Choke (7 page)

I
know about metaphors. We talk about them in English class. Metaphors happen when people say something that really stands for something else. Like when you say “letting the cat out of the bag” or “spilling the beans” instead of “telling a secret.” There isn't a cat in a bag, and there aren't any beans on the ground. It's all figurative. So I thought that “choking game” was a metaphor. But it wasn't.

“It's got other names,” Nina said. “Like Knockout Game, Wall Hit, Airplaning, Rocket Ride.”

“I've never heard of them.”

“How about Sleeper Hold, Pass-Out Game, or Cloud Nine?”

I shook my head to all of these.

“I can't believe it,” she said, laughing. “Where have you been all this time?”

“Hanging out with Elena,” I said.

“Oh, right. Hanging out with Elena.” The way she said it made it sound like hanging out with Elena equaled playing on the merry-go-round — which made sense, since it was true.

“So what's it like?” I asked. “This choking game?”

“You want to try it?”

“Will it make us breath sisters?”

“For life,” she said.

“Okay, then. Let's do it.”

“First you have to swear to secrecy,” she said. “I already got kicked out of school for this, so you can't tell anyone — not even Elena.”

I had to think a moment because Elena and I tell each other everything, even our dreams, no matter how strange. Like the time I dreamed Courtney and Alicia were pointing at me because I went to school as the Statue of Liberty, and like the statue, I was frozen, so I couldn't speak or throw away the torch and crown. Then Courtney painted embarrassing graffiti on me, and everyone laughed. When I told Elena, she didn't think I was weird or say that my dream was
one big freak-o-rama. She listened. She said she had bad dreams about Courtney and Alicia, too.

I had never considered keeping a secret from her. But all of a sudden, I didn't
want
to tell her everything. I knew I'd keep the choking game private because I wanted to share something with Nina, with
only
her.

“I promise not to tell,” I said.

Nina smiled, picked up our things, and led me to the restroom, checking beneath the stalls to make sure we were alone. Then we went to the largest stall, the one for ladies in wheelchairs. Nina secured the latch and looped our purse straps on the door hook.

“The choking game's about trust,” she said. “So you have to trust me.” She put her hands on my shoulders, and looked me straight in the eyes. “Do you trust me with your life?”

The daredevil feeling that came from walking through the park at night or racing my bike down a steep hill washed over me.

“Yes,” I said. “Do you trust
me
?”

“One hundred percent,” Nina replied.

“Then teach me how to play the choking game.”

She took my hand and placed my fingers on the side of my neck.

“Feel that?” she asked.

I felt my skin's warmth and my pulse.

“It's like a water hose in your neck,” she said. “When we play the choking game, we pinch off the flow.”

I backed up a few steps. “You want to strangle me?”

“Windy.” She laughed. “What did you think? It's called the
choking
game.”

“But …”

“You're not going to get hurt,” she said. “I've played it lots of times. Do I look hurt to you?”

I shook my head. “But people
die
from being choked.”

“Only if you keep holding on,” she said. “That's why we have to trust each other and let go before the game goes too far. That's what makes us breath sisters — we put our lives in each other's hands. Can you think of a better way to prove your friendship?”

Her explanation made sense. Then again, I never had to prove my friendship to Elena, so why did I have to prove it here?

“You can tap out whenever you want,” Nina said.

“What does that mean?”

“If you want me to stop, you can tap my arm and I'll let go.”

Just then, we heard someone come into the restroom, and Nina made the sign for keeping quiet. The interruption
gave me time to think about what it meant to be a breath sister, to
become
one, which made me think about the way blood brothers would take a knife, slash their palms, and shake hands. That had to hurt, not to mention all the germs. At least you didn't bleed when you played the choking game. So how bad could it be? And if other girls were doing it, then it must be okay. Plus, it gave you a really special friend, an
in-crowd
friend.

As soon as the lady washed her hands and left, Nina said, “You don't have to play if you don't want to, but it's the only way we can be official breath sisters.”

I felt scared, but even though I knew I might get hurt, a sense of adventure kept me going. “I know,” I said. “I thought about it. And I'm ready.”

She smiled. “Just remember, you can tap out whenever you want.”

“Okay,” I said.

Nina approached me, and I felt a little sick — like before a presentation in speech class. But I really wanted to do this, so I took a deep breath and nodded to give her the okay. She pressed her hands on both sides of my neck and started to squeeze. Just a little at first, but when I didn't stop her, she squeezed tighter. I smelled the perfume on her wrists again, but since it'd been there for a while, it seemed sour
now. Then I felt her breath, a light breeze, and I liked it, liked being close to her even if it meant playing this weird game. Then she squeezed my neck even tighter. It didn't hurt but I felt pressure in my head like when I used to hang upside down on the monkey bars too long. Then the pressure started to balloon, especially behind my eyes. Was my head going to explode? Because that was how it felt. I started to panic.
Let go!
I tried to say. But I couldn't because my voice was choked off, too. Then a bunch of green dots appeared. I knew I'd faint if I didn't tap out. So I slapped at Nina's forearms, and immediately, she let go — just like she promised.

I gasped and waved her off.

“You did great,” Nina said. “Maybe next time you'll go all the way.”

I couldn't speak yet, so I gave her a questioning look because I wanted to know what “all the way” meant.

“You're supposed to pass out,” she said. “That's how you get the rush.”

“What rush?” I managed.

“That high, floaty feeling. That's why people play this game.”

I rubbed my neck. I could still feel the heat and pressure from her hands.

“Stay here,” she said. “I saw a vending machine outside. I'll go get you some water.”

I could have waited in the parlor, but I was too afraid to leave the stall. People would see me, and they'd know what I'd been up to. I took out the compact Nina bought me and looked in the mirror. My neck was red, but already, the redness was going away. After a few more minutes, I could hide my act from the world and erase every trace of the choking game.

The only thing I could not erase was how I felt. As soon as I left the restroom stall, I'd be leaving a version of myself behind — because — because I was different now. I'd changed, like the way I'd changed after my first day in kindergarten or after Cyclone, my first cat, died. The way I imagined I'd change if I ever got to kiss Ronnie or drive a car. I felt smarter now, more grown-up.

Finally, Nina returned with a bottle of water. She even opened it for me. I nearly drank the whole thing.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said, wishing I sounded more confident.

We left the restroom. Nina carried my purse and the bag of new makeup. I felt so confused. I really wanted to be Nina's friend. I didn't like the choking game, but everything else we did was fun.

“How many times do I have to play the choking game?” I asked.

“You don't have to play again if you don't want to,” she said. “Do you want to?”

I shook my head. “Do
you
play a lot?”

“Not a lot. But sometimes.”

I rubbed my neck. It felt a little sore.

“Hey, I've got another great idea,” she said. “Since we're breath sisters now, let's buy matching scarves.”

I brightened up. “You mean it?”

“Yeah. It'll be so cool. We can wear them on the same day.”

I must have smiled really big because she grabbed my hand and pulled me to the accessories department. There were two aisles of beautiful scarves — some with fringe, some with sequins, some with detailed patterns, others with no pattern at all, just solid color. Choosing a design was tough, but since we didn't have a lot of money, we settled for scarves from the discount bin, finding two yellow ones that were a complete match.

After we paid for them, Nina said, “This day has been so much fun, Windy.”

When I heard this, I didn't feel confused anymore. Nina was my friend now — more than that, my breath sister.

W
e better hurry,” Nina said, “or we'll miss our buses home.”

Buses? That wasn't part of our plan. “I thought your mom was going to pick us up,” I said.

Nina laughed as if I'd made a joke.

“What's so funny?” I asked.

“Don't you remember, Windy? I'm grounded. I'm not supposed to be at the mall today. I'm supposed to be volunteering at the old folks' home.”

I remembered now. She
had
told me she was grounded. But she said she was grounded from sleepovers. She hadn't mentioned the mall.

“My parents think your mom's picking us up,” I complained. “They think they'll meet her.”

“They
will
. Next time.” She must have seen me frown. “Sometimes you have to tell people what they want to hear,” she added. “Would your parents let you hang out with someone who was in trouble?”

“No.”

“Okay, then.”

We continued through the mall, shouldering past slower people and occasionally bumping into mothers with strollers that seemed built for shopping bags instead of babies.

I didn't like to lie. It made me nervous. I
always
got caught. Plus, I felt so guilty, especially when I lied to my parents. As far as I could tell, they had always told me the truth, even about tough things. Like, after my cat Cyclone died, I asked if I'd die, too. They said yes. I was five or six at the time, so that kind of info really hurt. But they gave it to me anyway.

Nina found the exit, and soon we were near the bus stop.

“Thanks a lot,” I mumbled.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“My mom and dad will be waiting,” I said. “They probably made coffee. Now
I'm
going to get grounded when your mom doesn't show up.”

“No you won't,” she said. “Just tell your parents we were in a hurry. We dropped you off at the corner so we wouldn't have to turn into your street. Tell them they'll meet my mom the next time and mention that she was really disappointed about not getting to visit.”

“You don't get it, Nina. I'm not good at lying. My parents can
read
me. It's like I've got a marquee on my forehead. Every time I lie, my forehead tells the truth.”

“Always?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“What about Raindrop?”

I hated to admit it, but she was right. I
had
lied about Raindrop. But that was a different situation. I was protecting him from my mom. She'd take him to the city shelter, and he'd be gassed.

“You're not as innocent as you think,” Nina chuckled. “If that invisible thingamajig on your forehead worked
all
the time, your parents would know about Raindrop by now. Besides,” she added, “you won't have to lie. The bus will take you right to the corner of your street, and my mom really
is
in a hurry since she's got to get my dad from the airport.”

“Okay, okay, I get it, but …”

“But what?”

“I've never been on the bus by myself,” I admitted.

This time, Nina let out an impatient sigh. “Gosh, Windy. You're beginning to sound like Elena. I thought you were cooler than this. Look,” she said, putting her hand on my shoulder, “taking the bus is no big deal. I do it all the time. It's so easy. You don't even have to transfer from here.”

“But …”

“I tell you what. I'll wait till you get on. I'll even buy your ticket.” She reached into her coin purse. I saw several bills in there, which surprised me since she'd already spent a lot of money.

“Here.” She tried to give me a few dollars.

I waved it away. “Maybe I should call my parents.”

She stepped back. “Call your parents? I thought you were my friend.”

“I am. Didn't we just become breath sisters?”

“I
thought
so. But as soon as you call your parents, they'll call my mom, and we won't get to hang out anymore. She'll make me quit band, or worse, make me transfer to another school again. She's real strict, Windy. I'll probably spend the whole summer locked in my room.”

This was horrible. I could feel Nina's trust slipping away.

So what if she snuck out and asked me to lie to my parents? She just wanted to spend time with me, right? I should be flattered, not mad. I imagined Nina looking out her
window as the neighborhood kids walked to the pool or skated down her street. I imagined her phone ringing and her mom saying, “She can't talk. She's grounded.” And I imagined her mom changing the computer password to keep Nina from emailing her friends.

“I won't call my parents,” I decided. “I'll take the bus.”

“It's okay, Windy.
I'm
the one who messed up, remember?”

“No, I'll take it. Really. It's no big deal. Like you said, it's one bus, no transfers.”

“Are you sure?” Nina asked.

I nodded.

“At least let me buy the ticket,” she said.

“You kind of
have
to,” I teased, “since I don't have any more money.”

As I took a few dollars, she hugged me.

“Windy, you're better than all the breath sisters I had at my other school.”

 

The bus wasn't so bad, especially since none of the passengers noticed me. They all had the same blank stare. They smelled like fried chicken or hamburgers and wore uniforms with fast food logos. Or they wore cleaning lady aprons or
the bright orange vests of construction workers. Everyone was getting off work, and they looked as tired as my mom. Some even fell asleep, yet they magically awoke at the right stops. I knew I was getting close to my neighborhood when I started to see Spanish billboards like the McDonald's sign with “
Me encanta
” below the golden arches and the Bank of America sign picturing a girl in cap and gown next to the words “
En cada marca de tu vida. Hablemos
.”

Sure enough, I reached the corner of my street and got off. When I stepped through the front door, I found Dad leaning on the armrest of the sofa, a no-no in our house, while Mom stood with her hands on her hips. Something had upset her — something that kept her standing after a hard day of work. I touched my neck, worried she could see a mark there.

“Nina's mom was in a hurry,” I quickly explained. “She said she'll meet you next time.”

“It's just as well,” Mom said. “Your father and I are having a discussion.”

That was too easy, I thought. Usually, my folks had a zillion questions. Then again, “discussion” was their code word for “fight.”

They didn't say anything else. They didn't move. I felt like the remote control button that had “paused” their scene.

“I guess I'll go to my room now,” I said.

They nodded. I could tell they wanted some privacy.

As usual, all three cats were in my bedroom. It was their favorite spot in the afternoon when the sunlight poured in. I put my purse and Dillard's bag on my vanity, and Cloudy immediately went to investigate. El Niño barely turned his head to acknowledge me, but Sunny jumped on the bed, rolled onto his back, and purred. That was how he said, “Rub my belly, please.”

“Later,” I whispered to him because I wanted to eavesdrop on my parents. If they weren't mad at me, then what were they fighting about?

I stood at my door, hoping to overhear them, but my parents never yelled, even when they were
double
mad. So I tiptoed and stood behind the doorway that led to the living room.

“So you don't like my hair?” Dad asked Mom.

“No. It's too orange.”

“It's supposed to be blond. Just give it a few days.”

“Why would you change your hair color in the first place?”

“Because the people at the TV station prefer light hair.”

“But you're not on TV,” Mom said. “You work at the radio station. So it doesn't matter what you look like.”

“I might work at the radio station
now
, but being on TV has always been my dream. No one listens to the radio anymore.”

“That's not true,” Mom said. “Lots of people listen.”

“Lots
more
watch TV.”

I heard Mom sigh. I recognized that sigh. It meant the hard truth would follow.

“Listen, Alfonso, you have to face it,” she said. “You didn't get the job. You need to accept it and move on.”

“Do you think my parents accepted their situation?” Dad asked. “Why do you think they left Mexico? Why do you think they worked so hard?” He paused, then answered his own question. “They wanted me to live the American dream. And this is it. Being on TV. And I can be on TV if I … if I …”

“If you what?” Mom asked.

“If I look the part,” he said.

“There are all kinds of people on TV,” Mom told him. “White, black, brown.”

“And all of them change their hair and their clothes — whatever it takes.”

“Changing your looks won't get you that job. A lot more goes into being a TV weatherman.”

I heard my dad stand up. “Are you saying I don't know my stuff?” He sounded seriously offended. “Because I'm better than that guy they hired.”

He stomped away before Mom could answer. He probably went to the garage. Whenever he felt frustrated, he calmed himself by reorganizing his tools. He'd probably reorganize his tools
and
sweep the cobwebs today.

Before I could sneak back to my room, Mom discovered me.

“What are you doing here, Windy?”

“I was on my way to the bathroom,” I said.

“No, you weren't. You were eavesdropping.”

The truth-marquee on my forehead must have been working again.

“Have you figured out an interest?” she asked. “Because summer's right around the corner.” She didn't care about my interests — not right now anyway. She just wanted to scold me because she was mad at Dad, which meant she was mad at everyone.

“I like cats,” I offered.

“Cats?” I could tell she wanted to explode with impatience. “Well, go figure out how to make them useful. All those things do is eat, sleep, and leave hairballs on the floor.”

With that, she marched to her bedroom.

So I went back to my own room, kicked off my shoes, and plopped on the bed. Cloudy, always the investigator, jumped off the vanity to sniff my shoes. He sniffed them for a long time, as if he could smell all the stores I'd walked through.

“You nutty cat,” I teased.

I'd had a tough day. Raindrop, my parents, Mrs. Vargas, the choking game. I opened my notebook and added a new list — “The Top Five Things to Worry About.”