jeff said. “Provided our fearless leader says you can join our little rag-tag crew.”
All eyes turned to Ollie again. His face tightened into a scowl.
“She’s not joining.” His words were too final, as if he was daring someone to contradict him.
Jeff bowed his head and furrowed his brows sadly.
“I’m sorry, Jasmine. I guess you came down here for nothing. If Ollie says you can’t paint with us, then…”
His voice trailed off, and my eyes swung to Ollie.
Who was he to say who I could and couldn’t paint with?
And why was everyone acting like he was in charge around here?
Even if he was in charge of them, he wasn’t in charge of me.
Not by a long shot.
I squared my shoulders and put my fists on my hips. “You promised you’d help me.”
His jaw tightened. “I changed my mind.”
“We had a deal.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“You promised me!”
Ollie shook his head. “You don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand? That you’re a liar? That you asked me to come out here just to refuse me when I show up?”
“Princess—”
“Stop calling me Princess. My name is Jasmine. And stop thinking you can control what I do. I’m not yours to control.”
Ollie’s face turned red. I could practically feel the anger boiling beneath his skin. But I didn’t care. I was angry too.
More than angry.
I was pissed.
“Fine!” he cried out. “Do what you want! If you get hurt, don’t come crying to me.”
He glared at me, then crossed his arms like a spoiled child.
Too bad, Ollie. It didn’t matter if everyone else treated him like he was the greatest thing since sliced bread. I wouldn’t, because I knew what he really was. A selfish, spoiled slacker.
“That sounds like a yes to me,” Jeff said. “Now, let’s see what you got.”
Jeff turned me away from Ollie and we faced the wall again.
“Um, okay.” I reached for my bookbag to grab my sketchbook.
Jeff stilled my hand.
“No. Not what you had. What you got.”
He waved at the blank wall.
I frowned.
“You want me to paint a wall?”
He shrugged. “Spray paint a wall. Yes.”
That was when it dawned on me.
This wasn’t some impromptu art class.
Ollie was part of—leader of?—the RATZ. The same group who graffitied my school and the rest of my neighborhood. They were vandals. And now, they were standing around me, wanting me to join them.
I began to see why Ollie had such a puss on his face.
“I, uh, I can’t paint on walls.”
“Why not?” Jean asked. Several strands of blue hair stuck out from beneath her white cap.
“Because I’m not a cr—”
I stopped myself but not soon enough.
Jean frowned at me.
“We’re not criminals,” she said. “We’re artists.”
“A graffiti artist and an actual artist aren’t the same thing.”
“Sure, they are. Same craft. Different tools and techniques.”
“But you spray paint on walls illegally. That’s different from—”
“From what? Copying famous flowers?” Jean’s eyes were intense, and I took a step back against them. “How is your art better than mine? At least I create. You just copy what great people have done before you.”
My chest grew tight.
How could Jean say those things to me in that way? I barely even knew her.
My throat constricted, and my words came out strangled. “That’s not true.”
“Oh yeah. Show me one picture in your sketchbook that isn’t a copy of someone else's work or a flower.”
My hands squeezed onto the cardboard cover.
Dislike for this pale, blue-haired girl pooled in my gut.
When I didn’t reply, she smiled wryly.
“I thought so.”
My choked voice was a whisper now. “You don’t know anything.”
“All of you princesses are the same. You’re all just cookie cut-outs of one another, so you try to be different by being artsy. You take up photography or music or painting. But, deep down, you realize you’re unoriginal and barely talented. That you’re just doing this to pass the time until you graduate and get knocked up by some rich tool with a fast car and hair on the verge of balding. T
hen you’ll pop out a few kids and look back on your miserable life and wonder what it all meant in the first place. Sounds about right?”
It felt like her words punched holes in my chest.
I was so angry that I couldn’t breathe. My face heated and my fist balled up.
She was not right. She couldn’t be right. That was not me. It would never be me.
I stomped to the wall, grabbed one of the spray paints that leaned against it, and set to work with no outline and no thought. Anger fueled me as my fingers did the work, pulling images and colors out of me I didn’t even know were there.
This felt different somehow. It wasn’t like I was going through the motions of painting. I had nothing to base my work on. No photo. No mirror. No idea. It was as if my insides were exploding, their remains landing on the wall.
The wind picked up, and I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck.
Paint dripped on my boots. My coat. My gloves. My nose grew numb, and the wind smelled of approaching snow. Still, I pressed on.
I wanted this.
I needed this.
I was not unoriginal or untalented. I wouldn’t live a life of regret. Painting was what I wanted to do, and I was determined to prove that to Jean and the rest of the RATZ.
After what felt like a lifetime, I stepped back and examined my work.
The white paint had become a flower bulb and the green paint made up the stem. I’d mixed the black and green to create a cracked sidewalk, with the flower growing out of it. That was what I was. A small seed, trying desperately to break out of the barriers life had stacked around me.
I put down my paints, feeling more satisfied than I had in a long time. It was like I’d emerged from a cocoon.
I felt purged.
Pure.
Someone clapped me on the back.
“Nice work, Jasmine,” Jeff said. “Very nice.”
My eyes slid to Jean.
She gave me a reluctant nod.
“Well, I think our friend here has passed the sniff test,” Jeff said. “What do you say we let her paint heaven?”
“Paint heaven?” I asked.
Jeff gave me a sly smile.
“Don’t worry, Princess. The canvas will be much, much bigger.”
22
I climbed into an ancient brown van. A 1982 Chevy to be exact.
I knew this because I’d watched a television show once where a group of kids with crazy superpowers traveled across Chicago in one of these.
It was called Stranger… something or other.
Jean climbed in first, and I sat next to her. Able squeezed himself into the back, and Ollie and Jeff sat in the captain’s chairs.
The inside of the van smelled like a mix of body odor and something sweet, like orange soda. The scent made my gut roll with nausea.
I shallowed my breathing and shivered.
God, it was colder in here than it was outside. I rubbed my hands together and hunched my shoulders against it.
The van door roared shut, and the engine came to life.
I’d never been in a car this old before. Or this loud. It sounded like a thunderstorm was brewing below the hood. Black clouds of smoke puffed behind us as we pulled away from the curb. Some of the smoke back filled into the van, mixing the sickly-sweet odor with a burning oil smell. Gross. How could we keep a low-profile riding around in this ugly, smoky, tin can?
Jean snatched off her hat, revealing skin so pale it sparkled, and blue hair that was blond at the roots. She didn’t hold out her hand for a shake, but she did jerk her chin at me.
“Is this what princesses do? Ride around in cars with strangers?”
I clenched my back teeth. She was right. I did climb into the van without question. Maybe it was because I wanted to paint so badly. Or maybe, deep down inside, I wanted to be a part of something bigger than myself.
“You're not a stranger,” I said.
“No? What’s my last name?”
I opened my mouth and shut it again.
The only person whose last name I knew was Ollie’s, and that was because we had class together.
I sat up straighter and pulled off my scarf. The coolness of the van hit my chin, plummeting my already chilled body another ten degrees.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
Her gaze trapped mine and my shoulders tensed. I didn’t know how to read Jean. She was intimidating, that was for sure. She made me feel like I had to prove myself to her, which was a lot of pressure. I got the sense that it took a lot to impress her.
“Jean Wick,” she said. “Like John, but hotter.”
“Jasmine Patel,” I replied. I wanted to add something witty to my name, but I couldn’t come up with anything just then. Plus, Jean’s staring was making me super uncomfortable. Her eyes bored into mine, searching for something. She’d seen my face already. So why was she staring at me as if there was a million-dollar prize hidden in one of my pores?
“I know who you are. I saw it in you, you know.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
“Saw what?” I asked.
“The fire. That tiny piece of you that you keep hidden from the world. Everyone in this car has it. And now, so do you.”
Jean was perceptive. Too perceptive. And I didn’t want her to perceive anything else about me. I frowned and looked away from her, focusing on the miles of highway the van was eating up.
“It’s hard, isn’t it? Keeping it under wraps because it doesn’t fit into your perfect life. It makes you want to scream, doesn’t it?”
I crossed my arms and legs, closing myself off to her before she saw any more of my insides.
A deep voice came from the back. “Let up, Jean. You’re making her uncomfortable.”
“Good,” she replied. “She needs a little discomfort.”
A meaty hand slipped between Jean and me, and I turned around to face the giant boy behind me. “I’m Able Wu.”
I took in the boy with the goofy grin. He was tall and wide, but there was no meanness to him. Peace and calm poured off him in waves. It made me calm too.
I placed my hand in his bigger, warmer one.
“Nice to meet you, Jasmine,” he said. He released my hand. “Please don’t mind Jean. Her aura’s off today.”
“You can take your aura and shove it, Able. Don’t try your mumbo jumbo on me. I’m not down with that crazy stuff.”
“Peace, sister. Peace.”
She shot him a look and turned toward the front of the van. I noticed that her shoulders lost a little of their tension, though.
“I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced,” Jeff said. “Jeffrey Santiago.”
“Santiago? As in—”
“The younger, handsomer, smarter brother of our fearless leader.”
He clapped Oliver on the back, but Oliver shook him off.
Oliver had a brother? He never told me that. Then again, we hadn’t had many in depth conversations.
“You’re going to enjoy this,” Jeff said. He looked at me the same way Jean looked at me. Intensely. Like they knew something about me I didn’t know yet.
It suddenly occurred to me I only really knew one person in this van, and he’d clammed up the minute I got here. I didn’t know Jean or Able or Jeff. More importantly, I didn’t know where we were going.
All I knew was I was in the car with vandals and criminals, and one of them didn’t even like me.
“If you’re going to be one of us, you have to learn the rules,” Jeff said. “Rule number one. Don’t lie.”
Jean spoke up from the front of the van. “Rule number two is don’t talk about the RATZ to anyone. No family, no friends, no priest, and no cops. We’re not a community program. This is real stuff you’re getting into. Dangerous stuff. Can you deal with that?”
Dangerous stuff? How dangerous? And could I deal with the danger? I looked around the van, at these people who had given me a chance to paint with them. Who’d allowed me to show them my wo
rk. I’d only seen Ollie’s pictures, but if the rest of them were as talented as he was, then I needed them to help me. All of them. It was the only way I could get into the summer internship. The only way I could take my work to the next level.
And I needed to take my work to the next level.
My entire future depended on it.
I sat up a little straighter, giving Jean the same intense gaze she had given me.
“I can deal with that,” I said. My voice was confident. Sure. I could take whatever the RATZ threw at me, because I had to. If I could impress them, then I could impress Devinta. I felt it deep in my bones.
Ollie eyed me in the rearview mirror, speaking up for the first time since we’d entered the van. “We’ll see, Princess. We’ll see.”
23
We pulled to a stop beneath an overpass somewhere in Queens.
Ollie’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this, Princess?” he asked.
I swallowed. I didn’t know what this was. But I couldn’t back down now. I didn’t know what I’d signed up for, but I knew that if I was going to improve as an artist, I had to do whatever they asked.
I nodded. “Yes. I’m ready.”
His eyes hardened again, and he climbed out of the van, shutting the door behind him.
I followed him until we stood in front of a metal pole holding up a highway sign. The latticed pole must’ve stretched twenty feet in the air before bending to the left. At the end of the pole was a green sheet metal sign with white letters.
All eyes turned to Ollie.
What exactly was this about?
“Okay.” His frown was so deep I doubted he'd ever be able to make another facial expression again. “Just hold on tight. Don’t try to be a hero up there. Simple. Quick. Clean. If you put some dirt on your shoe, that might give you more traction.”
What was he talking about? What exactly was I supposed to do here?
“Good luck, Princess.” He eyed the path before me.
A path that led directly to…