“Whoa!” he says, steadying me. He carries a bouquet of flowers in one hand. “I knew I was running late, but is it over already?”
“Gotta fade,” I say, pushing past him. But Bowie grabs my arm.
“Hey. I know you’re pissed at me. I mean, I’d be pissed at me, too,” he says.
I blink at him until his words connect and make sense. They never do—and my patience is getting skinny.
“I didn’t know all those idiots would come out and talk trash about Nic like that,” he continues. “Obviously, none of them knew her. I deleted all the comments. Doesn’t fix everything, but it’s a start.”
Everything snaps into place. He’s talking about his Instagram post. With everything starting to come to light, that post seems a thousand years old.
I nod more times than needed. “Yeah. It’s all good.”
Bowie tries to say something else, but I pull away from him. No time for apologies when you’re on a mission. I think he calls after me. I think MiMi does, too. But the exit has answers and it calls me even louder, so I listen.
Twenty-Six
I TAKE AN UBER TO JOHN RATCLIFFE UNIVERSITY. SCROLL through Greek letters on my phone to shake my memory. Triangle with horns . . . triangle with horns . . . Those jackasses were wearing DU hoodies at Taco Bell. Delta Upsilon. The driver has no clue where the DU fraternity house might be, so I get her to drop me off at the student union, hope to bump into someone that could point me in the right direction.
My head’s so full of steam as I storm through the campus that my eyes get foggy. Why did these white guys have all of Nic’s stuff? Did they know she was my sister when they showed up at Taco Bell, or were they in their usual douche mode? It’s not adding up. But the answers were so close right now that I could end a drought with all the sweat I have pouring from me.
I bump into some white guy with a bun. He tells me where to find the DU house. All the frat houses are throwing “major ragers,” he says, to raise money for the Special Olympics. Because nothing says altruism like a bunch of frat guys playing beer pong. As I make my way down what the students call Frat Row, I hear the competing bass lines from the houses creeping their way up the pavement.
Thump-a, thump-a, thump-a.
The throb gets louder with every step I take, the bass sending tremors to my soles. I check the pulse in my neck just to be sure. It could definitely rival whatever’s going on in those DU Douchebags’ house, but it’s not the culprit of the loud tempo. I finally reach the spot. Some kids fart around in the front yard—dancing to the music leaking out the house, laughing at some guy who spits up his liquor in the bushes. All just living their best lives on a Saturday night.
I lose some of my steam as I reach the bottom of the porch steps. If these guys were bold enough to have a “rager” with drunks throwing up in the front yard on campus, why the hell did I think they’d give me any easy answers about Nic? If Riley were here, she’d know how to tap-dance around the topic. Ask just the right questions to get exactly what we needed. I’d even take Javon. His methods are a bit more barbaric than Riley’s, but still, all our questions would be answered. But I didn’t have Riley nor Javon. Just me. I came this far to find out what’s going on with Nic, so I can’t turn back now. I shake my hands out to ready myself, then climb the steps.
When I slide through the front door, the pulse from the techno music almost jolts my newfound nerves out of me. I swivel, try to head back out to regroup, but a cluster of guys whooping and hollering like it’s their first college party comes barreling through the door, pushing me farther inside. Crap. But maybe that’s a sign.
I look around, search for one of the clowns that came to Taco Bell—but most of these guys look like the clowns that came into Taco Bell. Most of the guys here are tall, tan, and look like they go sailing on the weekends. I definitely stick out. I spot a JRU ballcap lying on one of the speakers. I swipe it, place it on my head, nod along to the song playing like I requested it. I see two girls giggling and dancing with each other in a corner. They look happy enough to help out. I nod my way over to them. Do a little two step beside them before I make my move.
“’Sup,” I say over the music.
The girls look at me, then each other, then giggle again. “You’re cute, babe, but we’re together,” the one with curly black hair says. She grabs the other girl’s hand to prove her point further.
I hold up both hands and take a small step away. “Congratulations,” I say . . . because I’m a dorky eleventh grader who has no business being here. “I was wondering if either of you knew where I could find someone.”
“We’re all looking for someone, babe,” the same girl says.
Okay then. Maybe I should get into specifics. “He drives an Escalade,” I say. “Dark brown. Killer rims,” I add, just in case all these assholes drove Escalades.
“You’re talking about Tyler,” the girlfriend says.
I nod. Tyler—now we’re getting somewhere.
The girl with the curly black hair shakes her head. “That’s not Tyler’s car. He’s in it so much that he probably thinks it is. You mean Liam.”
Tyler? Liam? Both sound like they have money in their checking accounts with more digits than my social security number. “Yeah . . . yeah, I meant Liam. Know where he’s at?”
“Last I saw him, he was checking out the liquor supply to see if he needed to make a run.”
I don’t get to ask where the liquor supply is because the girls return to their giggling and dancing. If I interrupt to ask more questions, I’ll paint a bull’s-eye on my back. Best to keep it moving. I decide to follow the trail of discarded red Solo cups. Maybe the end of it will lead to the liquor. Hopefully this Liam guy is still there. I continue to bob my head along to the music. I even throw a wave at some random guy just to give off that I belong here. That I come to the DU house every weekend. My confidence pays off—the guy pulls me in for a hug, lifts me off my feet for a moment. I adjust my cap just as I hear a loud bang on a door down one of the halls.
“I told you—just don’t cause a scene!” Some tall, macho guy barks at his almost as tall friend, pinning him up against the door. For a guy that doesn’t want to cause a scene, his actions say otherwise. He then leans over and whispers something in the other guy’s ear with so much rage that I see the spit flying from his mouth.
The other guy nods as if he gives in, then knocks his aggressor’s hands off him. He spreads out all ten of his fingers and says something I can’t quite make out. Ten minutes maybe?
“Yeah, no shit!” The macho guy broods back toward the living room. He sideswipes me as he pushes past and that’s when I catch a whiff: Pine-Sol. Mixed with a couple of beers, but obnoxious and spruce-y nonetheless.
My heart catches in my throat as the guy continues to push his way through the dancing crowd. Okay, it’s time to do something, Jay. If you lose him, no telling when you’ll find him again.
“Liam!” I call out.
Liam pauses in his tracks, looks back at me. Holy shit. I didn’t expect that to be so easy. He stares at me, his mouth pinched in annoyance. I need to keep moving mine before he disappears on me.
“Cool party, dude.” Shit.
His annoyance switches into disgust as he curls his lip. “Do I know you?” he asks.
I push past a couple who bumped and grinded their way between us. “Yeah. I think we have first period together.” Shit again. “I mean, first class. Of the morning. On Mondays . . . yeah.”
Liam cocks his head at me. “You’re in poly sci?”
I nod. “Yep.” But please don’t ask me what the hell that is.
“Bro.” His jaw finally slacks. “That test last week. Like what the fuck, yo?”
I force out a small laugh. “I know, right? Like was the professor in the same class we were?”
“But Tiana, though . . .” Liam holds out both hands in front of his chest, squeezes imaginary breasts. I gnaw my bottom lip so I won’t gag. He looks at me, waiting for a response. So I nod.
“I see why they call them TAs, know what I’m saying?”
I keep nodding. “Yep,” I manage. “Just like an hourglass.”
“But wait . . .” Liam scratches his chin, studies me. “Or is her name Brittany?” His eyes trail over the cap on my head, back to my face. Back to the cap. He’s trying to place me in his class, and this is my quiz.
I crack a smile. “Does it matter?”
Liam laughs then points at my hand. “Where’s your drink?”
“I just knocked back a brewski,” I say, not even understanding the words leaving my mouth. “Told my moms I’d take it easy this weekend. Last time I was home, she claimed she could smell the Budweiser coming out of my pores.”
Liam laughs again. “Moms are always so dramatic.” He slaps me on the back. “But at least you still have yours.” This mofo, though. “I’ll catch you Monday morning.” He begins to head back the way he was going.
“Man, speaking of T and A, you got some lovely ladies up in here,” I say to him, making him pause again. “Feels like I’m at a buffet. Only thing, though.” I step closer to him and smile. “I like a little dark meat, know what I’m saying?”
Liam studies me again, then lets out a smaller laugh than before. “Sorry to disappoint,” he says.
“Really, though,” I continue. “You don’t ever get any sisters around here?”
Liam’s jaw clenches as he glances somewhere over my shoulder. I look behind me at the same hall where he fought with his friend. When I turn back around, he’s staring at me with narrow eyes. “I mean, we don’t discriminate. Anybody could come through here.”
“That’s what’s up.” I snap my fingers like I suddenly remembered something. “I saw a dope one around here about two weeks ago. Skinny braids, light eyes. A little thin in the waist. Know who I’m talking about?”
Liam is silent. Too silent. Almost makes me forget the bass line throbbing all around us. I keep my face as still as possible. Don’t give him anything before this all goes to hell.
“What you say your name was again?” he finally asks.
“I didn’t.” I extend a hand. “Bowie,” I say, because it’s the first name that comes to my mind.
“Bowie?” He raises an eyebrow. “Your parents named you Bowie?”
I shrug. “What can I say? They loved the movie Labyrinth.”
“Yeah . . .” He scratches the back of his neck. “Weird, though. I definitely would remember a black guy named Bowie in my class.”
I ignore the spinning in my stomach. The spinning in the room. This guy knows something, so I have to be even until I find out what. “I like to chill in the cut. Philosophy’s never been my thing.”
Liam’s head cocks to the side. “Philosophy?”
Fick. Fick. Did I say the wrong class? “I’m so lit.” I laugh. Liam looks around and I have to reel him back in. “But yeah, that honey I was talking about earlier—”
“Nah, bro. Don’t know who you’re talking about.” His jaw clenches. Adam’s apple bobs up and down.
I give a slight frown. “You sure? Pretty sure she’d be hard to forget since you don’t have that many sisters that come around here.”
Liam’s eyes graze over my shoulder again and he shakes his head. “Nope. I’ll let you know if she swings back again. Look, man. We’re about to clear people out of here. Why don’t you stick around, though? Seems like we have a lot to catch up on.” He slaps me on the back again. This time a little too hard. I nod at him as he pushes through the crowd, not even responding to someone else that calls his name. He moves as if someone’s life depends on ending this party at a reasonable time.
I look behind me again. What was going on back there that kept Liam’s attention like that? Then I spot it. A closed door near the end of the hall. Not like the other rooms—this one had a dead bolt on it.
Nic.
Something tugs at my chest, almost pulling me to that door. Something’s going on in there. Nic could be down there. Question is: Is she dead or alive? I’ll need backup to get past that lock. I reach for my phone. No way Officer Hunter will be able to hear me through all this chaos. I search for an exit. But everyone’s searching for an exit. One of the frat guys stood on a couch, got on a megaphone to tell everyone to peace out. They usher us out now in droves, even though I can still hear the music from neighboring houses. Either the DU house is the most responsible fraternity on Frat Row, or they have a reason to get everyone the hell up out of here. Something tells me it’s the latter.
I decide against the front door in case I bump into Liam again. He’s onto me. I just know it. I reach the kitchen and find a screen door leading into the backyard. Perfect. I’ll run about a block or two away. Wait until I hear the sirens before coming back. No matter how they find Nic, I know I needed to be there when she’s found.
I grab the handle of the screen door and pull it. The cold night air hits my face . . .
And something else hits the back of my head. Before I can reach to feel the damage, I tip forward and the night eats me up.
Twenty-Seven
THE BACK OF MY HEAD THROBS TO A STEADY BEAT:
Thump-a, thump-a, thump-a.
Feels like my head’s about to explode. I groan. Blink until my eyes fully open. I’m greeted with darkness. I blink some more, force my eyes to adjust. The thumping continues. I touch my head to make sure a vein’s not about to punch out of it. Pain sears from my scalp as soon as my fingertips graze it and I wince. Pain is good, though. Pain tells me that I’m not dead.
“Jay?”
My heart catches in my throat. That voice . . . that voice sounds familiar. The same one that would shake me awake in bed to make sure I didn’t miss the bus. The same one that would whine at me when I had to shake her to make sure she didn’t miss the bus. The same one that would reassure me of its presence when everything got too much: “You and me against the world, right?”
I push myself up to all fours. The dark room starts spinning, and I search for the voice. Search for something to keep me steady.
Again: “Jay!”
“Nic!” Her name explodes out of me, eclipsing any thumping going on.
My eyes catch on to an outline of my sister running toward me. Her gait is so strained, so jagged, that I almost think she’s a ghost. But then she pulls me in for a hug, and she’s so warm and real that the tears burst out of me.
“Nic,” I choke out. I touch her braids. Make sure she’s still real. “Nic?”
“It’s me,” Nic sobs and squeezes me tighter. “I promise. It’s me.”
We cling to each other with all the strength we have left. When one of us buckles, the other lifts us back up. I bury my face in the space between her neck and shoulder. Can’t remember the last time we hugged each other like this. With so much sentiment. Maybe it was right after MiMi explained to us that Mom was going to be gone for a long, long time. Nic pulled me to her chest, let me bury my face in her shoulder so nobody else had to see me cry. I left a puddle on her new sweater, but she didn’t care. She looked out for me like that. She’s doing the same for me now, even though she’s the one that’s probably been through hell. Doesn’t matter. She’ll be my big sister ’til the end.
Finally, Nic pulls away. Cups my face in her hands. “You’re real.”
I choke out a small laugh. “I’m real.” I touch her face, too. “So are you.”
Nic smiles and rests her cheek more into my palm. Then she blinks as if suddenly remembering she left the oven on. “Did they hurt you? What are you doing here?”
Here? Where’s here? I wipe away the rest of my tears with the back of my sleeve and scan the room. It’s dusty, dank. Cluttered with a tattered plaid couch and old foosball tables and paddles and flags with Greek lettering on it. DU. Delta fickin’ Upsilon. The bass continues and I realize it’s not coming from my head—it’s coming from outside. Somewhere above us. The music on Frat Row. I’m still in the damn frat house. The basement, maybe? This must be the room with the locked door tha
t Liam kept sweating about.
Against one of the walls is a mattress on the floor covered by a thin sheet. A tray lies next to it with discarded pieces of fruit and a sandwich. The sight makes me want to gag. I really take Nic in. Her braids hang limp from her head, almost like they’ve given up. Her jean skirt has a tear on the bottom, and her shirt is wrinkled and covered in dirt. Now my stomach clenches even tighter.
“Have they been keeping you in here?” I ask Nic.
Nic’s bottom lip trembles as she nods. She rubs her eyes furiously with the heels of her hands, like she’s refusing to let herself cry about it.
“Nic.” I hold on to her arm. “I don’t understand. What happened?”
Nic blows breath out of her mouth, puffing some of the braids out of her face. “Javon and I got into it a few weeks ago at a party.”
I nod rigorously. I knew this part. The party a little over two weeks ago, where Sterling was being a bad friend and Javon was being a worse boyfriend.
“I took off. Kenny was already outside. He had to make a deal for Javon. He said he’d take care of that first, then take me wherever I needed to go to cool off. He pulled up . . . here. Told me to wait in the car.” Nic hugs herself, rubs her arms up and down as if she caught a chill. “But he was taking a long time. Longer than I expected. So, I finally got out of the car and came in here to check on him. They were having some get-together. Nothing huge like tonight. The guys didn’t even want to have this thing tonight, but all the frats had to . . .” The guys? She talks about them like they’re old friends. Nic shakes her head as if she suddenly remembers who she is and the assholes she’s talking about. “But people were dancing, giggling. Feeling lovely, you know? I searched around for Kenny—then heard shouting coming from one of the bedrooms. I think they were trying to stiff Kenny. I kept hearing them yell, ‘We don’t have your money!’ And then one of them called Kenny a nigger.”
My fists clench on autopilot. That word coming from these boys’ mouths was something more than them just copying off their favorite rapper. When they used it, they did it with intention. And their intention was to make Kenny feel like a lowlife.
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