Run the Risk

by Allison van Diepen

  “Oh God.”

  “Mig said it was Yellow who pulled the trigger. He said killing her was never part of the plan. But you know what they did while she lay there bleeding out? They went to a club and spent the hundred and thirteen dollars from her purse.”

  The horror of it was overwhelming. I felt so sad for the lady who’d been shot, and for her daughter who’d never been picked up from dance class. Losing your mom was the worst—but losing her to violence was unimaginable.

  Mateo and his mom were victims too. That’s what he meant when he said she was taking it day by day. How did a mother recover from that?

  She didn’t.

  A chill went through me. I pictured Alex in an orange jumpsuit, locked away. Would he get into the kind of trouble you could never come back from?

  Mom had asked me to take care of Alex when she was gone. She knew Dad’s limitations, and loved him in spite of them. But leaving her kids behind was the hardest part of dying young. I’d assured her I’d do everything possible for Alex.

  But I was failing.

  Mateo must’ve seen my face. “Didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “It’s fine. I’m the one who asked.” I glanced at him. “You’re not still with the Reyes, are you?”

  “No. What was left of the Reyes disbanded a couple years ago. But I got out long before that.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Mateo had told me that once you were in, there was no way to get out. I guess that hadn’t been totally true. “When you dropped out of school, I had no idea what happened to you.”

  It was as if he’d fallen off the face of the earth. But I knew it meant he’d been swallowed up by the Reyes. They had become his world.

  “That’s all in the past,” he said, obviously wanting to change the subject. “Heard you work with kids now.”

  Did that mean he’d been talking with someone about me? “Um, yeah, I volunteer at Compass. It’s a Head Start program for kids whose families can’t afford child care. Our director, Yolanda, is the real deal.”

  “I bet you dance for the kids. Bet you have big old dance parties.”

  I blushed. He’d so hit the mark. “It’s called gross motor skills, and yeah, we do a lot of dancing.”

  “You’re the only person I ever met who could dance while sitting down.”

  I couldn’t keep the smile from my lips. “Dancing is in my blood, okay?”

  “I never doubted it.” He couldn’t repress his smile either. “Remember the Halloween dance when you and your friends dressed up as characters from Monster High and performed that dance on the stage?”

  “Yeah, I remember. I can’t believe we did that. We took Halloween way too seriously back then.”

  “I thought it was awesome.”

  “You mean hilarious. Everybody pissed themselves laughing.”

  But the Monster High dance routine wasn’t what I remembered most about that night—it was the night Mateo and I had kissed for the first time.

  “Well, I was a freshman,” I said. “You can’t blame me for the lack of judgment.”

  “You were the most ballsy freshman at Rivera, from what I remember,” he said, obviously amused. “You’d always threaten to kick my ass after school.”

  “I was just trying to get your attention.”

  “You had it, trust me. You used to come up to me and poke me in the stomach and say, Your ass is mine, Lopez or some shit like that. Remember that time you tried to get me in a headlock and the principal walked by?”

  “Yeah. He actually thought we were fighting. Talk about dense.”

  In typical freshman fashion, we’d had this flirtation going on, which came to a head at the Halloween dance. We’d both stopped to drink at the water fountain after dancing to a long set of hip-hop. We’d looked at each other, and had this moment where the world froze around us. Then we were kissing. Kissing with all the pent-up attraction we’d been holding inside. We hadn’t stopped kissing for the next year.

  “Those were good times,” Mateo said, his voice husky in the darkness. I wondered if he was thinking about the same thing I was.

  Our conversation dropped off after that. I looked out the window at the blackness beyond.

  Eventually he parked in my driveway.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I said with a tired smile. “If it weren’t for you, I’d still be waiting for Eddie to drive me home. And his car smells like he dropped a cologne bomb in it.”

  “No probs.” His hand slid over the gearshift, grasping mine with a tightness that made my heart pound.

  I looked at him, shocked.

  “I hate to bring it up, but . . . you know the night you came to my place, after we broke up?”

  My gut tightened. Did he have to bring that up, especially when we actually had a good vibe between us? I pulled my hand out of his grip. “I’m fine with you working with me, Mateo—it’s not a big deal. But I’m not game for rehashing the past just so you can clear your conscience. Thanks again for the ride.”

  I slipped out of the car and hurried inside. I locked the door, as if to shut out what had just taken place. That was the thing about bringing up the past, I realized. You can’t remember the good stuff without opening the door to the pain.

  SLAMMED

  EVERYONE HAD SOMETHING THEY DID for kicks. I liked to scare the shit out of myself, apparently.

  Feenix put a hand on my shoulder. “Slam poetry is like throwing up. You always feel better afterward.”

  It was a good analogy since I actually felt like throwing up.

  I closed my eyes.

  Feel the breath. Om.

  This was all Feenix’s fault. She kept saying that I had talent and she believed in me.

  But did I believe in me?

  Too late to question it now. It was my turn.

  As I walked to the front of the café where the mike stood, the audience clapped and whooped. I smiled, feeling the boost of their support. It was one of the things I loved about Oz Kafé’s poetry slam: everybody wanted you to do well. There were no hecklers here.

  I placed my sheet of paper on the music stand. I had the poem memorized, but I didn’t trust myself not to blank out in front of the audience. I knew that if I held the paper, the faint tremble in my hand would make the paper shake. I’d done enough school presentations to know that putting the paper down was a must.

  I cleared my throat and began,

  You are all going to die.

  At this very minute

  The molecules in your body are quivering

  Shaking, morphing

  Dying with every breath you breathe.

  It’s inevitable, my friends.

  The only choice you have is

  At what point you put up your feet, wash your hands of this

  Thing we call life

  And let death unfold

  Like an inky black

  Welcome mat.

  Then I looked up. The crowd was with me, wondering if there was more.

  If you’re lucky

  Death will write you a letter

  Promising to drop in

  When there’s a spot in your schedule.

  The question is

  Do you invite her inside for tea

  White-haired and fur-cloaked?

  Or do you burn her words

  Her letter nothing but ashes

  Swirling

  Burning your fingers.

  I exhaled and glanced at Feenix, who grinned like I was her prized pupil.

  Everybody clapped. I closed my eyes for a long second, feeling it. Letting in the love.

  Feenix was right, of course. I did feel better. Lighter.

  I headed to the back of the café, sitting down with Kenny at a corner table. He always showed up to support Feenix. He wore the usual sweater vest over a button-down shirt, fitted jeans, and a jaunty tan fedora—definitely looking the part of the poet’s scholarly boyfriend. Too bad Feenix almost whopped his ass earlier when she caught him texting during someone’s p
oem. He was careful to keep his phone tucked away now.

  All of tonight’s poets were good—each had their own unique style. When Feenix finally came on, I sat back and prepared to be wowed. You never knew what Feenix “the Fenom” would do. Would her poem be silly or downright devastating? Last week she’d gone up with a ukulele and sang a song called “My Paranoia” to the tune of “My Sharona.” I hadn’t even known she played the ukulele. But it was perfect.

  “Hello,” she said, and waited. Waited until she had us in the palm of her hand.

  She placed her hands on her hips.

  The Man Tells Me

  I oughta get myself a husband

  And pop out some 2.4 babies.

  Spit-up gurgling.

  The Man Tells Me

  I’m no good unless I’m a something-mom

  Soccer mom, hockey mom, dance mom.

  Thumb sucking.

  The Man Tells Me

  My worth is in my children

  In living for others, not myself.

  Projectile vomiting.

  Make no mistake

  The Man Tells Me

  That like in the old days

  My worth is my apple pie.

  Snot bubbling.

  Well, Man, why don’t you come and move

  Into my ovaries

  Work my job

  Pay my bills

  Whaddaya say?

  Didn’t think so.

  She turned on her heel and abandoned the microphone. We all clapped. Some of us even stood up. It was definitely spiritual, watching someone do what they do best.

  “I can’t believe you’re letting them do that,” Kylie said.

  Three days later, I sat in the dirt, covered in mud from the waist down. We were in the backyard of Compass, a huge umbrella shielding us from the late-morning sun. Little hands smeared globs of mud all over my legs.

  The yard was filled with giggling.

  “It’s a mud spa treatment. My legs won’t need moisturizing tonight.” I looked her over. “Your knees are looking a bit ashy. Maybe you could use a patch treatment?”

  She inched away. “Don’t you dare give them ideas.”

  I grinned. I’d planned for this, of course. I wore a ratty T-shirt and shorts, and had another outfit to change into. Sometimes you just had to get down and dirty.

  “You’ve gotta let them break the rules sometimes,” I said. “They’re less likely to misbehave if they can let loose occasionally.”

  “As long as they’re letting loose on you, not me,” Kylie said. “You’re a superhero, Grace. I just think they should be flipping paying you.”

  “Don’t remind me.” Compass’s paid staff all had to have Early Childhood Education certificates. I could’ve really used the money right about now. Dad had forgotten to pay the electric bill, despite my reminders. If he didn’t pay it in the next twenty-four hours, the lights would go out. Tick, tick, tick.

  For a brief moment there, as the kids giggled and globbed mud on my legs, I’d forgotten about my worries. They were back now.

  Over the last few days, I’d felt a sadness I couldn’t shake.

  My Saturday night ride with Mateo had fazed me. Those moments of almost closeness in the car. The loneliness afterward. That feeling had stuck around, reminding me of the hole inside me that had never closed.

  On the bright side, Alex had been going to school this week. That was huge. Although he still treated me like I had the plague, Friday night’s conversation must have sunk in.

  “You so yucky!” red-haired Mia said, laughing as she caked more mud onto my legs.

  “You’re right. I’m very yucky right now.” I looked over at Sofia, who was watching from a few feet away. “Yucky is funny, hmm?”

  She shrugged.

  “Do you want to put mud on my legs? It’s kind of silly, but I like being silly sometimes.”

  She looked like she half wanted to come forward, half wanted to run away. In the end, she tugged a lock of hair over her face and went to the other corner of the yard. Damn. In a group setting, it was tough to draw her out.

  “Grace!” Yolanda brought the phone outside. “Call for you.”

  This couldn’t be good. Nobody ever called me at work. Who even had this number?

  Apologizing to the kids, I got up and walked over, globs of mud dropping as I went. I took the cordless phone. “Hello.”

  “This is Jennifer Armstrong from Rivera High School. I’m calling to tell you that Alex has been arrested.”

  My breath whooshed out. It felt like a punch in my gut. “Arrested? What?”

  “Alex assaulted his classmate, Leon Benitez. I can’t share all the details. There will be a court case should Leon choose to press charges.”

  Leon Benitez? No way. He’d been one of Alex’s best friends before Alex had started hanging with the Locos. Leon was a loud mouth, but he meant well. I couldn’t believe Alex would go after him.

  “Is he all right?”

  “Yes. He’s at the police station on Second Avenue. You’ll have to go get him.”

  “I—I meant Leon. Was he seriously hurt?”

  “I told you, I’m not supposed to discuss the details. I’m just required to inform you that your brother is there.”

  “Okay. I’ll go get him.”

  I heard her sigh on the other end of the line. “It’s a real shame, you know.”

  What the hell was I supposed to say to that? “Yeah, it is.” I hung up.

  I closed my eyes, trying to keep a hold on my emotions. Just when I thought Alex might be getting it together—this.

  I went over to Kylie. “Alex got arrested.” I couldn’t even believe the words coming out of my mouth. “I have to go to the police station.”

  She put a hand on my shoulder. “Oh, Grace, I’m really sorry. What’d he do?”

  “I guess he assaulted someone.” I couldn’t bear to say that the someone had been one of his best friends.

  “All right, well, I’ll explain to Yolanda why you had to go.”

  I tried to put on a brave face for the kids as I hosed myself down, making a show of shivering as the cold water streamed down my legs. But it was all I could do not to cry.

  Alex. Arrested. Again.

  A while later, I walked up the steps of the police station, a red-brick building that resembled a prison. I went through security at the entrance, then headed down a hall and went up to a booth where I asked about my brother. I remembered the last time I’d been here—running in frantically, tears on my cheeks, asking anyone and everyone where Alex was and why he’d been arrested.

  The officer at the booth directed me to the waiting room.

  An hour passed.

  I hated waiting. I’d spent half my childhood in waiting rooms with my mom—mostly waiting to get bad news. Now I was waiting to hear what Alex had gotten himself into.

  Alex could end up in juvie, where God knows what could happen to him. Or we could get sued for damages. Or, worst of all, he could face assault charges as an adult. I’d heard of that happening sometimes.

  Just when I thought I would go insane from waiting, somebody called my name. I looked around. A tall black officer beckoned me. I followed him down a hall to a cubicle. Alex was there, handcuffed. He kept his eyes down, not even acknowledging me. But he had that rock-solid jaw twist that meant proceed with caution.

  The officer didn’t bother to introduce himself and he wore no name badge. “You can take your brother home. He’s not being charged today.”

  I caught the emphasis on today. “But he still could be?”

  “The victim has chosen not to give a statement at this time, so we can’t proceed with pressing charges. However, he can change his mind.”

  “Is he in the hospital?” I asked.

  “I understand he got stitches and was released.”

  “Stitches?” I turned to Alex. “What the hell did you do?”

  “I didn’t do nothing! I was defending myself. That bitch-ass Leon attacked me!
”

  You’re a liar. But I wasn’t stupid enough to say it in front of the cop. I knew Leon well—the kid had practically grown up at our house. He was a shit talker, but he wasn’t a fighter. Alex used to tease him for being a pussy. No way I’d believe Leon had attacked him.

  Alex lifted his cuffed hands toward the officer. “You gonna take these off or what?”

  “When I’m ready.” The cop leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “You might be getting off easy this time—depends on whether the kid decides to talk. But if you end up back here again, you’ll get locked up for a good long while.”

  Alex scoffed. “I’m never coming back here.”

  “Oh yeah? Ninety-nine percent of the kids whose charges are dropped are back within six months. And the second time around, they aren’t so lucky.”

  “I won’t be one of them,” Alex said. “I told you, I did nothing wrong.”

  “Right. Sure.” The officer’s eyes were jaded. “Keep telling yourself that when they make you bend and cough.” He reached for the key to the handcuffs and unlocked them.

  Alex got up, and so did I. The officer stayed in his chair. “Good luck,” he said to me.

  We headed to the bus stop. Alex walked all cocky, his face smug. Everything had gone his way. Instead of listening to the cop’s warning, he was feeling untouchable.

  On the bus ride home, I couldn’t look at him. I didn’t recognize my brother anymore. It was as if someone had stolen his soul and replaced it with ice.

  Was this what my life was destined to be? Always coming to his aid when he screwed up? Part of me wanted to write him off. Stop trying to save him. If he was determined to fuck up his life, why stop him?

  But he was only fifteen, I reminded myself. I’d learned in Bio class last year that the male brain kept growing and changing well into its twenties. He could wake up. Mom would never have given up on him. She’d want me to do everything possible to turn him around. Even if it meant standing up to thugs like Animale.

  When we got home, Alex shut himself away in his room.

  I could’ve taken a bus back to Compass, but I didn’t feel like putting on a happy face. They could manage without me. So I watched some TV, then went to the grocery store to get a few things with the little money left in my account.