by Randi Pink
Mom broke the silence. “That’s really sweet, Alex. Isn’t that sweet, Latoya?” she said.
I nodded.
The rest of the ride was silent except for the clankity-clank of the engine. Riding to and from school in the squeaky-clean Bug had spoiled me for the Fiat. I’d surely hated the Fiat before, but by now, I downright loathed it.
To distract myself from the jerky ride, I compiled a mental list of the people I needed to make amends with; incidentally, three of them were riding in the car with me. My mother kept glancing in the backseat; in her way, nudging the kinks out of Alex’s and my relationship. Dad repeatedly shot looks into the rearview mirror until he and I locked eyes. In those seconds, his eyes were glassy, and more expressive than I’d ever seen them—pleading with me. He looked away and didn’t look again.
Once we hit school grounds, I leaned close to Alex. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s cool. You have to get out first.” I’d lost him and I knew it. I caught sight of a white letter sticking out of his pullover’s pocket, and my stomach gurgled. He still hadn’t told me what they were about, and he probably never would.
For Alex, apathy meant more than anger or sadness or depression. It meant that’s it, it’s over, I’m done. Scary thought, because if I didn’t have Alex, who did I have?
Deanté was perched against the brick wall near the school’s entrance. He wore a white T-shirt, not the dingy kind with armpit stains, but the thick cotton kind that costs thirty dollars at Gus Von March. When I got closer, I saw the blue polo man embroidered near his heart—make that fifty dollars. His jeans were intentionally faded in all the appropriate places to make them designer, and his sneakers were as white as his T-shirt. Deanté had been voted Best Dressed two years in a row, but I’d never really looked at him, especially since he used to terrify me.
I looked around for Alex and caught the curve of his backpack disappearing around the corner. I’d found him that backpack. Mom and I were at Mission Possible, searching through tiny porcelain mammies, and little white Pilgrim salt and pepper shakers, when I saw it buried underneath a half-bald Chucky doll. Later, I thanked my lucky stars for that Chucky doll—surely the thrifters who came before were too terrified to lift it and find the treasure that lay beneath. The backpack was brown leather with sturdy silver buckles and red dirt caked in the bottom right corner. It looked like it’d been through hell, which only made it look cooler. The inner label read MULHOLLAND DEERSKIN RUCKSACK, and it sold for over a thousand dollars on eBay—twelve dollars at Mission Possible. I would’ve kept it for myself, but when we got home, Alex locked eyes on it and fell hard and fast for the thing. If love at first sight existed, I’d witnessed it then and there. It was his.
“Hey,” Deanté said, breaking my trance.
“Oh, sorry. Hey.”
He followed my gaze. “Alex?”
I nodded.
“He’ll come around.” He held the door open for me to walk through. “Well, if you’re not excited about tomorrow, Miss Lady, you should be. I’ve got it all planned out.”
“Where are we going anyway?” I replied, grateful for the change of subject.
“It’s a surprise. You like surprises, right? ’Cause I don’t want to freak you out. I mean, I thought about it last night and I know some people really hate them. Do you? Hate surprises?” He barely took a breath.
“You just said the word ‘surprise’ like twelve times in one sentence.” I smiled a bit. “And no, I don’t care for surprises. Just tell me.”
“’Ey, yo, D!” shouted Andre.
“Just keep walking,” said Deanté.
I couldn’t help but think of the time Deanté called after Alex and me, and Alex told me to keep walking away from him. My big brother had protected me from the guy who was protecting me now. The thought took hold of my muscles, and I nearly fell over.
“Why are you stopping? He’s just gonna give us crap,” said Deanté.
I stood as straight as possible and turned to face Andre head on. “There will always be crap. Might as well face it,” I said, surprising myself with the firm undertone in my voice.
Andre started, “So you and the white girl? That’s disgusti—”
“Can I ask you a question?” I interjected.
He snickered and took a slight step back. “Go ’head, as long as you don’t touch me.”
“I want you to answer honestly. No bullshit.” Like my mother, I hated curse words. I sounded ridiculous saying them out loud, but Andre deserved no less than the real thing.
“Yeah, aight.” He folded his arms and lifted his chin.
“Are you a man or a little boy?” I asked, taking a page directly out of my mother’s belittle-the-opposite-sex playbook.
He let out uncomfortable laughter, the kind that you release when you trip over an invisible pothole and your crush is watching. “What kind of question is that? You can’t expect me to—”
“Actually, I do expect you to answer, because you said you would.” I inched closer to him, refusing his intimidation. “Are you a man, or are you a little boy?”
“D, get your girl,” he said to Deanté, massaging his fists.
“Toy … uh … Kat. Come on.” Deanté eased his finger back into the crook of my elbow.
I noticed a small crowd growing as I slipped my arm from Deanté’s grasp. “No, I’m not afraid of him,” I said, actively quieting my knocking knees.
Andre stood squarer and grabbed hold of his crotch. “I’m a man, can’t you tell?” he chuckled, then looked around to see no one joining in his laughter.
“What type of man listens to high school gossip and openly teases a girl about it?” I asked, my nose inches from his.
He said nothing.
“What type of man ostracizes his best friend for speaking correct English?”
He said nothing.
“I’ll tell you what type of man: none!” I said the last word with a piercing screech. When I poked his chest with my index finger, the crowd let out a collective breath followed by hectic chatter. “Only little boys do that.” On that note, I walked away.
I never turned back to see if he was still standing there, but I guessed he was. There was no way to tell if my words made a difference, but they’d shaken him, and that was enough for me.
I replayed the Andre incident over and over that day. The initial gratification of crushing such a puffed-up human being so easily was blissful, but it didn’t last. I never wanted to inherit any semblance of my mother’s talent for demeaning men, even when they deserved it, and even though her displays were masterful. I’d sensed a weakness in him, clenched my fist around it, and squeezed it like a ripe persimmon. However, Andre wasn’t the one I needed to take down.
* * *
In class, I reflected on my life as Katarina. I enjoyed the wispy, baby-fine texture of my blond hair, but it fought the curling iron like Floyd Mayweather. Also, white hair smelled weird after two days, and washing could be a bit of a hassle. My ice-blue eyes were the best part. They were alien-beautiful. Almost impossible to think that a human could be blessed with the gift of the ocean in her eyeballs. If I had a glass eye, it would be blue. But as Toya, I had quarters and Mom and Dad and Unsolved Mysteries. And I had my brother.
By sixth period, the countdown to swim class was unbearable. I’d avoided Josh for days, but he was getting more difficult to dodge. The clock ticked faster than usual, and when the ocean waves started, my nerves kicked in. I toughened myself. If I could turn Andre to a six-foot pile of silent sludge, I could do anything.
I was the last one to get up from my desk, and when I walked toward the exit, Mr. Holder blocked the doorway with his arms folded.
“You’ve missed four rehearsals, missy.” He made a show of tapping his powder-blue penny loafer.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do show choir this year.” I tried to get around him, but he propped his oversized hand on the door frame, effectively blocking my exit with his arm flab.
�
�You’re my ingenue. My muse. My … my…” He tucked a stray hair behind my ear. “You’re my Dolly.”
“I’m just having some personal problems, Mr. Holder.” I tried to get around him on the other side, and he threw his free arm against the opposite frame.
“I thought you might say something like that.” He shook his head. “Teenagers, I tell y’all.” He reached into the innermost pocket of his blazer and pulled out two discs. “Here.”
I took the discs and flipped them over to see DVD for My Dolly P. written on one and CD for My Dolly P. written on the other.
“Parton?”
“The one and only.”
I held them in the air. “Mr. Holder, I can’t take these,” I said, channeling my mother’s resolve.
He placed his hands on my shoulders. “Listen here. I heard what they’re saying about you. They’re jealous bitches, the whole lot of them.”
The curse word and the invasion of personal space caught me off guard.
“I want you, missy. Front and center.” His eyes twinkled with desire.
“I know and I appreciate that. I just can’t do it, not right now.” I peeled his hands from my shoulders and placed the discs in his palm. “I can’t be your Dolly. I’m sorry.”
The ocean waves crashed again. I was late for swim.
* * *
The hall clock read 2:13, which meant everyone had already dressed out for the pool. To kill a little more time and collect my thoughts, I stopped by the girls’ room for a phantom pee. Once the latch met its mate, I realized I’d chosen the same bathroom stall that I’d eaten several lunches in as Toya. I knew because someone had written #sluttybooboo on the back of the door in red lipstick.
I’d asked God for so many unattainable things in that tiny space—friends, furniture, money, popularity, but mostly, I’d asked for Katarina. I looked down at my delicate fingers, still holding on to the clasp of the door. Those were the fingers I’d prayed for. I lifted them to my button nose and squeezed. That was the nose I’d prayed for. Anything but black, Lord, anything but black, never once considering what I was sacrificing in praying that prayer. Actually, I’m no fool, I knew exactly what I was sacrificing. I just didn’t give a damn. Not about Dad’s empty castle, or Mom’s thrift stores.
Alex.
My knees gave out and I fell hard into a heap on the dirty stall floor. I began an unexpected Braveheart-worthy cry.
My built-in best friend. My knight in dingy T-shirts. My big brother was no longer mine. Now he was on his own, searching for quarters, eating whole McChickens, and chatting about life to himself.
The tears persisted. The hiccuppy, uncontrollable ones that babies do. I’d ignored all the disgusting pieces of myself for a while, and those were the tears that should’ve been cried on day one—when I was too busy picking out clothes and mixing with the worst sort of riffraff Edgewood High had to offer.
I pushed the stall door open with such force the uppermost hinge shattered, leaving it dangling and squeaking. I balled a tight fist, wheeled back, and punched the mirror, breaking Katarina’s perfect reflection into tiny bloody shards.
FACING THE GIANTS
I slid my fingertips along the hallway walls, leaving tiny red specks on the smooth white drywall. Before entering swim, I peered through the cracked door to see the twins hugged up with Josh—Amera’s hand hanging on his thigh and Amelia massaging his wet hair. His left eye was haloed by reddish-blue bruises and his bottom lip was double its size, but he still managed to smirk.
They’re the worst. They’ll break you if you let them. They’ll draw you in, trip you up, and watch you fall flat on your face.
“Swim time,” I said to myself.
I lifted my bloody hand to open the door, and my knuckles began throbbing. “No,” someone’s warm breath whispered over my right shoulder.
“I didn’t call you,” I told him. “This is a free-will situation. You can’t stop me.” I went to push the door again.
He placed his hand on top of my hand. “Just, no.”
* * *
In a blink, we were in a 1990s-model Saab, merging onto the freeway. He smiled, shifting from fourth to fifth gear. The cassette player blasted the intro of Mariah Carey’s “Always Be My Baby.”
“Doo-doo-doop-dow,” he sang off-key, and gave a quick glance in my direction. “Doo-doo-doop-doo-doop-doo-dow.”
“Where the heck are we?” I said, shocked and a bit terrified.
“The freeway,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to transport into a moving vehicle. “Buckle up.”
I snapped my seat belt, taking it all in. The Saab smelled like old cracked leather and incense. Dirty coffee cups, Snickers wrappers, and miscellaneous trash littered the floorboards. The backseat was reserved for stacks of novels, including The Catcher in the Rye, Slaughterhouse-Five, and Breaking Dawn. Absolutely no sign of the Bible.
I reached for a book. “You read Twilight?” I asked, slightly amused.
He turned down Mariah. “Who hasn’t?” He playfully snatched the book and tossed it over his shoulder. “Don’t make fun, Toya. The Twilight Saga is outstanding.”
I stared at him, speechless.
“Those books are popular for a reason,” he said. “What?”
“It’s just, I never imagined you having interests outside of, I don’t know, saving people from sin and stuff. I mean, come on, Mariah Carey?” I asked, amazed. “Besides, Christians protested those books.”
He grinned with a touch of contempt. “Christians are still human beings.”
“I don’t know. I guess I just imagined you reading…”
“The Bible?” he interjected.
“Yeah, that, and maybe C. S. Lewis or T. D. Jakes.” I peered over my shoulder. “Certainly not Slaughterhouse-Five.”
“I haven’t read that one.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “It’s right here in your backseat.”
“Theoretically not my backseat.”
“Wait just one doggone minute, now.” I switched off Mariah Carey completely. “You stole a car?”
He involuntarily cut off the BMW in front of us. He rolled down the window, stuck out his head, and yelled, “I apologize!” He drew himself back into the car and grinned at me. “I really am getting better at driving.”
“You’re avoiding my question, Jesus.”
“Yes, Latoya,” he admitted. “I borrowed a car from someone who doesn’t realize it’s gone. But I will tell you with the utmost certainty that this person will not mind.”
He looked at me, smiling, and the car drifted toward the shoulder.
“Curb alert!” I said—boomph!
“That curb came out of nowhere.”
I laughed until my stomach hurt. “This is easily the most bizarre thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Let’s get off this freeway before it gets even more bizarre.” He veered into the right lane, just missing a silver Honda, and exited into a gas station parking lot.
I placed my hands on the glove compartment, bracing for impact. “I hate to state the obvious, but you are a horrible driver.”
“Ask yourself this, Latoya.” He smiled. “Why on earth should I know how to drive?”
I nodded, because he was right and he knew it.
“Now.” He pulled the brake and turned toward me. “What were you planning to say to Joshua and the twins?”
I really didn’t have an answer for him. I pounded my head on the headrest. “I didn’t have anything planned. I was just so … pissed. Sorry.”
“Life is a difficulty.” He flipped the visor and handed me a pair of Ray-Bans. “Bright eyes.”
“Thanks for remembering,” I replied. “Why does it have to be so hard?”
“The why lies in free will—the ability to choose which way to go and usually choosing…”
“Wrong?”
“No, Toya, never wrong. Very often the intention is spot-on. I’ve seen more commandments broken for t
he greater good than for frivolous reasons—murders to save loved ones, or theft to fill a child’s hungry stomach. And in you, baby girl”—he tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear—“more pain lives within you than in most.”
I’d assumed everyone felt the way I felt. Hurt in the same ways that I’d hurt. I guess I’d assumed wrong.
“Your hurt pierces me.” He pointed to his right side. “Here.”
I slumped in my seat, dismayed. “But you’ve got, I don’t know, billions of people to look after. People in real trouble. What makes me so special?”
He took a long, almost frustrated breath. “I never know how to explain such things. How about this: You’re in a thrift store, searching for something special. You with me?”
“Uh, yeah,” I said. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s thrift stores.”
“Okay.” He rubbed his hands together as if he was onto something. “You’re in the mother of all thrift stores, larger than any you’ve ever seen before and filled to the brim with unique things. Then, out of nowhere, a spotlight shines in the back corner. You walk toward that spotlight because you have to. Your closest confidantes tell you to stay away, but you can’t help it. You know that you’re passing other great things, but in your heart, you feel something special is waiting there in the light.”
“What’s in the light?” I asked edgily.
“You.”
“Me?”
“Self-deprecating, self-conscious, confused you. Staring up at me with those lovely brown eyes, asking for the power to change your perfect, beautiful self into something that you were never meant to be.”
“Why’d you do it?”
“I’ve been asking myself that same question for many days now.” He smiled.
“What do we do now, then?”
“Trust in me. Josh will be taken care of when the time is right.” He glanced at the car’s time display. “I have to get this car back to its rightful owner. And you”—he placed an index finger on my forehead—“back to the empty castle.”
* * *
Hampton wagged his large tail and almost licked my face off. With one quick movement, I snatched a tick from his stomach. He let out a quick cry, and then began licking my palm to say thank you. That tick must’ve been bothering him for a while.
