Of Hustle and Heart (12 page)

“Hold her!” Beatrice screams.

Rocky jumps in before they pull me to the ground. The redheaded girl holds on to my shirt, but Rocky grabs her by the hair and yanks as hard as she can. She screams as Rocky digs her long, plum-colored fingernails into the side of the girl’s face. I scramble to my feet as a girl with brown hair charges me and one of our bodyguards. Then a senior, named Frank, comes and pushes Beatrice back with one hand. He uses his foot to knock the other girl away.

“If y’all can’t fight one on one, then don’t fight,” he says, standing in front of me.

Beatrice looks at me, flushed and fidgeting with her exposed bra. I grin at her before I remember Rocky. I look over, relieved to see our varsity-starting tight end has retrieved the princess. Rocky has almost shredded the redhead fugazi’s clothes and pulled her elegantly styled hair into a wacky mess. The girl is traumatized as she sits on the ground where Rachel has left her and holds back angry tears. My girl, Rocky, has layers of Miss Big Bad’s skin and hair underneath her nails.

I walk out of the main office forty-five minutes later with a notice for my three-day suspension. I haven’t talked to Rocky yet, and I have no clue what happened to Rachel or the fugazi. I’m desperate to find out.

Uncle Tony is coming to pick me up. I called him instead of my mama, hoping she won’t find out that I’ve had a fight at school. It isn’t the fighting that worries me. My mama taught me to defend myself, so she won’t be mad that I pounded on some girls who tried to jump me. What will bother her is the fact that the fight revolved around a boy who doesn’t even want me.

But the school won’t release me to Uncle Tony without my mother’s consent, so Tony calls my mama and tells her what happened. She calls the school, and after some vicious bantering with my counselor, the assistant principal, and finally the principal, they agree to let Uncle Tony take me.

Once we reach his car, Uncle Tony finally speaks to me. “So what are you going to do for the next three days?”

I just shrug, thinking about being confined to a house with no working electricity.

“Well, you look great,” he says, “for someone who just had a fight with…how many other girls?” I don’t say anything. “Why were you fighting?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay. Blanca told me you sell bootlegs for extra money.” He looks at me.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“Zina…” He frowns as he cuts out of the school’s parking lot. “What’s with the attitude?”

“I did that, like, two weeks ago. Leave it alone.”

“Is that what you were doing when you saw your brother’s friends get shot?”

“Why are you talking about that now?” I ask, turning toward him.

“It was insensitive. You’re right.”

“Why would you bring it up as if it’s no big deal?”

We come to a red light, and Uncle Tony eases off the gas to bring the car to a smooth stop.

“I’m sorry,” he says, grabbing the steering wheel. He looks at me, his onyx eyes melting into dark lava. “I really am. I didn’t mean to bring it up. It was inappropriate,” he says. I ignore him.

“Zina…”

“Bee says you’re taking care of the motherfucker—the ones who shot Bryan and Corey,” I say.

“Watch your mouth,” he mumbles.

“That true?”

He sighs and doesn’t respond. The light turns green. We cruise along the feeder, ready to merge into the rushing traffic of Loop 610.

“But seriously,” he says, “that bootleg nonsense is a no. You can’t be doing that.”

I resent his attempt to dictate what I do. “I need money. And yeah, that’s what I was doing when I saw Corey and Bryan…” My voice fades out; am unable to talk about what I saw. I start to think about Corey’s upcoming funeral and how I’m afraid to go.

“Getting a job didn’t cross your mind,” he snaps. I glare at him, my eyes pooling.

“Duh. I tried. I applied at every grocery store, dollar store, and food joint that’d take my application. It’s taking too long.” My legs shake with agitation. I wipe a tear from my cheek. “I need it now.”

“Why don’t you come to me for shit like that?” he asks. “All of a sudden you don’t want my help anymore. Why?”

The concern in his voice does something weird to me.

“I don’t know what the freak I’m doing,” I confess. “I thought I could sell some movies and DVDs and make some cash. What’s wrong with that?”

My chest hurts, and my face is sunken from exhaustion.

“You’ll never take the easy route. The easy route doesn’t appeal to you. I adore that about you, Zina,” he says as he turns into my neighborhood. “I know that there will be things that happen in your life that you won’t want to tell me about. I hate it. I always want you to tell me everything.”

“You do?”

Tony maneuvers his way through my neighborhood, his foreign car absorbing every pothole in the dilapidated streets.

“Of course, I do.”

As we pull into the driveway, I notice the front door is open and that the sheets we use as curtains have all been pulled away from the windows. I jump out and head toward the front door, happy to avoid the questions I’m sure Tony wants to ask. I cut across the front yard, trotting through mud, but he blows his horn, signaling me to stop. Like a trained puppy, I obey. I hear his car door open and close, followed by footsteps as he marches up the driveway.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

I don’t respond. From the outside, our house looks like crumpled shit, as if it were falling apart from within. He walks up to the front door and waits for me, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his gray chinos.

“Zina, why would you let it get like this? All you had to do was come to me.”

Wait. I tried to keep it from getting like this.

I stare at him, my eyes heavy, my heart trapped in my throat. “I don’t…I don’t know.”

“Well, how long—”

“The lights will be back on tomorrow. They already paid the bill. It’s cool,”

I lie and try to shrug it off, but Tony isn’t buying my bullshit. He cocks his head, dropping his face closer to mine.

“Girl,
what
do you need?” He stares at me, eyes unwavering, as his voice vibrates against my face. His breath is sweet and warm. I inhale as his words linger around my ear. I pull away because my body has a mind of its own when it comes to this sort of thing. There are some reactions I don’t know how to control.

“I don’t need anything.”

I try to push past him, but he grabs my wrist.

“Zina…”

Standing in the orange glow of the late-day sun, he looks like the twenty-two-year-old Uncle Tony who taught Blanca and me to swim when we were eleven and twelve years old.

“You know…”

He smiles; I can tell he’s frustrated.

“Anything in this world…whatever y’all need, I’d do it.” He squeezes my wrist and slides his hand around mine. “Anything,” he says and stares into the darkness of the dilapidated piece of shit that is my house.

“You don’t have to do everything by yourself. What’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is mine.”

“It’s okay,” I say.

But he doesn’t look at me; instead, he walks to the center of our yard and stands there, surveying the cruddy nine-hundred-dollar-a-month rental we call home.

Deep in thought, he strokes his short, dark beard.

“Shit,” he mumbles. “I’d burn it down tonight if I thought it’d make you happy.”

He pauses for a minute and looks me in the eye. “Would it?”

I nod. “Yes…but don’t. I can’t be responsible for it.”

CHAPTER 20

ZACARIAS

H
ere we are: the mother of my child, the relationship that should’ve ended, and an enormous wall between us. I was fine letting Whitney rule but not anymore. I doubt she’d ever change for anyone. Even our baby. She tells me that she’s been craving orange juice since the pregnancy and asks me to pour her a glass.

“Does your mother need to be around the baby?” Whitney asks. “I don’t really trust her, and she doesn’t like me.”

I’d be as stupid as she sounds if I paid her attention. She’s speaking foolishness. We’d gone back to the apartment to talk. After making sure John was gone, I’d brought Whitney in and told her to make herself comfortable. She walks around the coffee table and sits in John’s chair, pushing back comfortably and crossing her legs at the thigh.

“Your brother would pop an artery if he saw me sitting in his comfy chair,” she says with a cackle.

“Get up before he comes back.”

“I’m not worried about John,” she says. “I’ve got you.”

“You can’t keep doing things to antagonize him…or my mother.”

“Your mother is the one, Zack. She does things to start fights because she wants you to break up with me.”

“I would never break up with you because of my mother,” I say.

It’s true. I don’t need any of my mother’s reasons to lose Whitney. She’s quite capable of pushing me away on her own.

“We need to talk about what we’re going to do,” I say, sitting across from her. “First, what’s this about you not trusting my mom?”

“Well…” She takes a swig of her orange juice and smacks away the moisture from her lips. “Your mama—”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Don’t be so defensive,” she says, an ugly frown creasing her face. “We can’t talk if you’re gonna be snapping at me.”

“I’m sorry, go ahead.”

“Why are you snapping at me anyway? You seem…different.”

“Different how?”

“Like you’re angry at me.”

“I’m not angry at you.” It’s a big, fat lie.

“Then what’s wrong?” she asks as she moves to the couch and settles next to me.

“I just found out we’re having a baby,” I say to her. “It’s a little overwhelming.”

She draws back from me. “How is that? I thought you wanted to marry me?”

How are the two things the same? I
did
want to marry her, but I don’t anymore. I never proposed to her, though we’ve discussed it, and I find it alarming that she’d use a baby to hold me hostage.

“You never acted like you wanted to marry me…until now,” I say.

She looks at me, positioning herself on my lap, and faltering over my words as if I’d thrown them at her to knock her off. She studies me and grins to keep from frowning.

“I’m not saying this to be mean,” I say. “I want to be honest with you. It has to be this way, right?”

She wrinkles her nose. I have no intention of hurting her. In fact, I think it would hurt me if I did. She was the first girl I’d really tried with. I wanted and needed her approval. Whitney was interested in me within our first interaction and was crafty about it. I found myself working overtime to please her. But now I want to be left alone, but that has become impossible, and I want to hate someone for it.

“You’re right. We do need to be honest,” she says, bringing me back. “I can’t argue with that.” She slid off my lap, settled on the couch next to me, and threw her legs over mine. I repositioned myself so I could accommodate the both of us.

“I didn’t think we were ready,” she says. I wonder if she’s telling me the truth or trying to placate me. “But now…” Her coy shrug is so out of character that I wonder how long she’s been trying to fool me. “We kinda have to be ready, don’t we? There’s a baby coming,” she says. “So…ask me again.”

I’ve never felt such anxiety; I didn’t know the urge to run could be so intense. I’m so afraid that my eyes begin to itch, and I clear my throat several times to appease the burning I feel.
Is this wrong?
I don’t…I don’t want to marry her. I don’t want to marry anyone.

I think she senses what’s coming. “No, wait!” She laughs. “Not yet. Not like this. I want romance.”

She begins to detail the perfect proposal. “I want your family there too.” She closes in, lowering her head and kissing the brim of my nose. “I love this baby. I love us,” she says. “Your mother will have to adjust to having a daughter. I know I haven’t gotten along with her, but that’ll change.”

“Will it?”

“Yes.” She sounds hurt. “I admit I’ve acted out in the past, because I don’t like the control your family has over you. I was selfish. Hell, I
am
selfish. I want you to belong to me, and I don’t like to share.” She speaks with such tenderness as she paces every word. “But I have no choice now. I have to share you with this baby.” She runs her hands along my curly hairline, pushing thick curls from my earlobe. “But I’m fine with that,” she says.

“But what if I’m not?” It hurts to say it, but she should know. “For Christ’s sake, Whit, this is wrong…” I croak, sick with emotion. I’m worried that she might do something to hurt herself or the baby.

CHAPTER 21

ZINA

S
ome of Shannon’s friends find me in the hallway as I drag my ass to eighth period.

“Turn up!” They laugh as they walk toward me. I watch them apprehensively. I don’t trust anybody these days. They stop in front of me, and I frown. My phone vibrates underneath my bra strap; I snatch it out. A couple of kids on my street text me, wanting to know what CDs I have in stock. Not many. Shit. This bootleg money is drying up quick.

“Whatever. What do y’all want? Make it fast,” I tell Bradley and Robert. Whatever it is they’re trippin’ on, must be something good. They tower over me, each at six foot plus, looking at me as if I bit the head off their chocolate Easter bunnies. Bradley, a half-breed—and proud of it—speaks first.

“Bee de la Vega—that’s what!” He bumps into me playfully.

It’s been a week since the fight with Beatrice and her fugazis. Blanca and I hadn’t officially made up yet, but she’d heard about the fight and texted me to see if I was okay during my suspension. We hadn’t spoken outside of that.

“What about Bee?” I ask.

“Bruh, she ate Shannon’s ass up during athletics today,” Bradley says.

“What?”

Robert earlier lingered behind Bradley but now steps in and pulls me to the side of the hallway. He leans against a row of lockers lined alongside a window. I feel the sting of tears invading my dark browns, and Robert notices. He smiles and leans his muscular frame against the window, rearing his head back until it touches the glass.

“This is a good story, Zina,” he says, reaching out to rub my elbow.

A stray tear runs down my right cheek. I make no move to stop it.

“For real,” he whispers. “In my experience, baddies always run together…and ain’t none badder than Queen Zee and her homegirl Queen Bee.”

“But what are y’all talking about? What happened with Blanca?”

“It was pretty perfect.” He laughs. “She came into the gym and pummeled Shannon. Had him pinned against the gym wall, throwing basketballs at him and cussin’ his punk ass out.”

“What? Why?” Robert frowns.

“Because Shannon’s being a hoe. He’s making you look like something you’re not.”

“No, he’s not. Beatrice is starting the rumors.”

“Well, he’s not doing anything to stop it. And you taking up for him is pretty lame,” Robert says. “He ain’t doing shit for you right now, and if he wants Beatrice’s crazy…” His voice fades as he catches sight of someone walking up the adjacent stairwell. His eyes narrow; he stares at them as if his day is officially ruined. “Fuck me,” he says.

I look over my shoulder. Beatrice is standing across the hall, shooting fucking daggers at me again.

“What’s up, Tris?” Robert calls out to Beatrice.

“Nothing,” she says. “But is it just me? I mean, I’m the crazy one.” She holds her hands up as if she can’t take much more. “But I’m sick and damn tired of fucking tramps!”

“Don’t bring that up here,” Robert says.

“Bring what up?” She turns her head toward Robert and looks at him as if she’d snap his neck if he came close enough. “All I’m trying to do is graduate from high school with my boyfriend, go to prom with my boyfriend, and fuck my boyfriend without having to worry about crazy-ass stalker hoes…” She points at me. “…and their angry, demented, spick friends causing problems!” She’s yelling now, and a crowd is gathering.

“Well,” Robert says, lifting his head from the window, “maybe there’s a problem at home. Maybe he doesn’t want to fuck
you
anymore.”

My mouth drops open.

“Shut the hell up, Robert! I’m not talking to you!” she says.

“But you’re yelling at me,” Robert says.

“I’m talking to her!” She jabs a finger in my direction again.

“Maybe you should be yelling at your fucking boyfriend. He’s the one writing love letters to other girls.”

Robert’s words pierce her. She’s stunned. Her eyes water as she attempts to mute her rage.

“You got life so fucked up,” she says. She knows she’s been wasting her time trying to scare or bully me away from Shannon.

“Shut the fuck up, Beatrice. Ain’t nobody scared of you,” I say. I’m tired of her threatening me with her hateful looks.

“Yeah, Beatrice, Zina ain’t scared of you,” Robert says, smirking.

She throws her binder and English book at him. He ducks as the projectiles smash against the glass window, papers fluttering across the hallway.

Corey and Bryan’s homegoings are scheduled a week apart, and only Blanca and Uncle Tony know I witnessed their murders. I ran from it as long as I could, but my time’s up. The twins already asked me to go to Bryan’s services. I’m obligated; I skipped out on Corey’s last week and still feel hella shitty for it.

The memory of the shooting and the reality of Bryan’s funeral have me crying all over my desk in eighth period. I excuse myself from Mr. Channing’s sociology class so I can text Blanca. My heart is so heavy; I need her to help me carry it. I’m relieved when she immediately responds.

When the twins hear that Bee is going to the wake, they want to ride with us. I glance in the rearview mirror a couple of times, watching them in the back seat. They look shell-shocked and terrified of what’s coming next, crying to themselves and silent as death. Corey’s homegoing last week didn’t dull their senses at all. I’d hoped it would. They were even more upset tonight than they were the night they saw the story on the news and those hours later, when confirmation from the families came.

As Blanca and I sit in a back pew, wiping our eyes with endless Kleenex, I ask her if she thinks the twins will get over this.

“I don’t know,” she says, choking back a sob, her eyes red and puffy. She sighs. “Will you?”

I stare at Bryan’s thirteen-year-old corpse, laid out in a black casket and dressed up fancy in a gray suit. And hear a grown-up sitting in the pew adjacent from us, comment on how his skin feels like ice.

“He looks good, like he’s sleeping,” I say, wiping my eyes. “I’m not okay with this. I’m mad as hell, Bee, and I ain’t gettin’ over it. Uncle Tony is taking care of it, right?” I blow my nose.

“Honestly, Zee?” Her voice breaks. “I’m not really sure.”

It stings to hear her say this and brings a flood of tears for both of us. But I ain’t scared anymore; this murdering motherfucker’s about to get his ticket punched.

It’s Sunday, and life has moved on. I’ve started cutting three-for-six deals on the bootlegs to make money a little faster. Last week I made $186, and the week before that, $179. That’s enough for a three-night stay at the Comfort Inn in Pearwood, and I’m packing my shit right now before I start to sweat too much. It’s been three weeks, and our electricity remains on the disconnect list, according to New Life Energy, and by the power invested in Pearwood city water, our taps will be cut off by the end of this week. Altogether, the utility debt alone is close to $900.

I fumble around in my bedroom, using a flashlight that I bought on the way home from the Dollar Store, until I feel one of the twins standing in the doorway, watching me. He hadn’t been there long. I turn around and shine the light in his face. It’s Andrew. The blue light casts an eerie shadow against his light skin.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He shrugs and folds his arms. “Looks like I should be asking you that.”

I sit in the middle of a pile of soiled laundry. “I’m packing. You and Alex want to come?”

“Where are you going?”

“Somewhere where I won’t sweat to death in my sleep,” I say as I throw a couple pairs of underwear in my bag. “I checked into a room at a hotel. This right here is too much for me.” I continue to pack. “I could get a suite for us if you and Alex want to come.”

He hesitates. He doesn’t want to leave our mama alone in the house. Phillip hasn’t come home yet, and we don’t know if he will. My chest is on fire; I struggle not to cry in front of him. I hadn’t said it before, but I needed to.

“Andrew…” I grumble. He looks at me. “I’m sorry y’all lost Bryan and Corey.”

He doesn’t respond; he can’t, and I understand. I don’t want to leave right now. But I need a break, and I worked hard for this.

Andrew wrinkles his nose and ignores my comment. I get it. It’s hard for him. He’s not ready to talk. Instead, we go around my room together, Andrew holding the flashlight, while I dig around my closet for a pair of wedges.

“Where’s Alex?” I ask, after we’d been looking for a while, both of us growing hot, tired, and increasingly frustrated.

“Alex is down the street, with that skinny, ugly girl who likes him,” he says. He bumps me on the shoulder with the palm of his hand. “There’s your other sandal.” He points to the farthest corner of my closet. “Right there.”

“Dude, did your voice get deeper?” he smacks his lips.

“Did yours?” I pinch his cheek, and he knocks my hand away. For a minute, we’d forgotten. Only for a minute.

“So you coming or not?”

“I’ll holla at you when you get back.”

When Blanca pulls up, Andrew and I are sitting outside.

“Love you, kid. I’ll be back tomorrow. And if not, I’ll call you and see what’s going on,” I say as I pick up my bags.

“Okay. Did you tell Mama?” He grabs one of my bags.

“I told her I was going with Blanca, but I didn’t tell her I was checking into a room. So roll with that story.”

He nods and walks me to Mr. de la Vega’s F-250.

Bee is pissed about a lot of things. She’s mad as hell at Beatrice’s fugazis and waits for the day they try us again. And though she dislikes the fact that I’ve resorted to hustling fake movies and CDs, she understands now why I do it and no longer speaks against it. She’s mad at Shannon’s punk ass for embarrassing me the way he has, because she’s convinced he likes me—more convinced than me, that’s for sure. She’s more disturbed than I am about the shit I’ve been navigating myself through. Any minute now she’ll devise a master plan to fix it all. I can’t wait, either; like me, she’s better at life when she’s pissed off.

As I heave myself into the extended cab of her father’s truck, Blanca smiles. “So I have an idea,” she says.

“What’s up?”

“You could stay at Tony’s instead of using your money for a room.”

I can tell by the look on her face that she’s excited about the idea. “He’s gone. I think he left last night,” she yammers on. “So I thought it would be cool if you invaded his space while he’s out of town.”

“He’s gone?” I frown. “When is he coming back?” I keep my questions short. I don’t want to seem like I’m desperate to know. He’d been making an extra effort with me lately, and I guess I appreciate it more than I realize.

“Leidys said he went to Mexico. She has the keys to his place. That’s how I know he left.”

“So…he won’t be there at all?”

“Nah, I wouldn’t stick you alone with him. How lame would that be?”

The idea of a sleepover with Uncle Tony, just the two of us, is way out there. Still, I have to ask.

“Why do you say it would be lame?”

“’Cause wouldn’t he, like, bore you to Mars?” She laughs. “What would y’all do? It’d have to be weird—like me and my daddy having a sleepover. Maybe it was cool when we were seven, but at seventeen going on twenty…” She grimaces. “I’ll pass.”