On the Edge (3 page)

“HI, TOM. I WON'T BE COMING IN TODAY.”
I didn't have to try to make my voice weak and grumbly—it came out that way.

“Heard what happened,” Tom shouted over the noise and beeping in the background. “I said two orders of
large
fries, not small!”

I closed my eyes. Even my half-senile boss had heard about last night. That meant
everyone
in the neighborhood knew. Everyone.

“So is it okay if I stay home today?”

There was a pause. Then, “Hey, back on cash now! Sure, Maddie, that's fine. We'll see you tomorrow.”

It was two o'clock in the afternoon, and I'd just woken up. I didn't want to get out of bed. I didn't want to be conscious.

Mom came in. She must've called in sick too because she usually worked Saturdays at the hotel. “Heard you on the phone. Did you get some sleep?”

“Yeah.”

Mom sat on the side of my bed and cradled me against her. She'd been awake when I got home last night, waiting for me.

“What you need is some good food. I made huevos rancheros.”

“Thanks, Mom.” The last thing I felt like was a big, heavy breakfast meant for farmworkers. But I knew she must have spent a while making it, so I'd better have some.

I took a shower, then joined her in the kitchen. My plate was piled high. Mom showed love through food. She could never afford to spoil me with clothes, high tech gadgets, or music lessons, so food was her only option. She had spoiled Dad, too, and he'd loved her cooking too much to say no. Which was probably why he'd ended up with type 2 diabetes. After his death, I'd learned to say no to the food. Good thing I had, too. Once I'd hit puberty and started to get serious curves, I'd had to watch what I ate.

I took a few bites before Mom said, “Iz keeps calling to check on you.”

“I'll call her.” It had been a rough night for everyone. When I hadn't texted Iz to say I'd gotten home safe, she'd called Mom. They'd been about to go look for me when I called Mom from the police station. I'd desperately wanted to contact the girls, too, but I'd dropped my phone at the scene, and the cops wouldn't let me call anyone but Mom. I knew why. They didn't want me in contact with anyone who might encourage me
not
to talk.

I wouldn't be surprised if the cops had found my phone and chosen not to give it back to me. It didn't matter now. I wasn't going back to the park to look for it.

The park.

A thousand jumbled images flashed before my eyes. Detective Gutierrez's words echoed in my head.
Hector Rodriguez is dead
.

I should've intervened when they were beating him up. I should've screamed and brought down the attention of the whole neighborhood. Should've, should've, should've . . .

But I was a coward.

“Maddie?” my mom said gently.

I realized I was gripping the edge of the table. “Sorry, Mom. I don't feel like eating.”

That's when I broke down.

Iz was a great distracter, I had to give her that. When I texted her saying I wasn't up to seeing anyone that night, she didn't text back. Instead, she showed up at my door with Abby and Carmen and a juice container full of leftover Maddie Diaz Margaritas. She told my mom it was Crystal Light.

I was so touched, I wanted to cry. Iz knew that I hated to be alone. During the Boyd years, she'd been my saving grace. Her house had been my refuge.

Me and the girls went to the basement to watch TV and to escape my mom. She'd been hovering all day, wanting to talk. But I didn't. How could I when I hadn't even processed what had happened? When it still didn't feel real?

The second we sat down, Carmen said, “You don't have to tell us about last night if you don't want to. But if you do, we're here for you.”

Abby stared at her. “We agreed not to mention it. And it's the first thing you do!”

“I know, but she might
want
to talk about it,” Carmen snapped back. “We're not helping her if we ignore it.”

“She'll bring it up if she wants to, okay?” Iz said.

I raised my hand. “Guys, I'm right here. I'm not allowed to talk about what I saw. All I can say is that I identified the guys who did it, and they're gonna be charged. That's it.”

My friends gasped.

“You ID'd them?” Abby asked slowly, like she couldn't believe what I was saying. “Aren't you worried that . . .”

“That they'll come after me? Yeah, I'm worried.” Worried didn't begin to describe how I felt. Worried. Guilty.
Sick
.

“Don't be,” Iz said, squeezing my hand. “Everybody knows you talked to the cops and that's your best protection. If any of the Reyes touch you, the cops would know it was them. They're not that stupid.”

I wasn't sure if she meant it or if she was just trying to make me feel better. But I
had
to believe what she was saying. If I didn't, I'd never leave the house again.

I put up the volume on the TV, and we all turned our attention to some music videos. Or pretended to. Finally Abby broke the silence.

“So, Carmen. What happened with Rafael after we left?”

Carmen's lips curled into a smile. “I decided to take Iz's advice and shake up my guy karma. He's supposed to call me next week.”

I hoped Rafael called her. Carmen had been disappointed by too many guys, and it was about time her luck changed.

“Jack told me you blew him off,” Iz said to me. “You didn't like him?”

“He was obnoxious. What does he study in college, anyway? Dick Jokes 101?”

“I think it's
Douche-
ology,” Abby said, and we bumped fists.

“Whatevs.” Iz pointed her finger at me. “I'm not done with you, Maddie.”

After chatting and watching a few more videos, Carmen suggested we hit the store for some eats. My pulse shot up at the thought of leaving the house. I suddenly pictured the two Reyes waiting for me in an alley, ready to go at me with baseball bats.

I shoved the thought aside. Those guys were locked up and wouldn't be getting out on bail anytime soon—Detective Gutierrez had assured me of that. I couldn't shut myself away from the world because of last night.

Still, I brought Dex with us. I had no doubt he'd rip to shreds anyone who tried something with me. Thanks to Boyd, Dex hated all men. When I took him on walks, he growled at every guy who passed by. That was why my friends never let me take him to the store with us, since cruising for guys was part of the point.

But tonight, they didn't protest.

Sasso's Variety was three blocks away. It was open twenty-four hours, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, and had been robbed more times than I could count. It had cameras everywhere now and was probably more secure than the local Citibank. There was a No Dogs Allowed sign on the door, so I tied Dex up outside.

Dex bared his teeth to a group of b-ballers with sports drinks, and they moved a few feet away. Beyond them, a homeless woman sat cross-legged with a cardboard box of change in front of her. I'd seen Hector here so many times. An image of his flaming body rose up in my mind. I shook my head, trying to dislodge it.

We went inside, the shop's doorbell dinging above us. I glanced behind the counter. Unfortunately, the good-looking cashier was working. He always seemed to be working when I was buying something embarrassing, like tampons or junk food, or when I looked sloppy, like when I was buying milk early in the morning. That was
my
guy karma.

My friends buzzed at the sight of him—unruly black hair, a chiseled, clean-shaven face. He wore a faded T-shirt and jeans, and had tanned, muscular arms unmarred by tattoos. Nobody knew his name, since this wasn't the sort of store where you wore a name tag, but it didn't matter—they appreciated him as pure, unadulterated guy candy.

We went to the chip/candy aisle and filled a basket with whatever looked appealing. I heard Dex barking. My heart leaped into my throat, and I darted a look outside. But Dex was just being Dex, doing his best to intimidate a grizzled guy having a smoke.

Damn it. Was I always going to be this jumpy?

As we moved around the store, I sensed eyes following us. It was the guy at the register. Did he think we were shoplifting? We'd been here enough for him to know that wasn't our M.O.

When I glanced up, his gaze moved away. Of course. It was
me
he was watching. He must know I was the girl. The witness.

We went up to the counter and unloaded the basket. Iz adjusted her red bra strap, which was sticking to her skin—one of her classic moves. “Muggy out, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said.

Okay, I had to admit, I liked that he had always seemed immune to Iz. She knew it, too, and that only made her try harder.

“Working the graveyard tonight?” she asked.

He looked at her like he wanted to say, “Duh,” but instead he said, “Yeah.”

Abby turned to me, desperate not to laugh at Iz's failure. I sputtered, and when the guy glanced at me, I turned it into a cough. His hazel eyes met mine for a long beat before looking away.

“Must be a long, hard night for you,” Carmen said.

My mouth dropped open. We expected this from Iz, but never from Carmen. Last night with Rafael must have boosted her confidence.

“It takes stamina.” His lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile. “But it's no problem for me. I can go all night.”

Abby's nails dug into my arm as we both fought laughter. Carmen threw a glance at Iz, victorious. She'd gotten him to play along, and it was only her first try.

Outside, Dex bounded high when he saw us. I untied him, glancing back through the glass. The guy behind the counter was still watching me.

Guess I'd have to get used to it.

MOM SAID I SHOULD HAVE COUNSELING.
That I was suffering from PTSD. That my “faith in humanity had been shattered by witnessing such a horrible crime.” It was a pretty impressive diagnosis, and a testament to her faithful watching of Dr. Drew.

She was probably right.

I had seen a shrink a few times after Dad's death—or a
grief counselor
, as she'd called herself, but it was all the same to me. She'd kept asking me about that day, about how it felt to be brought home from school early by my grandmother, only to be told that my dad had died of a heart attack. The shrink wanted to know how I, as an eleven-year-old, was handling this trauma. But all I'd wanted was to stop being pressured to put words to a grief I had no words for.

Now Mom was insisting that I see someone again. So the following week I made an appointment with the school psychologist. It would at least confirm to everyone at school that I was in desperate need of psychological help. Why else would I, Maddie Diaz, a supposedly smart girl and editor of the school newspaper,
Prep Talk
, have ratted on two Reyes?

Because I was batshit crazy, of course.

I was just lucky that I didn't go to my neighborhood school. If I were at Rivera with Carmen and Abby, I'd be a target. Rivera was full of gangbangers, some of them affiliated with the Reyes.

Thursday at lunch was the school newspaper meeting. I was tempted to reschedule it for next week, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I had enough trouble chasing everyone down for their articles as it was, and any delay would only make it worse.

Although I'd been on the newspaper staff since I was a freshman, I'd never dreamed of being editor. I had enough on my plate with trying to maintain my GPA and working on weekends. But last September Ms. Halsall, the staff advisor to the newspaper, had suggested I go for it. She'd said that being editor would look great on a college application, and that my writing was “incisive and brave.” I hadn't even known what
incisive
meant, but I knew why she'd called it brave. I'd written an article on girl trafficking in Miami, and people
still
talked about it.

Since everybody on staff knew that I could write, I got elected. The thing was, no one knew if I could lead. Including me.

At first, running the meetings had scared the hell out of me. Although my voice was steady, I could feel my knees trembling. But I made it through those first few weeks, and proved to myself that I really was cut out for this. Once I'd figured that out, my knees stopped shaking.

When the noon bell rang, everybody flooded in. For once, all ten of them showed up.

“Hey, guys, let's get started.” I looked around. “Who's doing the film and TV section for the April edition?”

Brad raised his hand. “I'll do it.”

“Everybody cool with that?” I asked. “Great. Now, I think we should do Part Five of
Staff Stories
. You can choose whoever you want, but I bet Ms. Karpoff would be interesting. She grew up in Romania, post World War Two.”

“I'll do it, but I want to write about Mr. Marshall,” Samantha said. “He's got all these stories from the Gulf War.”

“Awesome. Now, for the social issues section.”

When I paused to take a breath, Cassidy jumped in. “You have to do social issues this time, Maddie. Everybody wants to know exactly what happened with that homeless guy. And it could be a jumping-off point for a discussion of gang violence. Didn't you say in the fall we should write about that?”

Leave it to Cassidy to bring up the one thing I wasn't ready to talk about—or write about.

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Maybe
this
was why attendance was so good today. Everyone wanted the story.

“I can't write about it for legal reasons,” I said.

“Does that mean you're gonna testify?” asked Josh, the sports writer.

I nodded.

“Maybe they'll cover the trial on TV,” said a freshman named Arleth. “You could be famous!”

“It's not going to be on TV,” I said. I hadn't even considered that. “Anyway, let's move on to the—”

“Even if you can't get specific about the case, you should still write an article about gangs,” Cassidy said. “Don't you want to bring attention to the problem?”

My face heated up. In true Cassidy style, she wouldn't take no for an answer. She'd given me a hard time ever since I became editor, a position she'd desperately wanted. Her greatest wish was to make me look incompetent.

Right now, she'd settled for making me look insensitive. I glanced at Ms. Halsall, who sat up on a desk, eating carrot sticks. Forty-something and hip, she had a streak of gray at the front of her wild red hair. Ms. Halsall watched me intently, not sparing a glance at Cassidy. It reminded me that I was the one in charge here.

I wasn't going to let Cassidy force me into an
I'm not in the right space to write about this
speech. I was the editor, right?

“I've already started work on a two-parter about transitioning to college,” I said, turning away from Cassidy. “Anyone want to do an article on gang violence, as she suggested?”

There were no takers.

“Cassidy, what about you?” I asked.

“I can't, I'm covering the spring play.”

“All right, then. Moving along.”

I caught a glimmer of approval in Ms. Halsall's eyes. For once, I'd managed to shut Cassidy down.

That night, the doorbell rang. Dex went wild, launching himself at the front door, scratching and barking. I peered through the peephole.

Detective Gutierrez. I was surprised that he was showing up at seven o'clock at night, but then, this was probably the start of his shift. He was driving an unmarked car, not that it mattered much. The whole neighborhood already knew I'd been talking to the cops.

Although Gutierrez was a solid, stocky guy, the sound of Dex's barking made him scoot back from the door.

“Just a second!” I put Dex out back, then returned to open the door. “Sorry, he gets excited.”

“A dog like that's better than any burglar alarm,” he said, walking in. He wore crisp office clothes and looked freshly shaved. “We use German shepherds in our canine units. They're smart dogs.”

“I know.” I led him to the living room, which was messy with dog toys and Mom's tabloids. My laptop and the remains of my dinner sat on the coffee table.

“I'm sorry to bother you, Maddie. But I wanted to update you on what's happening.”

I moved a copy of
Us Weekly
off the couch and we both sat down.

“The two men you identified, Ramon Santiago and Diego Gomez, were arraigned earlier this week and charged with second-degree murder.”

“I know. Saw it on the news.”

“Judge Conway set their bonds at a million dollars. We're looking at a trial date of August seventeenth of next year.”

“Next year?” I wanted this over yesterday, not next year.

“The timeline's standard, unfortunately. You'll need to be available for at least a week, maybe more. The DA's office will be in touch with you long before that to go over your testimony and coach you on what to expect on the witness stand.”

“All right.” I'd seen enough crime shows to know how it works.

He cleared his throat. “You'll be an excellent witness, Maddie. You've got the confidence not to let the defense cut you down.” He gave a meaningful pause. “You did the right thing by speaking out.”

Of course I had. But hearing him say it didn't bring me any comfort. It felt like there was an unsaid ending to his statement:
You did the right thing despite what the Reyes might do to you
.

“Am I in danger?” I asked, flat out.

He took his time in answering. “If some of the gang members come after you, it will only make things worse for Ramon and Diego. But you never know about these guys. My advice is to stay in public places. No more walking through the park after midnight.”

Darn, no more moonlight strolls
. But in all fairness, what could he say?
No worries, you're safe?
Or
Good luck, it's just a matter of time?

“Now, I have to get going, unless you have any questions for me.”

I hesitated. There was something else I needed to know. “Was there a funeral for Hector? I didn't hear about one on the news.” The moment I spoke his name, my throat seized up. I tried not to think about him, about his suffering, about his family. But it was always there, lingering beneath the surface.

“I believe his family held a service,” he said, then stood up.

“Good.” Hector deserved that, at least.

Before he stepped outside, Gutierrez said, “Don't forget, Maddie, you can't share details of the case with anyone. If anything is leaked, your credibility will come into question. And our whole case is resting on your testimony.”

“Don't worry, Detective. I get it.”