Breakaway (26 page)

“She seemed eager to talk to you,” Mom said.

“She was probably just selling something,” I said with a shrug.

It wasn't much, her mouth just turning up at the corners so that it was barely perceptible, but it was the first time I had seen Mom crack a smile since Sylvia died. It was like a rainbow or a unicorn in the apartment after so many months of misery.

“I'd better get ready for school,” I said, figuring I should end the conversation while we were still on a positive note.

At school I kept to myself, left campus during lunch, mostly to avoid Raine but also not being in the mood to talk to anyone. I made a point of getting to Civics class before Raine and keeping my head down and eyes on my desk so we wouldn't catch each other's eye when she walked into class.

Even with my eyes locked on my desk, I actually felt it when Raine walked into the classroom. The tension between us was like a physical presence as soon as she stepped through the door. She stopped beside my desk, like she was waiting for me to look up at her, but I didn't. Ms. Conroy saved me, asking Raine to take her seat so we could get class started. I felt Raine's eyes on the back of my head throughout class. She never raised her hand or spoke up during class. A first.

As the bell rang to dismiss class I was already out of my seat and heading for the door. I didn't look back to see if Raine tried to catch up with me. In fact, I went straight to the bathroom and stayed in there until I knew the halls were empty, then showed up late for seventh period.

 

 

It was late in the fall now and it got dark early. The days were mild, but it got chilly as soon as the sun went down. That night I was back at work and taking a break, sitting on an overturned milk crate out in the alley, my back rested against the brick wall with my eyes closed, when Chris stuck his head out the back door and called my name.

“I'm just taking a quick break,” I said.

“Don't get defensive,” Chris said. “That girl's here. Looking for you.”

“Raine?” I asked as I stood.

“Come on,” he said. “Bring her out back to talk to her. She looks like she has people who would get my liquor license yanked if they found her here.”

I followed Chris back through the kitchen and into the bar. Raine was waiting, her hands clasped in front of her as she tried to ignore the leers from the guys at the bar.

“What are you doing here?” I asked as I put a hand on her shoulder and steered her toward the kitchen, glancing back at Chris, who was watching us with interest. “This isn't a place for someone like you, Raine. You shouldn't be here,” I said in a low voice as I led her through the kitchen and out into the alley.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I tried calling you at home but you're never there. Jordan said I could probably find you here.”

As we stepped out into the alley I was conscious of the rancid smell of the Dumpsters—spoiled food and stale beer—and I knew those smells were on me too. My clothes, my hair, the filthy apron I wore over my T-shirt and jeans—everything about me smelled like trash and dirty dishes. I tried to keep my distance from her so she wouldn't notice that the odor of the alley was my smell too.

“What are you doing here?” I asked again.

“Will you get in trouble? Because I'm here?” she asked, and her voice trembled slightly, like she was really afraid.

I laughed a little at that, though she wouldn't understand what was funny. “No,” I said with a shake of my head. “I won't get in trouble. You might, though, if your parents find out you're hanging around here.”

“Are you mad at me?” she asked.

“No, of course not.”

“Are you okay?” she asked. It sounded like she was getting ready to cry, and she quickly bit her lip to keep it from quivering.

“Why are you crying?” I asked.

“It's nothing,” she said. She wiped at her nose and sniffled as a fat tear spilled over her lower lid and rolled down her face.

“Seems like something,” I said.

“I'm just—” She paused as she thought about what she would say next. “—sorry about what happened Saturday night. It's my fault. I should have known Brian would do something stupid like that.”

“It wasn't your fault. I knew what I was getting into when I went outside.”

“What do you mean? Are you saying you knew that Brian was planning to kick your ass when you agreed to go outside? You
intentionally
went out and got your ass kicked?” Her voice was rising at the same rate as her frustration.

“I wouldn't say I got my ass kicked exactly.…”

She jerked her head in surprise and narrowed her eyes as she waited for me to take it back. I had gotten used to taking things back without being told.

“Okay, I know. I take it back.”

She ignored my comment and said, “So, you just left on Saturday? Without talking to me?”

“They didn't really leave me much of a choice,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.

“What? You think I actually believed Brian?” she asked. “His bullshit about you deciding you were bored and wanted to leave?” She stepped in closer to me and I took a step away, but did it casually, as if I were just shifting my stance. “I went looking for you. Did you walk home?”

As she waited for me to say something, she took another step toward me and I was starting to run out of places to go to avoid her, unless I stepped around her, back toward the kitchen, like we were boxers circling each other before a fight.

“Why are you running away from me?” she asked.

“I'm not running anywhere,” I said.

“Yes, you are. You're always running away from me.” She was so close to me now that I was afraid to look her right in the eye, and I put my hands on my hips as I tried to regain cool.

“I should get back to work,” I said. “I only get a few minutes for my break.”

“Okay,” she said. “I just want to ask you one question, and tell you one thing, and then I'll go. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“So, I wanted to tell you that I'm not interested in Brian.” She waited after she delivered this little bit of news. There was no appropriate response to that, so I just waited for the question that was coming.

After she had let the silence drag on until it got awkward she said, “And my question is, do you like my hair like this?”

“That's your question?” I asked. “You want to know if I like your hair?”

“Uh-huh,” she said as she mimicked my stance and put her hands on her hips. “Yes. I want to know. Do you like my hair like this? Or did you like it better when it was pink?”

This was obviously some kind of test. She was asking in that way that girls do when they want to catch you in a lie, make you start fumbling your words and tripping all over yourself. Even if I was a virgin, I had spent my life living with two women. I knew that I would lose either way I played it, so I might as well tell the truth.

“I liked it better pink.”

“That's what I thought,” she said as the corner of her mouth turned up in a smile. She seemed to be waiting for me to offer something else, but I was still processing what she had said about Brian, the reason why she felt it was so urgent she had to come to find me at work to tell me about it.

“You'd better go,” I said. “I'll walk you out.”

I walked her back inside and through the bar on the way to her car, ignoring Chris's gaze as it followed us across the room. Out front, when I opened her car door for her, she moved closer to give me a hug.

“Don't,” I said as I pulled away. “I'm gross from working.”

“I don't care,” she said, looking up into my face.

“Well, I do.”

“So, are you going to call me or something?” she asked.

“Yeah, I'll call you,” I said, looking back over my shoulder so I'd have something to focus on other than her face. She was looking at me in that way she had that made me feel too exposed, like she could read my thoughts.

“You know, because I'm always the one who has to call you, ask you to go places,” she said. “You never act like you want to see me.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, and her comment really did surprise me.

“I mean every time we get together, I always have to be the one to ask you out,” she said, her voice tightening with frustration. “In fact, every time we've done something together, I was the one to ask you.”

Maybe that was true, but it had never occurred to me to ask her to go out and do something. I figured if I asked I'd get laughed at, or hit, or turned down for my trouble.

“Because I'm not going to ask you again,” she said as she slid into her car and put the key in the ignition. “You have to ask me. And if you don't, I'll just figure you aren't interested in seeing me. Okay?”

“Sure. Okay,” I said with a nod. I said good night quickly and headed back inside, my mind already tripping over the problem of having to figure out how I was going to set up a date with her.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Wednesday night I was lying in bed, still dressed, mostly asleep. It was early, barely eight, and I had just returned from the bus stop, where I met Mom to walk her home. Lately she would call me when she was leaving work and I would walk up to the bus stop, wait for her so she didn't have to walk home through the labyrinth of apartment buildings in the dark by herself. We never spoke much but the silence between us was more comfortable than awkward now.

The phone rang as I lay there in the twilight between awake and asleep, and I rolled out of bed to walk to the kitchen and answer the phone.

“Jason.” Mario's mom, her distinctive accent extending my name to three syllables in response to my mumbled hello.

“Yeah,” I said, rubbing the sleep from my face. “What's up?”

“You come,” was all she said, and cut the connection.

I debated as I pulled on my shoes and jacket whether to knock on Mom's door and tell her where I was going. If she was asleep I didn't want to wake her since she didn't get enough rest lately. Finally I decided it was better to tell her, not make her worry in case she came out and found my bed empty.

I knocked gently on her door, figuring if she didn't answer right away she was asleep and I would leave her be, but she answered my knock with a question.

I opened the door and stood in the light from the hallway. She was sitting up in bed reading, the television off. Without the blue light from the television and her face scrubbed clean of makeup, she looked healthier than she had in a while.

“What's up?” she asked as she put her thumb in the crease of the book and shut it.

“Mario's mom called. Something's wrong. I'm going to walk over.”

“I'll come with you,” Mom said, already climbing out of bed.

“No. It's okay. I'll call you if it's something.”

“I'm coming with you,” Mom said as she reached under her bed for her shoes and pulled a big sweater from the chair to pull on over her yoga pants and T-shirt.

Mom walked behind me, hands buried in the pockets of her sweater, as I followed the familiar path to Mario's house. Even in the dark I knew instinctively where to avoid obstructions in the broken sidewalk, eruptions of concrete created by the roots of trees that struggled against the pavement.

The door was open when we got there, every light on the first floor turned on. I didn't knock, just let myself in as I had a million times before, but as soon as I walked into the house, I could sense the terror, shock, and anger that filled the space I usually regarded as a safe haven. The muffled sounds of water running and tense conversation drew me up the stairs, where there were two small bedrooms and the only bathroom. The scene that greeted us was Mario's mom, holding the crucifix that she always wore around her neck, tapping her teeth against the gold as she hugged herself and rocked from one foot to the other. The door to the girls' room was shut.

“¿Lo que pasa?”
I asked as I put an arm around Mario's mom's shoulder and hugged her to me.

She just gestured to the bathroom. Mom stepped in to take my place and put her arm around Mario's mom, then guided her into the bedroom to sit on the edge of the bed with her. I could hear Mom's soft voice, soothing, as she tried to comfort Mario's mom, asking what was wrong. I went to find out on my own.

Primo was in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub as he cradled Mario's head in one hand. Mario was lying in the tub, naked but for his boxers, a ropy string of drool trailing from his lower lip. Primo looked up at me as I stepped into the bathroom, and I could see the anguish in his eyes. I said nothing, just sat down on the edge of the tub beside him and put my hand under Mario's head to relieve Primo.

“I don't know what to do,” Primo said. “He won't wake up. I found him like this on the doorstep.”

I wanted to offer something other than my silence, but there was nothing to say.

“Should we call the ambulance?” he asked.

“I don't know,” I said. I lifted the back of Mario's neck in my hand and gave him a shake. “Mario? Wake up, dude.”

He didn't respond but I noticed that his eyes had rolled back in his head. His eyelids were open only slits and I could see nothing but the whites of his eyes.

I shook him again. “Wake up, asshole.”

He moaned and turned his head to one side, then started to jerk involuntarily, like he was going to throw up.

“Turn the water off,” I said to Primo. He complied and I sank into a crouch so that I could support Mario's weight as I encouraged him onto his side. Mario's body started to lurch and I held him by the shoulders, hoping that he would puke and then miraculously return to normal.

My arms were straining to hold up his dead weight, keep his face above the six inches of water in the bottom of the tub. As the water drained I was able to relax him onto the floor of the tub and relieve the aching in my shoulders and biceps. Then Mario started to vomit, the strangling, choking noises frightening me into thinking he might actually suffocate.