“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
John made his way across the yard and climbed into Jenny’s car. Jessica could still feel the slickness of his saliva on her wrist. It felt like a violation, like she could wash and wash and the spit would always be there.
Minutes later, Jessica was standing in the rising steam of her shower, letting the water run through her hair. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow pass on the other side of the clear plastic curtain. Assuming it was just Iridian coming in to borrow a shirt or something, Jessica closed her eyes and dipped her head back. She liked to run the water as hot as possible for as long as she could, liked the challenge of standing beneath it until the feeling on her skin went from scalding to soothing. She’d started humming another old song from the pharmacy’s playlist when she got the sense that something was . . . off. Her voice wasn’t echoing in the same way. It felt like the space—the shower, the entire bathroom—had gotten smaller.
Jessica opened her eyes, and there, in front of her face, through the veil of steam and on the other side of the curtain, was a hand. Its dark palm was facing her. Its fingers were spread. The hand was so clear, Jessica could see the blurry swoop of a lifeline and the horizontal slashes on skin that marked the division between each individual finger bone. The hand pressed inward against the plastic, stretching it tight. Jessica jolted back, nearly losing her balance against the slick surface of the tub. She caught herself by smacking a wet hand against the tile. Then she did the only thing she could think to do: She stared straight at the hand and pushed her own hand against it. It was solid and fleshy. Jessica let out a garbled cry, then ripped back the shower curtain. There was no one. Nothing there.
Dripping wet and gulping down desperate breaths, Jessica grabbed a towel, ran into her bedroom, and then dashed down the hall to her sisters’ room. Iridian was asleep in her bed. Jessica started to call out Rosa’s name, but then clapped a hand over her mouth and collapsed back against the wall.
“Shit,” she mumbled. “Holy shit.”
She gripped the towel tighter around her chest.
“You’re fine,” she told herself. “Everything’s fine.”
Jessica found her balance on two shaky legs and went back into her bedroom, leaving behind her a trail of wet footprints. In the bathroom, she turned off the water in the shower, dried herself off completely, changed into a fresh pair of underwear and a shirt to sleep in, and started brushing out her long hair. It was all normal. Totally normal. The bristles of her brush caught on a knot. Jessica yanked and yanked, bringing tears to her eyes and snapping the strands from her scalp. She tried humming to herself again, but it was nothing, just a bunch of nonsense notes.
“You’re fine,” she told her reflection. “Everything’s fine.”
She braved a look back at the shower curtain, and saw, there in the condensation, the outline of a hand, perfectly centered, with beads of moisture dripping from its edges.
She dove toward the toilet and threw up.
Rosa
(Wednesday, June 12th)
On Wednesday morning, Rosa decided to search for the hyena in shifts. She left the house early and was heading back in the middle of the day to use the bathroom and refill her thermos when she felt the shift in the wind.
The day had been bright and hot and humid, but then, all of a sudden, it wasn’t. The entire eastern sky was dark, the color of pigeon feathers. That dark sky pushed a wall of cool wind right into Rosa, blowing back her unbound hair and the fabric of her long dress, blowing back the leaves on the trees. Rain was coming.
Rosa took off into a jog, ignoring how the jolting movement caused the stiff leather of her shoes to scrape against her heels. The thermos in her backpack bounced hard against her spine. The pigeon-colored sky was now all around. The wind was blowing so hard that loose leaves and bits of trash were tumbling down the street. A cup from a fast-food restaurant skittered and spun on the asphalt. The dogs in the neighborhood—both inside houses and out in yards—took up yipping and howling. The rain started to fall, leaving circles the size of checkers on the concrete sidewalk. The drops were so big, they felt like pennies when they hit the top of Rosa’s head.
When Rosa rounded the corner, she saw Jessica’s car a little ways down, parked in front of their house. Wednesdays were her days off from the pharmacy. Despite the rain, Jessica’s arm was hanging out her driver’s-side window, and her middle finger was tapping against the door.
Rosa got closer, approaching the car from the back. There was a jolt of movement, and it took her a split second to process what she’d seen: John had reached over and taken hold of Jessica by the neck. Jessica’s hand, the one that was extended out the window, tensed and then smacked the outside of her car door. Jessica’s head jerked to the side, like she was trying to pull it away.
Rosa gasped, froze briefly, and then started running. When she reached the car, she could see John gripping Jessica’s chin. Her sister’s neck looked painfully twisted, and she shouted something—stop or off—at which point Rosa whacked her palm against the closed passenger-side window. John immediately released Jessica and spun around.
“What’s going on?” Rosa demanded through the glass.
“Nothing.” John’s voice was muffled. “We were just talking.”
“Yeah.” Rosa glanced at her sister, who was staring straight through the windshield, her jaw clenched. “Looks like it.”
John opened his door so quickly that Rosa nearly tripped over her own feet as she backed away.
“I’m walking home,” he said. “See you later, Jess. Later, Rosa.”
Neither sister responded. Rosa watched John make his way down the sidewalk, slouched forward against the rain and with his hands in his pockets. She looked at the street, then over to Hector’s house. The front door was open, and just the storm door was closed. A single lamp was glowing in the depths of the darkened living room. She looked up to the second-floor window and what she knew was Hector Garcia’s room. A light was on in there, too. A shadow passed behind the curtain. Hector and his friends were there, watching. They thought they were protectors, which was a silly thing all boys thought.
Jessica kept sitting in her car, staring through the rain-blurred windshield. Only after John had turned down a side street a block away did she finally get out and head toward the house. She passed right by Rosa as if she wasn’t there.
“I don’t like him,” Rosa called after her. “Has he done this before? Why haven’t you told any—”
“Don’t start,” Jessica snapped. “He’s just in a bad mood.”
“He’s always in a bad mood, Jessie.”
They stopped together at the front door, under the shelter of the awning. Rosa could see the pink marks on Jessica’s skin from where John’s fingertips had dug in. This wasn’t the first time Rosa had told her sister how she felt about John, and it wasn’t the first time Jessica had gotten defensive about it. If Rosa pushed, Jessica would tell her that she had no idea what it was like to be in a relationship, that Rosa shouldn’t dare act like she knew what went on between a girl and a guy in love because Rosa hadn’t even been kissed yet or had anyone touch her. That last part, about the kissing and the touching, wasn’t true, but Rosa never said anything about it. She had the right to her own secrets.