Of Hustle and Heart (8 page)

“I’ll get her tea,” she says. “Go ahead and hear your mom out.”

“I’m gonna go put on a shirt first,” I say, and Whitney nods. I cut through the living room, pass by my mother and kiss her on the check, something I’ve done since I was twelve. She smiles and pats me on the back.

When I come back into the living room, Mother is sitting on the arm of John’s chair, waiting for Whitney and me. I glance into the kitchen and see Whitney holding Mother’s cup of hot tea. She holds the cup under her nose, blowing on it before she takes a sip from it. She lowers the cup and parts her lips enough to allow a thick lump of saliva to drool into my mother’s tea. She giggles and then picks up a spoon and stirs vigorously.

“Your tea is ready,” she calls out, tossing the spoon into the sink. Then she notices me, wide eyed, stunned.

“Zack, you want to give this to your mom?” she says, passing the cup.

My lungs and voice were caught somewhere between my heart and my head. Speechless, I couldn’t breathe.

“What the hell was that?” I ask. My eyes cloud; I take the cup from her. It was the most messed-up thing I’d ever seen her do.

CHAPTER 13

ZINA

I
toss my mama’s Dr. Pepper into the icebox. The house is silent; the twins are who knows where. I go straight to my room and lock the door. I’m scared as shit right now, and I want to call Blanca. It always feels so right to confide in her. Tears stream down my face. I sit down in the middle of my bedroom floor, and the urge to crumble into pieces is a lot stronger than me. I’m sad when I realize I’m grieving alone for Corey and Bryan, gunned down, their bodies left dying on the corner of Kingwood and MLK. Their families will miss them, and this will fuck up the twins’ world. I cry for my little brothers and the pain they will experience tomorrow.

I fool myself into thinking I’m doing a good job of holding myself together, as my thoughts turn to Shannon sitting next to me on the ledge at school. I’ll write him a note and slip it to him first thing in the morning. I’m so tired, and it’s been a long week. I rub my nose as it begins to run. My body shakes. I muffle my sobs with my hands.

“Holy heck,” I mutter. “I can’t deal with this shit.”

I throw my backpack into the closet after I take out my hustle money and leave my school clothes in a pile in the corner. I count one hundred sixteen dollars, all in fives and ones. I’ll have the money to pay the light bill by Friday, but I realize that I absolutely don’t want to do this shit again tomorrow, especially not at Ms. Kim’s store; it’s a murder scene. I won’t be able to, anyway. The law and the yellow tape is gonna be everywhere tomorrow.

My phone’s ringing, but I haven’t answered it. In fact, I haven’t even checked to see who is calling. My mama knocks on my door.

“I’m glad you brought your butt home,” she says through the door.

I dare not open it. Just one look at me, and she’ll know I’ve been crying. “I’m here! Your soda’s in the icebox.”

After I hear her bedroom door shut, I know she’s down for the night. I get up, dig around in my dresser for a T-shirt to sleep in, and debate taking a shower in the morning.

“Zeenah!” Andrew, one of the twins, sings at my bedroom door.

“What, man?” I yell at him, angry because I’m crying again.

“Blanca’s uncle is here. And don’t be hollerin’ at me, girl!”

Huh? Really?
Then I hear muffled voices through my bedroom door. I creep close enough to eavesdrop.

“How long has she been home?” Tony asks.

“I heard her come into the house around six, or something like that. She’s been here for a while.”

I jump back from the door when Tony knocks on it.

“Stop beating on my door!” I scream.

“Well, hurry the fuck up!” Andrew yells.

“Zina, come out now,” Tony says. “You’ve kept us waiting long enough.”

I open the door just enough to peek out.

“Finally,” Andrew says, throwing up both hands and walking back into the bedroom he shares with Alex.

But Tony notices my tired, bloodred eyes and tearstained face. He stares at me for about two seconds before he pushes the door open, forcing me to back away from it.

“What happened?” he asks. He uses his inside voice, speaking just loud enough for only me to hear. “Did someone touch you?”

The thought of it makes him madder than he could ever explain. His nostrils flare, and his eyes pierce me, searching for the truth. He clears his throat while he waits for me to answer. I take a deep breath and shake my head. I don’t want to speak, because I know I’ll lose it if I open my mouth.

“No one touched you?”

I shake my head again.

“Then what happened? Tell me, Zina.”

My bottom lip quivers. “I can’t say.” I sniff back more tears.

Tony’s serious face melts into Jell-O. He steps toward me, closing the door but leaving a crack in it. He pulls me over to the bed, kneeling down in front of me, rubbing my calves.

“Zina, what happened? I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me.”

“You can’t fix it.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“That guy…the ones who were arguing at the store…”

“Yeah, go ahead,” he says. “What happened?”

“He shot them.” I sink to the floor next to him.

“Shot who?”

“Bryan and Corey. Andrew and Alex’s friends. They’re dead.”

“Are you sure?” he whispers.

“I saw their bodies. They twitched and then fell. There was blood everywhere.” I burst into tears, curling into a fetal position.

“Shhhh.” Tony strokes my hair and tries to comfort me.

“There was a guy in the car with the dude who did the shooting,” I tell him. “He saw me. The one in the passenger seat pointed at me before I ran.”

Tony’s eyes narrow. “He pointed at you?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you ever seen the guy before?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“Did they see which way you ran?”

“I—I don’t really know.” I sniff and pull my legs into a butterfly position. He scoots closer to me.

“I’m sorry you saw what you saw.” His voice was like a lullaby; it made me sleepy.

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“You’re lying.” I look at him. “Chica…if it wasn’t that bad, then why are you crying?”

“I’m tired.”

“Do you feel safe?” he asks, scooting closer, my knee resting on his thigh. “Do you?”

“I don’t know.” I rest my head against the edge of my bed.

“You could come home with me,” he says. “Would that make you feel safe?”

Nothing would make me feel safer.

I sit in my room for the next two nights, wondering if they recognized me or if they know who Andrew or Alex are. Have they been looking for me? Uncle Tony is this tough guy. He has no problem going physical, or worse if it’s necessary. Antonio is equipped and prepared to do bodily harm. I thank heaven for him.

CHAPTER 14

ZACARIAS

“S
aw me what?” Whitney says, hunching her shoulders. “Why’d you pour it down the sink?”

“Because you spit in it!” I lower my voice. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I can tell from the look in her eyes that she is about to deny it. I let her.

“No, I didn’t! I just blew on it,” she says. She relaxes a little, as though she has come up with a decent cover. “I didn’t want it to be too hot.”

“What other kinda warped shit do you do when you think no one is looking?” My face twisted in disgust, I turn my back and head for the front door.

“It’s time for you to go,” I say. “Ma, you too. Time to go. C’mon.”

Once they’re outside, I slam the door behind them.

Two days have passed, and my anger is still fresh. I’m not mad at anyone in particular. I convince myself that I am the only one to blame for my failed relationship with Whitney. If I allow myself to cast blame on her or acknowledge that I’ve been dating a closeted sociopath for the past eighteen months, I won’t even be able to look at this woman. And I want to be able to look at her and be in love with what I see…like I was two days ago. I can’t stand hating her, so I eat it all on my own.

An hour ago, I told John what happened—over the phone in Rico’s back office, with the door locked. He went dead on the other end. Silent. Then he chuckled.

“What?” he said after he’d stopped laughing.

“She spit in Mom’s cup and gave it to me to give to her.” I was whispering; I didn’t know why.

“That chick is loony! What did you do?”

“She had to go after that. I mean, that’s some
beyond
disrespectful shit, bro.”

“I told you…rotten. Not to mention childish, deceitful, weird, nasty, and crazy as hell.” I could hear the frown in John’s voice. “You should’ve let Mom slap the crap out of her when she had the chance.” I don’t respond. “Cancel that girl, Zack, and get you a new one. She might look good, but who needs that shit?”

And that’s the thing. I haven’t canceled Whitney yet, even though I think I should. It’s hard because I never thought I’d be breaking up with her over something as backward as this. I have to admit that I’m afraid to lose her; I don’t know why. I invested a lot in this, in her, and making her happy, so I don’t want to walk away. I don’t think anyone will ever love me the way she does. I’ll probably take her back. I believe in second chances.

CHAPTER 15

ZINA

S
hannon has played varsity basketball for Albert Chesney since we were sophomores, and every year since, the team has made it to the play-offs. But I don’t usually go. Now I’m here in the stands at the RGS stadium with Blanca, because she told me Shannon asked her to make sure I came. We sit together at midcourt, watching the two teams battle it out for a chance at championship status. The score is close: thirty-two to thirty-three in the opposing team’s favor with less than three minutes left. I’m nervous for Shannon. I want him to win so badly; every time the other team scores, I curse under my breath. When the ref calls a personal foul on Shannon, giving the other team an opportunity to inch further ahead on the scoreboard, I lose it. I’m on my feet and yelling like a maniac.

“What tha…c’mon! What the fuck, man!” Screaming at stuff helps me deal with the horror that is become my life. I’m paranoid all the time now. If life was crapped up and stressful before the shooting…well, it sucks ass now.

When I sit back down, Blanca leans back, amusement plastered all over her narrow face. “Um hmm! You’re gettin’ pretty excited about this game, Zee,” she smirks. “No wonder Shannon wanted you here. You’re his biggest cheerleader.”

“He has a girlfriend for all that,” I snap, and laughter creases Blanca’s eyebrows.

“Beatrice is not you,” she says, “and Shannon sees the difference.” She nudges my arm.

“If he had to choose…don’t you wonder who he would pick?”

Bee’s comments have me lost in thought. Her question is a tough one and puts me in an uncomfortable position. I’m doubting Beatrice’s hold on Shannon, and this gives me hope in something that I don’t trust. It’s straight up embarrassing and lame to admit that you want another girl’s boyfriend. I’ll be judged and labeled pathetic—or worst, thirsty. The asshole boys, who, in reality, are secret fans of mine, will call me a slut for days. I’m not afraid to tell Blanca that I’ve developed a crush on Shannon, but somewhere between letter number four and the senior picnic, I’m afraid that some other kid sitting around us might eavesdrop our conversation.

“Shannon and I are cool,” I say. “He’s my homie, and I’m gonna cheer for him.” I smile at my absolute truth. Shannon and I are homies, and I always stand by my homies.

“He’s going with Beatrice, but it’s obvious he likes you,” Blanca says. “I’m telling you, Zee, he’s way too concerned with
everything
about you,” she whispers into my ear. “He likes you.”

She looks at me and throws her slender arm over my shoulder and scoots over enough to lean on me. She always does that. I swear this closeness is the most comfortable thing in the world to both of us. We sit in the stadium—hugged up and surrounded by noise—and watch Shannon and the rest of the Albert Chesney Eagles hustle like shit to score six more points before time expires. Shannon’s face is red. He looks good running up and down the court with his game face on, aggressively calling the shots. The light of passion suits him.

Goddamn, goddamn.

I shake my head. I
want
Beatrice’s boyfriend, a piece of carrot cake, and some chicken nachos. Tonight, in that order.

The entire Albert Chesney community jumps to their feet when Shannon sinks a three-pointer from Chesney’s side of the court. The crowd roars, fists pumping in an exciting display of school spirit.

I scream for Shannon like I should’ve screamed for Corey and Bryan. I couldn’t make a sound for them then; now’s my chance. I roar and yell with a crazy passion tinged with sorrow. And Blanca is right there with me, always, screaming just as loud.

Time expires, and Chesney’s Eagles lose by one point, ending their season one game shy of the championship. Shannon has played his last high-school game. It’s a done deal. I’m curious about how he feels about it—and how he feels about me; I concoct a plan to find out.

It’s unspoken and mutual between Shannon and me that we restrict our conversations and interactions to our trigonometry class. No more hollerin’ at each other in the hallways or at lunch. And because of this, our letters to each other have gotten longer—between four and six pages, front and back. His last one to me was yesterday, and at the top of the page, he noted that he’d been writing to me for a whole day. After I read it, I dreamed about going to prom with him, us losing our virginity to each other…

Anyway, I never try to gain Shannon’s attention when Beatrice is around; I’m just too cool to be fighting over boys. Besides, a boy knows whether he wants a girl or not. You ain’t gotta fight for his attention. My plan is to simply spit it out and confess—to just tell Shannon he should pick me. And I’ll put myself in front of him as often as possible so he can.

It was announced before the game started that everyone was going to Rico’s after the game—kinda like an after party. This is still set to happen. Perfect.

As Blanca drives down McKinney Avenue toward Rico’s, she asks how I’m doing. We haven’t talked about the shooting; even I don’t want to. It makes me think about my family, my little brothers. Corey’s funeral is tomorrow. His wake is tonight. I skipped it to come watch Shannon play, but Andrew and Alex’s grief has been with me all evening. I carry it as if it’s my own.

“The other night, though…” Blanca says, her voice softer than I’d ever heard. “You good, Zina? I don’t want you to be scared all the time because of all that madness.”

I’m not good. I went to the game because I hoped it would help me forget for a little while…and it did. For the last four hours, I thought only of Shannon; I only saw his face.

“I’m good,” I lie.

“Uncle Tony was freaked the fuck out.” She laughs at the thought of our badass uncle being bothered by anything. But her laughter grieves us both.

“He was?” I don’t know why I’m surprised, but I am.

“Yeah, girl. He didn’t tell me anything about it, though.” She pauses for a second as she swerves her black Jeep into Rico’s parking lot. “I heard him talking to Leidys about it.”

Bee slams on the breaks and whips into the first parking spot she sees. “He said he didn’t like seeing you so scared and that he wants to find the guy.”

“What guy?”

“The one who saw you.”

“The one who saw me or the murdering motherfucker?”

She shrugs. “Shit, Zee. Both, I guess.”

“It really does scare me to think about it, you know,” I say as Blanca checks her makeup in the rearview mirror. She smiles, but it’s a weak one, meant only to hide her fear. “One of them saw me…I can’t believe it.”

“That scares Tony too,” she says. “So I think you’re smart to be scared. If you were walking around like everything was chill, I’d think something was wrong with you. Don’t worry, though.”

“Why not?”

“Because Uncle Tony…Don’t you trust him?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s looking into it. Nothing will happen. You know he won’t let it.”

I should be relieved, but I’m not.

It’s Friday night, and Rico’s is packed. The hostess tells us there’s a forty-five minute wait, and then Bee nudges my arm.

“There’s Rocky over there.” She nods toward a table in the far corner of the dining area, right outside the bar.

I haven’t seen Shannon yet, and I begin to wonder if he’ll show. I’m sure he’s totally pissed about losing the game; he has to be. The anxiety of trying to figure out what I should do or say to cheer him up is a lot to deal with. Plus, I have to tell him what I want to happen between us. The thought of confessing any sort of romantic feelings to a boy—especially one as tall and talented and handsome as Shannon Smith—makes me want to vomit. We’re already cool with each other, but the possibility
of his rejection…I can’t even stand the thought.

Blanca and I head for Rachel’s table, and I’m surprised to see her sitting alone.

“Where is everybody?” Blanca asks.

Rachel shrugs. “On the way, I guess. Can it be May already? I’m ready to graduate.”

“Well, what’s the holdup?” I say. “I thought everyone was going to be here.”

“Girl,” she says, “I don’t know. Maybe it’s got something to do with Beatrice being an absolute douche bag. She and her boyfriend were going at it after the game.”

My ears perk up as Bee glances over at me, intrigued.

“What were they fighting about?” I ask.

“I don’t even know, Zina,” Rocky says. “Beatrice picks fights with him for no reason. It’s, like, totally stupid.”

Rocky dips a tortilla chip into a small bowl of salsa and nibbles at it. “Poor Shannon, spending most of his time having to check his GF.”

Blanca’s eyes almost pop out of her head. “He checks her? What? He never tells her anything!” Blanca laughs at Rocky’s claim. “I’ve never ever seen it happen. He might give her some crazy side-eye for saying something dumb, but Beatrice calls the shots in that bad romance.”

But Rocky shakes her head. “No, nuh-uh, Bee. Shannon doesn’t let Beatrice run around doing whatever she wants. I’ve heard him literally tell her to sit her ass down somewhere.” Rocky damn near chokes on her ice water at the memory of it. “For real!” She laughs. “I have classes with both of them.”

“
Ooh really
, he tells her to sit
down…such a badass,” Blanca says. Her sarcasm is hilarious. Rachel rolls her eyes.

A waiter, an average-height, dark man with thick eyebrows, appears, ready to take our order.

“Do y’all want to stay? What if no one shows?” Bee asks.

Shannon might show up, and I don’t want to miss him. “We stay,” I say and hand my menu to Blanca. “Order something big enough for the three of us to share.”

Shannon and Beatrice are treading in dangerous water, with sharks like me waiting.

“What do y’all want to eat?” Bee asks as she studies the menu.

“Hmm…I’m eating light,” Rocky says, smiling into the camera on her smartphone.

Seconds later, I get an IG alert on my phone from the @princess_rocky, tagging me in a photo. I smile at the photo because it shows Blanca and me in the background, minding our business, while Rocky poses effortlessly.

I look up from my phone to see Beatrice walk in, three of her faux friends in tow and no Shannon in sight.

I’m not going to approach Beatrice, but I find myself staring at her, trying to gauge her emotional state. She laughs and flirts with everyone, as usual. She whispers to her friends as if her secrets are more important than mine or anyone else’s, and she’s a rock, ’cause I can’t tell if shits wrong with her or not. I can’t help it as I upchuck a nice pile of word vomit.

“Beatrice’s cappin’ ass,” I say, spitting the words at no one in particular.

I wonder if Shannon will even bother to come to Rico’s. Beatrice looks pretty happy, and if they were fighting, then maybe she won, and he won’t come because he knows she’ll be here.
But what about me, Shannon? I want you here. I want you to come. I’m not like your girlfriend—I need you here.
I shift in my chair as I try to think of a not-too-obvious-but-totally-flirtatious, I-want-you-now-but-not-too-much, “sexrageous”-but-PG-13 text to send.

Blanca notices the shift in my mood and tries to tame it. She raps on the table. “Zina! What’s up for your G-day?” she asks, referring to my upcoming birthday at the end of May. I forget about Beatrice for a minute, but Shannon stills burns high in the back of my mind.