by K. Ancrum
Ominotago perked up at the sound of her name and Tinkerbelle turned to Wendy, but Wendy was busy staring at Curly. He looked absolutely nothing like Ominotago and Waatese. The only feature they shared was dark hair, but Ominotago’s and Waatese’s were jet black and straight, and Curly’s was very dark brown and, well, curly.
“My mom was Irish, but my dad was Ojibwe,” he said, continuing to type.
“He’s what?” Wendy asked.
“Chippewa,” Ominotago clarified. She scowled when Wendy’s face still didn’t dawn with comprehension.
“American Indian,” Fyodor explained from far away, striking a match and lighting his cigarette.
“Oh, cool,” Wendy said. Well, that canceled out Ominotago and Waatese. “Prentis said he thought you—”
But before Wendy could finish, Curly groaned loudly and slouched dramatically in anguish against the bus wall. “Prentis doesn’t know we’re cousins, and neither does Peter. But I fought Peter after we introduced him to Ominotago, and now he thinks she’s my girlfriend. It’s so embarrassing.”
Ominotago grinned. “I’m too cool to be your girlfriend, even if you weren’t my cousin.”
“Truth,” Minsu called, nodding. Charles had stopped crying, but it looked like he’d cried himself right to sleep. Minsu had moved his arm from cradling what was clearly his best friend, to resting it over the top of the seat while Charles’s head lolled on his shoulder. It was cute, but Wendy still had questions.
“Why did fighting Peter make Prentis think Ominotago was your girlfriend? And what about—” Wendy nodded over at Tinkerbelle and Ominotago, who had refocused themselves on their private conversation.
Curly looked just as embarrassed as he had at the dinner table. “Peter gave Ominotago a nickname, but she didn’t like it and asked me to make him quit calling her that. So, I asked him to stop, but like always, he didn’t want to. Instead he bothered me all week until I just snapped and pushed him to the ground to beat some respect into him. He won the fight, of course, since he’s bigger than me, and he also punished me for trying. But he did stop. Now he rarely refers to her directly unless she’s physically in front of him. He calls her ‘Omi’ now, which is annoying because only Tinkerbelle is allowed to call her that and everyone else respects this, except him.
“He doesn’t ever own up to his mistakes or apologize when he’s rude,” Curly continued, bitterly. “He just stops doing whatever he’s doing or pretends he doesn’t remember when he hurts your feelings.”
Christ. “Why do you live with him?” Wendy asked quietly. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but…” She shrugged.
Curly looked stricken. His dark eyebrows pinched, and the corners of his mouth twitched up and down like he was trying to force himself to smile but failing. He gazed out the window for a bit and dragged a hand down one of his braids anxiously before answering. “I was … different back before I met him. I was really angry, getting into trouble at school and just doing whatever I wanted all the time. I wore out the people who were taking care of me, and then I wore out my extended family, and only a few of them will talk to me now.” Curly’s eyes flicked over to Ominotago.
“I mean, I’m sure if I went back to them now it would be different,” he continued. “I could do school; I have the patience for it now, and I would do so much better. But I was really, really bad. Just, breaking things and…”
Curly was talking so quietly now that Wendy had to lean close to hear him. She could see Fyodor over Curly’s shoulder, watching them both as he smoked.
“Anyway, I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” Curly said firmly. “Slightly was already there and seemed so overburdened with taking care of the littler ones. I couldn’t just leave him there alone, working so hard like that. He was the only one who had real skills, you know? My parents never taught me how to do the things Slightly knows how to do, but he taught Nibs and me quickly, even though we’re older. His birth family was really strict, I think.
“It’s been three years since I moved in, and I’m almost eighteen, so I’ll be free to do what I want soon,” Curly said hopefully. “I’m going to go back to my family and apologize and get all my real paperwork, and I’ll get a job and go back to study. Maybe go to a trade school or something.”
“You could do this now,” Fyodor said lowly. “Nothing to stop you.”
Curly frowned. “The timing isn’t right yet. You don’t know what I did, Fyodor. Just take my word for it.”
Fyodor turned around to face them both, his heavy-lidded eyes serious. With the cigarette in his hand, he gestured at Curly’s pocket and at the prying tool he had on his back. “You make slingshot, you make that. You weld. You could get apprenticeship, easy. Anyone can see. You need to come out from pretty cave you made and choose real world. You are ready.”
“Bro, I don’t think we’re allowed to smoke on the bus,” Charles interrupted, looking over his shoulder at the cloud of smoke surrounding Fyodor.
“You are ready,” Fyodor said firmly, ignoring Charles. “Seventeen? Anywhere else, you are a man.”
Curly seemed very cross suddenly and opened his mouth to argue, but Fyodor kept going.
“You can keep that secret?” He nodded over at Ominotago. “You can keep secret of your freedom. I know this.” Fyodor reached over and squeezed Curly’s shoulder. Then he leaned back and grinned mischievously. “If not, would be easy finding women to take care of you. You make … pretty things.”
Curly’s entire face went pink immediately, his mouth a small o of shocked pleasure. Wendy watched in exhilarated surprise as Fyodor raked his eyes up and down Curly with astonishing heat and Curly covered his blazing cheeks with both hands. Apparently she’d guessed correctly about Fyodor’s flirting habits.
“Leave Curly alone!” Ominotago shouted across the bus, noticing instantly.
Fyodor barked out a peal of laughter, before winking at Ominotago and clicking loudly out of the side of his mouth in dismissal. He refocused his attention on Wendy and continued. “He make … what is it called? The hmm … display on the ceiling and walls in Peter’s house. Very talented.”
Wendy remembered the incredible bottle installation and understood Fyodor’s struggle to come up with a word to describe it. It was probably the best piece of art she’d ever seen in her life. There had to have been thousands of bottles, and it had to have taken Curly months or even years to build.
She also remembered the crates and the intricate placement of household objects by color. Then her gaze tracked back to the embroidery on Curly’s denim jacket.
“You’re incredible, Curly,” she gasped.
“It’s not a big deal,” Curly mumbled, clearly embarrassed by all the attention. “My mom was an artist.”
“You are an artist,” Fyodor replied lowly. He tilted his head back and let the smoke leak out of his mouth, sultry and smooth like a 1930s film star.
“FYODOR,” Ominotago cried, slamming a hand down on the seat sharply.
“Okay,” Fyodor said firmly, putting his cigarette out on the back of the seat in front of him. “I do not stop. She make us run drills,” he remarked to Wendy, rolling his eyes.
“We’re almost there.” Curly stood up suddenly, leaned over Fyodor, and pulled the cord on the window to let the driver know to stop the bus. Then he stumbled down the stairs to the side door, like he was relieved for a reason to escape the conversation.
Wendy turned anxiously to Tinkerbelle. She had been so tired from all the running, and distracted from meeting so many people in such a short amount of time, she’d forgotten they were going anywhere at all. She assumed they’d just hopped onto the bus to escape.
Tinkerbelle nodded out the window as everyone got to their feet. “The Mermaid’s Lagoon,” she said to Wendy. “We’re getting in through the back.”
“I bet you Peter is already there,” Ominotago said to Tinkerbelle as they stepped onto the pavement outside. “That son of a bitch can wiggle out of anything.�
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Tinkerbelle made a little hum in agreement as Wendy followed her into the street. The bus door snapped shut behind Wendy, and she jumped anxiously. Unthinkingly she reached out to Tinkerbelle, then realized what she was doing and dropped her arms to her sides.
Ominotago caught the gesture and paused. She dropped Tinkerbelle’s hand and turned, catching both of Wendy’s hands in hers. Then Ominotago breathed in deeply and let the breath out slowly.
The lights of the Mermaid’s Lagoon glowed rainbows across the sidewalk behind Ominotago, and the streetlamp threw her face into shadow, like the center of a halo. Wendy glanced over Ominotago’s shoulder at Tinkerbelle, who crowded close to them both until they were in a small triangle.
“Breathe with me,” Ominotago demanded in a way that brokered no argument.
Wendy tried to calm her racing heart, but it wasn’t quite working. She was breathing entirely too fast. Distantly, outside herself, she felt stupid and childish. She had been fine on the bus, seconds ago, and she’d held it together for the majority of the night, but somehow now she wanted to curl inside herself until she was small enough to disappear.
Ominotago squeezed Wendy’s hands hard enough that it shocked her out of her own head and back into the warm brown of Ominotago’s gaze. Wendy focused on this stranger’s face as she mimicked the speed of her breaths. Ominotago’s eyebrows, black and graceful like they had been painted on with ink; her nose that spread seamlessly into her cheekbones; the stubborn jut of her chin and the girlish curve of her mouth; her blue-and-purple-and-pink blush, blending like watercolors, lovely like nothing Wendy had ever seen.
Tinkerbelle’s beautiful girlfriend, broad-shouldered and strong, taking her time teaching Wendy how to breathe in the middle of the street, was wasting valuable time with someone she’d just met as the boys disappeared into an alley around the corner. Ominotago’s hands were warm. Wendy could feel how they were calloused from playing sports and thought about Tinkerbelle’s small, impossibly soft hands. Wendy broke Ominotago’s gaze to look over at the other girl. Tinkerbelle’s head was bowed as she matched Ominotago’s breaths, the glow of the streetlights reflected dramatically off the gold glitter she’d applied around her eyes. Wendy looked back at Ominotago and realized she was breathing at the same pace as Ominotago, Wendy’s shoulders naturally having fallen from being pinched around her ears.
Ominotago nodded slightly and loosened her grip on Wendy’s hands until she was holding them as sweetly as if they’d been friends for years.
“Tinkerbelle told me what happened,” she said seriously. “You have had a very long night.”
“Y-yeah.” Wendy’s voice broke and she cleared her throat. “Yeah, I have. I really just want to go home now.”
Ominotago nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. But the night is going to get a bit longer.”
Now that Wendy was relaxed enough to stop hyperventilating, she was too unguarded to stop tears from springing to her eyes at hearing that.
“Tinkerbelle told me you just arrived in the city and that you haven’t even started school yet. You shouldn’t be here; you should be at home,” Ominotago said, firm and resolute. “You didn’t deserve to be lured outside, to be pressured into changing train cars, to be kidnapped, or to be held in that man’s home. You also didn’t deserve to be around explosions or be in a position to make a decision about how to handle police in a community where you know no one, and trust very few of the people around you.”
Something wild and anguished opened up like a flower in Wendy’s chest, and suddenly she found herself crying in the middle of the street. She didn’t deserve any of this at all, and it was so refreshing to hear anyone in this group of people admit that out loud. Nothing on earth could have prepared her for what had happened in the past three hours. Even though she was extremely aware that making the decision to leave home was entirely her own horrible choice, Ominotago seemed like a normal person with a normal perspective, so it was validating to hear her describe the entire night so bluntly.
Ominotago let go of Wendy’s hands and gripped her by the shoulders instead. “You don’t deserve any of those things, but tonight is important to everyone here. Curly has been waiting for this night for a year, Nibs has been waiting for three. Even my friends have been waiting for months. Now, I don’t know you, Wendy.” Ominotago tilted up her chin in challenge. “But from what Tinkerbelle has told me, I know that you’re daring, I know that you’re clever, and I know that you are strong, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. However, you intruded on something we have been working on, and we need you to keep it together. For the rest of us.”
Wendy looked over at Tinkerbelle, who nodded back at her firmly.
“Wendy promised,” Tinkerbelle said. “And she spit-shook.”
Wendy remembered having to touch Tinkerbelle’s saliva-covered hand, and it was ridiculous enough to make her stop crying as she wondered at the intensity with which Tinkerbelle and Ominotago took such a gesture seriously.
“Enough people have been hurt over this whole thing, and we’re not adding outsiders to that tally,” Ominotago said resolutely. “If Tinkerbelle can’t get you home safely, I will. If I’m otherwise occupied, any one of the boys will handle it. I understand if you’re worried about going somewhere with a boy you just met, but I promise you, you’re safe with them. Fyodor is here on a visa and can only stay if he continues his education. Minsu is literally a Boy Scout. Charles would die before touching you any way you did not want him to. Waatese is a boxer in addition to playing football, and he’s family. You’re safest with him. My friends and I have parents who care where we are at night, and we are supposed to be home by two a.m.”
Ominotago dropped her hands from Wendy’s shoulders. “That’s four hours from now,” she said simply. “You should be home before then.”
“What about Fyodor? You were yelling at him on the train,” Wendy said. She wasn’t scared of him in particular; it just seemed strange Ominotago would warn Fyodor away from Curly so aggressively if she thought he was so safe for Wendy to be around.
Ominotago scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Despite his dramatics, Fyodor is asexual—he won’t touch you. But for Curly? He can do better. Fyodor flirts with everyone, and Curly hasn’t ever dated anyone before. He’s vulnerable. He doesn’t need a playboy boyfriend … or girlfriend. He needs stability.”
Tinkerbelle brushed her shoulder against Wendy’s playfully and smiled more openly than Wendy had seen her that night. “Fyodor would be good for you, though. Since you’re the type of girl who likes bad boys who feel dangerous,” Tinkerbelle teased. “Fyodor’s got that appeal, but on the inside he’s actually a good person. Fyodor would never kidnap anyone.”
Ominotago nodded. “All bark and no bite. Good kisser, but nothing else.” She opened her arms to give Wendy a brusque side hug. “Are you going to be all right?” she asked.
Wendy closed her eyes and took another deep breath. She had made it this far; she could make it to the end of the night. She rolled her shoulders, bent down, and tightened her shoelaces. She pulled her phone out of her pocket to check the time and battery: 11:03 p.m., 8 percent battery, and a single text from Eleanor that said: Called the police and gave them your deets. FaceTime me when you’re alone and DON’T GET MURDERED BEFORE THEN.
Will do. Ty she sent back while Tinkerbelle read over her shoulder and nodded in approval.
“I’m all right. I’m ready,” Wendy said.
Tinkerbelle took her hand and led her into the Mermaid’s Lagoon.
CHAPTER 9
Now the Mermaid’s Lagoon had large front windows and was lit up as bright as Christmas so everyone could see inside from the street. There was a garish, giant sculpture of a woman with a tray of beer and hamburgers smack in front of the main entrance. The sign on the outside said CABARET AND DRAG SHOWS in blinding lights.
Wendy felt pretty confident she was prepared for what she was about to walk into. In fact, she was already thinking about bringing Eleano
r to this place. Wendy could hear pulsing showtune music from outside the restaurant. Plus, even though she was still full of Slightly’s soup and Curly’s amazing bread, she wouldn’t mind snacking on some bar food. Having a full-scale panic attack and running at top speed was a metabolism booster.
But when Ominotago pulled open the side door and guided Tinkerbelle and Wendy inside, Wendy found herself once again lost at sea. First, the side door led directly into a dressing room. It was roughly the size of Peter’s living room, which is to say it wasn’t nearly large enough. The walls were fully covered with posters and magazine clippings of stage shows and divas: Marilyn Monroe, Judy Garland, Chicago, Kinky Boots, Aretha Franklin, the Supremes, Hairspray, My Fair Lady, and what appeared to be an actual shrine to Dolly Parton complete with candles underneath and flowers glued around the poster. The farthest wall had a giant mirror encrusted with light bulbs, and the table beneath it extended from one end of the room to the other. The corner nearest to the girls was a huge wardrobe of clothes racks and shelves crammed with wigs, jewelry, gloves, scarves, gowns, and boots of incredible colors and heights. A large shared vanity was crowded with makeup, tubs of cold cream, wig glue, rollers, curling irons, flat irons, blow dryers, bows, clips, giant fake flowers, and even a glue gun. The drag queen nearest the door was nearly completely dressed, except for a strip of eyelashes that lay limp in her hand as she stared at the three girls. The queen next to the first one had a full face of makeup on, lashes and all, but was only dressed from the waist down. Her muscular chest contrasted interestingly with a gingham skirt and tights, while the rest of her costume hung on a hanger hooked to the back of her chair. There was a queen next to the wardrobe, in the throes of gluing feathers to the sides of her face with wig glue. She was in a full flesh-colored unitard with padding beneath it. Her tights were absolutely stunning, dotted with iridescent feathers starting mid-thigh and fading to tight clusters at her ankles, which were tucked neatly beneath the table. There were also queens wearing what looked like the restaurant’s waitress uniform, getting undressed and putting their street clothes back on.
