CHAPTER 4
It’s eight o’clock on Friday night, and my mom just left for work. I’m hanging out on the couch freshly showered, my wet hair wrapped up in a towel, turban-style.
Other than going to school and back during the week, and Angelo’s on the weekends—I’ve basically been stuck inside my apartment, panicked that Carlos will find me. It’s been two weeks since the incident.
Janelle asked someone to speak to him, and apparently, he said he’d leave me alone for a while. But what does a while even mean? I gulp, trying to push all thoughts of Carlos from my head. On a positive note, I’ve been reading up a storm. Janelle always tells me I can’t live in a fictional world. Well, I’d beg to differ. I’ve moved from one book to the next so quickly that characters have been getting jumbled up in my head. But, I’d rather that than the alternative of thinking about my own situation.
“Should we order Dominos? They’ve got some kick-ass coupons going on right now,” Janelle shouts from the kitchen. I look over to see her head stuck inside the refrigerator, probably pushing leftovers around. I’ve been cooking us food all week, and I know we have some good things in there. But a hot slice of pizza sounds amazing right now.
“Yeah. Let’s do it. Can you make sure to get one of those ranch dipping cups on the side with the cheesy bread?”
She closes the fridge, smiles right at me. “Hell, yes we can!” I laugh as we hear Juan from the apartment below scream at his mom about not wanting to take out the trash.
“For the love of all that is holy, that boy needs to grow up already and take out the garbage! The shoot is down the hall for God’s sake!” Janelle’s exasperation at Juan’s antics cracks me up. Our building has a tendency to mirror a bad soap opera; we all can’t help but weigh in on everyone’s business. The walls being paper-thin doesn’t help the situation, either. Unfortunately, I kissed Juan last year at an apartment party a few blocks over. He tried calling me a million times afterward, but I ignored him. When we bumped into each other in the stairwell a few weeks later, he glared at me like I killed his dog. Suffice it to say, we are no longer on friendly terms.
“Does he still hate you?” She chuckles.
“Ugh, yes. I just made out with him and I swear you’d think I took his virginity or something with the clinginess!” I throw my arms up in the air, exasperated.
“Speaking of virginity—” she starts with a smirk.
“—Oh, shut it, Janelle. Yes, we all know I’m an eighteen-year-old virgin, blah blah blah.” I roll my eyes.
“If you’d just stop wearing those baggy clothes and hiding yourself—”
“I’m not interested in that right now,” I say, effectively cutting her off. “I wear these clothes to cover myself. I need to make sure I don’t give any mixed signals to anyone.”
She huffs in annoyance as she pulls out her hair and makeup tools. “I’m not going to pretend I like your look these days, because I don’t. I’m doing your hair and makeup tonight. It’s time to remind you that you’re one hundred percent beautiful woman. I wish you’d find yourself a man,” she sighs.
“I’m going to ignore you and just go with… yay, makeup!”
Janelle is brilliant in making people beautiful, but still, she has the worst taste in men. I watch as she rummages through her makeup box, gathering what she needs for me. I may not be a girly girl, but it feels good getting dolled up every once in a while, even if I won’t be leaving the apartment.
She combs my hair and separates it into sections to blow-dry. I’m completely engrossed in a novel while she does some magic with a round hairbrush, turning my hair into what she calls beach waves. Who knows where she comes up with this hair terminology, but in the past few months, she’s done my hair as the leading lady, which is straight and sleek, and the rising star, which are 1950s style ringlets. When my hair is done, she uses two butterfly clips to pull the front of my hair away from my face.
“Put that book down and look straight ahead.” I do as she asks. Using her fingers, she smears cream all over my face. Tonight, she’s testing out a makeup look called the siren. When she’s finished, she hands me a little handheld mirror. I see black shadows with a hint of sparkle smoking around my large hazel eyes. My cheekbones look incredibly high, shaded with golden bronzer. Wow. Even I have to admit I look good right now.
“I’d normally do a red lip, but I want to go with a creamy nude instead. More Kim, you know?” I shrug. My sister and everyone else seems to be obsessed with Kardashian makeup.
“Since I let you do my hair and makeup—”
“Close your mouth while I line and fill your lips.” I shut up while she gets within an inch of my face, squinting her eyes like I’d imagine a surgeon would do. My sister has zero shake in her hands. “Now press your lips together,” she commands. As usual, I do as she says.
“Can I try on some of your clothes?” I lift my hands in prayer, trying to look sweet.
“Fine,” she says grudgingly, grabbing a pack of Marlboro Lights from the coffee table. I wouldn’t call Janelle a smoker per se, but she definitely enjoys a smoke or two when she wants to relax. I run into our room as quickly as I can before she changes her mind.
Drake’s “Hotline Bling” blares from Juan’s apartment; I can feel the floor shake from the bass. Janelle perches herself on the bedroom windowsill. Opening the window and lighting up her cigarette with her favorite black-and-silver Zippo, she blows rings of smoke into the night.
She sticks her head out the window. “Yo Juan, I love this song!” She’s rolling her upper body to the beat of the music and lifting her hand in the air. He replies by turning the volume up.
Smiling, I raise my arms, dancing my way into her closet and letting the music filter through my body. Janelle and I have always loved to dance. I push my ass out and twerk Miley Cyrus style, my body undulating to the beat. Janelle lets out a “Whoop!” Her long blond hair waves down her back as she cheers for me to keep going. When the song changes, I finally stop and go through her section of our closet, deciding what to try first.
I’m in the midst of moving clothes around when she speaks up. “Have you finished all these books yet?” I turn to her as she points to the stack on my desk.
“I’m getting through them pretty quickly,” I tell her, smiling as I pull the T-shirt off over my head. I look through my drawer and find a sexy lace bra I bought from Victoria’s Secret earlier this year. I put it on before wearing one of Janelle’s tops. I look in the mirror appreciatively; the shirt is caramel brown, cropped, and off the shoulder. The fabric is so soft against my olive skin. After putting on a pair of tight jeans, I stand on my tippy-toes, posing as if I were wearing a pair of high heels—with no one watching, I enjoy looking sexy. One day, I want to be able to dress how I please without being afraid.
Janelle lets out a slow whistle. “You look hot, Eve. Damn, girl!” I smile in a rare moment of confidence and she winks, singing along to another song on Juan’s playlist. “God, I can’t imagine what it’ll be like for you one day in college. Do you think it’ll be like Gossip Girl? All those rich kids, having nothing to worry about other than their clothes and boyfriends?”
“Yeah. I don’t know. Maybe? I’m going to do the best I can though, and that’s IF I get in…” I let out a long sigh. There’s no sense in getting crazy about colleges when I may not even get accepted, or get enough money in scholarships and grants to be able to go.
She crosses her heavy black boots in front of her, a stark contrast to the flowery minidress she’s wearing. Her phone rings and she answers it. “Yo—wait, what? No shit! Look, I gotta go.” Hanging up the phone, a smile rushes across her face.
“Hey, little sister. Guess what?” She says in a singsong voice.
I turn my head to her, raising my eyebrows in question.
“Carlos is in jail right now!” She is ecstatic.
“What?” I exclaim, my heart skipping a beat.
“You heard me. That was Vania calling. She heard from Juaquin that Carlos went to jail after a drug deal gone wrong. Some undercover cop bought from him yesterday in the park!” She leans her head out the window screaming, “Louder, Juan!” She laughs out loud.
I feel my eyes widen as the music turns up. “Maybe that means they’ll lay low for a while, right? How long will he be gone for?” With a voice full of hope, I watch as Janelle fist-pumps into the air.
“Who knows? All I care about is the fact that tonight, he’s fuckin’ gone! Wait, we have to celebrate!” All at once, her face changes to mischief. “You know what, Eve? It would be a waste for no one to see you looking this incredible. I know exactly where we’re going.” Her smile is contagious. She throws her lit cigarette out the window—and probably onto some unsuspecting pedestrian—and hops off the sill.
“Why can’t you just put your cigarette in the ashtray? One of these days you’re going to burn someone.”
“I like to live dangerously, what can I say?” I roll my eyes at her, but we immediately start to laugh.
I want to tell her I’m still afraid to leave. What if one of Carlos’s friends is out? “Look, Janelle—”
“You can’t let that experience run your life, Eve. I don’t want your fear to rob you of your life! Carlos is off the street for now. We’re going out tonight! You. Me. Out.” She punctuates her words, making sure I understand we’re leaving.
“I’m not taking no for an answer. We may have to live in the Blue Houses, but we have to make it work. You’re eighteen years old for God’s sake; you gotta try to act normal.”
I shake out my shoulders. I need to do this. Janelle is right. How long do I intend to never leave home at night? She’s with me and has my back; it’s not as if I’ll be alone. I can do this. No, I NEED to do this. Carlos is gone. I can bring my gun. I’ll be just fine.
The doorbell rings and she claps her hands. “Perfect timing! First pizza, then we’re outta here!”
She pays the delivery guy in cash while I fill our glasses with water from the sink. Sitting down at our kitchen table, we open up the box with the steaming pie and smile at each other. When we’re done, Janelle jumps up and heads into our bedroom. I can imagine her rummaging through our small coat rack in the corner of the room for her bag. She walks out with our purses in hand and a pair of high-heeled pumps for me.
“Girl, why is your bag so damn heavy?” She hands me mine and I dart my eyes to the side. I haven’t told her yet about my gun. I know I should, but I’m not sure what her reaction will be. And right now, I just want to enjoy the night.
“Where are we going?” I ask, hoping my subject change will work.
“You’ll see,” she tells me, eyes twinkling. Pulling out a tube of lip gloss from her bag, she applies hers, adding a second coat to mine.
She leads me out of our tiny apartment, practically pushing me through the door. I’m wearing her clothes, face full of makeup, dark hair in long waves down my back. Her hand holds mine and she squeezes it three times. I’m afraid, but I know I can always trust her promises. With Janelle by my side, I’m safe.
Once we walk over the threshold of our apartment, I can’t wipe the smile off my face. The combination of surprise and excitement to be out with Janelle is dizzying. I follow her down the concrete steps. We’re both so sublimely happy about Carlos being behind bars, we’re practically floating down the stairwell.
“Hi George!” we say, stepping over our drunken third-floor neighbor. His clothes are full of holes and his hair is matted on his head. Even though he’s sprawled on the bottom of the steps, he’s still gripping his beer bottle like his life depends on it. Janelle and I know him, though, and he’s harmless.
“Looking good girls,” he slurs, a sloppy smile on his face. Janelle continues to walk, but I pause to open my wallet and hand him some loose change.
“God bless you, Eve. Take care of yourself, my sweet girl.” I nod to him and smile, running down the remainder of the steps to catch up with Janelle.
We get on the crosstown bus just as it pulls into the front of our building, taking a window seat in the back. Within twenty-minutes, we’re in the trendy Meatpacking District on West Fourteenth Street. While it used to be full of slaughterhouses and packing plants, it’s now one of the swankiest areas of the city.
“Your eyes look amazing,” Janelle tells me, angling her body toward mine.
“Yeah, it’s cool.”
“At this rate, I’ll be traveling with Beyoncé doing her hair on her next European tour. By the way, she definitely used a surrogate this time around and faked her pregnancy.”
“Totally!” I exclaim. We laugh as she does a little shimmy in her seat.
Smiling confidently, she brings her hands to my hairline. Taking the small clips out from the front of my hair, she uses the tips of her fingers to separate my dark waves, twirling them into an organized chaos.
She flips her long blond waves behind her. “You’re growing up, angel baby,” she says, using a nickname she gave me when we were kids. “You gonna try to catch yourself some rich guy in college? Seriously, you’re looking stunning tonight. My baby sister is a goddess.”
I drop my head for a second, embarrassed by her compliment. “Don’t be crazy, Janelle. If I go there, it will be for one thing: grades.” I turn my head back toward the window, ending the conversation before it can begin. I have a single-track mind right now, and I won’t allow a guy to derail my plans. It’s not as if any guy has ever excited me, anyway.
I look down at my tight jeans and cropped shirt. I know I don’t look overly sexual, but I’m not used to looking like this out in public. Still, I don’t want to let Janelle down. She put herself out to make me look good, and I want to show her that I’m not scared. I take a deep breath, letting the evening’s excitement beat through my legs as I try to push all thoughts about my body and state of dress out of my mind. “So, what are we doing, anyway?” I finally ask.
“Are you sure you don’t want to be surprised?” she asks me with a roguish grin.
“I mean, okay. Why not? I don’t have to know everything beforehand.” I let out a shaky smile and force a happy face, and Janelle laughs at me. We both know that I like preparing for everything. Surprises don’t really go with my personality. Her gaze travels down to my chest and her smile turns to full blown.
Janelle shakes her head at me. “Oh come on Eve, don’t be afraid of having huge knockers. I can’t wait to buy a pair that look like yours one day.” My face turns crimson, but it only makes her laugh harder.
“Oh, this is our stop!” Janelle jumps out of the seat and grabs her bag as she walks to the front of the bus. I follow her out. As I take a few steps, I notice my top riding up, showing a sliver of stomach. I pull it down only to realize I’m revealing more of my cleavage. I decide I’d rather show a little tummy than have my boobs pop out. I pull my blouse back up, again. Shit!
“Stop fussing with your top, Je-sus,” she says in her exaggerated way, as she starts down the sidewalk.
Walking on the cobblestone isn’t easy in these shoes, but I do my best not to face plant. I want to slow down so I can people watch, but there is no stopping Janelle. She’s on a mission to get wherever we’re going, incessantly checking her phone. We continue to speed-walk a few blocks, finally stopping in front of a large abandoned warehouse. A huge man with a military buzz cut, looking angry as hell, stands guard at the front door. There are a few people hanging around, casually smoking and checking us out. Janelle ignores them, walking straight to the big guy.
“Hey Lenny,” my sister says flirtatiously. He looks us both up and down and opens the door with a grunt, letting us inside without a word.