Raven

by Allison van Diepen

♦ ♦ ♦

  Friday night. Finally.

  I’ve waited all week for this, to glide around in the stunning sanctuary vibrating with DJ Gabriel’s rhythmic beats. I can’t get over the beauty of this place.

  “I missed you!” Viola, white blond and sleek, is changing in the back room where I go to drop off my bag. She has a slight British accent, which adds to her elegance.

  I glance over my shoulder, just to make sure she’s talking to me. “Thanks.”

  Her blue eyes sparkle. “Big tips tonight, I can feel it.”

  “I hope so. Last week was pretty good, for a first shift.”

  “You took to the job right away. You’ve been a waitress before.”

  “Yeah.” At Denny’s, I don’t add.

  “Well, Carlo was impressed. That’s what’s important.”

  “Did he say that?”

  She shrugs a shoulder, bare in her blue sequined halter. “He doesn’t have to. I’ve worked for him for a while. I can tell.”

  “Cool.”

  I didn’t expect Viola to be so nice, I don’t know why. Okay, I do know why: because she’s beautiful. Irrefutably, magazine-cover-model-without-the-need-for-airbrushing beautiful.

  Does anyone have the right to be so damned gorgeous and sweet at the same time? It doesn’t help that she and Zin are good friends.

  “You should be out there by now, ladies.” We turn to see Daniella, Carlo’s younger sister, who occasionally pops in to give orders and act important—at least, that’s how I see it. She has the classical Italian look you might find in a Renaissance painting, without the subtle Mona Lisa smile.

  From what I hear, Daniella has it good. I’ve never heard of another person in their midtwenties being an art buyer, and one who buys for her own collection, at that. I suspect it’s a Carlo-funded venture. Must be nice.

  Viola and I head into the bar, stopping by the DJ booth to say hi to Gabriel, a handsome black guy with a shaved head. He doesn’t have the personality you’d expect of a club DJ—he’s focused, serious, not flirty. I don’t know his story yet, but he intrigues me.

  In fact, most of the staff intrigues me. I still can’t believe how lucky I am that Carlo gave me this chance. It’s not about the money, though the money is good. It’s about being part of the staff at the coolest club ever. It’s about the loud, throbbing music that wipes out all unhappy thoughts, leaving nothing to worry about except my next drink order.

  After eleven the customers come in steadily. Mig and Richard like to keep them waiting out in the cold for a few minutes to build their anticipation. And a lineup outside always attracts business.

  The other Toprocks show up just before midnight and hit the dance floor. We’re all hoping for a battle tonight, but by one thirty it’s clear that no other group, Spinheads or otherwise, is going to show up. I take my fifteen-minute break to dance with the guys.

  After last call, the staff hits the dance floor. It was one of the first things Zin told me about Evermore: Carlo encourages his staff to end the night with dancing to blow off steam. Of course, I’m always down with that.

  Once the front doors close and the last customer is gone, the party kicks up. This is the time of night when Mig is notorious for chugging down a few beers, ripping off his shirt, and going into a tirade of air guitar and head banging. It isn’t the most pleasant sight (or smell) since he’s been in his suit all night and he’s sweaty, but as long as he doesn’t grab me and swing me around like he’s doing to some of the other waitresses, it’s cool with me.

  Viola drags Carlo onto the dance floor, and he dances for a minute or two before going back to his bar inspection. He isn’t the type to let loose. Too bad—I bet he could move well if he’d learn to let go.

  By the time the music shuts off, I have a full-on dance high. I should be tired—it’s almost four a.m.—but I feel more alert and awake than I have all week. I can see that Zin’s feeling the same way.

  “My place?” he says. “Pizza?”

  “Sure.”

  Zin puts on a jacket for once but lets it hang open. I dive into my parka, hat, and mitts and bend my head against the cold wind.

  Zin knows these streets and the people who haunt them. He greets the homeless huddled in doorways, the strung-out drug addicts, the prostitutes. He always has a wad of dollars and change to give out, but only if they ask for it.

  Sometimes I think he’s kind, other times I think he’s the neighborhood chump. When I pointed out that a raid on a crack house had uncovered thousands of dollars in dollar bills and quarters, Zin simply said, “Every dollar’s a choice.”

  Chump or not, I like that he cares about these people. I pity them, but I’m repulsed, too—their vacant eyes, their smell, their hopelessness. All of it brings me back to the ghost.

  Where is he right now?

  “I’m thinking meat-lovers. What are you thinking?” Zin has a way of interrupting my thoughts just when they’re sliding.

  “Anything but anchovies.”

  “I can handle that.”

  Zin’s place is warm and cozy, unlike my parents’ house, where the furnace doesn’t pump heat like it used to. But still, I’m never warm enough. Zin says it’s because I don’t have enough body fat—he should talk. I grab an afghan off the couch and drape it over my shoulders while he orders the pizza.

  I settle on the couch. He sits beside me, drinking Coke, looking peaceful. “You know, it’s great to have you at Evermore. I can hardly remember what it was like before you worked there.”

  “It was awesome—that’s why I applied.”

  “Yeah, that’s true.” His head rolls back against the cushions. “I made a shitload off that bachelorette party. You usually don’t get that kind of money in February. More people are getting married down south these days.”

  We’re close on the couch, as always. Maybe it’s a cultural thing that Zin has no personal space. I certainly have it, just not with him. Our thighs are touching. There’s a vibe between us; I’m sure he feels it too.

  He’s studying my face, and I feel something rise inside him, like a question.

  “God, I love you, Nic.”

  We both go still.

  He gives an awkward laugh. “I scared you there. I didn’t mean it . . . like that.”

  “You didn’t scare me.”

  There’s a tight silence. He laughs bigger now, but it’s not his natural laugh. “We’re not . . . that kind of thing.” He reads my face. “Oh shit, Nic.”

  I look away.

  “It would never work, you and me,” he says softly.

  I’m not buying this line from him. I’ve seen him go for plenty of girls without caring if it worked. Why not give us a shot? And if it doesn’t work, so what? At least we tried.

  But I’m not saying any of this. Because he knows this. He knows we’re magnet and metal. It was bound to come out sometime.

  “You’re very special to me.” His words are choppy. His accent always gets stronger when he’s agitated.

  Special? I want to gag. “I don’t need pizza. I’m calling a cab.” I get out my phone, but he stills my hand.

  “You’re not listening. Look at me.”

  I do. I look into his beautiful green eyes.

  “I don’t want to hook up, because I know it won’t last. Why ruin this? It’s almost perfect.”

  “You can’t be faithful, is that it?”

  “No. It’s just that . . . I’m not the guy you’ll want a few months from now when you’re in college.”

  I frown. “You’re worried I’ll dump you because you’re a bartender?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Gimme a break, Zin. You don’t need to make excuses. You’re not feeling it, and that’s fair. Just stop being so . . . lovey-dovey with me, okay?”

  “I’m sorry, Nic. I never meant to lead you on.” He looks so innocent, so sincere. It pisses me off.

  “Oh, shut up. I buy a lot of things from you, but not insecurity. You’re the cockies
t bastard I know. So don’t play this not-good-enough-for-me shit. It’s not you.”

  His eyes drop to his soda can. “Me, I’m going to stay at Evermore for as long as it lasts. You, you’re going to make something big of yourself. This breaker stuff is just a phase for you. You need this right now, but one day you’ll outgrow this scene, and me.”

  “You’re so patronizing, you know that? Have I done anything to make you think I don’t take breaking seriously? What about my job—you think it isn’t the best thing in my life right now? Well, it is. I’m not leaving Evermore anytime soon. In fact, I’m probably not even going to college next year.”

  His eyes flicker. “You’re not serious.”

  “It’s true. There’s no money. My parents are in debt because of my brother. And I’ve decided I’m not taking a penny from them. I believe in a person paying for their own education anyway. I’m probably going to take the next year or two off and work as many hours as I can at Evermore. So there, I’m not going anywhere for a while. But that doesn’t change anything, does it?”

  I can’t see his eyes, because he’s hanging his head. His whole body is wired up with tension, the veins in his arms standing out like he’s poised for a backflip.

  This time, when I call for a cab, he doesn’t stop me.

  We go downstairs to wait for the cab. The cold wind whips my face, but I can hardly feel it. I wasn’t prepared for things to come crashing down with Zin. I wasn’t prepared for this at all.

  I could have stopped it, but I didn’t. I wanted the truth about how he felt. And still, it doesn’t feel real. I really thought he felt the same way.

  The cab pulls up, and Zin puts his arms around me, those strong, wonderful arms, and squeezes me against him. “I’m sorry, Nic. I know you don’t understand, but trust me. I’m doing the right thing for you.”

  His words have no meaning to me.

  LONELINESS

  UNBROKEN

  Monday morning I fall into my seat, feeling like scattered pieces. Humpty. I don’t know how to pick them up, much less how to put them back together. Dumpty.

  Seeing him at work Saturday night tested my keep-it-together skills, but I pulled through. I had no choice but to find a way to handle this. My work, my friends, my dancing, they’re all connected with Zin. I can’t lose all of those things, I just can’t.

  I guess Zin and I were never friends, not on my side anyway. My friendship was tangled with my love for him.

  I force myself to pay attention to my surroundings. Ms. Castleman is assigning group work, which I suppose means I should function. But then, I have Eli McCann in my group, who is all about taking the lead, even though the results will be less than stellar. Well, I’ll let him.

  Eli snaps up his pen and starts assigning tasks to me and Cass, the other girl in our group. We’ll be doing a PowerPoint presentation on antioxidants. I already know what foods have them, because Dad’s a health nut, but I passively watch Eli come up with a plan of action.

  The bell rings. I go to my next class. My mind drifts in and out of focus. When Ms. Rankin questions me on the passage of Aristotle we’re reading, I splay my hands because I don’t have the answer she’s looking for.

  At lunch I do the bagged veggie thing with the guys, then we cross the street to Dunkin’ Donuts for coffee. I ask for extra cream, since my stomach is already acid. My friends have no idea I’m sad because my dream of Zin has died.

  When my watch says we have to go back, I can’t do it. “I’m cutting this afternoon. Anyone else want to?”

  Kim makes a face. “I would, but I have a quiz.”

  “I’m down with it,” Chen says.

  “Me too,” Slide says. He’s already on his cell with Rambo, who goes to Murrow High School in Midwood. “Yo, wanna come get us?”

  Rambo is not the kind of guy to turn down the opportunity to ditch school, pick up his Toprocks, and cruise around Brooklyn. I feel slightly guilty at being the one to suggest we cut, since usually I’m trying to convince them to go to class. Today, though, I just can’t stand the idea of sitting in a classroom another few hours.

  Twenty minutes later we pile into Rambo’s Nissan, which smells like cologne, as usual. I pop into the backseat, feel the loud bass rattling the trunk. Chen slides in next to me.

  Rambo weaves into traffic. “Let’s see what Zin’s up to.” He tucks an earpiece in and dials. “Zin, what up?”

  Damn it. If I’d known he was going to offer to go all the way to Manhattan to pick up Zin, I wouldn’t be here. What’s Zin going to think when he finds out that I suggested we cut the afternoon? Is he going to think this is some ploy to see him before practice tonight? Or will he think I’m too broken up to go to class? Neither is a good scenario.

  Zin’s on speakerphone. “What’s happening, Bo?”

  “We’re all in the car looking for a destination. You up for it?”

  “Can’t, I got stuff to do.”

  “Aw, c’mon.”

  “C’mon!” Chen and Slide join in.

  “Nah, really, I’m busy, but I’ll see you tonight.”

  “What you busy with?” Chen asks. “Studying for your GED?”

  “You got it, Bruce Lee.”

  I elbow Chen in the ribs. The one thing I can never get used to is how mercilessly these guys tease one another. I don’t mind so much when they call Zin a terrorist, since he jokes about it himself, but the GED thing is a little much. We all know Zin didn’t finish high school, and though he acts like he doesn’t care, he can’t be proud of it.

  Damn it, I shouldn’t be feeling sorry for him. He makes his own decisions.

  I know that far too well.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  That night at practice, I’m as ready as ever to hit the mat. As for Zin, he’s quieter than usual. He looks nervous, like he’s worried I’m going to get all emotional on him. But it won’t happen. Friday night was bad enough. I don’t get off on drama.

  What do I have to dog him out for? Zin didn’t do anything wrong, he just didn’t return my feelings. Shitty for me, but not a crime.

  So we practice, and critique Rambo’s aerials, and I work on cranking my six steps up to eight. And we talk trash about the Spinheads and how their girl can’t really dance, not like I can.

  It’s just too bad that I’m still attracted to Zin.

  Pheromones suck.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  I hoist myself into a handstand, wobble, then smack down onto my back.

  “Ouch.” Chen stands over me, laughing. “A little trouble concentrating?”

  Tuesday night at the Y. Chen is here every night around nine, and sometimes I join him. The membership is cheap and there aren’t many people around—none who care what we’re up to. Just a few guys with barrel chests and skinny legs who like to watch themselves pump iron in the mirror. Guys who grunt so that everyone can hear how much weight they must be lifting. Guys who wouldn’t notice me unless I wore tight exercise gear, which I never do.

  I get up off the mat. “Guess I’m not myself tonight.”

  “Same as last night, huh?” He searches my eyes. “We all know something happened between you and Zin. You seemed upset yesterday, and then at practice we knew something was up. I didn’t want to ask in front of the others. . . .”

  I blink. So much for thinking the guys were clueless. I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure what Zin told him.

  “We figured he finally made a move on you. Poor bastard. It’s obvious he’s liked you for a long time. Go easy on the guy. He’ll get over it. Slide was worried you’d get all freaked out and leave the group.”

  “I’d never do that—leave the group, I mean. I’m not freaked out.”

  “Good.”

  Wow, they really want me. I knew they liked me, admired my hard work. But the fact that they’d actually been worried I’d leave the group—it feels good.

  “Spot me, I’m gonna do a double back.” He bends his legs, getting into position.

  “Wait, Chen.
I should tell you, Zin and I . . . it didn’t happen like that. He didn’t do anything to make me uncomfortable.”

  He shrugs. “Hey, as long as everything’s cool.”

  I spot him, though he doesn’t need it. His airwork is always solid—his gymnastics training, no doubt. Chen is known for his precision, while Zin is known for the incredible height of his airwork. Chen, unlike Zin, is ambitious, and he’s auditioned for several TV dance shows. He landed a top fifty spot in one of them last year.

  Hearing the guys’ take on the situation helps. Over the past few days I’ve wondered if the vibe between us was an illusion, a delusion. But if everyone else saw it so clearly, then it wasn’t. I had reason to take the risk I did, to call him on it.

  I still wonder why Zin didn’t bother to take a chance. His reasons didn’t feel real. I’ll be at Evermore for as long as it lasts. Does he think I’m too snobby to date a bartender? It’s dumb, and Zin isn’t dumb.

  Whatever. It doesn’t change that I miss him, and that I hope we’ll somehow find our way back to friendship through this.

  “Any more auditions coming up?” I ask Chen.

  “Dance America, but not till July. Rambo and Slide are gonna audition this time. You should too.”

  “I’ll think about it.” But I know I’m not at the professional level and never will be. I’m good, but not gifted, not like Chen or Zin. And I’m cool with that. “I’ll definitely help you guys train.”

  We practice a few more moves, then go to the weight room. I curl some hand weights while he does the leg press.

  “How’s it going at Evermore? Making mad money like Zin says?”

  “Maybe not as much as Zin says, but it’s better than Denny’s.”

  “What about that Viola girl—is she single?”

  “Hello, don’t you have a girlfriend?”

  “Not for me, for Rambo. He’s always drooling over her.”

  “I’ll find out for you, but it’s a long shot. She’s gotta be twenty-five. I somehow doubt she’ll go for a guy in high school.”

  “Rambo thinks he’ll charm her with his robotics.”

  We laugh.

  “Kim and I got our six-month anniversary coming up.”