Kevin comes up behind Chrissy. He’s looking up at the black squiggle of Balloon Greg’s mouth. Kevin’s arms are wide, holding the two shakes. I shouldn’t be thinking anything funny right now. But Isa would say he looks like he’s offering Chrissy a taste test.
“Hey,” he says to me.
“Hey,” I say back. The cop must have let him climb over the orange cone divider too.
Kevin leans down to look in Chrissy’s face. “Everything all right?”
She nods. She bear-hugs him. Her hooded head burrows into his coat.
Kevin lifts his arms higher so the ice cream doesn’t spill. He bends his knees to kiss her forehead.
I never told Isa about my papi. I kept waiting for her to say something, to ask me about when Papi played on the team or why he stopped. Isa never did. She was only interested in me. In my ball playing. In my poems. In making me smile or laugh. I figured it was a gift, a sign that I didn’t have to tell her. Because what would she have thought of me, of my family, if I had?
Chrissy peeks up at Kevin and the way he smiles down at her makes me think maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should have said something to Isa. Sure, I know Isa was keeping things from me. But I guess I was too.
Chrissy turns back to me. Her fingers dig at her eyes. “Just think about it, OK? You need to talk to her. And you’ve got to get her to talk to you. Please? Just try again?”
I hold her gaze. I don’t say yes. I don’t say no.
She walks away.
“See ya.” Kevin lifts a shake in my direction.
They’re under Spider-Man’s hand when Chrissy looks back. “You don’t honestly believe Isa thought you weren’t good enough for her, do you?” Her eyes look kind of teary, but she blinks and jams a spoon heaped with thick vanilla into her mouth. Kevin rubs her back and leads her away.
What else was I supposed to think?
Kiara’s waiting right where I left her. She’s watching Kevin and Chrissy stroll toward Columbus, eating their shakes.
“Wait a minute. ¿Es esa la chica que estaba en el tren en Halloween? The one who was kissing that guy?”
I put my arm around her. “No.”
I tell her I know Chrissy from school. She used to date one of the other players on the Haeres team. The lie bothers me only a little. I don’t want to talk about Isa. I want to forget everything Chrissy said.
I pull Kiara down Eighty-First Street, toward the Wimpy Kid, Elf on the Shelf, and the snowman from Frozen. Kiara doesn’t ask anything more.
MONDAY, DECEMBER 4
ALEX
The fountain is drained, empty. It was like that the first time I came here with Isa. When Bryan and Danny said those things about her, and she let me walk her to class anyway.
It’s late. The winter sky is so dark it could be seven o’clock or ten o’clock or one A.M. The opera house lights are on. There’s no one inside except for a man with a bucket and a mop. He stops in front of a window, takes up a rag, and starts to clean. His hand passes in front of white letters that spell OTELLO against a background of black.
The past few days, I played over what Chrissy said. About secrets and not being honest. I knew Isa was keeping stuff from me—her whole family for one. I hadn’t thought about what I was hiding from her. So here I am because, guess what? Isa still isn’t taking my calls. She’s not answering my messages either.
Students come out the glass doors of the building next door. The girls all wear buns. The guys have short hair, except for one with a ponytail. I don’t see Isa. I don’t see Chrissy. And I’ve been here since five. This time, I’ll stay as long as it takes.
I sit on the granite ledge. Cold seeps through my pants to the backs of my legs. My breath makes clouds as I wait.
The janitor moves to the next window. And the next. He’s on the last one in the row when the doors to the Academy open. More girls with buns exit. None of them are Isa. They walk arm in arm as if on wildflowers they don’t want to crush.
I pace a circle around the fountain, then sit back down. I don’t take out my notebook. I won’t risk missing her.
I get up and walk to the windows. I put my hands on the glass and peer through, to see if any students are still inside. I checked the website before I came. Mondays there are no holiday performances. The dancers should be leaving after their classes. I tug on the door handle, but it’s locked. A keypad flashes red at me. I go back to the fountain just as the dance school doors swing wide. A man who could be my father heads straight for me. The opera house lights glint over a brass nameplate that looks like a badge. I know it isn’t one. But still, my heart knocks against me. I don’t move.
“Hey.” The security guard stops about fifteen feet away. “You can’t be here.” His hands rise to his waist. A baton hangs from his belt.
“Um . . . I’m waiting for someone.”
“Who?” he asks.
“A student. A dancer.” I try to look him in the eye.
“What’s her or his name?”
“Isabelle Warren,” I reply.
His face doesn’t change. I don’t know if he recognizes Isa’s name.
“Is she expecting you?” he asks.
“No, I—”
The guard holds up his palm. “You need to go.”
“But—”
“You’re loitering. If you don’t go, I’ll have to call the police.”
I fist my hands in my pockets. My huff of breath is like dragon smoke. “Can I at least leave a message for her?”
His squinting eyes widen. “You don’t have her phone number? Now you really got to go.” He shows me his thumb.
I do have her number. She just won’t answer it.
I walk toward the Symphony building. I take the corner and lean up against the wall.
A couple walks by, bundled in scarves and hoods. Their laughter cuts off when they see me. I swear I see the guy draw the girl closer. They both look over their shoulders, back toward the fountain, once they’ve passed.
The security guard comes into view. He takes out his phone. He puts it to his ear. He watches me as he talks into it.
I’m finished here. I turn, heading for the subway.
“Alex?”
MONDAY, DECEMBER 4
ISA
Alex’s eyes go round when he sees me. His hands come out of his pockets. “Hi,” he says.
Freddy, the night guard, jogs over. “You know this guy? He’s been hanging around for hours, looking in the windows and stuff.”
I nod, studying Alex’s face. The temperature’s in the twenties. It’s arctic out here.
“He’s scared a few folks. He tried to get in the side entrance,” Freddy continues. “I was about to chase him off.”
Alex breaks our gaze to scowl at his feet.
The idea of anyone thinking Alex a threat is like a hand squeezing my heart. “I’m sorry.” I mouth the words, but Alex doesn’t see. He glares at the stone slabs beneath us, tracking the long, rigid line between light and dark. He’s at the edge of one of the sand-colored spokes that radiates like a beam from the fountain. I am paces away, in the middle of a sea of black.
“You sure you’re OK?” Freddy’s looking from Alex to me.