Rising (Vincent and Eve Book 1)

by Jessica Ruben

  I hear Ms. Levine speaking, but can’t make out her words.

  “No!” my mom yells again. “You aren’t listening!”

  I expect the conversation to be over, but Ms. Levine continues. “That’s the point! She doesn’t have to live this life! Give her a chance to make something of herself one day!” Her voice pleads.

  Not one ever to let someone else get the last word, my mom goes on. “My kid is staying where I am and where her sister is. Fuck this school. You think those rich people will accept a girl like her? I know people who tried to leave. Yeah, she’s white. But she’s poor and those rich assholes can smell poverty in seconds.”

  I hear the skid of a chair against the floor and not a moment later, my mom comes barreling out of the room. She stares down at me sitting on the floor, her face tight. I try to stand up, but she bends down and grips my hand like a vise, roughly pulling me off the floor. Her manicured nails pierce my skin as she tears us out of the building, high heels clicking at an amazing speed. We move through the metal detectors while the security guards are too busy checking out my mom’s impressive cleavage to notice or care that she’s on a rampage.

  The bus pulls up to the stop at the same time we do, and we get on quickly, taking two seats in the back. Dread pools in my veins when I see the manic look in her eyes. This turned out worse than I imagined. I try to calm down and make myself invisible by putting the hood back on my head, but having my mom so physically close to me when I feel her mania on the rise makes it impossible to focus on anything other than fear.

  We get off the bus and go inside our building. My mom walks straight to the elevator and presses the up button with a sharp red nail, but the light won’t come on.

  “Fuck!” she exclaims. “Of course, the shit box is dead again. Someone gotta get shot before anyone fixes anything ‘round here.”

  I see the “storage” room next to the elevator and blink a few times, feeling lightheaded. I need to get out of here and into our apartment. She pulls her cell phone from her bag and turns on the flashlight as I open the heavy fireproof door for the two of us. We start up the steps. Her phone is raised above her head, casting a small spotlight in an otherwise dark stairwell. The lights in here have been dead for some time; it’s like a black hole right now.

  When we get to the fourth-floor landing, I open the stairwell door and start down the hallway for our apartment, hoping maybe she’s mellowed out some since the conference. But before the thought can exit my brain, I feel her take hold of my shoulders from behind and turn me around to face her. She slaps me hard across the face, the smack echoing through my ears. My head swings to the side from the force, my long and dark ponytail whips around my face.

  “Eve. How many times have I told you to stop showing off in school? Stop dreaming! You think you’re better than me? Than all of us?” Even though I know there isn’t any blood, it feels like the bones in my face have been shattered. My eyes fill with tears as I stare at her forehead. If I look into her eyes, she’ll think I’m talking back, but if I don’t look at her face, she may think I’m disrespectfully avoiding her stare.

  “You need to learn how to toughen up. Do you hear me? This life is what you’ve been given. Reading books and going to college won’t get you anywhere but dead!” She’s yelling now, shaking me hard with both her hands. In her own sick way, she’s just trying to get me to see something that I already know: I’m not suited to live this life. I know I’m different from my neighbors and it doesn’t serve me well. I keep my head down and hide, hoping to just get through my days without getting hurt. My mom keeps trying to wake me up—thinking that if she pushes hard enough, I’ll learn how to navigate the streets and save myself.

  “You think I don’t know about what happened with you and the Snakes? I heard about it from some girls at the club. You’re lucky your sister is so well-liked in this building and she saved your ass. But one day, your luck will run out. You’ve got to grow up! You see this place? This is where you live. This is who you are. You’ll never be more than this. If you read every book in the world, you’ll still be you. A nobody.” Her words sear my insides. “If you want to do something good for yourself, go be Carlos’s girlfriend for a while. He’ll eventually get over you and you can move on with your life. The more you resist, the worse it’ll be when he finally catches you.”

  With those parting words, she turns from me and walks to our apartment door, opening it forcefully and slamming it shut behind her. I close my eyes, leaning against the corridor and sinking down until I’m crouched on the dirty floor in a daze. I put my hood back on my head and lean into it, letting the black cotton cover my eyes. Her words are sobering; the truth in them rattles around my head. I want to think about Vincent, but it’s useless. A man like him has no business with a girl like me. It isn’t until I hear someone nagging about the electric bill that I’m shaken out of my thoughts.

  Picking myself up off the floor, I walk into my apartment and straight into my room. Closing the door behind me, I strip out of my clothes and put on a pair of old and worn sweats before crawling into my bed. I’m relieved to see it’s only five o’clock. I love getting into bed early and reading the night away. I take the new book Ms. Levine recommended off my bedside table, and escape my life by entering someone else’s.

  When I finally doze off to sleep, I dream of Vincent. He’s lying on a white sandy beach with a group of friends while I’m drifting in the ocean on a small red raft. I see him and call out, but no matter how loudly I yell, he doesn’t see or hear me.

  I wake with a start when I hear the front door open and close. Checking my bedside clock, I see it’s two in the morning. My sister comes toward me in the dark. I can see her tiptoeing, trying not to make noise. “Hi Janelle,” I croak, rubbing my eyes and wincing, feeling my face sting.

  She turns on a small lamp in the corner of the room and lets out a gasp. “Holy shit, what happened to your face?” She flips on the rest of the lights, inspecting my cheek with her warm hands.

  “Mom. She came to school today to talk to Ms. Levine and went berserk afterward.”

  Janelle goes to the kitchen and comes back with a pack of frozen peas, placing it gently on my face. She sits on my bed as I sit up. “Girl, you’re gonna bruise from this. Je-sus she hit you good. That Ms. Levine. Always lookin’ on the bright side…” She lets out a sigh, looking into my eyes sadly.

  “Let me do your makeup tomorrow, okay? Keep this ice on your face as long as you can stand it.” She turns away from me and walks into the bathroom. I press the cold bag to my face, shuddering from the sting. When I can’t take it anymore, I close my eyes and curl back under the covers, letting my body relax into sleep. It’s fitful.

  I wake up the next morning in exhaustion, and my face is sore and bruised. Janelle tries to put some concealer and powder on me to take the discoloration away. When I look in the mirror, I see that it actually looks a lot better with the makeup. With no time to wash my hair, I put a black baseball hat on my head and jump onto the bus to get to school. I get off and walk directly to the English Department. When I see Ms. Levine sitting in her office, I walk inside and slam the door behind me.

  I put my fists on her desk and lean my body forward, getting in her face like I’ve seen countless students do to intimidate teachers. I’ve never acted like this before, but my hurt has taken over.

  “Don’t say anything to my mom anymore. I’m never leaving this place, and I want you to pull my applications out!” The tears start to run down my face as she looks at me with sympathy. Fury takes hold, and I have an urge to smack the compassion off her face.

  My hands shake. “My mom is doing this for my best interest, and in the best interest of my family. I have to stay here. I’m graduating in six months, and then I’m getting a job!” I yell.

  She stands from her desk and closes the blinds, making sure none of the other teachers or students witness my outburst. She stands next to me in front of her desk, trying to take my hand. I bal
l them into fists, hating the feeling of her kindness.

  She steps back, eyes gentle. “I know you, Eve. And I’m not pulling those applications. Do you hear me? I know you’re scared. But one way or another I’m getting you out of this life. You deserve better,” she pleads. “I see your face right now. You can’t cover bruises like that with makeup and a hat. I made a bad judgment call bringing in your mother. I should have listened to you. Regardless, you’re too smart for this,” she states firmly. “I’m not giving up on you.”

  “I’m nothing. Stop trying to turn me into something. It’s only making my life worse, can’t you see that? All these promises, it’s all bullshit. I don’t know anyone who ever went to these fancy schools, except YOU. I wouldn’t even know the first thing about doing well at a school like that…and…this—” I glance around the shoddy room “—is who I am.” My voice breaks off at the end.

  She shakes her head woefully, stepping closer to me again. “We’ll hear back from colleges shortly. I’m still crossing my fingers that you can start somewhere in June. Just hang in there a little while longer, Eve.” She finally takes my hand, and I let her. “I’m not leaving you alone, all right? Don’t be afraid.” Her eyes show concern, and I know she’s doing this because she cares, but I’m too hurt to accept it. When the first bell rings, I walk out of the room, no longer having the energy to speak.

  I go to my first period math class and zone out, telling myself I need to calm down and let the applications stay in motion. Ms. Levine is right. I can’t just give up after all I’ve put into this. I look out the window and watch as a delivery truck parks illegally to bring crates into one of the bodegas. While he’s away, three kids jump into the back of the truck and run out with their hands full of loot. Only a few minutes after that, the cops come and give the truck a ticket for double-parking. I’m living in Gangland.

  CHAPTER 10

  The next morning, Janelle wakes me up by vaulting into my bed. The box spring and mattress is so old that I immediately bounce up.

  “Today is gonna be a great day!” She hugs my exhausted body to her chest, lifting me like a ragdoll. “It’s the freakin’ weekend, baby, I’m about to have me some fun…” she sings, quoting “Ignition” by R. Kelly.

  I rub my face, my voice coming out in a rasp. “Ugh, get off me, or at least wait until I’ve had my coffee.” I get up, dragging my body to the bathroom. How Janelle has this energy in the morning, I’ll never understand.

  After washing up, I walk into our tiny kitchen to put the coffee on. I take out a pan and put it on the stove. I take out eggs and some milk, and immediately scramble them together. I don’t cook anything fancy, but Janelle always tells me I’ve got a gift in the kitchen.

  I put some toast in the oven and when it’s all ready, call for my mom and Janelle. My mom lazily walks to our table with a short pink silk robe wrapped around her tall frame. She sits casually and waits for me to serve her.

  I put the full plate in front of her, and she tenses. “Where’s the butter and jam?” Her tone raises my guard. I quickly open the refrigerator, taking out what she needs and placing it on the table. Moving to the sink, I immediately begin to wash the pan I’ve already used, making sure to give her a show as to how diligently I clean. My mom will never lift a finger to maintain the apartment, but expects it to be spotless nonetheless; she has an obsession with cleanliness—and as far back as I can remember, always has. The sight of a mess really sets her off, so I do my absolute best to keep things organized at all times. While it’s annoying to be constantly scrubbing, the stress of keeping things perfectly tidy is nothing compared to her wrath if things aren’t up to her standard. I continue to scrub the dishes as my mind wanders back.

  ***

  It’s midnight. I’m officially thirteen years old. Mom barges through the door, unable to stand up straight. Janelle had just paused the show we were watching to wish me a happy birthday. We’re in an embrace when she speaks.

  “What the hell is this shit?” Her voice is low and gritty as she stares at us in the darkness.

  “Mom?” Janelle asks, sitting up from the couch as my mom pulls off her patent-leather, sky-high platforms, dropping them to the floor. They clatter like dead weight onto the ground. We haven’t seen her in over two weeks.

  “What are you girls doing awake?” I feel goosebumps rise on my arms, and I pull the blanket tighter around me.

  Janelle clears her throat. “Mom, we were just having fun…it’s—”

  “Having fun? I work hard for you girls!” She comes to the side of the couch, grabbing my arm and forcing me to stand.

  “You like to stay up late? You’re a little loser, you know that?” She cackles like she’s never heard anything funnier. “I think you’ll make a great housekeeper one day, Eve. Tonight, you better clean this shithole until it’s sparkling.” She flips the lights on, temporarily blinding us. “I’m waiting.” A dark smile settles on her face.

  My mother watches me wash every inch of the apartment until the sun rises.

  ***

  I finally blink the memory away, realizing I’ve been scrubbing for way longer than necessary. I hear her voice over the running water. “So, how are you?” I shut off the faucet and turn toward my mother as she takes a long sip from her coffee mug, looking more tired and worn out than usual. It’s a rarity that she asks how I am, and her question catches me off guard.

  “I’m good, Mom,” I say hesitantly, drying off the pan with a dish towel. I take a seat at the table across from her, wondering if she’ll be decent this morning.

  She hums. “You look good.” She stares at me from the tip of my toes all the way up to my face. “You’re beautiful?” It comes out more like a question than a statement.

  I shrug, not replying. I’m not sure what she wants to hear and would rather stay silent than say something that may incite her. Somehow, she always manages to take my kindness as arrogance.

  “You’re still working at Angelo’s, right?”

  “Yeah, I am. It’s still cool.”

  “Don’t embarrass me while you’re there,” she snaps. My mom is forever trying to stay in the good graces of the family, and she’d probably kill me if I ever did anything to jeopardize her relationship. The Borignones are so powerful; I’d never—in my right mind—do anything that could even be potentially construed as messing with them.

  She glances around the kitchen, her eyes skittish. “You need to clean this place better, Eve. I can see dust in all the corners. Can’t you see it?” Her voice accuses.

  I gather myself before replying. “I’ll make sure to go over it again today.” I try to speak with as much decency as I can muster; any trace of an attitude is a surefire way to get her angry.

  “I’m taking a nap. When I wake up, I don’t want to see this disgusting mess.”

  “Yes,” I reply calmly.

  Janelle walks in, smiling happily. My mom’s gaze turns to my sister. When she’s in these moods, anyone in her path is going to get run over. “Why do you look so happy, Janelle?” Her eyes move from Janelle to me, completely distrustful. Anxiety fills me. She’s rising.

  Janelle’s voice is scratchy as she starts. “It’s nice out and I have a full day of clients. Cha-ching!” My mom huffs as I bite my cheek, trying not to laugh.

  For whatever reason, my mom never hurts Janelle in the way she does me. I’ll never understand it. Not that I’d ever wish Janelle to feel how I’m feeling, but I just wish I knew why I’m always the one singled out.

  My mom’s face turns to ice, her eyes shrinking into slits. She’s obsessively touching her bleached-blond hair, pushing the strands back from her face over and over again. Janelle and I watch as her mood morphs. She stands abruptly, leaving her dirty dish on the table for me to clear and wash. I take a breath of relief when she finally slams her bedroom door, retreating into her cave. Janelle brings her coffee back to our room, leaving me alone in the kitchen.

  Sitting by myself, I feel totally relieved. Gr
abbing my cell off the counter, I scroll through the Post headlines while enjoying my eggs and hot coffee. When I’m done, I wash all of the dishes by hand and put them away neatly in the cabinets where they belong. I step into my room, dropping my body on my unmade bed and wishing I could see Vincent again. I only have a few hours before I need to get to work, and I don’t want to waste any more time on anything other than him. I curl under my covers, shutting my eyes and trying to replay both of our times together for what feels like the trillionth time, when Janelle drops onto my bed, making me bounce up and shaking me out of my reverie. “So, you never told me about what happened with the hot guy you met from the fight.” Her smile is all-knowing, and I flush inside.

  I open my mouth, ready to spill every detail, but quickly shut it. I don’t want to tell her anything about Vincent. The whole experience was so new and incredible, I’m afraid if I tell her that it will become less mine somehow. Like once I discuss it, it’ll be out in the universe—and I just want to keep it close to my heart. Who knows if I’ll ever have something like that again. I got lucky twice, and something tells me a third time isn’t in the cards.

  Yes, I felt his want for me, but it was also more than that. He looked at me as if I’m someone worth knowing. He didn’t see me like an uppity bookworm. And he didn’t look at me like a poverty-stricken girl to pity, either. For some reason, he just seemed to actually like me. The real me. The me I almost never let anyone see. And God, I liked him. Almost too much.

  “Nothing…” I say hesitantly, my eyes darting down for a moment while heat rises into my cheeks. She notices my blush and rolls her eyes.