CHAPTER 31

Lucy

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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.

I jog sluggishly behind Gabe, unable to look away from that minivan. My eyes connect with the child in the back seat. His dark hair and eyes duck out of view when he sees me, and I wish I could save him, take him with me or something.

Instead, Gabe tugs on my hand, and we leave those poor children in the hands of that horrible man bleeding on the street while people watch and do nothing.

We go back to Paco’s cousin’s, and Gabe washes up while the rest of them relive the moment. Their voices are loud and high off the rush. They laugh and say “Fuck that guy” about a hundred times, but I don’t say a word. I just sit on the couch and wait for Gabe so I can make him take me home.

I don’t know what just happened, but I don’t want to be a part of it. I’m done with gangs and guns and all that shit.

A tear slides into my ear as I stare up at the popcorn ceiling, but I wipe it away before anyone sees.

Gabe doesn’t make a big deal about leaving. In fact, it’s his idea. When he comes out of the bathroom, he grabs Paco’s car keys off the counter and heads straight for me.

“Ready to go?” he asks without addressing the others.

I nod and we leave, just the two of us.

“Gabe!” Paco yells out the door, but Gabe doesn’t look back.

I follow him in a rushed fast-walk to the car feeling like at any moment I’ll see the red minivan around a corner, but the street is quiet.

“You okay?” he asks, once we’re alone in the silence.

“No. I dunno, I guess.”

He starts the car, and takes my hand, managing the wheel with his left. I don’t feel like talking. Not yet. I can’t decide if I’m pissed at him or grateful that he saved my life. I think I’m both. He clearly hasn’t told me the whole story about this “crew” he’s a part of. FTC isn’t just tagging. It’s not just about Mendoza.

Even at 2am the I-5 freeway is bustling. My unfocussed eyes blur the red taillights ahead of us as I obsess over death being an arm’s length away. The gun was there. It went off. I should be dead.

“So you stabbed him and he missed?” I ask, coming to my own conclusion about what happened while my eyes were pinched close.

He nods. “I sort of tackled him and it went off. I don’t think he would have done it, but I wasn’t going to wait and find out.”

His features are emotionless and unreadable, and I wonder if he’s waiting for me to open up first.

I sigh. “So what the fuck?” The question breaks the thin sheet of uncertainty between us.

“I...” He shrugs, shakes his head. I can tell he doesn’t know what to say, but there is no hiding the guilt in his eyes. It’s obvious he’s holding something back.

“Are you in Crazy Eights or what? This isn’t just spray paint and torturing Mendoza is it?”

“No.” The worried lines in his forehead deepen. “Yes. I mean, for me it is. My brother, Fran, he did have some friends in Crazy Eights. He wasn’t into that shit, but you know his friends were so he sort of got wrapped up in things he didn’t want to be involved in. That’s what happened tonight. Paco’s cousins are in that same Crazy Eight shit. I didn’t know they had tags on them or whatever. I have no idea what happened back there. We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people.” His voice has a desperate edge to it, the kind of intensity that comes from trying to convince someone to believe you.

“So you’re not a Crazy Eight. You just stabbed a guy on a random street to save my life?”

He looks at me with heaviness in his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, and for the first time I realize I’m not the only one affected by what happened.

The girl I beat senseless in the park creeps out of the dark corner of my mind to haunt me, and understanding blooms in my heart. He might have killed a man. I know exactly how he feels. I can see the burden in the way he’s gripping the steering wheel, in the deep crease in his brow. He’ll never know if the man died. Just like I’ll never know about the girl in the park. Not unless I want to go digging around in that world again. And I don’t.

“I’m sorry,” I offer. “That you had to do that.”

He doesn’t say anything, just keeps his sullen serious eyes on the road.

“Have you ever stabbed anyone before?” I ask.

“No.”

There is still an uncomfortableness in the air as we shed the layers of things unsaid between us until we’re naked with truth.

“So you just carry a knife just in case...”

“Look,” he sighs, cracking open just a little more. “I’m not a Crazy Eight, but they want me to be. Fran’s friends and Paco’s cousins, and us, we’ve all grown up together and they want revenge for Fran just as much as I do. They treat me like I’m in charge no matter how much I resist it. He was my brother, so out of respect, they all look to me, you know? I don’t want in their gang. I don’t.”

“What does that have to do with what happened tonight?”

“Nothing. I just...wanted to give you the whole story. Tonight was just bad luck.”

“Well, I’m not going to be around that shit. I just got out of some crazy gang crap in San Jose. I’m not doing it again. It’s fucked up.”

“I know. And I don’t care about any of it. You and me. Fuck the rest of ‘em.” He squeezes my hand and looks at me until I can’t resist the urge to kiss him.

He grabs me and pulls me close while he drives. We stop at the closest McDonalds because we never actually made it to the Taco Bell, and now I don’t think I’ll ever go to another Taco Bell again. We eat and joke about falling asleep inside on the table and then we actually do. I rest my face in the crook of my elbow and close my eyes until someone taps me on the shoulder, but by then it’s morning.

After my near death experience I want to see my mom, so we drive to my house, only no one is home. The daylight shines through the living room windows, warming the oatmeal carpet. There is a note on the table that says Lucy, if you come home call me. I’m worried. So I call her, and even though I’ve avoided her and complained about all her shit, the truth is, I actually miss it. I miss her. It’s so nice to hear her voice.

“Hello?” She picks up after the first ring. Her greeting is a rushed and eager whisper, like she’s answering in class. I can tell she’s been waiting for this call for days, and I feel a deep stab of guilt.

“Hey Mom. Sorry.”

She sighs heavily into the phone. Not in anger, but in relief.

“Where are you?”

“I’m home. Don’t worry. I’m fine. I was with Gabe and Dani, but I’m home now. I’ll be home when you get here.”

“Okay. Please don’t leave again. We need to talk about this.”

She’s still whispering, and I don’t want to get her in trouble so I cut it short.

“I’ll talk to you when you get home. Okay. Love you.”

Gabe is standing close to me as I hang up. I don’t know if it’s the quiet, empty house, the trauma I just experienced and the need to feel something good and real, but I don’t want to waste another second of my life. How much would I have missed out on if the gun had still been aimed at my head?

I lean in and kiss him, throwing the phone on the table. I’m pretty sure he feels the same, because he doesn’t seem surprised. He just grabs me and lifts me up, wrapping my legs around him. I don’t want to take one single minute with him for granted.

He carries me across the living room, whispering in Spanish as his lips move from my mouth to my neck. This is how it should feel. The heat. The rush. I’m not afraid.

He sinks into the couch so he’s sitting up and I’m straddling him. I reach for the hem of my shirt without thought, but he stops me.

“You almost died,” he says. His fingers rest gently on my exposed waist, as he looks at me real and alive in front of him.

I press my lips to his flushed mouth, the silver stud adding a metallic texture to our kiss. His breath is heavy and relaxed as I slip my hands under his shirt. “You’re in charge,” he whispers. “We only go as far as you want.”

I pull away just to look into his eyes. They glint with a familiarity from another life, like our souls have always known each other.