Rosie Girl

by Julie Shepard

  So that’s what this call is about. A flash of heat blasts whatever bit of hope had been brewing. “What are you talking about?”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? I know about Todd. And Ivan. They’re friends with my little brother.”

  I’d forgotten about Alex, who’s in my grade, because I’ve tried to forget about Ray. Seeing his brother in the hall was a constant reminder of what I’d lost, so I learned patterns to avoid bumping into him.

  “How many have there been, Rosie?”

  “Zero, Ray!” My voice rises, and Mary warns me to keep it down, her parents came home. “They’re just lumping me in with—”

  “In with what? In with who?”

  I don’t answer, my tongue twisted and swollen with rage. I’m not about to throw my best friend under the bus. No way. Plus, my mind is muddled from the rum, all gray and foggy. Did I have three shots or four?

  “Fucking answer me!” he screams, but I can’t remember the question. “Listen. I don’t give a shit who you fuck. I dumped your ass because you’re a goddamned prude, but at least now I know why.” Ray chuckles, making my skin crawl. “It’s because you wanted me to pay for it! Rosie the Entrepreneur. Classic.”

  Mary gestures to hang up on him, but I shake my head.

  “Ray. Please.” This is the first part of our conversation that feels familiar. All those times he was angry with me for no reason, and I’d beg him to forgive me.

  “Please what?”

  “Please believe me,” I slur, slow and steady.

  “Have you been drinking?” he asks. “Wow. Getting sloshed and getting nailed. You’ve done quite the one-eighty, Rosie.”

  “Getting what?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me. It was only cute when we were together.”

  I hadn’t played dumb. I’d just listen to him explain things like the difference between a clutch hitter and a cleanup hitter during a baseball game. Then he’d pop a kiss on my cheek and say, “Aw, I need to teach you things.”

  “I’m not playing dumb, Ray. I swear, I’m not doing those things.”

  As if she heard his accusation, Mary explodes and tosses Henrietta at me. I wave her off and throw the smelly hippo back.

  “So all these guys are lying,” Ray says.

  “Yes! Of course they’re lying!”

  The only way to fix this is to condemn my savior, my very best friend. That’s what’s going on here—these guys must have figured out I’m behind our crackpot operation and thrown us both into the fire. Best friends are meant to pay for each other’s sins.

  “My boys don’t lie,” he continues. “Besides, I may be five hundred miles away, but shit like this travels.”

  His boys. I was once his girl. Clearly, this midnight phone call was never about testing the waters for reconciliation.

  “That’s right. You are five hundred miles away from Miami, from me, so why do you care?” I should hang up right now, but the cord that once linked us feels strong. At least for me.

  “Who said I did? Skanks just need to be called out, that’s all.”

  Tears spring to my eyes. Every bone in my body feels like it’s being crushed. But I’d feel worse if I betrayed Mary and told him the truth.

  “You were such a good, sweet girl. What happened to you?”

  “What happened to me?” I repeat. “Plenty since you dumped me five minutes after you left.” If we had stayed together, he would know about the box, my birth mother, the whole thing. We’d always confided in each other—about little things like bad grades or trouble at home, and big things like his dream of becoming an architect and mine to become a designer. At one point, he’d even suggested I switch my focus to interior design so we could be a professional team. “But you’re not interested in anything that’s happened in my life, right? Because now you’re a big man on a big campus.”

  “And getting all the ass I want without having to slap a fucking ring on it.”

  So that’s why he got me the ring? It hadn’t changed anything, but I realize now he was hoping it would. And then, just like that, the cord snaps.

  “You want to know what happened to me?” I ask again. “You happened to me, Ray,” I say, and swipe my finger to end the call.

  Mary claps, beaming. “It’s about fucking time.”

  I grab the bottle of rum and pour myself a celebratory drink. “Screw Ray. And screw that psycho Ralph. First thing tomorrow, we find a pawnshop.”

  • • •

  In the middle of the night, Mary nudges me awake. “Rosie, you up?”

  “No.”

  She lifts the cover from my shoulder and gently scratches my skin. “I have to tell you something. Roll over.”

  Her bedroom is dark, but moonlight slips through the bottom of her window shade and casts a silver glow across her face. Eyes wide and fearful. Her bottom lip quivers when she says, “I was scared tonight. Like really, really scared.”

  I curl up close and wait for more. I’m kind of afraid to say what I’m thinking, that I wanted no part of this thing tonight. She was the one who insisted we go.

  “I think you should take Mac up on it,” she says.

  I know what she means but still have to ask. “And what about the money? How will you get out of here after we graduate?” My voice is hushed, not that her parents could hear us from across the hall, but you never know. I’ve often suspected Lucy of hanging around my door, hoping to hear a snippet of a late-night phone call. I’ve heard the pitter-patter of her feet. I know I have.

  “I’ll just have to find another way. If I wind up dead in an alley, I’m not getting out of anywhere.”

  “Don’t say things like that.”

  “Then do it, Rosie. Tell Mac he can be that guy, riding in on a white horse.”

  I nod. We close our eyes. She lets out a heavy sigh, and I feel her entire body sink into the mattress beside me. I wonder if she’s been up all night, wrestling with this. After her comment earlier, I suspect there’s more behind Mary’s goal to run away than a life free of Perkins Paints. There’s more to it.

  It may not be much, but whatever I make on Ray’s ring goes in Mary’s pocket.

  14

  “THANKS for coming with me,” I say.

  “Did you really think I’d turn down the chance to see you hawk that thing?” Mary takes the velvet pouch from my hands. I asked my mom if I could borrow the car. She shot me down because she and Judd were spending the day at the shooting range, but did I want a ride? No thanks. I didn’t want to tell her what I was up to. Selling Ray’s ring? I’d get the third degree and didn’t want to explain how it came to this. She liked Ray, but I think it’s only because he always tossed her a compliment and yakked it up with Judd.

  Mary’s parents were equally accommodating, so we caught the ten a.m. bus downtown in search of a pawnshop.

  Mary opens the pouch, plucks out the ring, and puts it on her pinkie finger. “Cheap.”

  “It is not,” I snap, louder than I’d planned. Some guy wearing headphones gives me an annoyed look. Like no one ever argues on a bus. Whatever.

  “You deserve better. A diamond. Not this stupid blue stone.”

  “He said it matched my eyes.”

  “Sucker.” She pulls the ring off her finger and sticks it back in the pouch, pulling the strings extra-tight.

  The mention of a diamond reminds me of Judd popping the question. It makes me queasy, the thought of him being my stepfather, if you can even call him that since Lucy’s already my stepmother. I’m not sure how that works.

  “So now that you’ve decided to take him up on his offer, tell me more about this guy Mac.” I know Mary’s only trying to distract me. Her face is turned to the window, taking in the Miami skyline. She likes to look at the city passing her by.

  “He’s kinda hot,” I confess.

 
“Really?” Mary’s eyes widen into flat brown saucers.

  “In a buttoned-up kind of way.”

  “Don’t tell me he wears polo shirts.”

  “And boat shoes.”

  Mary puts a finger in her mouth and pretends to vomit.

  I swat her hand, tell her to stop. The headphones guy turns around, and I’m ready to suggest he turn up his music if we’re such a distraction. Is it against the law to have a little fun on a Saturday-morning bus ride? When Mary sticks out her tongue at him, I swat her hand again.

  “Stop hitting me,” she says, and tucks her hands under her thighs. “So I guess last night’s phone call prompted this little excursion. I know you’re not selling it for the money since we’ve closed shop.”

  “Do you really need me to admit it? You were right. All this time, I was hoping he’d miss me and drive down to Miami in the middle of the night and put it back on my finger. Like right out of a movie. I was stupid, okay?”

  “Not stupid. Gullible.” Mary pauses. Then her expression changes, like she had a lightbulb moment. “I’m proud of you for finally standing up to that douchebag.”

  “Surprised, too, I see.”

  “Well, you’re not exactly the confrontational type,” Mary says.

  “Because that’s your job.” So many times she’s come to my defense. A teacher who gave me a failing grade. A girl who gave me a nasty look at the movie theater. She even blasted Ray the time he got too aggressive with me at a party—pushing me to have sex in some girl’s bedroom—and told him to zip it up or she’d cut it off.

  No wonder she’s beaming right now. The Ray train has finally been derailed.

  • • •

  I don’t shop around. The ring feels like fire in my pocket, and the only way to put out the flame is to dump it. A guy named Horatio at Pawn Universe offers me twenty bucks. He sees that I’m stunned and offers me twenty-five. Mary pokes me in the ribs, tells me not to take it. I’m in no mood to negotiate, so Mary makes a counteroffer of thirty. He ignores her, but as I spin on my sandals to leave, he cuts it down the middle.

  I get a whopping twenty-seven dollars and fifty cents for the ring.

  Outside the pawnshop, I put the money in Mary’s hand. “Take it.”

  “Why? No.”

  “Yes. You’re going to need it.” I curl her fingers around the bills, dropping the two quarters in the front pocket of her shorts.

  “I don’t want it, Rosie. Besides, twenty-seven dollars isn’t going to make or break my escape. Just blow it on something, maybe a hat. You love hats.” I do, because they’re not only a great fashion accessory, they also hide my hair when it doesn’t behave.

  We walk around a bit, headed in no particular direction. Neither one of us is in any hurry to get home. There’s not much bustle since it’s the weekend, even though downtown is slowly becoming a residential hot spot. But it is still early, and the smell of sidewalk trash and lingering gas fumes drive us into the first restaurant that smells halfway decent. It’s close to noon and I’m starved.

  “Forget the hat,” I say as we settle into a table at Pita Central. I use my windfall to treat us to a giant Greek salad, two bowls of lemon soup, and all the flat bread with hummus the waiter would bring. We wash it down with delicious peach iced tea garnished with sprigs of mint. It’s a Saturday-afternoon feast, especially tasty on Ray’s dime.

  15

  NO MORE MEETING at Lou’s. Since we had a legally binding contract (even though, according to Mac, it had been transitioned into a pro bono agreement), he insisted I come to the office after school, see where the magic happens. It’s at the Coastal Square mall, not that far from Del Vista, so I take Todd up on his offer to drive me there when he sees me sitting on the bus bench, melting under the sun. It’s the least he can do for tattling to Ray or to whoever was responsible for lighting the fuse. Someone talked.

  We’ve never been in a car together, but since the heat between us has cooled since last Wednesday, I pretend I’m just hitching a ride with a friend. The air-conditioning feels great, and I direct one of the vents at my forehead to dry my bangs that have sprung into a curly mess.

  “You kind of have a big mouth,” I say. “Usually, it’s girls who like to blab, but whatever. The cat’s out of the bag.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, I didn’t mind you spreading the word, but when it got to Ray . . . I mean, he was my boyfriend last year, so he wasn’t too happy about it, me being mixed up in something like that. You saw me that day, didn’t you?”

  “Uh . . . where?”

  “Behind the wall, right outside the stairwell.” I dip my head. “You know. After.”

  “No . . . ?” His voice tilts up, like a question, like he’s confused.

  “Okay. Well, you probably want to know why.”

  He shrugs like he doesn’t care, but he must. Who wouldn’t want to understand something like that? Besides, he seems to want to listen. His eyes are glued to the road but I can tell he’s listening. “My dad died a couple years ago,” I say. “And he left me a box with a secret letter. I know—sounds like a novel, right? But it’s true. I thought my real mom had died when I was little, but no. She’s alive, and she’s out there somewhere.” I pause, about to hold back the next thought, but it comes out anyway. “Or at least I hope she is. Anyway, I needed to hire a private investigator to help me find her and—surprise, surprise!—no one would help me for free, so—”

  “Rosie,” he snaps. “Stop. I don’t care. It’s none of my business.” Both hands remain gripped on the wheel, his eyes still on the road.

  I feel shut down and shut up and I don’t like it. He turns up the music, but I reach over and spin the dial off. “Well, here’s something that is your business. That guy Ralph should be locked up for attempted rape.”

  It’s hard to tell with guys like Todd, but I think he’s genuinely shocked by my claim. He’s quiet, then says, “We don’t really hang together, if you know what I mean.”

  I don’t know what he means, but he cranks up the music again, which I take as a sign he’s done talking.

  My phone buzzes with a text. Perfect timing.

  its joe. wanna meet

  no

  still no?

  i dont know u

  i got $

  dont care

  u will

  What’s that supposed to mean? Was this creep threatening me now? I huff, annoyed and a little freaked out.

  “Business?” he asks.

  “Stop being an asshole.” I can’t believe I called him that. Mary’s rubbing off on me.

  “I’ll stop being an asshole if you stop being a psycho.” He looks at me for the first time. His eyes are dead serious, and they make me want out of his car, away from him.

  At the next light, he asks me why I need a ride to Coastal Square.

  “Now that’s none of your business.” I had been on the verge of confessing that he’s actually taking me to said investigator before he got snarky.

  “Need an abortion? There’s a clinic on the second floor.”

  “And how would you know that?”

  “Just like I know there’s a Dollar Store and a Subway there, too. That’s all.”

  “I should’ve taken the bus,” I mumble, tired of him, wondering what I ever found appealing. His chin juts out too much and a trail of dark hair crawls up his neck. He suddenly looks thin and awkward behind the wheel, his shirt too tight, his jeans too short.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I say when we arrive.

  “Yep.” He wipes the hair out of his eyes with one hand and grips the steering wheel of his less-than-macho car with the other.

  He barely waits for me to gather my things and close the door when he peels away—as much as one can in a Prius. I make sure he’s out of sight before I take the stairs to the sec
ond floor, enter the third door on the right, and into the office of Brooks & Associates, PI.

  • • •

  It’s not fancy. Not even very nice. It’s average, bordering on dismal. If this office was on a fashion scale, it would be closer to Payless than Prada. White tile floor, blackout shades on both windows. No artwork on the walls, no comfortable furniture to welcome distraught clients. A short hallway shoots out from the room I’ve entered, fluorescent lights spilling from open doors on either side.

  “Hello?” I toss my backpack onto an empty plastic chair, the only one in the room.

  “Be there in a minute!” It’s Mac, calling to me from one of the rooms.

  Something inside me flashed when I heard his voice, like a match being struck. What was that? It used to happen when Ray would call, or when I’d see him approaching me in the school hallway. His voice isn’t deep like Ray’s, but it’s strong and friendly, almost musical.

  “Hi, nice to see you again.” He looks even better than he did last week. He’s got a tan and his hair has been brushed slick behind his ears. I awkwardly shake his outstretched hand. “John’s out. I hope it’s okay that you’ll just be seeing me today.”

  “Sure,” I say, because it’s kind of better than okay.

  “How was school?”

  “Does it really matter? It’s the end of my senior year. I’m checked out.”

  “Grab your stuff and come on back,” he says, then heads down the hallway. “You never told me where you’re going to college.”

  “You never asked.” When I enter his office, it’s like I’ve left a barren planet and entered a den of riches. There’s soft brown carpet on the floor and huge framed abstract photographs on creamy beige walls. A potted plant is nestled in the corner, reaching its dark green leaves toward the spilling sun.

  “Fancy,” I say, my eyes sweeping the room. “How often are you here?”

  “I’ve got a pretty full school schedule, but I try to arrange my classes in the morning so I can come in for a few hours in the afternoon.” He shrugs his shoulders. “But it’s not like I’m here every day.”