“You’re an idiot,” I hear Ruth say under her breath. “Look what you’re doing to Mom.”
I don’t say anything because it’s what I am thinking too, somewhere buried under my motherly concern is that same awful thought.
“Fuck you,” Lucy spits.
Ruth leans forward. “What, is that the only word you know?”
“Don’t,” I finally intercede with gritted teeth. “Don’t fight.”
Lucy sinks back into the couch and Ruth sits tall and rigid next to her, the two of them separated by a thick wall of mutual hate that is clearly visible on their faces.
Mendoza steps into the hall and approaches carefully, as if he knows he’s interrupting our little squabble.
“Ms. Wilcox?” he asks, sticking his hands in his pockets for no reason, then taking them out to cross his arms. He seems nervous. “Can I speak with you?”
He nods for me to follow him, and I try reading Lucy before I do. Her face is a grimaced mask of annoyance. She doesn’t even look at me.
Foster has it all displayed on my desk like a science exhibit. The tall glass tubes of a line of bongs, assorted pipes, a small ziplock full of weed, at least six cans of spray paint. It’s not the drugs or the tagging that breaks my heart. I was a rebellious teen in my day. I get it. A little weed never hurt anyone, but the lying. The behind my back. The secrets and sneaking out.
I’ve lost her.
A tear runs down my cheek, and I feel a warm hand on my shoulder. I turn to Mendoza, surprised but comforted by his touch. Through it all he smiles at me in the sweetest way, and his wolf eyes soften.
“I’m taking it all to the car,” Foster blurts out, his rough voice jarring in the silent room. “Then I’ll be back for your daughter. We’re taking her in.”
He says it like he’s telling me his Sunday afternoon plans.
I sit on my bed, staring past the floor as Foster collects the loot. The glass pipes clink against the bongs like a disjointed wind chime, and I wonder where all those years went. I used to tickle her sides and kiss her cheeks. I was there for every scraped knee, asked a thousand times mommy please don’t go on my way to work.
And then one day, today, I’m nothing to her. All those midnight I love yous after bad dreams mean nothing. I’m no longer worthy of her secrets. Not trusted enough to confide in. Not loved enough to hold on to.
“Rachel?”
Mendoza is sitting next to me. I hadn’t noticed. The sound of my first name awakens me to the moment.
“I have to bring her in now.”
Suddenly I have the urge to fight for her. Maybe it’s not too late.
“Is this even legal?” I ask, standing to seem taller, stronger. “Since when do police barge into people’s houses over weed and spray paint?”
“It’s the affiliation, not the weed. This probably isn’t even her stuff. To be honest, my boss just wants to question her about her knowledge of FTC. He’s looking for names. Facts. Evidence.”
“What’s FTC?” I ask.
He gives me an uncomfortable smirk before answering. “It stands for ‘Fuck The Cops’. They’re a crew, a small gang. But they have ties to a larger one called Crazy Eights.”
“Oh.” My voice turns meek. I can’t help myself. “Will she be okay?”
“I’ll make sure she just gets off on a tobacco charge. She’ll be fine.”
My brow furrows. “Why would you do that?” It comes out sounding mean, but mostly I’m just not used to men doing me favors.
He shrugs. “I told you. She’s not a bad kid...”
I can tell he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. Instead he stands up, straightening his shirt and asks what he can do to help.
Back in the living room Mendoza hands her a pair of folded jeans that I pulled from the basket of laundry near my bed. She rips them from his grasp and continues to glare as she slides them on in rough angry motions.
There’s nothing I can do, so I just stand there and watch as he gingerly folds her arms behind her back and cuffs her.
With Mendoza out of view she focuses her glare on me. It’s wounding. I buckle inside, guilt and worry flooding the many avenues of my failure. I follow them outside as they escort her to their car. The knot in my throat feels like splinter shards as our eyes connect one last time. I hardly recognize the girl looking back at me.
CHAPTER 30
Ruth
THAT SUMMER, THE SUMMER of my senior year, I lose my sister entirely.
After graduation, I feel like a caged bird set free. It starts with a few late nights. Soon it’s every night. Josh and I are out after dark and I eventually stop coming home. My absence is different than Lucy’s. Mom knows where I am, that I’m safe. I call and check in, but other than that I let myself be wholly consumed by this new and exciting part of my life.
I’m not there to witness Lucy’s breaking point or to try and save her from herself. Instead I leave her. I walk away from her subtle pleas for help and let her drown in the urban sea of drugs and guns, checking in only often enough to make sure she’s alive. It’s the one thing in my life I regret—leaving her.
After the police raid I make a promise to myself to stay away. Everything she does makes me hate her more. She’s a blemish discoloring the pretty picture I’ve painted of my life. So, I pack my things and practically move in with Josh. His unbroken family welcomes me into their storybook home with love. They eat dinner at the table every night and talk about important things, like economics and politics. I nod, pretending I know enough to agree with them. Josh and I ignore his mother’s weak protests about us sharing a bed and do it anyway.
It’s easy to forget Lucy and all the trouble she brings, all the worry and screaming over what’s right and wrong. And it’s even easy to forget Mom, and all the pressure I feel to make her happy, to ensure she’s stable, that we have enough money to make it for the month, to be her tear-catching sponge on nights she feels alone.
In Josh’s world, I’m free.
The nights are ours. We drive aimlessly until we get tired and then make our way to “the view,” an unfinished dirt driveway that hides us along the hillside. Below, city lights stretch into the distance as if the sky has spilled a cup full of her stars into the sinking valley.
As we park I check my phone for an update. I say I hate my sister, but I can’t help but care. I need to know Lucy is okay. Mom says she’s been gone for two nights now without a word. I’m waiting to hear that she’s home.
“Anything?” Josh asks as he opens a bag of Skittles. Our pile of 7-Eleven loot is on my lap. I dig through it for a watermelon Jolly Rancher sucker, pretending I’m not a nervous wreck.
I shrug playing it off. “No. Whatever though. I don’t care.”
He opens the moon roof letting in the night air and reclines his seat.
“I’m not buying it,” he says through the crunch and chew of his candy. “I hate that she does this to you.”
His features are brightened only by the moon, but I don’t need light to picture his familiar face.
“Me too.” I shovel the candy pile into the center console and draw my knees in. “Okay, so I do care,” I finally admit. “Why? Why do I care so much? She treats my mom and I like shit. She doesn’t care about us. She does whatever she wants without consequence. Why can’t I just forget her and be done with it?”
“Because you’re not a bad person.”
“Well sometimes I feel like one. You know I hate her. I legitimately hate her. I just don’t hate her enough. There’s always this little piece of me that needs her to be okay.”
“It’s because even though you hate her, you love her, and it’s not a bad thing to love your sister.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You don’t know her well enough.”
“Yeah, screw it, who needs human decency or love, right?”
I crack a smile for the first time tonight, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. He sits up and pulls my sucker away, pressing his skittle-flavored lips into mine
. I’m not expecting it, so I gasp just a little as my heart takes off. The sweet taste of his mouth is enough to push Lucy out of my mind. He runs a hand into my hair just at the nape of my neck and chills climb the bare skin of my arms. I breathe deeply as he lingers, savoring the sugary remnants of our candy kiss.
My phone chimes, and he puffs a quick sigh through his nose before pulling away. He’s not mad. I can tell by the gentle smile he gives me as he reaches for my phone and hands it to me.
I bite my lip, a little embarrassed as I check it.
It’s from Mom. My heart skips.
Nothing yet.
I show Josh and toss my phone in the cup holder.
“Did you call the police?” he asks.
“Yeah. They brush us off. I’m sure freaked out parents call all the time and then figure out their kid is at a friend’s house or whatever. They don’t take you seriously unless it’s been a really long time.”
“So maybe you shouldn’t be worried either.”
“I can’t help it. What if she dies or something horrible?”
He tucks his hands behind his head and leans back again to stare through the rectangular cut-out of sky. “She’s not going to die. And no matter how much you care, you can’t live her life for her. People have to make their own mistakes.”
I know he’s right so I don’t say anything. Instead I watch as he pulls a joint from his pocket and lights it. He doesn’t offer me any. He just holds in his hit. I’ve always refused and he knows I don’t smoke. But this time, as the pungent cloud floats up toward the stars, I envy its escape.
“I want some,” I say, fed up with life enough to feel reckless.
He squints at me with the hint of a smirk, judging my seriousness. “Really?”
I sit up straighter, a little nervous about what it will do to me. “Yeah. I mean, it can’t make me freak out right? I’m not going to start seeing goblins or anything?”
It takes him a good minute so stop his shallow breathy laughter. “No. No goblins. You’ll just feel relaxed.”
“Okay,” I agree as he sits up.
He hands me the joint and I press the soft paper to my lips. It’s harder to draw the smoke into my lungs than I expect so I pull too hard and take in too much smoke. It burns my throat and forces me into a violent coughing fit.
“Oh my God!” I complain through my struggle for breath. “That’s horrible.”
He laughs some more before lying back in his seat. My throat still stings, but I lean my seat back level with Josh and stare up at the stars through the open moon roof.
It only takes a moment for the feeling to hit me. It is relaxing, and dizzying in a good way. Josh leans over the center console and kisses me again. His mouth tastes like smoke and candy and feels like the best thing ever.
The Smashing Pumpkins sing a nasally pitch in the background, and the night sky chills my cheeks and nose. I stretch my bare feet onto the dash and press my toes into the cold glass, marveling at the smooth texture against my skin. And I don’t think of Lucy. Not once.
It really is a great summer. The best summer of my life, but I have no idea what I’m sacrificing for it. By the time I realize what my absence has done to my family, it’s too late. She’s already gone.
CHAPTER 31
Lucy
Summer lets me off the hook. No more Mom picking me up from school bullshit. I can finally breathe and just be with my friends without Mom or Ruth judging me, glaring at me like I’m a total fuck-up after every move I make.
I’ve been with Dani for a few days. I know Mom’s probably worried. Good. Maybe it will make her a little more grateful when I’m around. Maybe she’ll actually stop treating me like I’m a five-year-old.
Paco’s cousin, Shawn, lives in downtown LA. He’s older and shares his crummy apartment with two other cholos. It’s been fun hanging with their crew. We’ve been staying up late and all passing out on the floor in one big heap, like we’re camping or something. I like it because I get to snuggle up next to Gabe, and it isn’t awkward or super meaningful because everyone is snuggling everyone in our big dog pile on the floor.
Sometimes after everyone is snoring he’ll reach his arm around me and just hold me. He doesn’t try to kiss me or push up against me in a sexual way that would make me tense. He just hugs me as he sleeps, and I feel safe.
Tonight we’re hitting up the Taco Bell $1 menu for dinner. It’s cheap and filling and delicious. I can already taste the salty beans and cheese as we walk the five blocks to get there.
“Fucking hug me, bitch,” Dani says, wrapping me in her bare goose-bumped arms. “I’m freezing.” It is cold for a summer night. We link elbows, but she keeps her cheek on my shoulder, and I love the feel of it. Of being loved so closely and unconditionally by her.
“You know what we should do when we get back?” she says, lifting her chin like she’s had an epiphany. “Play spin the bottle.”
“Nah. Fuck that,” Gabe says, lacing his fingers into my right hand. “I’m not kissing your dirty mouth, Dani.”
She sticks her tongue out at him. “You know you dream about it.”
I laugh and watch the cholo roomates up ahead light their cigarettes. The grey puffs of smoke float toward the streetlamps, swirling in the spotlights as we pass.
“I want one,” Dani whines as she peels away from me, leaving my side cold in the absence of her body heat.
“I kinda like having you with me all the time,” Gabe says quietly into my ear.
I smile and lean in closer until we’re holding each other as we walk. “Me too.”
The streets we’ve been walking are dark and quiet, but I can see the main drag up ahead. It’s illuminated like the city strip in Vegas. Neon fast food signs and billboards cast a filthy glow of city light onto a night sky that used to belong to the stars.
It’s funny though. I don’t even miss them, those beautiful diamond nights back home in Massack. I don’t want to be anywhere but here, with my friends, who love me, just the way I am.
When we reach the main street I can smell Taco Bell. The scent of salt and grease makes me imagine my first bite. I tap my feet as we wait at the crosswalk eager to get inside. Cars whiz by as we wait for the green light to turn yellow.
Before it does, a red minivan cuts across all three lanes toward us. I stiffen in Gabe’s embrace, and then impulsively break away from him, expecting the car to drive on to the sidewalk and kill us all, but it screeches to a stop in the middle of the road, blocking other cars as they swerve around it to make the green light.
Almost simultaneously the crosswalk signals us to go. At first I worry for the people inside the car, thinking they might have blown a tire or lost their brakes, but the cholos in front of our group keep eyes on it. I can see the older male driver squinting a glare at them as we cross. My gaze flickers between the driver and our group.
Gabe starts to walk faster, keeping a tight grip on my hand until we’re in front of everyone and almost to the Taco Bell.
Something is off.
The moment I think it, I hear shouts behind me. I turn to see a stocky Mexican man jumping out of the minivan. He’s big, with a puffed-up chest beneath a white wife-beater tank and tattoos of womens’ faces on his large biceps. The man leaves his driver’s side door wide open as he charges toward Paco’s cousin. There are kids in the man’s car. A baby is crying frantically from inside, and a toddler’s round face peeks over the window’s edge.
I only notice the man has a gun after Dani starts shrieking uncontrollably.
“Oh my God! Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”
He pulls the gun on Dani right there in the middle of the intersection. It’s black and looks heavy and unthinkably real.
“Are you Crazy Eights? You’re motha fuckin’ Crazies, you gonna die. All of you. Watch. You gonna die.”
Paco manages to pull Dani away from the gunman, putting himself between them, but she’s still screaming into her hands.
All I can think about
are those kids. Maybe my brain can’t face the immediate fear of a gun so close, so it finds something else to worry about, but I can’t imagine them seeing this man kill someone in the street.
I look back at the people staring through the wide, open glass of the Taco Bell like they’re watching a movie. Don’t they see what’s happening?
I scream at them. “Call 911 you idiots! There’s kids in his car, and he’s about to shoot someone!”
A tall skinny white girl points behind me, and I notice the barrage of Spanish death threats have stopped.
“...pinche Guera,” is all I hear as I turn back to the scene.
The gunman is heading straight for me, his arm out-stretched and the gun pointing at my face.
I want to run. Everything in me is trembling, itching to sprint and get away, but I’m too scared he’ll shoot me if I move.
“On your knees, you fucking Crazy Eight bitch.” He waves me to the pavement and points the gun at my forehead.
“Please,” I whimper. Eyes closed. Gut hollow. “We’re not who you think we are. I’m nobody.” I don’t even know if he can hear my pleading whispers. I’m rusty as the tin man and can’t make my mouth move or my voice louder. I can’t open my eyes.
I jolt violently as the gun goes off. The sound makes me scream without thought. When the panicked ring of my voice fades, and I’m still alive, I see Gabe scrambling in front of me, blocking my view of the man who almost killed me.
I check my body, looking for a gunshot wound, but there’s nothing. Gabe has his hands on my cheeks, and I’m in a daze. “You okay?” He looks around, and everything is moving so fast. “You’re okay. Come on. Let’s go. Can you run?”
He has a bloody fold-up knife in his hand. He wipes it on his jeans, closes it and shoves it in his pocket in a quick, effortless motion.
“What happened?” I ask, but our group is already fleeing back the way we came.
Gabe pulls me to my feet, and I finally see the tattooed man on the pavement. He’s been stabbed in several places, and he’s curled up in a ball, groaning in a puddle of his own blood.
Carry Me Home Page 15
