“Hurry,” he said. “I want time enough to take you ice skating.”
They spent the day in the stores that dotted Downtown Crossing, shopping, peering in at department store window displays, buying gifts, and, unbelievably, talking with the handful of strangers that recognized Hassan. Afterward, with their bags in the back of his Mustang and a parking ticket that would have given Ali an embolism, they took to the ice on Frog Pond, skating arm in arm until sunset.
~~~
Wyatt stood in an upstairs window, shrouded in shadows, eyes on the pair gathered at the trunk of a perfectly polished Mustang that had magically acquired rims since he’d last seen it.
All day.
Gone all day.
Wyatt and Edy didn’t talk like they used to. They spent even less time together. A handful of conversations at school, a few more passed notes, a phone call when it was killing him.
Wyatt was tired of it.
He was no closer to Edy, no better for his restraint, for his harboring hope that she would see him, miss him, yearn for him eventually.
All he’d earned for his troubles was a front row ticket to the Hassan show, tongue kissing included.
Heads gathered, the couple huddle together, close. Wyatt watched as Hassan placed a hand at the small of her back and leaned in. His lips moved, holding a smirk despite speaking. Edy threw her head back and laughed. Joyous, tumbling gusts of laughter wafted up to Wyatt’s bedroom, warm and melodious, searing him with envy.
For once in his life, he wanted to have the advantage. He was poor. His parents were uneducated. His father drank too much; his mother was just nuts. They stepped out on each other, had fist fights, and screamed until Wyatt peeled them apart.
He had no risk of being mistaken for handsome, of discovering coordination, of stumbling on money. He worked hard and earned his grades through sweat. He had few clothes, fewer friends, and no one who would miss his absence. Even Edy Phelps was slipping through his fingers.
As he watched his only friend, the girl he loved, toss something up and over Hassan’s head, Wyatt leaned in, far too morbid to look away.
She waved a scarf over her head, leaning so that her backside pressed the trunk of his car. Hassan reached for it, body cinched to hers so that they were chest to chest, hard to soft, and stealing Wyatt’s breaths.
He’d give anything to be the thing in Hassan’s pants.
But just like that, they parted, scarf dropped and forgotten as the Pradhan door opened. And they were odd, natural, just friends and awkward in appearance.
Of course. The truth found Wyatt in a sea of stupidity, snatching him up like a lifeboat with arms. As plain as the decorations that flickered from every house.
Edy was Christian, Hassan Hindu.
The two could never be.
Their families would never accept the two of them together. Never.
And like that, Wyatt Green jumped back in the game.
Twenty-Three
Football season rounded out with a second state championship. Edy’s parents, the Dysons, and a few others went straight to a fundraiser in Bellmont Hill following the game. Edy had Hassan, the Dysons, and Kyle in tow for the shindig at Chloe’s place.
When they arrived at Chloe’s house, it was Lawrence who shoved open the door without knocking. The twins and Kyle followed next, with Hassan and Edy bringing up the rear, fingers laced loosely. She couldn’t remember if he’d grabbed her hand or she’d grabbed his, or even whether it was important. But in the face of a packed crowd with dancing girls at the center, she resisted the urge to hold on to him a little tighter.
Chloe slipped between them. The jerk of surprise Edy gave was mirrored on Hassan’s face. They’d known each other their entire lives, Edy and Chloe, and the demise to their old friendship had a name: Sandra Jacobs. But this sudden connection they’d conjured, Hassan and Lawrence, was supposed to make them more again. Edy didn’t know how to take it, how to trust it.
“He’s mad at me,” Chloe said. “But he can’t stay mad. I know what he likes and how to give it to him.”
“I’ll, uh, leave you girls,” Hassan said. He kissed Edy’s cheek, let her hand fall, and disappeared with a look of disgust.
Chloe grinned. “There isn’t a girl here that didn’t see that.”
“See what?”
“Hassan Pradhan not wanting to let you go.” She winked and melted into the crowd.
Rap music pierced loud, eviscerating through a speaker to Edy’s left, while to the right, a double barrel of kegs earned considerable attention. A second look in that direction revealed faces that Edy didn’t know. On squinting, she placed them as Blue Hill Ave football players, officially their rivals.
Hassan and the Dyson twins never took more than a step or three before a clap on the back or a shout stopped them. There were intricate handshakes that differed from group to group, spontaneous bursts of laughter, and an ease that never wavered. This was their scene. Their crowd. In contrast, Lawrence hung back with Kyle, content with a beer, a corner, and a few teammates.
Briefly, Edy considered joining them. After all, both were her friends. But she didn’t want them to feel like they were babysitting. Nor did she want to lose progress on the march to adulthood. She didn’t want sympathy, or awkwardness, or—
A hand closed around her wrist.
“I love this song!” Chloe shouted. “Dance with me!”
Girls charged the floor with jockeying boys on their heels and clowning Dyson twins among them. But Edy had never danced at a party full of teens, didn’t know the latest dance moves. She’d only been instructed in ballet and only managed to mimic Bean’s b-boying in her bedroom.
Chloe snatched her to the floor, but hesitated when Edy drew back.
“Can’t you dance?” she said with a laugh.
Edy recoiled. Was that how she looked? Awkward? Uncoordinated? Talentless?
Please. She yanked Chloe to the center.
The music shot fast, a wild flow of bass that required more than the lazy hip rocks most were giving it. Edy stepped out with Chloe, imitating her simple lilt, while her body raged at the blasphemy of minimal motion. She didn’t know what part of her rebelled first—arms, legs, feet—but she knew it felt right and free, like justice, when it happened.
First, a nuanced pendulum swing of the hips. She rocked through it, surging till it exploded in a complicated pairing of arms, mimicking the motions of braggadocios New York boys in battle. She found a little hop-skip to polish it off at the end; using it to switch directions with an abruptness so sharp she likened it to hitting walls.
It poured in bursts of anger, fueled by what she couldn’t tolerate. Of all the things she got wrong: steering away from her mother’s wishes, drifting toward Hassan so slow, so slow, dance was the one she got right every single time.
“Edy!” Chloe cried. “Remind me not to ask if you can fight.”
Edy brushed it off with a grin.
For the next song, something fast and ferocious, Matt shoved through the crowd to join her. Once there his pelvis ricocheted, his fists thrusted, and there was little room for her to respond to his wildness. When that song ended, twin replaced twin, and took up the same hip tossing lunacy.
Done with the forced subjection to their hips, Edy headed for the punch table, where she found a crystal bowl brimming with red liquid. Immediately, her father’s words came to her.
“Never take drinks from a stranger, drinks from people you don’t trust, or drinks with an origin you can’t ascertain.”
She scowled. Dancing was thirsty business. And she was having fun. Leave it to her father to muck that up from inside her head. Obviously, Chloe made the punch, though it was possible for a boy to come along and drop something in it. But to what end? He’d be drugging boys and girls alike. Would someone find that fun? Sounded like a really expensive sort of fun. Impractical.
Fingers laced through Edy’s, and a body warmed her backside.
“Show off,” Hassan
said in her ear.
“She said I couldn’t dance!”
He played out a little rhythm in her palm.
“Right. Except now everyone’s going to want to dance with the girl with gyrating hips. My girl, mind you. My love.”
He kissed the space behind her ear and vanished.
But his words stayed. His girl. His love.
Edy looked up to spot the twins sandwiching Jessica in that same little horrible hip jerk. Her gaze kept moving, past a cluster of Blue Hill Ave players, a mix of guys and girls, a guy she knew from history, and—
Wait.
The Blue Hill Ave guys were looking at her weirdly. Not even trying to shield it, just staring, unapologetic.
Her eyes widened. Creeps.
Edy went for Lawrence and Kyle, her closest, safest bet. When she moved to grab a beer bottle from the table nearest them, however, Lawrence swatted her hand away.
“Chill out,” he said, oblivious to the fact that they were the exact same age and that he held one in his own hand.
But Edy was through with the double standard, so she marched around to the opposite side of the table and made a show of assessing the various brands. Budweiser. Michelob. Heineken. Coronas. At the last moment, she decided to join the keg line.
“Hey. Edy, right?”
She turned in surprise. Reggie Knight. Linebacker for Blue Hill Ave.
He stuck out a hand. “Reggie,” he said simply.
“I know.”
But how did he know her?
“I haven’t really seen you around this crowd before,” he said. “You must not do the party scene.”
It was an odd statement, one that required her to delve into more than she would’ve liked. She shrugged instead.
“You’re not one of the dance girls, or I would have noticed you before.” He shook his head. “But I’ll tell you this. You should be one.”
His dark lips spread into a smile.
“Listen, Reginald—”
“Reggie.”
The line moved. They stepped forward together.
“Like I was saying. I saw you. Watched you. Definitely want to know you a little better.”
“Well, you’ve misunderstood.” Edy jammed one hand into the other, squirming in some semblance of a disappearing act she’d yet to learn. “I’m sorry, but I’m here with Hassan. Hassan Pradhan.”
Reggie held up his hands in a show of defenselessness. “I figured you were with one of them. So, sure. No problem. I understand.”
Edy looked around, suddenly wondering where her constant bodyguard service was. She spotted Hassan on the opposite side of the room. Lawrence and Kyle were still near but in a heated discussion about something. Meanwhile, the twins were absent altogether.
Edy turned away. The line moved, she moved, and Reginald moved with it. She couldn’t even tell if he wanted beer or not, since he stood adjacent to and not behind her at all.
The twins came in from outside, arms overloading with cases of Budweiser. They dumped them on the table and disappeared. Lawrence and Kyle turned to cracking the boxes open and transferring the beer to coolers of ice.
“Like I was saying, I’m at Blue Hill Ave. A linebacker.” Reginald turned as if remembering something. “These are my boys, Will and Jesus. They play, too.”
He placed a hand on the back of one guy who appeared to be a seamless part of the crowd, then another. Both turned.
“Oh hey, what’s up, baby?” said the taller of the two, Jesus. He had thick, leathery skin and limp black hair pulled tight into a ponytail.
“Nothing,” Edy said. She lowered her gaze, put off by the “baby” and torn by the need to show the boys’ constant protection of her was unnecessary. She could kill this scene by going to them or she could handle this one by herself.
The line moved again. All three boys went with it.
“Yeah, baby girl was just telling me that she’s here with Pradhan,” Reggie said.
“Well, that’s what’s up,” Will said enthusiastically, confusing Edy even further.
“So, Edy, how about you and me get together a little later?” Reggie said, gaze dropping to her body.
Edy sputtered, mouth flailing at the audacity of it all. “Did you not just hear me?” she cried. “I’m with Hassan!”
What a stupid, impotent response, like yelling “quit it” when someone pointed a gun at your face. Still, her fists balled.
Reggie touched Edy’s arm, just so. “That’s what I’m saying, sexy. When you get bored with him, come find me after.”
“After what?” Edy cried.
He released her, as if she had somehow offended him. “After you two get done pounding each other. After that, let me get a turn.”
Edy swung without knowing she would, fist like a hammer to his eyeball.
Reggie reeled, righted himself, and spat an eclectic selection of profane names as he clutched at his face.
“What did you say to her?” Hassan appeared at Reggie’s side.
Lawrence and Kyle looked up.
“Look, your bowwow here—”
Hassan slapped him.
She never knew a man could be slapped that way, with an open-palm of thunder, spittle flying, gleaning a cry of startled pain. The boy plowed into the refreshment table, splashing punch, upturning cups, ice, and beer bottles in the assault. Edy cringed.
“Get up and fight me,” Hassan said.
He yanked Reggie to his feet as Lawrence cursed and chucked a beer bottle at Jesus’ head, cutting short the fist that swung for Hassan. Glass pounded one side of Jesus’ face and sending him reeling with a grunt. Edy jumped back when Kyle and Lawrence lunged in some silent agreement, with the first bringing down a wounded Jesus, and the second sweeping low enough to scoop Will preemptively.
Reggie swung and Hassan ducked, coming up with a crashing fist to the abdomen. He grunted, bent just so, and got an elbow slam to the jaw. Reggie stumbled, and threw a wild fist that Hassan yanked, overextended, and twisted behind his back. He used it to pitch Reggie headfirst into the kegs, where he stomped his back with gusto.
“Hassan!” Edy screamed, fearful for the other boy. She tumbled over as Lawrence and Will crashed into her back and then flew in the other direction, bodies still locked. She couldn’t even see Kyle and Jesus in the widening fray.
And then she saw, really saw, the scope of what she’d caused.
The twins rushed in. More South End players joined in, then Blue Hill Ave players, before Reggie caught Edy’s attention again. Words froze on her tongue, warnings stalled, fears ignited and took flight on wings of frigid foreboding.
Hassan had disappeared into the crowd to help his teammates fight. He’d dismissed Reggie, leaving him to writhe on the floor, bathing in beer and punch. He twisted and maneuvered onto his battered back, where he his neck strained as he struggled to reach into his pants.
No. Hell no. Beat up guys reached into their pants for one reason: retribution with a gun. She knew that from her mother’s court cases.
Terror set her charging with gritted teeth, muscles screaming, brain retreating. Edy exploded with a football kick to his face and it jarred her: toe to ankle to calf to knee to hip, all in perfect alignment. Reggie’s face exploded with a shift, nose elsewhere, before Edy had time to register a scream—her scream. Blood sluiced thick and black from Reggie’s nose. People rounded them or maybe backed from them, as he mucked her name and what he would do to her. Oh, he would have her; he promised in gelatinous words, right after he broke her goddamned neck.
No music Edy realized belatedly. She craned around to see why. Still, her boys committed full on to the fight, and oh, Hassan rumbled like it gave him life. Red faced, grinning, and tossing around two boys. He brawled with the best of them.
“Edy!” Chloe shrieked.
The gun.
She turned to find it pointed at her abdomen, Reggie’s arm less than steady, his head rested against the wall. Edy swallowed. In fact, while his arm shook, her pul
se steadied. She felt . . . calm. Knowing she might die. Understanding he had the upper hand and that this sequence of events had been because of a choice she made. Choices were all she ever wanted.
“Go ahead,” Reggie said. “Scream. Beg.”
Nothing like that built in her now. For all her indifference, for all the indecisiveness she’d faced in life about Hassan, her future, what she couldn’t have and what absolutely belonged to her, what Reggie promised with his gleaming gun and globs of blood oozing from his nose was that nothing, nothing laid in her future after he pulled his trigger.
Only death.
And she had no remedy for that.
Reggie guffawed and swung the gun toward the dance floor where the melee continued. His mouth went wide with bloodied glee as he searched, fast, wild, desperate now for his real prey.
Hassan.
A stiletto heel flung past Reggie’s face and he canted in Chloe’s direction, pissed. Edy popped off the grand battement from hell, kicking his gun arm toward the ceiling. He misfired upstairs. Bang. Screaming. Shattering bone breaking shrieking surrounded Edy on all four sides. It overlapped and licked and threatened madness as it tore at the walls in a bid for escape.
The stampede had begun.
A tangle of bodies fell into them, onto them, and Edy plummeted, sandwiched between a cursing Reggie, and another, bulkier than him.
She’d know that body anywhere.
From atop her, Hassan groped for the gun still in Reggie’s possession. He closed his hand around Reggie’s thumb back and snapped, earning a bubbling howl when it cracked.
“Come on,” Chloe cried. “Now!”
She had an arm on Hassan and yanked. While it didn’t pull him upright, it did get him moving. He got up, claiming Edy as fast as he could.
Edy shot a questioning look at the front door, still jammed with escapees.
“Back door! Now!” Chloe said and sprinted, joining hands with Lawrence before weaving around a corner and out of sight.
They collided with the twins outside and fled.
~~~
Mirror. Road. Mirror. Road. Swerve. With Hassan’s eyes uncommitted, his Mustang jerked left into the oncoming lane. No traffic this time, thank God.
Love Edy Page 25
