As soon as Mom’s gone, Chrissy darts forward to help the boy. I’m right behind her.
“I-I’m sorry,” I babble. In my head, I’m apologizing for all of it. For my mom running into him and blaming him for it. For the way she treated him, like he was beneath her, even though she doesn’t know anything about him and his mami, other than what they look like and that they speak Spanish but aren’t from the same island as her.
“No worries,” he says, avoiding my eyes. Please, let him not go to the Academy.
“Her mom,” Chrissy starts. “She has this problem.”
Chrissy’s trying to make it better. She’s trying to give my mom an out. It’s true. The therapist told me impulsivity is part of the disorder. But there is no excuse for the way Mom thinks. Just one for the way she’s unable to conceal it.
I shake my head to make Chrissy stop.
Chrissy gives me a nod. “Here. Go.” She shoves the bags at me and kisses the air in my general direction.
I take off after my mom, using my free hand to call an Uber. The stares of the entire store follow me.
MONDAY, OCTOBER 31
ALEX
“I like your costume.” Kiara nods at my uniform. She stands right up against me even though there are empty seats.
I shrug. “Didn’t have anything else.”
I almost said no to Bryan when he told me I needed a costume. Halloween is for pretending. This uniform? That’s the real me.
Back at my place, Bryan was sweating. He scratched at the collar of his skin-tight suit. The pads of one of his pecs had shifted. He looked like he had una teta. “Por favor.” He got down on his knees. I had to go, he said—he’d promised Julissa. And I had to wear a costume.
Brakes squeal. Kiara pitches forward.
I take her arm. “Cuidado.”
She grabs on to my waist. There’s more than just gracias in her smile.
I step back. “Eh, Black Panther, we takin’ the L or the M?” I shout over the heads of a red-nosed clown and the Joker—we’re not the only ones celebrating. Danny adjusts his Kylo Ren mask so he can see me better. Bryan’s huddled into Julissa, talking real close. She’s the only girl not showing stomach. She’s dressed as Nakia. So everyone will know they’re back together.
Black Panther lifts a cotton-stuffed shoulder. At least those pads are in the right place again. “The M?”
I nod. This party better be worth it.
“I love these.” Kiara touches the buttons of my shirt. “They’re the same as the Yankees’, ¿veldad?” Her hand travels down like she’s counting them. Behind her, Kylo Ren gives me a thumbs-up.
A 3 train pulls in across the platform. We should change to the express. But Black Panther is busy trailing his nose down Nakia’s face. He kisses her jawline. Des . . . pa . . . cito. I almost holler it. But the train’s getting too full to dodge fists. Julissa giggles. She leans into Bryan. Guess we’re staying on the local.
There’s a sharp clatter and the bark of a laugh. By the door, a tall dark-haired girl pulls up a shorter one. The blond must have tripped. She’s got a hand clapped to her mouth. They’ve both got on tall-ass heels. And their dresses. ¡Guay! If Papi were here, he’d be whistling. I’d have to pretend I didn’t know him.
Some guy dressed as an old Luke Skywalker stands to give them his seat. The short blond waves him away. They must have been drinking or smoking. Their smiles are too big. The blond whispers to her friend. The friend’s gaze shifts to a guy sitting in the middle of the car. He’s got a pile of papers on his lap, a pencil in his mouth and another behind his ear. One hand holds up a sheet. He traces small u’s in the air. Is he some weird genius character from a movie I’ve never seen?
The shorter girl smooths down the black sequins of her dress. She says something that might be, “Wish me luck.” She prowls toward the middle of the car.
The friend shakes her head, hands clasped like she’s praying. Her smooth dark hair moves against her cheek. My heartbeat checks as if a batter’s slammed my pitch out of the park. I recognize those bright eyes and that look—part fear, part thrill. It’s the girl from the subway. The dancer. She’s wearing a wig.
There’s a whoosh of paper.
“Chrissy?” The weird academic guy stares at the blond. She’s holding the sheet that was in his hand above her head. One of his pencils rolls under the seats.
She kisses him. She’s so short she barely needs to bend down. Her arm is still up in the air, her hand gripping the paper. Her friend presses a fist to her mouth, hiding her grin. She did that before. On the subway with me.
The blond—Chrissy—pulls back. She gives the guy she kissed a little smile, like she’s shy now or something. Wait, do they not . . . ? Ayyyyy, lo besó, and he wasn’t even expecting it?
The guy stands. His papers scatter across the train. He fixes his glasses. He sways a bit, then grabs on to the bar above him. His other hand takes the blond’s waist. He pulls her to him. He kisses her back. He’s bent over, but her feet still leave the ground.
“Oh my.” One old lady nudges another. An Elvis and some guy in a banana suit pick up the crumpled pages. Elvis is smirking at the kissing couple.
“That did not just happen.” Kiara’s arms cross in front of her. “Did that blanquita just accost that boy?” Her eyes flick to me. She licks her lips.
“He seemed to like it,” I say.
The pencil behind the guy’s ear slides free and hits the floor. It rolls toward me. I stop it with my foot, then bend to pick it up. When I stand, the dancer is staring at me. I show her the pencil and give her a small nod.
“Excuse me, do you know her?” Kiara swings around. She’s standing way too close again.
I slide the pencil into my palm. “No,” I say. It’s true. I don’t even know the girl’s name.
Kiara examines my face. She pivots. “Oye, Julissa, you see that? These white girls are bugging, kissing strangers like it’s some game.”
Julissa extricates herself from Black Panther’s arms. “¿Qué?”
The doors open. A couple with blackened eyes and red slashes painted across their faces get on.
The academic guy goes around collecting his papers. Chrissy leads him to her friend. The girls are like yin and yang, a blond with a black dress and a brunette in a silver one. The dancer glances at me. She looks away real fast. She nods at Chrissy, who’s talking. I wish I could hear what she’s saying. The girl smiles and nods again. She stops. Her face falls. She shakes her head, glances at me, and shakes her head again. The pink leaves her cheeks. She turns the color of the fallen papers.
Chrissy puts a fist on her hips. She stomps the floor with her massive shoe. “Isa, you promised!”
Isa. Her name is Isa.
Isa’s fingers fold together. She nods and swallows. Her gaze meets mine. She steps forward.
“Qué no. Coño, no.” The scream of wheels drowns Kiara’s voice.
Isa’s walk is not a prowl. But it’s purposeful. Her eyes stay on me. There’s mostly thrill in them, just a little bit of fear. The train goes faster. The clanking rhythm matches the beating in my chest. Isa keeps coming. She doesn’t even wobble on those tall-ass heels of hers.