“Oye, owww!” He pretends what I did hurts then gives me a grin that fades too quick.
“Seriously. You gonna tell me where you been?” I ask again.
Danny gives me a look. “Don’t got to tell what you already know.” He lifts the can to his mouth. “Where’s Isa?”
My throat dries like a heat wave. Romeo Santos’s words reach us. Bella y sensual, sobrenatural.
I slide my cell back in my pocket. I want a drink of my tonic. I don’t let myself take one. Why is Danny asking about her?
“Thought maybe she’d be here. With you,” Danny says. “Don’t tell me Isa’s at dance school at ten on a Friday.”
I study my glass. Pinhole-size bubbles skid to the top. They gather round the wedge of green like they’re attacking it. “Don’t know,” I answer.
Danny puts the Coke on the counter. “You think she’s too good for this? For us?”
I give him a hard stare. His questions are fingers digging into a bruise he doesn’t know about.
Danny keeps talking. “’Cause I think she’d like it here. With you. With us.”
How does Danny know when I’m not even sure?
I down my drink. I chew the flesh off the lime, spit the peel in the trash. “I don’t know where she is.” I spit that too. “I haven’t seen her or talked to her or . . .”
Danny jabs my arm in warning. Kiara joins us in the kitchen. “Hey, Danny. ¿Cómo tu ’ta?” She tosses her smile to him then hurls a glare at me. Neither of us says anything.
She grabs a soda and heads back out.
Danny takes another Coke. He pours tonic in my glass then points to the window next to the stove. I follow him out onto the fire escape.
We look up at a night splashed with peach-colored light, at buildings of brick winking. Danny pops open the can. He gurgles down soda. In the distance a siren cries out and is answered by another.
“It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve seen her.” I don’t know why I start talking, but I do. I search for stars or the moon even. I can’t see anything over the city glare. “I met her parents, at her dance performance.”
Danny faces me.
“Her mom, man.” I take a slow sip. “She wouldn’t even shake my hand.”
Danny finishes his drink. He reaches through the window, puts the can on the counter. “Oye, pana, I met her too. Esa mamá es una tigresa. I was hanging near Sixty-Sixth Street and Isa walked by. She and I, we was just talking—” He looks real quick at me and then away. “We was talking about you. Until her mamá showed up, that is.” He draws a finger across his neck like someone’s dying.
Danny and Isa met up? Danny met her mother? How come Isa never told me?
Danny puts a hand on my shoulder. “That mai’s a piece of work. Ask me, Isa seemed kind of embarrassed. Would make sense if she never said anything to you.” He bumps my foot with his clean red Nike. “Not everyone’s tight with their mami like you. Anyway, you with Isa because of her mamá? Or because of her?”
“¿Todo bien?” Julissa’s head pokes through the window. Behind her, Bryan’s scarfing down chips. He’s bragging about ball to Kiara.
Julissa scrambles onto the fire escape. She rests a hand on my other shoulder. “You OK?”
“Qué sí,” I tell her. I don’t want to talk about this with her.
“Sure?” she asks again.
“Yeah. Thanks for having us.”
She watches me real close. “You know you could have brought her, right? Your girl? Kiara’ll get over it.”
I stare into my cup. I clear my throat. “Gracias.”
“Next time, OK?” She climbs back inside and into Bryan’s arms. All three of them leave the kitchen.
I breathe the cool outside air. I swallow my drink, bubbles and all. I think of Mami’s words and Danny’s words and Julissa’s. I think of Isa until my worries go away.
I take out my phone. I reread Isa’s messages. In the faint glow of my screen, Danny smiles.
MONDAY, MAY 8
ISA
My legs and arms ache. Even my upper back is sore. The Academy does not fool around with these evening elective classes. As we were heading out into the rain, Chrissy reminded me I’ve already been accepted—I’ve got nothing else to prove. I’ll start full time once I finish at Deerwood. Merci, Monsieur Thibault. Except, I do have something to prove. I’ve got to prove they didn’t make a mistake. And when I dance hard, there’s no room to pay attention to anything else. Not massive moving boxes. Not brothers blasting music. Not even unanswered Instagram messages.
I reach for the shiny subway rail and rise up on my toes. I slide my foot behind me to stretch my Achilles. An argument between a man and a woman at the other end of the car filters through my earbuds. I turn up the volume, just like I do at home.
A hand takes my shoulder. My instincts kick in. I whirl, swinging my bag with me. There’s a soft oomph as the buckle of my backpack meets flesh. I skitter away to the middle of the car, my pulse hammering in my throat. I look to make sure I’m not being followed.
Alex stands where I stood. His eyes squint. A hand covers his nose and mouth. His other lifts in a silent hello.
The pounding inside me spikes. Alex?
Tears fill my eyes. I blink them away as I rush back. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was you. Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?”
“I didn’t mean to surprise you.” He doesn’t take his hand from his face. “I called your name.”
I motion toward the earphones hanging from my pocket. “I didn’t hear you!” My insides feel like jello. My head feels like a balloon escaped from a child’s hand. Alex is here. I let out a little laugh because if I don’t, I might actually cry. My relief at seeing him overwhelms me. “I can’t believe I hit you.”
Alex tilts his head at me, like he doesn’t know why I’m laughing either. He pinches the bridge of his nose and winces. For some reason, this makes me double over.
“Sorry,” I gasp between breaths. “This shouldn’t be funny. Did I . . . ? Is your nose bleeding?” I paw through my bag for a tissue. “Can I see?”
His nose is fine. But his bottom lip is swollen and split, like the skin of a too-ripe peach.
“Oh.” I inhale through my teeth and offer him the tissue. I drag my gaze from his face, to his arm lingering close to mine. I want to ask if everything is OK with him and his family. I want to ask why I haven’t heard from him. But I’m afraid to speak. I’m afraid of how he’d respond.
He waves the tissue away. “I’ve had worse.”
“Sorry,” I say again.
He shakes his head. “Stop saying sorry. I’m the one who’s here to say that.”
The drumming in my chest quiets.
He touches his tongue to his broken lip. “I’ve been looking for you. I miss you. I wanted to tell you that in person. I didn’t want you to read it on your phone.”
I grab onto the bar and sink against it.
He waits for me to say something. He waits for me to tell him I miss him too. A tear almost gets loose, along with words my heart is trying to push out. I hold on to them. Seeing Alex—my reaction to seeing him—is scaring me.