“His name is Marco and we’re just friends.”
“Yeah, but I bet you want to make it more than that. I can tell.”
I ignore her, hoping she’ll focus back on Bethanie, who looks relieved not to be the one in Lissa’s interview chair.
“My brother hates him. Their coach benched Justin so—it’s Marco, right?—so Marco can start the season opener.”
“He’s starting?”
“You didn’t know? Some girlfriend you are. Maybe he’s not as into you as I thought.”
“He’s into me?” Even when I’m talking to someone else about Marco, I have a hard time forming complex sentences.
“Well, he’s way out of your league as far as looks, but you do have that whole poverty thing in common. It might be enough to build a beautiful relationship on.”
“You must have started the champagne early, Lissa. You’re already drunk,” I say. “Not pretty.”
“Don’t be mad. I wish the best for you two. Really I do.”
The clones return then. I’m pretty sure they’re wearing clothes I saw during that shopping trip to Bethanie’s mall, clothes that ended up in Annette’s dog carrier. I manage to sit through thirty minutes of conversation about Prada, Gucci, and Juicy Couture before I have to get away.
“You mind if I use the bathroom?” I say to Annette, but Lissa answers as though it’s her house.
“Of course not, but use the one upstairs, in the master bedroom. The one down here isn’t working. Isn’t that right, Annette?”
Annette looks confused, like she doesn’t know what Lissa is talking about. A little too much champagne, I guess. Five hundred dollars or five dollars—it all makes you drunk. Bethanie gets up to follow me.
“What are you two, joined at the hip?” Lissa says.
“I just need to talk to Chanti for a second. I’ll be right back.”
“Whatever,” Lissa says, polishing off her glass.
When Bethanie and I get upstairs and out of earshot, she says, “I wanted a chance to talk, you know, about what happened at my house. We didn’t get a chance to in the car and . . .”
“I want out of here, now! Isn’t this supposed to be my celebration, you know, to say thanks for me keeping us out of jail?”
“I know, we’ll go soon. But about what happened at my house . . .”
“Bethanie, I know about the lottery win.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s what I do, remember? What I don’t understand is why you’re faking a whole different life, but that’s your business. If you’re worried about me telling them you’re only pseudo-rich, don’t. Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Look, don’t be calling me no pseudo-rich,” Bethanie says in a voice I’ve never heard. All of a sudden she’s got her mother’s accent, but without the magnolias and mint juleps. Wherever she’s really from, I’m thinking it’s the Dirty South version of Aurora Ave. “Rich is rich, okay? No one cares how you got there. What I’m worried about is getting busted out of Langdon. Once I’m in there a minute and people accept me as one of them, they won’t care about my money or hold me to that scholarship.”
“Bethanie,” I start, then realize that name doesn’t match the hood girl she’s suddenly morphed into. “Wait, is that even your real name?”
“It is now.”
“Okaaay, whoever you are. Do you really need Langdon and those twits down there to make you feel good about yourself?”
“Don’t get all Dr. Phil on me. I don’t need your analysis. I just need you to keep your mouth shut. You don’t know nothing about me or where I come from. I can tell you now—I’m never going back.”
She returns downstairs to Lissa and her clones. I’m so shocked by this whole new person I just met, I forgot I was supposed to be escaping torture. I’m dying to know what happens now, so I follow her.
“You weren’t up there very long,” Lissa says, looking disappointed. “I thought you had to go.”
“I changed my mind. Is that a problem?”
This girl has serious control issues. She’d better recognize I’m not one of her minions.
“Should we do makeovers now?” Annette asks Lissa, as though this is not her house and not her party. I can’t stand Lissa, but I’d love to know how she works this mind-control thing she has over these girls. Maybe I could use it on Marco.
“I’m tired of fashion and makeovers,” Lissa says, picking up her phone to send a text. Apparently she’s bored of discussing Gucci and criticizing me. Wait—I spoke too soon. “Let’s have some real fun and play a little truth or dare. I’ll start.”
The she-devil looks into my soul when she suggests truth or dare, and I really want to leave this place. Nothing good can come out of Lissa’s mouth, no matter what she’s about to say.
“I know a little truth about Chanti that no one here knows. Not even her bestest friend Bethanie. I don’t know why she’s hiding it, because it really makes for an interesting story.”
I’m thinking she knows how I broke into Smythe’s office to get information about the thefts, but that isn’t it at all.
“Our little Chanti has a record. She’s been to jail.”
Chapter 20
Lissa’s information was not quite accurate. I was arrested and I went to jail, but I absolutely do not have a record. But I didn’t stay around to explain all that.
“Take me home, Bethanie,” I said after Lissa outed me.
“Come on, we’re having fun,” Bethanie said.
“Maybe you are, and at my expense. Take me home—now !”
Bethanie looked around the room at Lissa, Annette, and the clones and decided they were what she really wanted before she stabbed me in the back.
“I told you I don’t like living in the past—it’s my least favorite place. That includes your past, Chanti. It isn’t my problem.”
I grabbed my bag and got out of there. I didn’t care if I had to walk all the way back to The Ave, I wasn’t staying there another second. Even when Bethanie’s car pulled alongside me two blocks later and Lissa opened her window to apologize (like I believed her), I didn’t say a word. Even when Bethanie told me to get over myself and get in the car so we could all go get something to eat, I kept walking. The whole time I spent looking for the nearest bus stop, which took forever because I didn’t know where I was and kept walking in circles, I was wishing I’d told them all about Bethanie’s lottery money. That traitor.
Making friends with Bethanie—or whatever her name really was—was a bad decision. I knew it from the time I met her. Lana says I make too many bad decisions. I never plan to get into these jams; they just happen. It’s like Ms. Reeves—she probably didn’t start from crazy. I’m sure she had a noble idea that just went wrong at some point. Just like me taking MJ to see her cousin at that motel. I had the best intentions, but everything still went very wrong. Getting busted by the cops, put into a squad car, and booked into jail was effective in scaring me straight.
Not that I’d ever gone crooked. Yeah, I was looking for a little excitement in my summer, but nothing like that. That’s the thing that really bothered me. If I was going to get arrested, I think I should have at least had some fun. Not me. I went straight to jail. I did not pass go and I did not collect my two hundred dollars. Or my excitement. All I did was wait forty-five minutes in a car in the parking lot of the sleaziest motel in Denver.
That’s what I was doing when Lana disappeared and cops came out of nowhere and swarmed all over that motel. There were uniform cops, detectives—even the SWAT team was there. To my credit, I wasn’t so off my game that I missed a fleet of Crown Vics and a SWAT truck. The SWAT guys came from somewhere around the corner about the same time Lana was telling me to stay low. Which I did most of the time, but the very moment I decided to have a good look was when MJ came running toward the car screaming, “Let’s go,” with a uniform about two feet behind her.
Let me tell you two things: First, I seriously flashed back on that story
about her not-so-bright boyfriend, and second, I am a wuss, as I’ve mentioned before. So, of course, I froze, the uniform handcuffed MJ, and his partner did the same for me. He put us both in the back of a squad car and left us alone. I realized then he knew who I was because they’d never leave two perps alone in a squad car. That gives them time to get their story straight. Which is what MJ tried to do.
“Look, Chanti, they don’t have a thing on us. Don’t worry.”
“Worry? I just had the crap scared out of me. Why did you bring me here knowing your cousin was into something illegal? What’s he into, anyway?”
“A little this, a little that.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“Drugs and weapons,” she says casually, like anyone else might say “arts and crafts.”
“What the hell, MJ? Aren’t you on probation?”
“I swear I didn’t know nothing about it until I got here. And then when I saw what was going down, I wanted out of there.”
“It took you forty-five minutes to figure it out? I mean, I already had my suspicions just by watching the cars come in and out. I was just about to text you that we needed to go when you came running out of there.”
“I figured since I was there, I might as well visit a minute.”
See, that’s MJ. The innocent part I was talking about. She’s in the middle of something that could land her back in jail, and I mean hard time since she’ll be an adult soon, and all she can think to do is have a family reunion.
“I thought you said your cousin would never have anything to do with the Down Homes.”
“That was true, he’d never be caught dead with a Down Home, except for me. Blood first. ’Cause how would that look, him associating with Down Home when he’s X-2.”
“What’s X-2?”
“Down Home’s rival.”
At that moment, I could totally see Lana’s point about my bad decision making.
“What were you doing at that motel?” Lana asked for the second time.
“I was just giving my friend a ride to see her cousin.”
“Your friend? How do you know each other? Or better yet, how long have you known each other?”
“Just since the end of school. She lives on The Ave . . . I mean, she lives where I do.”
“So that means your mother has met her?”
“Not really.”
“And do you think your mother would approve of this friendship?”
“What kind of stupid question is that? You sure you even a real cop?” MJ had been quiet the whole time we’d been in the interrogation room, so she surprised Lana as much as me when she finally said something.
“I can assure you I’m very real, and so is my size-nine shoe. You want me to demonstrate how real it is? Because I will put it so far up—”
“Uh, now wait. Let’s just be calm about all of this,” I said, trying to diffuse the tension. Lana had told me more than once that keeping people calm is critical in such a situation, and that situation had a lot of tension.
“Threaten me and I’ll cry brutality,” MJ said, making me wish she’d just kept going with her stony silence routine.
“Nice friend you got here.”
“It’s all just a misunderstanding,” I said. “MJ told me everything that happened. She really did just go over there to see her cousin. Her cousin from out of town that she hadn’t seen in a long time, just passing through.”
“Chanti, you don’t have to say a thing to her.”
“How could she know they were up to no good?” I wasn’t hearing anything MJ said at that point. I was just trying to get out of that mess.
“I said don’t talk to her,” MJ said. Or more like growled.
“And how could she know they were part of some kind of a drug and weapon ring?”
“Would you shut up, Chanti?” She banged her fist on the table to make sure I got the message. To Lana, she said, “I know my rights. We don’t say another thing without a lawyer. Better get a PD in here if you want any more information out of either one of us.”
Lana smiled at this request for a public defender and then motioned to her partner to take MJ out of the room.
“Chanti, don’t talk,” MJ warned me as the detective led her away. “This is how they do it, separate us so we turn over on each other. Don’t be fooled. Remember that episode of Law & Order we saw last week.” Even with the door closed, I could hear her yell, “I hate y’all! I hate all y’all cops!”
With MJ gone, Lana could give her full attention to me, which was worse than the fingerprinting, mug-shot taking, and the smell of that holding cell they put me in when we first arrived.
“Mom, I swear,” I started pleading my case right away.
“Don’t give me Mom now. I don’t want to hear it. What I do want to hear is how long you’ve been running with that girl.”
“See, this is how—”
“But later. I’ve got business to handle. You and your friend can think about all this back in that holding cell while I finish some reports.”
“Holding cell? But Mom, I mean Lana, you can’t believe I was involved in any drug ring.”
“Of course I don’t. And I know your little gangster wannabe friend wasn’t either.”
I wanted to point out that MJ was definitely the real thing and not a wannabe. Well, she was at least a real gangster’s girlfriend, even if he was in some B-grade gang. And she’d done almost two years in JD. But I figured it was a bad idea to correct Lana on the finer points of MJ’s life of crime.
“So why are you sending us back in there? It smells like vomit.”
“I want you to have a good look at what can happen when you hang out with someone like her.”
“Some girl in there was talking about scratching out my eyes if she ever saw me again.”
Okay, that may have been due to the fact I called her a skank as I left the cell, when I thought I was going home because Lana had cleared up this little misunderstanding. Now she wanted me to go back in there?
“Your friend looks like she can handle herself. She’ll have your back. Isn’t that how it works?” Lana said, looking down at a case file like she had something more important to do than save her only child from imminent death. Or at least blindness.
“Are you serious?”
“The guard won’t let anything happen. She knows you’re mine.”
Chapter 21
Too bad I couldn’t take that guard with me once I got out of jail. I could use someone around me who won’t let anything happen, and I mean 24-7. Seems like the first day I stepped onto Langdon property, things started happening, most of it bad. The only good to come out of that place is Marco and my job.
The morning after being outed as an ex-con, I’m grateful for both. If not for Marco and Mitchell Moving, I’d be giving Lissa and Bethanie hell right now. Well, if I actually had the nerve to get in somebody’s face, I would be. You can be assured that I’m giving them hell in my head. MJ could handle them both at the same time without even thinking about it. But that’s just wishful thinking since MJ doesn’t want a thing to do with me. So I’m just going to focus on my job, and be glad I’ll get Marco all to myself today. Mostly. Weird Malcolm will be there, but he hardly talks so it’ll be like we’re alone.
Now I’m running late for that new job because I couldn’t find my wallet this morning, spent too much time looking around the house for it, and missed my bus. It’s forever falling out of my bag, I just hope it fell out somewhere in the house. I guess that’ll teach me to buy a bag that closes (not!) with a drawstring instead of a zipper, just because it’s cute. When I round the corner to Paulette’s office, I hear Marco’s voice and I’m surprised to hear my name, so I stop to listen. It isn’t eavesdropping when the conversation is about me.
“What about Chanti?” Marco is saying, sounding a little defensive.
“Nothing, man. I was just wondering if there was something between you two.” That’s a male voice I’ve heard before
, but I can’t put a name to. And given the context, I’m guessing Paulette isn’t in her office with them.
“Why you want to know that?”
“The way you hang out all the time, I was wondering if she was your girl. You know, because I might . . .”
“You’re not Chanti’s type,” Marco says, making me wonder how he knows what my type is. “She won’t ever give you the digits, so you can just forget about it.”
“Dude, chill. No need for hostility. Besides, I think I just got my answer.”
“We’re just friends, that’s all.”
“For now, right?” Then I know who it is, because he says this line in such a sinister way, full of innuendo and suggestions. Not that I don’t hope he’s right, but he still makes it sound so dirty. As only Justin Mitchell can. “No problem, man. Your secret’s safe with me. And so is hers.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Marco asks, at the same time Paulette comes around the corner from the other end of the hall.
“Chanti, did you just get here?” Paulette says, unknowingly about to bust me for eavesdropping, but I stay cool enough to act like I just walked in.
“Yes. Sorry I’m late,” I say, following her into the office.
Marco looks guilty, his face turning just a little red. Justin looks very much like his evil sister did when she announced we should play truth or dare. So he knows about my brief incarceration, too. OMG. Was that what he meant about keeping my secret? What if he was just about to tell Marco when Paulette appeared? I’m pretty sure with all his handshaking and exquisite manners, Marco would not find a jailbird the most suitable date for the homecoming dance. I bet Angelique, owner of the beautiful name and weaver of friendship bracelets, has never been to jail. I’m doomed before I even get started. And right after finding out that he likes me. I mean, if Justin’s suspicions are accurate.
“What are you doing here?” Paulette asks Justin. You can tell from her tone she’s none to happy to see him.
“It says Mitchell on the building. I’m a Mitchell, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, but you’re the Mitchell who thinks he’s too good to work for a living.”
My Own Worst Frenemy Page 14
