Run the Risk Page 13

  “I’d be happy to.”

  Mateo and I set out early the next morning. Putting in earbuds, I listened to my favorite playlist, trying to zone out. But it didn’t work. Memories of Saturday night in the motel room flashed through my brain. An infrared light would probably pick up the sparks of heat between us, along with the ice-cold patches of distance.

  Halfway through the trip, we stopped at Subway.

  He took a few bites of his footlong, then set it down, eyeing me. “You okay?”

  “Okay about what? The fact that my dad’s marrying someone I just met or that Alex’s life is in danger?”

  “Both.”

  I shrugged. “I like her. Hell, I might like her more than I like my own dad. So I’m okay with it. I just hope Alex is.” They’d announced the news at dinner last night. Alex had looked shocked, but not upset, exactly. We hadn’t had the chance to debrief about it afterward—not that he’d share his feelings with me anyway.

  “It could be a good thing,” Mateo said. “Alex will be more comfortable there knowing it’s a done deal between them.”

  I nodded, eating some baked chips.

  “As for the other thing.” His eyes met mine. “The Locos aren’t coming after you, in case you’re worried.”

  “Who said I was worried?”

  “No one. I just want you to know that if anyone talks about coming after you, I’ll hear about it.”

  I broke a large chip in half. “Because of the snitch. He keeps you informed.”

  “Yeah. He’s high up in the gang.”

  “Comforting.” I ate some of my sub, then wiped my mouth with a napkin. “If you ever get the chance, thank him for me. He took a risk warning us.”

  He nodded grimly. “If somebody had figured it out, he’d be dead already. But nobody did.”

  “Good. I don’t want him to get hurt, whoever he is.”

  “Me neither. I tried to talk him out of infiltrating the Locos in the first place. Even our leader thought it was a crazy plan. But he insisted.”

  “I wonder why.”

  Mateo sighed. “He’s got a death wish. Has to do with things he did in the past, or didn’t do. Guess he thinks if he can save other people, he can make it right. I don’t know. Anyway, you don’t need to be scared. He’ll keep us informed.”

  “That’s good.” I sipped my soda. “I’m not scared for myself, just for Alex.”

  “They won’t go crazy looking for him. He’s not worth it.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I’m right, trust me.”

  I must’ve made a doubtful sound, because he said, “What?”

  “I do trust you.” I splayed my hands. “But I have no idea why, considering I don’t even understand you. I thought I did for a while there, but I was fooling myself.”

  “I know.” He held my gaze, and a ripple of connection passed between us. “I don’t expect you to understand why I’m a Destino. You probably think I’m a hypocrite after what I said about the Reyes.”

  I didn’t respond. He knew what my answer would be.

  He fisted his napkin. “It’s been hard enough losing you, Grace. But losing your respect is worse. Maybe I can make you understand.”

  “You can try.”

  “I met a few of the Destinos in juvie. They weren’t Destinos then, just a group of guys who got together for protection. Those first few weeks, I was afraid for my life. It was like a microcosm of the street, everybody shoved in together like rats. Fights every day. Being a Reyes helped at times, but it also made some people hate me on sight. Anyway, there was this guy named X. Nobody knew his real name or his story. He invited me to join up with his guys. Normally he said he wouldn’t bring in a gang member, but he could tell I was cool.”

  “I see.”

  “I was in juvie for six months, and it took a while before I got out of the Reyes . . . and then, the hospital. But eventually I met up with X and the guys again. They’d formed a group that helped girls who’d been forced into the sex trade. They were righting wrongs. Helping people. They knew how I’d stood up to Toro, knew the Reyes had called me ‘Matador.’ The name stuck.” He looked up, trying to gauge my thoughts. “The Destinos needed me.”

  “So you wanted to help them, since they’d helped you.”

  “Yeah, but nobody pressured me. With the risks involved, they only wanted people who were sure about joining.”

  “And you were sure.”

  A bleak look came into his eyes. “I had nothing else to live for.”

  My heart hurt for him. It was hard to imagine how low he must’ve been back then. He’d lost everything. “What about now?”

  “It’s different now. I’ve got a future. A career. My own place and my own car. But I couldn’t have gotten back on track without them.”

  “I get it.” His choices, at least, made sense now. “Thanks for telling me.”

  He was studying me. “I guess it doesn’t change anything for us.”

  My heart thumped against my rib cage. It had changed something. His choice to join the Destinos didn’t seem so crazy anymore. It seemed rational. I took a breath. “You mentioned the risks involved. Are those risks you think I’d be okay with?”

  His gaze darted away from mine. I could tell he didn’t like my question. “No, I guess not.”

  “Then it doesn’t change anything,” I said. Could it never get easier between us?

  The flicker of hope in his eyes died out. “Guess we’d better hit the road.”

  THE GIFT

  THE NEXT MORNING I DRAGGED myself out of bed, downed two cups of coffee, applied makeup to try to look human, and took a bus to Compass.

  It was a rare overcast day. The sun had stayed in bed, and I wished I had too. I felt totally drained. As much as I wanted to see the kids, not to mention Kylie and Yolanda, I didn’t want to bring everyone down.

  But the strangest thing happened when I walked in the doors.

  Somebody yelled, “Gwaaaace!”

  A group of kids rushed at me, arms wide.

  I bent down to receive their hugs, and I remembered what I’d learned on many dreary days: the kids could always lift me up.

  After several hugs and kisses and I missed yous, Yolanda approached me. “How’s your brother?”

  “He’s doing better.” I gave her a look that said, It’s complicated. It’s ongoing. Yolanda nodded sympathetically and didn’t ask for more details.

  “Where’s Sofia?” I asked, looking around.

  “Safe space.” Yolanda gestured toward the toy cottage in the corner of the room, full of stuffed animals. Kids could go there if they ever needed some time alone—or if they felt sad or scared. While some kids were lap kids, crawling onto one of us for comfort, others preferred to have their own space.

  “Has she been spending a lot of time in there?” I asked, frowning.

  “More than usual since you’ve been away, but she’s all right,” Yolanda said.

  I went up to Sofia, knocking on the small red door of the cottage. “Look who’s back.”

  She didn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell if she was happy to see me.

  Damn it. All that progress.

  “Did Yolanda tell you how much I missed you last week?” I whispered.

  She nodded, holding on to her favorite stuffed animal, a purple teddy bear with big ears that she liked to whisper into.

  “Did anybody tell you why I wasn’t here last week?”

  She shook her head.

  “My brother got hurt. He had a big boo-boo right here.” I touched my head. “I had to take care of him so he would get better. Do you understand?”

  She nodded.

  “Would you like to come to circle time now? Kylie’s about to start a story. I think it’s the one about the bear who lost his underwear.”

  Was that a glimmer of curiosity? A spark of something?

  I reached out. “Will you hold my hand?”

  She looked at my hand, then at me. Her tiny finge
rs slipped into mine, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Instead of having Alex at home all the time, I was alone now. But there was peace in being alone. There was no one to cook for or clean up after. I didn’t have to worry about him going to school. Most of all, I didn’t have to worry about him doing God-knows-what with the Locos. He was safe in Atlanta with Carol Ann and Dad.

  I studied, uninterrupted, for my sociology exam and ended up with an A in the course. With that final mark submitted, I just had to wait to find out whether I’d be accepted into the ECE program next year.

  I called Alex every other night, and he seemed happy to chat. He liked Carol Ann’s cooking and was amazed at the overstuffed fridge. The neighborhood was nice and safe, and she’d even got him a membership at a kickboxing gym. True, he found Carol Ann nosy, and he didn’t like being asked to clean up after himself. But all in all, it sounded like he was enjoying Atlanta. He had more life in his voice than he’d had in a while.

  Although he’d never admit it, I suspected he missed me.

  I missed him, too.

  Two weeks after Alex’s escape from Miami, Animale posted on Alex’s Facebook page: Fuck da snitch, karma’s a bitch.

  I’d been sitting watching TV when I saw it pop up on his page. I called him right away.

  “You’ve got to freeze your pages. All of them. Now.”

  He was silent for a while. “There’s no point in freezing them. I’ll delete them.”

  “I think that’s a good idea.”

  We both knew what that meant. It meant letting go of his past. He’d been crafting his identity on those pages for years. In one click, they’d be gone.

  “I need to disappear,” he said. “Santo needs to disappear.” There was a quiet certainty in his voice. “It’s the only way.”

  “I’m really proud of you.”

  “Thanks. Hang on a sec. I’m deleting the pages right now.”

  I stayed on the phone with him as he did it.

  Afterward, he let out a breath. “Done. And, Grace?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How’d you see what Animale put on my Facebook page? I blocked you.”

  “I have my ways.”

  “Seriously. How’d you see it?”

  “Will you be mad if I tell you?”

  “No.”

  “You know that gorgeous girl who friended you a few months ago, Alexandra Chen? It’s a picture of my friend Kylie from Compass. I created the profile and sent you a friend request. Sorry, but your weakness for smokin’ hot girls was your downfall.”

  He laughed. “You catfished me!”

  “I did what I had to do.”

  “You owe it to me to introduce us one day.”

  “Sure. But she’s too old for you.”

  That night, I decided to write a poem about evil, about the many faces it wears. While I was writing, I had Animale in mind. The first time I met him, I caught the scent of a predator. It was too bad Alex had mistaken him for a friend.

  Seconds after I finished the poem, a text came up from Mateo: Smart to take down the pages.

  So he’d been monitoring Alex’s social media too. I shouldn’t be surprised. Mateo was always looking out for us.

  My heart ached. Since our talk on the way back from Atlanta, part of me wondered if I should try to accept that he was in the gang. But whenever I thought about it, a wave of anxiety came over me. Could I spend my days and nights worrying about him? Is that what I wanted for myself?

  No matter how many times I asked myself those questions, the answer was always no.

  I’d spent the last year desperate to regain control over my own life. And now, with Alex safe in Atlanta, it was finally happening. Independence was within my grasp. If all went well, I’d be going to college in September. I couldn’t put my future at risk to be with a gang member, no matter how much I loved him.

  And I couldn’t help but think that if he loved me enough, he wouldn’t ask it of me.

  “You haven’t forgotten what Monday night is, have you?” Feenix asked me the following Thursday at work.

  I thought about it. “It’s not your birthday, is it?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Enlighten me.”

  “It’s the last poetry slam of the year! Our top three finalists are going to the city finals.”

  “Oh.” I swallowed nervously. I hadn’t presented a poem last Monday and I’d missed the adrenaline rush. Although my poem was ready for next week, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be part of a competition.

  “I was going to do a poem about evil,” I said.

  “I know you like dark poetry, but evil?” She gave me a scrutinizing look. “You doing okay, sweetie?”

  I waved away her concern. “I’m fine.” She knew I was grieving Mateo. We’d talked about it a lot over the last couple of weeks. Nothing new there.

  “Well, evil can be awesome. I mean, in poetry. Not in real life. I can’t wait to hear your poem.”

  “I’m not sure if it’s good enough for a competition. Want to hear a couple of lines?” I took out my phone.

  “Hell, no.” She put up her hands. “Don’t spoil it for me. You know it’s good enough. Don’t you dare doubt yourself.”

  “All right.” I put my phone away. “Do you have a poem ready?”

  “Not yet. The Muse will speak to me when she’s ready.”

  “The Muse, huh? Sounds spiritual.”

  “Poetry is spiritual. It should be a registered freaking religion—the only religion I’d ever sign up for. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “We don’t write poems, Grace. We intercept them. We pluck them from the universe.” She reached into the air, as if picking an apple off a tree.

  I raised my eyebrows, not sure if she was messing with me.

  “Call it what you want. Hokey. New Agey. Quackers. Poetry’s not about stringing one word with another so it sounds pretty. It’s about channeling the truth. It might be my truth or a truth that doesn’t make sense to anybody but the guy with purple hair in the back row. But poetry rings true for someone. We’re just the messengers.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “You know I’m right.”

  “Have you thought about writing a poem about writing poems?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe I will. Let’s see what the Muse sends me.”

  I smiled. Reason number 562 why Feenix was awesome.

  Later that night, Luke called me into his office. He sat behind his desk, looking damned proud of himself.

  “What’s got you grinning?” I asked.

  “Nothing much . . . except this.” He handed me a small envelope. I slipped what looked like tickets out of it. My jaw dropped.

  Two Pitbull tickets. Box seats.

  “Holy, you’re so lucky! How’d you score these?”

  He shook his head. “No, you’re so lucky. They’re for you. You haven’t exactly made your love of Pitbull a secret around here.”

  “But these must’ve cost—”

  He put up a hand. “They didn’t cost me a thing. A friend of mine owns a security company. When he told me he was doing the Pitbull concert, I asked if he could hook me up.”

  I paused for a second. This gift was awesome—too awesome. Should I refuse to accept it? He wasn’t trying to reel me in, was he?

  He must’ve sensed my confusion. “There are no strings. Take a friend. Have fun. I know it’s been a tough time for you. And, Grace, I want you to know that I’m sorry for . . . you know. I really am. I hope we’ll always be friends.”

  “Me too.” I got a bit teary-eyed. “Thanks, Luke. This is so nice of you.”

  His eyes lit up. “It’s worth it for your smile. There’s one catch, though.” He took something from his drawer, and put two gold badges on his desk.

  “Backstage passes?”

  “Yes. The catch is that I want a picture of you with Pitbull to put on the wall. Don’t be shy
. I hear he’s a really chill guy.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Make it count,” Feenix coached me before the show. “Don’t forget, only three people make the city finals.”

  “Two,” I said. “You’re a shoo-in.”

  Her mouth kicked up at one side. I envied her confidence.

  She’d better make the finals. If she didn’t, there would probably be a riot.

  I stood at the back of Oz Kafé, scanning the room. There was a bigger than usual crowd tonight. Until that moment, I’d told myself I didn’t care about making the city finals. But suddenly I did.

  When my turn came, I walked to the front and felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time: optimism. Maybe I could do this.

  I could at least try.

  “A little something I’m working on,” I said, testing my voice in the microphone. I didn’t look directly at the judges, but Feenix had pointed them out to me—three hipsters at the back, two girls and a guy. I felt them look up.

  They say you can tell

  Evil

  By its smell

  The hideous funk

  Of sweet cologne.

  They say you can tell

  Deceit

  By the twinkle of green eyes

  The curl of its lips

  The flash of brilliant teeth.

  They say you can spot the lie

  By its vague explanation

  Its clever redirection

  The twist of your gut.

  And you

  You are a master of those ways

  You wear the guise of a friend

  Kindly

  Gladly

  Plotting my damnation.

  Pause, breathe, smile. The applause started.

  I didn’t look at the judges. I didn’t need their approval. I’d delivered my poem the best I knew how.

  Which meant I’d already won.

  I went over to sit with Feenix and Kenny. She gave me a you killed it fist pump.

  An hour later, Feenix did too. She killed it.

  It was after eleven by the time the last poet performed. I was nearly sprawled across the table with tiredness. There were too many poets tonight. Even the half-assed ones, the ones who rarely showed up, came tonight hoping to make the finals.