I didn’t know when she’d developed the capacity to be so cruel. I couldn’t figure out how much of this was my fault.
“You don’t know anything, Happi,” I whispered.
My baby sister turned on her heels. “Stop lecturing me!” she shouted, loud enough for all the kids around us to hear and fall silent. “You don’t get tired of always being so woke? Go take a nap sometime, damn!”
I gave up. I would not—could not—stop her as she flung open the double doors and stalked out, leaving me behind with only the teasing laughter of our fellow students to mock me.
11
SHAQUERIA
TUESDAY, APRIL 17—
THE DAY OF THE ARREST
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
It wasn’t always this way, but for so long, my life has been about belonging to someone else.
First as a ward of the state of Mississippi.
Then as a foster child of all the women and men who said I could call them Mom and Dad, so long as the checks from the government didn’t bounce.
Now it’s to Darius. If you let him tell it, I was one of his ladies starting today.
But no matter who I belonged to, I always did something to mess it up.
I looked down at the script I held and saw the splotches of tears dancing all over the pages in my trembling hands. My asthma was flaring up from my nerves and making me shake. All I had to do was nod, just like Jaz told me, but I still managed to get it wrong. Why had I mentioned the audition? Did he look like the type of guy who would be understanding about a girl having her own ambitions? I couldn’t believe I had opened myself up like that. Again. I must’ve thought I was one of those characters I tried out for all the time but could never land. Headstrong. Smart. Beautiful.
I had met Jaz just a week ago, but we understood each other. She’d seen a girl sitting on the sidewalk looking broke and miserable. Vulnerable. I’d seen a girl who looked hard but was dripping in a pair of gold gladiator sandals and an outfit that looked more expensive than the one that social worker I’d had lunch with had been wearing that day. I wasn’t dumb. I knew Darius probably paid her well to prey on girls “like me.” Castaways. The ones society liked to pretend didn’t exist until our bodies ended up in an alley somewhere and no one came to claim us. I knew it was a risk to work for a guy like him. But I promised myself I wouldn’t stay in this world for long. I would make my money and then get out before anything happened.
“Man, shut yo’ dumb ass up!” Darius shouted at me right before smacking me so hard across the side of my face that the inside of my mouth split and filled with blood. Like a lever had been pulled to open a dam. But even I wasn’t foolish enough to spit it out on the floor. Not on Darius’s pretty white carpet. Even if all I wanted to do was empty my mouth and suck on my rescue inhaler. I breathed in deeply through my nose, tried to calm myself down. “I don’t give a damn what you have to do today. That’s not what I pay you for.”
Darius was right. He didn’t pay me to talk back to him. He didn’t pay me to have auditions on days that coincided with his deliveries. And he sure as hell didn’t pay me to have plans for a future. So I shut my mouth like I should’ve done in the first place and took the brick he put in my hand.
I was going to give this to his buddy Tyler. A white boy at USC who had somehow gotten himself indebted to Darius and was now his go-to guy on campus. Jaz said that working with Tyler was always easy because he was just a stupid kid. All he wanted to do was finish his four years in college, graduate, and never have to deal with Darius again. He didn’t want to be a part of this any more than any of us ladies, so our exchanges with him would always be quick. Not like how I heard it was with some of the other fellas that I would one day have to meet up with.
But this was my first delivery, and Jaz had somehow convinced Darius to go easy on me. Start me off small with Tyler. I had to thank her for looking out for me, when I got the chance.
I stuffed the package into my backpack for Darius to see, and as soon as I was out of the house, I pulled out my inhaler and took two deep puffs. I was okay. I threw my lifeline back into my bag, set an alarm to remind me when to leave for the delivery and got moving. I hadn’t loosened my grip on the script though. It helped remind me who I was.
How funny was it that acting like other people helped me feel more like me? Maybe it was because I’ve always been an actress in a way, with a cast of strangers walking onto the stage and through the revolving door that was my life. Everyone knew that, in a good story, every character needed to want something. And God as my playwright didn’t disappoint. Each member of the show wanted something from me. Good behavior. Money. Obedience.
I hastened my steps as I made my way to the audition I had been prepping for in stolen moments yesterday. I knew Darius had just said that he didn’t pay me to do anything but make his deliveries, but he wouldn’t even know I had gone if I played my cards right. I’d just head to my audition, say my lines, and go meet Tyler right after. I would have plenty of time to do what I’d come all the way to LA to do and my new job. As long as I wasn’t late, Darius would be none the wiser, and I’d be one step closer to fulfilling my dreams.
Besides, I couldn’t miss this. Not when fate had practically shouted my name, telling me to come to this audition.
I pulled out my phone to check the time just as I walked up to the location of the tryouts. It was a little after noon. I’ve got this, I told myself as I entered the shiny office building. It was half reminder to myself and half prayer to the universe. I made my way to a short, frazzled blonde woman. She was walking around purposefully, clipboard in one hand and black pen that she click, click, clicked in the other.
“Hi. I’m here for my audition for Thatcher Academy. I was told to arrive at 12:30 p.m.”
The woman asked for my information and flipped through the papers in her hand. She came across my name and put a check mark beside it. But I was already Sloane, the frosty loner of Thatcher Academy who had been burned one too many times.
It wasn’t too far from my truth.
“We’ll call you when we’re ready,” the woman said and started to walk away.
“Do you know how long it will take?” I asked before she could leave.
She looked back at me with a smirk on her face. “You’ve got someplace more important to be?”
I didn’t answer, and she sighed.
“There are quite a few people ahead of you, but it shouldn’t be more than an hour,” she offered before turning away to deal with some major casting crisis that I wasn’t privy to.
I grabbed a seat among the dozens of acting hopefuls but didn’t sit there for too long. It was always the wait that got to me. As I stood up to search for a bathroom where I could practice some breathing exercises and calm my nerves in private, an overhead system crackled to life. My pulse galloped as my thoughts turned to the drugs in my bag. Was that the police?
Nope. Just the name of the next person being called in for their audition. My heart slowly settled down as I realized no one was checking for me like that. I wiped my palms on the side of my pants. I needed to relax. I found the women’s restroom easily, but there was a couple standing right in front of the door. A short Black girl with perfectly pressed hair and a Spanish boy who was too fine for his own good. They were clearly having an argument but trying their hardest to not let everyone be all up in their business. I squeezed past them without saying excuse me and stepped into the bathroom. I could still hear them through the closed door as I pulled off my book bag and shuffled through for my inhaler. It was a nervous habit, but I always had to check that it wasn’t far from reach. Just in case my jitters got the best of me and took my breath away. The brick that Darius said was “worth ten” of me sat in the folds of my sweater. I covered the taped-up package further and tried to put the drugs in a place far, far away in my mind.
“Why do you always hav
e to start with her like that though?” I could hear the guy saying.
“You don’t get it. She’s always judging me!” The girl had thrown out all attempts to keep her voice down now.
“She’s looking out for you! She’s your sister. And every time you try to pick a fight with her when I’m around, she thinks I’m the one who’s a bad influence.”
“Oh, so does that mean that I’m the bad influence?! You know what. Table this.” She was hissing at him again, apparently finally aware of how loud they were being. “I’m not about to look crazy in front of these white people.”
The bathroom door swung open as the girl stormed in and slammed her neon pink backpack on the bathroom counter. I quickly zipped up my bag and tried not to appear guilty. She didn’t look at me as she rummaged through her stuff, but she was clearly crying. Her face was scrunched in anger but even so, it was apparent she was a pretty girl.
There were mostly white teens waiting outside to audition, but just enough folks with melanin present that critics would praise the future cast for its supposed diversity and inclusion. She was a contender. Big, expressive brown eyes. Full lips tugged down at the corners as she pulled herself together. She was a bit shorter than me, but I could actually see my face in hers. We could be sisters. But I didn’t have any family to speak of. I had no one.
“Guys suck,” I said with a small shake of my head. I grabbed a few paper towels from the fancy weaved basket next to me and handed them to her.
The girl took them from me and dabbed at her eyes, trying to smile. “Thank you,” she said, her voice still wobbly with tears.
“Forget about him and focus on why you came all this way,” I said. “I actually snuck in here to practice some breathing exercises, if you want to do them with me?”
She looked at me strangely but didn’t answer.
“There aren’t many of us here,” I said with a shrug. “We’ve gotta stick together, you know?”
This time she grinned for real. “Okay.”
We stood there, the both of us pulling in deep breaths through our noses, our stomachs inflating like balloons full to bursting only to let the air escape slowly through our mouths, the tension slipping out with it.
In...three...two...one.
Hold...two...one.
Out...four...three...two...one.
“Thank you for doing that,” the girl said after she’d retouched her makeup to erase any sign of crying. She was ready now. “I’m—”
“Happi Smith?” The same voice from earlier blared over the intercom system. “Please head to the audition area. Happi Smith. Please head to the audition area.”
“That’s me,” the girl explained, already making her way to the door.
“Good luck!” I said. “Oops—I mean, break a leg!”
She smiled at me one last time and left. I just knew deep down she was the kind of girl they wanted for this show. The casting directors would take one look at her and sense she was one of the good ones.
I hoped there was enough luck left for me.
12
HAPPI
THURSDAY, JULY 26—
3 MONTHS, 9 DAYS SINCE THE ARREST
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
“If I can recommend anything for the table, it would definitely be the sesame crusted calamari.” Our waiter picks up right where he left off before Genny stormed away.
He must be an improv performer. The show must go on.
“What do you think about the fried lobster mac and cheese balls?” I ask politely. It feels strange to be on this side of a family explosion. Genny does not blow up. She sighs and meditates and thinks through all her potential actions and choices until it doesn’t matter what decision she makes. She tries to talk me out of pursuing acting for the sake of practicality. She does not dramatically leave meals and declare loudly that she will disobey her parents.
In public, at that.
I do. I am the dynamite. But not tonight. Dad is silently fuming, and the puffy bags under Mom’s eyes are begging for a cold compress.
In the past, whenever I’d leave dinner in a huff, the continued clinking of glasses and scraping of plates would make me want to scream. It was as if they hadn’t realized I’d gone. My blood would run hot if I heard Kezi tell a joke that made our parents laugh while I was upstairs fuming. Like they couldn’t care less about how I was feeling. But sitting here in their company, I suddenly understand the need to keep the wheels moving, just for a sense of normalcy. It’s not as if we’re going to rehash what just transpired and bare our souls in front of this complete stranger anyway.
“Well, personally, I avoid all dairy because I’m tragically lactose intolerant, so I can’t really say...but it’s one of our most popular—”
“I can’t do this,” Mom cuts in. Glass number four is now empty too. She opens her purse and clumsily sifts through its contents before giving up in irritation. “Malcolm, please—”
My dad whips out his wallet and leaves a few bills on the table before pulling out my mother’s chair. She grabs his hand gratefully and heaves herself up from the seat.
“You know what, we’re actually going to head to our room instead. Thank you so much for your hospitality, young man,” Dad says. “Happi, you can go ahead and eat here or order room service if you’d like. We’ll see you in the morning.”
His lips curve up for less than a millisecond then shoot back down, as though his face needed a moment to register that he’s given up trying to smile.
“Let me know if you need anything,” I offer weakly.
He nods. My mother looks straight ahead and says nothing. She has a right to be upset with me. It hasn’t been that long since I walked out on her in front of a live audience, after all. I wish I could reach over and hug her tightly. But I have cultivated our relationship to be one that exists on as little love and light as possible.
The waiter’s unflappable armor finally cracks, and he grimaces at my parents’ backs as they walk out the restaurant.
I gaze at the three empty seats around me.
“Yeah...uh...did you still want those appetizers?”
I shake my head slowly.
“No, thanks. I don’t even like cheese. I wanted to get them for my mom. But she left.”
“So you do exist!”
“Excuse me?”
“My boyfriend absolutely abhors cheese, and he’s always claiming that there are more people like him out there, lurking in the shadows of society, pretending to be normal. But you’re the first I’ve met.”
I chuckle. “We indeed exist. Our organization meets every Wednesday at four a.m. while everyone’s still asleep and digesting all that lactose.”
“You’re a clever one, aren’t you?”
I sigh. “That’s usually reserved for my older sister.”
“Wait. Was that the one who was about to flip over the table when I came over?”
I lift an eyebrow at him in warning. “She’s been through a lot. I’m surprised it took her this long to...express herself.” I have serious beef with Genny, but that’s between me and her.
The waiter considers me slowly, wrapping a thin dreadlock around his finger thoughtfully. “You’re making me real sad.”
Okay. It’s time to go.
“Imagine how I feel,” I say, scraping my chair loudly against the floor. “Tip’s on the table. Bye.”
“Wait a minute!”
I pause.
“I didn’t mean, ‘you’re making me sad, please go away.’ I was just stating a fact,” he explains. “Listen, I’m going to check on my other tables, but take a look at the menu. Okay?”
I’m not ready to be by myself. I nod.
My phone buzzes and I look down.
Sorry was busy
Santiago’s text message burns like a pot of boiling acid. I get that he was busy, e
specially since he actually won a role on that teen soap opera we both skipped school and auditioned for the day Kezi died. “Javier” is the brooding new boy in town with a full ride to the show’s elite private school and has plenty of secrets up his tattooed sleeves. The showrunners (and Santiago himself) are convinced he’s going to be a fan favorite. In between me preparing for Kezi’s funeral and traveling for Mom’s speeches and Santiago’s filming and media training, we haven’t seen much of each other over these past few months. The only thing left to do is say goodbye. But I am too much of a coward and not ready to have one more thing change in my life. And Santiago doesn’t want to be the guy who dumped the girl with the dead sister.
My fingers speed type my gut response and press Send.
Why did you even bother answering?
In our chat box, the dot dot dot of a reply appears, then disappears.
I grimace and exit my texts, and as I’m about to switch my screen to black, I get a notification from Instagram. One new follower. One new direct message. The profile picture of this KingggMarcusIV is familiar. One of the boys from the bench.
I was so happi when I found your IG...
My invitation still stands btw.
Stop by Nash Pool Park if you wanna chill. Or talk.
Or swim. Jk I don’t want to mess up my hair.
-Marcus
As I’m deciding what to do, the waiter returns and taps on the table.
“Ah. You’re still here! Ready to eat your feelings away? Or are you more of an avoider? Because I’m going to a party tonight when I get off work in a few. And you look like you need to escape your life for a little bit.”
Escape. I’ve needed to escape my life for a lot longer than he could possibly know. I’ve needed to escape the whispers. The nudges. The sorrowful looks from people who can’t fathom what my family’s been through. Yet at the same time, the past three months have felt like I’ve been observing someone else’s existence, as an unwanted guest in their body.
One of the Good Ones Page 8
