Before, After, and Somebody In Between (26 page)

I haul my feet up into the chair. “I don’t remember.”

“Oh, I think you do.”

“You don’t know anything about it!”

Zelda tilts back in her chair and plays with her rings, watching me closely, waiting for me to explain. I stare at my hands, tracing the calluses on my fingers, the scar on my thumb.

“I knew something was wrong,” I hear myself say. “I heard all these sirens.”

“Did you hear the shots?”

“No. I heard fireworks.”

“You heard gunshots, Martha. Those boys were shooting up your house. It was a dangerous situation, and it was dark, and it was snowing—”

“And I heard everyone screaming,” I whisper back.

“Were you scared?”

“Yeah,” I admit.

“Why?”

“I knew… I just kind of knew something bad was happening…”

“And?”

“I wanted to go see. I wanted to help.”

“You wanted to help,” Zelda repeats quietly. “You were scared to death, and still you climbed up a fire escape in the middle of the night with no coat on, no shoes, in below-freezing weather, with sirens and police cars and people screaming?” I nod, and ridiculously burst into tears. “Well. That really doesn’t sound very cowardly to me.”

I can’t answer because I’m crying too hard. And when she adds, “You must have loved him a lot,” it only makes me blubber a thousand times worse.

43

I need some time by myself to take this all in. Richard has hundreds of classical music CDs, and I play one after another, huddled for hours in the music room with only Taffy beside me. I remember when Jerome told me what Grandma Daisy likes to say, how if you don’t talk out your miseries, they eat you alive.

I do feel better, and I only wish I could’ve told Zelda more. Like, would she still think I’m so brave if she knew about the money, if she knew the real reason Bubby is dead?

Probably not.

The last CD ends, a piano sonata by Chopin. I pick through the shelf again and whip in my breath when I find Jacqueline du Pré and Elgar’s
Cello Concerto in E Minor.
I wiggle it briefly in my hand, trying to decide—do I really want to hear this again, or will it make me remember other things I don’t want to remember?—and jump when I notice Nikki standing behind me.

“I saw a movie about her,” she says, nodding at the CD. “That
girl was so-o off the wall, and she died a horrible, horrible death. I cried at the end, even though it kind of grossed me out.”

Well, thanks. This is not what I needed to know. “Did you want me for something?”

“Oh, yeah.” With a wicked gleam, she pulls her hand out from behind her back and holds out the phone. “For you.”

I snatch it away, figuring it’s either Faith or Chloe—but no, it’s Shavonne. And here I thought she’d never speak to me again. “Hi, what’s up?”

“Girl, same old shit. What’s up with you?”

“Not much,” I fib airily, then cover the mouthpiece as Nikki hovers at my shoulder. Damn, why didn’t I give Shavonne my cell phone number? “Do you mind?”

“Oh, gosh, not at all.” With a sunny smile, Nikki flits out.

Silence. Should I ask about Shavonne’s mom, or wait for Shavonne to bring it up? I never know if she’s going to spaz out on me.

“You still seeing that guy?” Shavonne asks, radar zooming in. “No. He dumped me.” My voice cracks and I have to lean into the wall.

“No way! That dickhead. What happened?”

“It didn’t work out,” is all I can say.

“Well, forget it, sister-girl. You way better off without his sorry white ass. That faggoty rich boy don’t deserve you no way.”

And this, I know, is why I truly love Shavonne. She knows what I need to hear and she always says it. Not “I hope you made him use a rubber, you moron,” or whatever Zelda meant by that protection remark.

But then she asks, “Can I come over?”

“You mean like over here?”

“Girl, I am serious. If I don’t get out of this house now and away from Aunt Bernice, I swear to God I’m gonna lose my fuckin’ mind.”

Right, and exactly how would I explain her to Nikki? Danny, as far as I know, hasn’t blown my cover because if Nikki knew, the whole school would be buzzing.

“Shavonne, I don’t know. I got a paper due tomorrow, and a science test, and—”

Call-waiting beeps, I put her on hold, and—omigod!—it’s Danny. Like somebody kicked me in the gut, I can’t draw a single breath.

“Hi.” He sounds surprised, like what, he forgot I live here? “Can I talk to Nik?”

Not me. Nikki.

“Hold on,” I croak, and switch back to Shavonne. “I have to hang up. I got another call.”

“Screw that,” Shavonne snarls. “You’re talking to me!”

Yes, but it’s Danny! This might be my last chance.

“You there?” Shavonne booms in my ear. “ ’Cause I really,
really
gotta talk to you about something—”

Tick-tock-tick-tock.
“Look,” I plead. “This is really important. I swear I’ll call you right back.”

“Aw, don’t waste your precious time.”
Slam!
She does it to me again.

I click the button, but by now Danny’s gone. I wait for him to call back…and wait and wait…and when he finally does, Nikki manages to grab the phone first. From her one-sided conversation, I know there’s a party tonight, and I seethe with such jealousy, I start to see double.

If Shavonne hadn’t held me up, would Danny have talked to me? Given me a chance to explain?

Now I’ll never know.

…

Instead of calling Shavonne back, I tackle my homework, figuring I’ll give her a call as soon as I wrap it up. Compared to Waverly, Jefferson was a piece of cake, and now, for the first time in a long time, I actually have to study. I can’t find my science notebook, so forget about tomorrow’s quiz, and I haven’t even started my paper for English.
The Scarlet Letter
? Puh-lease. Some classic! This book is unreadable.

So unreadable, in fact, that I fall asleep with my face in page fifty-seven—and then I’m jerked back into consciousness by the
Swan Lake
overture, booming at top volume from Nikki’s room. Twelve-fifteen? Is she insane?

Outraged, I jump up, rush into the bathroom, and hammer on her door. “Ex-cu-use me, but do you mind turning that down?”

“Hey, Gina-Gina.” I hold my breath as she blows booze fumes up my nostrils. “Chill out, already.” She hangs onto the door till I manage to slam it. Her answer to this? Crank up the music even louder.

I perch on my bed with my fists smashed over my ears, trying to grasp the fact that Nikki, perfect Nikki, Miss Walk-on-Water Nikki, is smashed out of her skull. When I can’t stand the racket any longer, I hop back up and plow into her room. “You either shut that thing off or I’m gonna throw it out the window. I’m tired, Nikki!”

“Jesus!” She slaps off the stereo and roughly shoves me back into the bathroom. “Anybody ever tell you what a pain you are? Go back to bed then, you whiny little baby. Nighty-night!”

Maybe it’s because I’m still half-asleep. Or maybe it’s a flash of my hereditary insanity. Or maybe I’m so pissed off that she had enough nerve to put her
hands
on me, I have to say something to keeping from ramming her ass right back.

Whatever the reason, I give a pretty clear-cut reply: “Fuck you.”

Wow! Instant rampage. “What? What? How dare you say that to me? Who do you think I am, one of your slimy ghetto pals?”

Ghetto pals?

“I know who you were talking to on the phone tonight,” she rages on. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you,
Martha?
Well, guess what? I know all about you, how you’re nothing but a slum rat with a criminal record, and how they, like, threw you out of school for stabbing some girl—”

The earth screeches to a halt. “I didn’t stab anyone!”

Nikki’s face splits into a grin. “Oh, and I guess your mom’s not some kind of crazy drug addict, either. And your dad, what’d he do? Didn’t he like die in prison or something?” My neck cracks with the effort of shaking my head back and forth, hair flying, denying it all. “Oh, you should’ve seen Danny’s face when he heard
that
little tidbit,” she finishes happily.

My head stops moving. I think I’ve been electrocuted.

Nikki leans an elbow on the bathroom wall. “Not so tough anymore, huh?”

“I never said I was tough.”

“You never said a lot of things. But Daddy told me the whole story.”

Oh, right! No way. “You’re such a liar.”

Nikki snorts. “You’re calling
me
a liar?”

“He never told you anything. You’re making that up.”

“Hey, he’s my dad, not yours. He doesn’t care about you.
He feels sorry for you, okay? So go ahead, suck up to him all you want. You’re wasting your time.” She darts away and comes back, waving my science notebook. “ ‘Gina Brinkman, Gina Brinkman.’ Ha, wait’ll he sees this—he’s gonna have you committed!”

“Nikki, don’t.” I lunge crazily and hit the bathroom door, and Nikki snaps the lock while I’m blinking away stars.

Everything’s in that notebook: all my fantasies about Danny, about being adopted by the Brinkmans. Rows and rows of
Gina Brinkman,
page after page.

Thinking that it’s a good thing her parents’ room is on the other side of the house, I throw myself into the door. “Give it back, Nikki! I swear, I’m not kidding.”

“Go to hell, Gina Brinkman!” Maniacal giggling.

“Goddammit! Give it back, or I’ll—” What? I’ll what? “I’m gonna tell ‘em about those pills.”

Touché! Silence, and when she creaks open the door, I notice her eyes for the first time: huge black pools surrounded by tiny rims of pale blue. “What pills?”

“You know what pills. The ones I found in your room.”

Lucky for me she doesn’t go for my throat. “You went in my room?”

“Give it back! Or I’m going straight to your dad.”

“Knock yourself out. It’s your word against mine, right?”

Right, but if I can get them to search her room … “Fine. Let’s go.”

I grab her sleeve, but she wrenches away. “Wait!” So I wait. “Don’t say anything. They’ll flip out on me, okay?”

“Then give—me—back—my—notebook.”

A second later, the notebook ricochets off my head. “They’re only uppers! And I need them, okay? How’m I supposed to keep
up with my classes? How’m I supposed to keep my weight down? I have to dance, remember?” She stops me with an iron arm as I try to slink off. “Everybody I know uses that stuff. I bet you’d take it yourself if you weren’t such a pathetic little suck-up. Ri-ight, Mar-tha?”

When she calls me Martha again, I lose it. “Hey, you can take fucking cyanide for all I care, so go ahead! Do it!”

“I hate you!” she screams, and savagely slams the door.

“I hate you, too,” I say to the shivering wood.

Flipping through my notebook, I check each page for my stupid, immature babblings, and rip out and flush every incriminating sheet. Then, as long as I’m destroying evidence, I hit my closet as well. I dig out my yellow sweater and the three empty beer bottles, and tiptoe through the dark to carry it all out to the trash. Taffy follows, squats, and then dances beside me as I squeeze my eyes shut and yank down on Danny’s necklace. The chain snaps as I rip it from my neck, and the silver heart skitters into the trash can with a soft metallic chime. Then I kneel in the grass, in the moonlight, in the cool night air, and hide my face in Taffy’s silky fur.

I know Richard didn’t tell her. I know it in my heart.

…

When I get downstairs in the morning, Nikki’s finishing up her so-called breakfast—a half of a piece of toast and some watered-down OJ. The second she sees me, she pops up and leaves the room.

Claudia fills my juice glass. “I take it you two aren’t getting along.”

Brilliant observation.

“Well, it’ll blow over. She’s been working herself so hard, and now she tells me she wants to audition for
Sleeping Beauty.
I have no idea where she gets all her energy.”

Ha. I do.

Finally she notices I haven’t said a word. “Gina? What’s the matter?”

Before I can open my mouth, Nikki flies back into the room. “My bracelet’s gone!”

“What bracelet, sweetie?”

“The one Daddy got me for Christmas. It’s not in my jewelry box.”

I hate the way she’s looking at me. Like, hello! She thinks
I
took it?

“Are you sure?” Claudia asks. “Why don’t you look again?”

“I’m telling you, it’s gone. Somebody stole it.” A theatrical pause. “And I’ll bet you anything it was that friend of Gina’s. That black guy.”

Claudia’s coffee cup clatters. “What are you talking about?”

“Oooh, gosh. I guess Gina never mentioned it.” Nikki’s glacial eyes meet mine, a declaration of civil war.

I hoot. “Are you nuts? Jerome wouldn’t touch your bracelet.”

“Well, who else then?”

“Nikki,” Claudia begins, but she’s looking at me kind of funny. “Please don’t accuse anyone till we have all the facts. Gina, who’s Jerome?”

“A friend of mine. He stopped over one day. And he didn’t take it,” I repeat to Nikki. “Jerome doesn’t steal. You don’t even know him.”

Nikki ignores this. “Mom, she even let him upstairs. And then when
I
showed up, he couldn’t wait to get out of here. It’s true, I swear it. Go on, ask her.”

“Gina?” Claudia seems to be choosing her words ver-ry carefully. “Is there any special reason you didn’t mention this to me before?”

I can only sit there, utterly speechless. I did try to tell her that night in the kitchen, but then Nikki came in and, well, I hardly thought about it again. But so what? It wasn’t Jerome!

Claudia turns back to Nikki. “Well, look around again and if it doesn’t turn up, your father’ll just have to replace it for you. Thank God it’s insured.”

Nikki tilts her chin. “Well, all I can say is, Daddy’ll have a fit—Oh, here he is now.”

Richard’s not smiling as he walks into the room. At first I think he overheard our conversation, and I fight a primitive urge to bury a fork in Nikki’s skull. I hate her! And I hate the way I’m feeling, like I did something horribly wrong.