Run the Risk, Page 2

  She didn’t smile, but her eyes brightened, a ray of sunshine peeking out from the dark cloud of hair.

  I didn’t believe in playing favorites. But the reality was, some kids I liked, some kids drove me nuts, and some kids I simply loved, like Sofia. Life hadn’t been easy for her. I got the impression that her mom was more focused on her boyfriends than on her daughter. Her mom had said from the beginning that Sofia was no trouble, very independent.

  I didn’t see it that way. I saw a girl who was lonely and sad. She rarely smiled like the other kids, and wanted nothing more than to fade into the woodwork.

  But when she did smile, it was glorious.

  “Wow, Sofia!” Yolanda said as she breezed by a few minutes later. “Beautiful nails!”

  Yolanda Williamson was the beating heart that pumped life into this place. She wasn’t the type of director who sat in her office all day. She actually worked with the kids. I loved Yolanda and everything she stood for. My dream was to be like her—to run a day care while teaching classes in Early Childhood Education.

  When my college plan got screwed up last year, I’d spent the whole summer in a funk. Eventually I’d slapped some sense into myself. I wasn’t a sit on my ass, feel sorry for myself person, was I? I was a doer. If I couldn’t go to college in the fall, I had to think of something else. I’d decided to volunteer here four days a week. Not only would I be helping out Compass, I’d have more experience when I reapplied. I’d also redone a couple of courses to bring up my grades, and I just had one more class to go.

  Everything happens for a reason, I told myself. If I were in college right now, I wouldn’t be here with Sofia. She needed me to be with her.

  And maybe I needed to be needed.

  “First hand is done,” I said. “What do you think, glitter girl?”

  Sofia’s soft smile hit me in the chest. “More.”

  No playing favorites. Right.

  They say the human body can live without food for up to three weeks.

  I couldn’t live without caffeine for a day.

  Just when my energy crashed after working all day at Compass, I ducked into Dunkin’ Donuts to buy an extra large coffee with one cream and two sugars. Of course, by the time I got to the bus stop, I’d missed my bus.

  This was typical.

  After another fifteen minutes, I caught a bus to work. Cinema 1 was a four-screen theater that had opened in the 1940s. The decor was vintage—red carpet, velvet ropes, and brass—but the movies were not. You could always find the latest blockbusters here.

  Luke was at the door, greeting moviegoers. He nodded at me as I came in. Although he had long, shaggy blond hair, he was often compared to Vin Diesel due to his big build and deep voice.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I said.

  “It’s all right.” Since I’d been working here for almost two years, he knew about my life, and knew that some days I was coming straight from Compass. I hadn’t been lying when I’d told Mateo that Luke was a hard-ass—he was—but he could be understanding, too.

  I headed over to the pretzel booth. “Hey, girl,” I said to Feenix, who was restocking the pretzel shelf.

  She straightened up. Feenix was long and lean with a vine of thorny rose tattoos twirling down her right arm. She wore a small horseshoe nose ring, bright red lipstick, and no other makeup. She dual-majored in English Lit and Gender Studies at U of M and was a well-known slam poet on the Miami scene. People called her Feenix “the Fenom” with good reason.

  “Hey, hon,” Feenix said. “Mr. Security Guard’s here tonight.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I don’t need an update every time he shows up to work.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “Sorry to bitch.”

  “I’m used to it. Means you need to eat.” She used a gloved hand to grab me a jalapeño-cheese pretzel. “These are the freshest.”

  “Thanks.” I dropped my stuff and took a bite, feeling the gnawing in my stomach ease.

  Feenix served the next couple of customers while I ate, then we teamed up for the preshow rush. At twenty-one, she was only two years older than me, but she had the mom thing going on. We mom’ed each other, actually. We’d both lost our mothers—mine to cancer, hers to addiction. Although, according to Feenix, her mom’s addiction was to men more than alcohol. She’d turned to alcohol to drown her sorrows over the men who’d used her up and thrown her out.

  “We’ll need more sugar,” she said at one point. It was our secret code for customers with bad tattoos.

  I glanced at the man’s big, flabby white arms and spotted the offending tattoo: a long, curved eel with a cartoony happy face.

  Ick! What was he thinking?

  He wasn’t thinking, he was drinking, Feenix would say. I didn’t dare meet her eyes, or we’d both crack up.

  After serving the customer, I rearranged some of the pretzels. I spotted Mateo through the glass, and my pulse kicked up.

  “What can I get you?” I asked.

  “Something sweet. Any ideas?”

  Feenix made a strangled noise, and I shot her a look. He was just asking for a goddamn pretzel.

  “We’ve got chocolate dipped, lemon and sugar, cinnamon, raspberry swirl.”

  Mateo looked over the display case, considering the options. I felt my cheeks heat up for no reason. Couldn’t he choose already?

  “Cinnamon.”

  I grabbed it with a glove, then rang it through with the other hand.

  “Thanks.” He paid me, then walked off. He moved slow and sexy, like a jaguar. I couldn’t help but stare as he went.

  “I can’t believe you,” Feenix said.

  “What?”

  “You didn’t even ask him how he was doing. That’s cold, Grace. Cold.”

  “Was it?” I hadn’t meant to be cold. True, I hadn’t meant to be warm either.

  “What’d he do that was so bad? Let me guess—he dumped you?”

  The customers had tapered off. There was no avoiding this.

  “Not exactly. I dumped him. But only because he left me no choice.”

  “Ah, the reverse-dump. I understand.” Her dark brown eyes were knowing. “He cheat on you?”

  “No. Really, it was a long time ago.”

  “Looks like you’re still pissed.”

  “I’m not. I’m over it.”

  “Maybe, but your cheeks are bright red. You got a fever, sweetheart?” Her eyes sparkled wickedly. “You need to get some, honey. You’ll feel much better.”

  I sighed. “I’m not into random hookups, you know that.”

  “How about a not-so-random hookup?” She tapped her chin, glancing around the theater. “I have an idea.”

  I knew better than to trust her ideas.

  “I say you hook up with your ex.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Why wouldn’t you? It would be a great way to turn the tables, don’t you think? You could love him and leave him, baby. Full circle. Karma. Call it what you like.”

  Feenix was sick and tired of the way society screwed women over. It made for fierce poetry, that’s for sure. Equal pay, gender discrimination, rape culture—she’d find an issue and skewer it, hanging it out to dry for all to see.

  “There are so many things wrong with that idea. I don’t know where to start.”

  “Ah, but the beauty of sleeping with your ex is that he doesn’t add to your tally.”

  “My tally?”

  She glared at me. “You know what I’m talking about. The tally of sexual partners by which society applauds men and shames women.”

  My tally was two. Ironically, Mateo wasn’t even one of them. We’d held out not only because we were so young, but because back then, my virginity was something to be cherished. Guess the joke was on me, because that hadn’t been the case for the two losers I’d actually slept with. I’d thought I was in relationships, only to discover I’d gotten with players who didn’t know the meaning of the word.

  “Can we change the t
opic?” I asked.

  “Fine. But I can tell you’re getting heated up at the thought, sweet cheeks. I say you burn it off through sex. Break free of the chains, baby!”

  I pressed my hands to my cheeks, laughing.

  Customers came up occasionally over the next hour, but it was near the nine o’clock show that things really picked up. Friday and Saturday nights were always busy, with masses of neighborhood kids out to see the latest blockbuster.

  Feenix nudged me. “Something’s starting in the lineup outside theater three.”

  I followed her eyes and saw two guys staring each other down. There was a tall, lean guy with tattoos everywhere but his face, and a thick, denim-wearing biker.

  Puffed chests. Pride on the line. The international signs of a fight about to start.

  “The Locos and the Brothers-in-Arms,” Feenix whispered.

  Those two gangs hated each other, and yet apparently neither wanted to miss the first weekend of Dwayne Johnson’s new action flick.

  My stomach clenched. Where was Luke? I hadn’t seen him in an hour or two. Usually his presence kept shady people in line, if it didn’t scare them off completely.

  Tattoo was up in Biker Guy’s face. They were shouting at each other. Feenix grabbed my arm.

  Tattoo shoved Biker Guy.

  Biker Guy stumbled back, then took a swing at Tattoo, who leaped aside, dodging it. Biker Guy plowed forward, smashing him into the wall. Tattoo’s head hit the wall with a thud that reverberated through the theater. The people in line screamed, running from the scene, stumbling over one another.

  In a flash, Mateo rushed into the middle of the fight.

  What the hell was he doing? He was security, not Superman. He didn’t have a prayer of handling this without getting stomped. He should be calling 911—though I was sure there were at least two dozen people doing that right now.

  Mateo grabbed Biker Guy’s arm, deftly twisting it behind him and shoving him away from the other guy. Tattoo, who’d regained his senses, was frenzied now. He whipped something out of his waistband, and my heart stopped.

  “Gun!” I shouted, though I was too far away for Mateo to hear.

  But Mateo already knew. He ducked low, punching the guy in the stomach, and used a karate chop to smash the gun from his hand. Tattoo grabbed his midsection and launched forward to grab the gun, but Mateo was quicker. He swept it up off the ground and smacked Tattoo over the head with it. Tattoo crumpled to the floor.

  I blinked. How had Mateo learned to move that fast?

  Four cops hurried into the theater. Mateo intercepted them, pointing out Tattoo on the floor. Biker Guy had already hightailed it out of there.

  “I can’t believe Mateo got in the middle of that!” I said, my pulse pounding. “He must be insane. The guy with the tattoos had a gun!”

  “I didn’t see it, but I’m not surprised. The Locos are hard-core.” Feenix looked at me. “Insane or not, your ex is a freaking hero.”

  Luke thundered into the theater five minutes later, a storm cloud about to burst. Everyone stayed out of his way. He’d be furious that a gang fight had gone down in his theater. He prided himself on it being a safe place for young people and families to hang out—the type of place he’d never had as a kid.

  It was just after nine, and the concession area was quiet now, except for the occasional boom of action scenes. There were two theaters full of people who probably had no clue about what had gone down. Those who’d been lined up for the Dwayne Johnson movie had mostly run out during the fight. A few had stuck around for the show, and some had come back once the coast was clear, asking for refunds or free passes.

  Luke approached the last remaining cop, who was still talking with Mateo. Luke’s face switched from anger to relief to anger again. I saw the exact moment Mateo told him about the gun because Luke went deadly still. His head dropped as he took in the fact that his theater had almost been the site of a shooting. He placed a hand on Mateo’s shoulder.

  Luke thanked the cop, then headed for his office. Mateo went back to his usual walk-around, his eyes extrasharp. Was he expecting one of the gang members to come back?

  As the night wore on, Feenix and I weren’t as chatty as usual. The fight had fazed us. When she went for break, Mateo came up to the pretzel booth. I couldn’t help but think he’d planned it that way so he could talk to me alone.

  Or maybe he just wanted a pretzel.

  “Hey,” he said, unsmiling. “You okay?”

  “Am I okay? What about you? I saw the whole thing.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You can’t be fine. Some guy pulled a gun, and you . . . Hulk-smashed him! Honestly, what were you thinking? He could’ve shot you!”

  He blinked, as if my rant had surprised him. My face heated up. He must have thought I was crazy for going off on him when I should’ve been thanking him.

  But then a light came into his eyes. He smiled crookedly, and my heart skipped a beat. “Guess that means you still care.”

  I scoffed and diverted my gaze, feeling exposed. “All I’m saying is that Luke doesn’t pay you enough for you to put your life on the line. And what if that Loco guy comes back?”

  “I’m not worried. He was too high to be holding grudges. He won’t even remember who smacked him down. If he hadn’t been high, he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to pick the fight in the first place.”

  Relief spilled through me. Clearly Mateo knew what he was talking about.

  I realized I didn’t know the guy standing in front of me. I had no clue what he’d lived since he’d walked out of my life or how he’d learned to fight like that. Had the Reyes taught him?

  There was a darkness in him now. I wondered if the scar on his face was matched by several more on the inside.

  I had the urge to reach out to him—to know all the ways that he’d changed. I was so damned curious it was killing me. But instead I said, “I guess you deserve a free pretzel for everything you did tonight.”

  His eyes glittered. “I’ll take what I can get.”

  LIVE WIRE

  WHEN I WALKED UP TO my house later that night, I was relieved to see lights on. Alex was home. And his Loco friends weren’t there—even better.

  I found him in the living room watching TV with a slice of leftover pizza and a glass of milk.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey.” His eyes didn’t veer from the TV. He might as well have said, Go away.

  “I brought some pretzels. Day-old, but still chewy.” I put the paper bag on the coffee table.

  He nodded, like that was good news. Alex ate so much when he was home that I wondered if he ate at all when he was running the streets with his friends. He’d probably survived the last forty-eight hours on chips and soda.

  “Drama at the theater tonight,” I said. “Some Loco got into a fight with a biker. The Loco pulled a gun.”

  He looked up. A fight was sure to get his attention. “Oh yeah? Anybody get shot?”

  “No, thank God. I can’t believe that Loco was stupid enough to bring a gun to a movie theater. Think of what could’ve happened.”

  Alex shrugged, as if it had nothing to do with him. No matter how many times I’d confronted him, he still wouldn’t admit that his friends were members of the Locos gang. My only hope was that he wasn’t a full member yet. I’d heard it took a year or more to get past the rookie stage, and he didn’t have the L tattoo yet.

  “You wouldn’t believe who smacked down the guy with the gun,” I said.

  “Your boss, what’s his name?”

  “No, not Luke. It was Mateo. He just got hired this week, doing security. You remember him?”

  “Of course,” he said, as if it was a dumb question. “So how’d he do the takedown?”

  I explained the fight, the gut punch and the gun smack. Alex was riveted. “Mateo’s always been pretty badass.”

  I remembered how he used to idolize Mateo, and sadness swept through me.

  “Security�
��s a cool job,” Alex said, “getting to beat people down and shit.”

  “Well, it’s just a temporary thing. Mateo’s going to Miami-Dade to be a paramedic.”

  Alex thought about that. “I guess you learn to drive really fast and crazy, huh? And then you’re the first on the scene after an accident with all the blood and carnage. Sounds freaky.”

  “You could do something like that if you wanted. I wonder what credits you’d need. I could ask Mateo for you.”

  “Don’t waste your time.” Any talk of school meant automatic shutdown. He looked at me suspiciously, as if I’d warmed him up just to bug him about school.

  “The school called and said you cut the last three days,” I told him.

  He hissed out a breath. “I told you, if they call, tell ’em I’m sick.”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “If they think I’m lying for you, they’re gonna call CPS. They’ve threatened to do that before.”

  “Who did?”

  “Armstrong.”

  “She’s a dumbass.” He hated that dean so much. He hated them all. “You’re nineteen. They can’t mess with us.”

  “Who told you that—your friend Animale? I’m not your legal guardian. Dad’s the parent and he’s gone half the time. I’ve been keeping that under wraps as much as I can, but they’re wising up. Without Aunt Gloria looking in on us . . .” I sighed. Aunt Gloria and Uncle Baz had been there for us after Mom died. They’d lived around the corner up until a year ago, when they’d moved to Jacksonville for work. As much as I loved them, I couldn’t help but think they’d been waiting for me to turn eighteen so they could move away. “CPS would never give me guardianship. No way.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re always cutting school! If I can’t make you go, that makes me an incompetent guardian. They’d be right, Alex. You don’t listen to me.”

  He hung his head, as if he was actually thinking about this. As if he was actually present for this conversation. He waved his hand. “Fuck it.” He grabbed the pretzels and milk and headed up to his bedroom.

  “Leave me alone,” he called over his shoulder in case I thought about following him upstairs.