Brooklyn Girls (18 page)

The guys shake their heads sorrowfully.

“It’s against the rules,” says Vinnie.

“No can do, sister,” agrees Ricky.

“Gee, that’s too bad,” I say, smiling as smugly as I can.

“Shut up, you brat,” she says, finally losing her temper.

“You think I’m just a brat?” I raise my voice. “By the time I’m done with you, you’re going to wish you’d never met me!”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I’m warning you!”

We’re both shouting now.

“Why don’t you go back to your rich parents? You don’t belong here!”

“I do belong here! This is my home!”

Jonah runs in, a look of shock on his face. “What the hell is going on? The entire restaurant can hear you!”

“She’s a fuckin’ fruitcake, J,” says Bianca, all innocence. “She’s totally insane.”

“Your bitch needs a muzzle,” I snarl. Bianca turns around and, I swear to God, is about to charge me, when Jonah grabs her by both arms and pulls her out of the kitchen.

Wow! The adrenaline rush of battle. “I want to kill her!” I exclaim.

“That was awesome!” says Ricky. He and Vinnie seem to be delighted with the evening’s drama. “The bitch who needs a muzzle! Ha! Classic.”

“But you better get out of here before Angelo comes back,” says Vinnie.

We slip out the back door and into the alleyway behind Bartolo’s.

I light a cigarette. I haven’t been smoking recently, mostly because I don’t want to smell when I’m working. And there’s this rumor going around that it’s bad for you. But it is kind of nice after a fight.

Wow. Bianca. What the hell is her damage?

“Oh, my
God
! I am so nervous about meeting Eric!” hisses Coco at my side. “Feel my palms!”

“You’ll be totally fine! Just be yourself.”

“What if myself isn’t good enough? Don’t you just wish you could be someone else sometimes? God, I do.”

Coco heads for the subway entrance. “Coco, why don’t you get a cab instead? It’s safer.”

“I, um, oh, I didn’t get enough cash out.” Coco suddenly looks incredibly young. I have never felt so protective of someone in my life. This guy had better be nice.

“A cab’s much easier, honey,” I say, thrusting fifty dollars into her hand. “That’s enough to get home, too. Call me if you get lost or anything, okay? Remember, have fun, be safe, and … yeah, uh, that’s it.” I’m not so great with the motherly lectures.

“Where’s she going?” says Julia in a surprised voice. “Cuckoo? Where are you going?”

“She’s going to meet some friends, and you and I are calling it a night,” I say, frog-marching her up Smith Street.

“I don’t want to go to school on Monday,” she mumbles.

“You mean work,” I say.

“Same difference. Except that I loved school and I hate work. I’m about to turn twenty-two years old, Pia. Twenty-two! I’m ancient.”

“You’re not! You’re just starting life!”

“I’m tired of starting life. I miss college. Don’t you wish we could just go back?”

No way, I think. I love my life right now. I love walking in the door at Rookhaven, I get this
mmm
feeling, sort of safe-and-comfortable, that I’ve never felt anywhere I’ve lived before. I love being surrounded by my best friends at all times. And I love driving Toto around, and talking to new people every day, and thinking of ways to make SkinnyWheels a success. It just fits me. And life has never fit me before.

But I don’t say that, as the contrast between my attitude and hers might upset her.

“College would get boring,” I say. “Remember the showers? And the food? Come on. Grown-up, I mean adult, life is way better.”

Julia mumbles something unintelligible, stumbling slightly over a tiny crack in the sidewalk.

“What?”

“Adult life can kiss my heart-shaped ass.”

“Who told you your ass was heart-shaped?”

I’m still laughing as we walk past Brooklyn Social, and then I remember.

Mike!

I check my phone. Four missed calls from him at eight o’clock … It’s past ten.

“Shit,” I say. I keep walking, one arm holding up Julia, and dial his number. It rings seven times before he answers.

“Hello?”

“Dude! Mike? Hello?”

“I waited for an hour,” he says eventually. His voice sounds very far away, like he can hardly bear to speak into the phone.

“Oh, God, I’m really sorry.”

“I had a basket of eggs. I looked like the fucking Easter Bunny.”

I burst out laughing, until I realize he’s seriously pissed. He does not like to look silly. “Mike, I’m sorry. I totally forgot. I was with Julia and Coco, and then we went to eat and I just … I have no excuse. Forgive me?”

There’s a pause. “So are you still out?”

“Nope. Heading back to Rookhaven.” I pause as Julia drops her purse, staggers trying to pick it up, and falls over. “Jules is trashed.”

“Want me to come over?”

“Oh, Jesus, no—” I say, without thinking, as I hook my phone between my shoulder and my ear and try to pull Julia up at the same time. “I mean, um, I’m just … I’m really tired. I’m sorry. Maybe…”

“No problem,” he interrupts. “I gotta go. Bye.”

And just like that, he hangs up.

Whatever. I’m not going to waste any more time thinking about him.

Jules is now pretending to do the running man up Union Street.

“Jules, you are one cheap drunk.”

“You’re a drunk,” she says.

“Great comeback.”

Just as we reach our stoop, Julia turns to face me, a pleading look in her eyes. “Tell me everything will work out.”

“Everything will work out,” I say, putting both my hands on her shoulders. “I promise. One way or another.”

I wish I believed it.

Julia stares drunkenly at me, then heads up the stoop. “Pia, one last thing about that Bianca girl,” she says over her shoulder.

“What’s that, kitten-pants?” I say, helping her up the steps.

“Let’s nail the bitch.”

CHAPTER 14

Since last night’s showdown in the kitchen at Bartolo’s, I’ve been watching Bianca’s Twitter and Facebook accounts.
The original and the best!
She keeps saying.
Hands up if you hate SkinnyWheels! SkinnyWheels is a rip-off! Try my real food that tastes great with none of the calories!
And so on. All day long I was furious, but then, I realized that Julia was right.

And revenge, like vodka, is best served straight up and extra cold.

So I rang Jonah this afternoon, on the pretense of apologizing.

“I just feel really bad about arguing with Bianca,” I lied. “Can you give me her address? I’d like to apologize.”

“That’s so sweet of you, she’d really appreciate that,” he replied. I stifled a snort of disbelief. How can he still not see through her? Or is he just one of those annoying people who likes everyone?

Now, we’re all in the kitchen, dressed in black, and we’re about to execute Operation Karma Is a Bitch.

We look like female ninjas. Well, female ninjas of varying degrees of fitness and enthusiasm.

Julia is lying on the floor, complaining about feeling bloated and applying black camouflage makeup in horizontal stripes across her cheeks from a tin of shoe polish. Coco is washing up the tray of macaroni and cheese she made for dinner. Madeleine is slicing and eating a pear very slowly. And Angie’s hungover and still wearing sunglasses. I haven’t asked her about Eddie, thanks to a superhuman self-control I didn’t know I possessed.

“Okay team, let’s go over the plan again,” I say.

“We know what we’re doing! Jeez, when did you become such a control freak?” says Julia, trying to zip up her pants. “I am seriously retaining water. And I think my jeans are shrinking. And my bras.”

Coco beams at me. “I’m so excited! Scared! But excited!” Of course, Coco would be psyched if I said we were going to drown kittens. Apparently Eric was hammered last night, but “so, so nice,” and at the end of the night he put her in a cab and kissed her on the lips good-bye. She is taking it as one small step away from a declaration of love and a marriage proposal.

“Me too,” says Madeleine, narrowing her eyes in concentration as she cuts another sliver of pear.

“I’m psyched.” Angie’s tone suggests otherwise.

“Game faces, you guys,” I say. “Let’s roll.”

We all walk out of Rookhaven together. Angie and I are leading. Angie offers me a cigarette, but I’m too keyed up to smoke. She lights her own, then holds it between thumb and forefinger, as though she’s in a prison yard. “Do I look tough? I’m trying to look tough.”

Julia is singing. “Hit the road, bitch, and doncha come back, no more, no more, no more, no more.…”

“I’m pretty sure that’s meant to be ‘jack’ not ‘bitch,’” says Madeleine.

“I’m improvising.”

“I’m getting nervous!” says Madeleine, skipping up to us and hooking her arms through ours. Gosh, she’s really thawing lately.

As we approach Gowanus, the genteel, cozy brownstones of Carroll Gardens disappear and everything looks dilapidated. Shuttered storefronts, peeling signs, and a graffiti’d train overpass that seems to go on forever.

“This is totally where we’d be murdered if this was a movie,” says Julia.

Angie frowns. “I think I went to a club around here once.”

At the next block, Team A (Coco, Jules, and I) stops and turns right. Team B (Angie and Madeleine) continues walking to the next block.

With our best nonchalant “Who me, officer?” stroll, Team A approaches Bianca’s home at number 144, a blue clapboard house set back from the street. The Let Them Eat Cake truck is parked outside. All the lights in the front of 144 appear to be off, but that doesn’t mean she’s not there.

Suddenly my heart is hammering in my throat.

I text Team B.
All clear, proceed with caution.

The street is completely deserted, and the only sound is a dog barking from a few blocks away. I am walking as slowly and silently as I can. Just like a real ninja.

I lift up my hand and give a double-fingers-pump “forward” signal, like I’ve seen in action films.

Julia makes an exploding sound and shakes with suppressed laughter.

“Shut it!” I hiss. “It’s go time. Coco, keep watch.”

Julia takes off her backpack, pulls out the spray paints, and we execute the final step of Karma Is a Bitch.

Julia starts snickering again.

“Julia Russotti!” I whisper. “Shut the hell up!”

She really has the giggles. “I can’t help it! This is so funny!”

“Julia. Hush. Now,” Coco manages to snap while whispering. Wow. They must teach that intense-but-scary whisper to all teachers.

Within a few minutes, we’re done, and have regrouped on the corner of Third Avenue.

I text Madeleine and Angie.
Team A is clear. Team B confirm status.

No response. Coco, Jules, and I look at one another anxiously.

I wait for sixty very long seconds, then text again.
Team B. Confirm status, urgent.

Nothing.

“They’ve been busted!” whispers Julia.

“No way, they’re too clever for that,” replies Coco in an even tinier whisper.

“You don’t have to whisper, guys, we’re forty feet from her damn house.”

I text one last time.
Confirm status or we’re coming to get you
.

We wait for another minute, and then look at one another. Can you get arrested for creeping around a backyard dressed as a ninja? Instinct says yes.

“Jules, stay here and keep watch,” I say. “Coco and I will go find them.”

“I don’t want to stay here by myself!” she says. “This area is creeping me out.”

Then I hear a scream.

“Go! Go!”

A split second later, Madeleine and Angie hurtle out of the darkness toward us.

“Run!”
I shout.

I’m leading the sprint, and I can hear the girls behind me, all panting and giggling.

“This is ridiculous.” I hear Angie gasp.

Then I hear a police siren.

“The cops!” yells Julia.

I speed up, sprinting as fast as I can through the Brooklyn streets, the girls hot on my tail.

“Turn left! They’re tailing us!” shouts Angie, and we all squeal with fright.

I turn left, my arms slicing the air, the sidewalk disappearing under my hurtling legs. I’m running so fast that I can hear the wind whooshing past my ears. The girls are still right behind me, our feet hitting the sidewalk in unison as we turn onto Second Avenue. I’m really hitting my stride now, I feel so strong and awesome, I’ve never run so fast in my life. This is amazing! I’m going to run more often, I’m going to join a jogging club, I’m—

“This is a dead end!” shouts Madeleine. “You’re running toward a
dead end
!”

She’s right. It is. I laugh uncontrollably and promptly fall over. Then Julia trips over me and we all fall into one another,
bang-bang-bang,
like a freeway pileup.

“Ow,” I say, laughing so hard my stomach hurts. “I think I skinned my elbow.”

“Oh, my God, that was close,” says Madeleine. “I could feel the cop car closing in on us!”

“I don’t think the cops were really after us, sugar-nuts,” says Angie.

“My knees hurt, I think it’s my old soccer injury,” says Julia. “I could totally have run all the way home.”

Now that I’ve stopped running—and laughing—my chest feels like it might burst. I take back what I said about jogging. I have a cramp. My face is on fire. I really need to quit smoking.

Coco finally catches her breath. “What happened? Why were you guys running?”

“We climbed onto the garage and into the yard, just like we planned on Google Maps,” says Angie.

I nod approvingly.

“Then we scaled the fence, and saw a light on the third floor,” adds Madeleine.

“So we climbed onto the first floor deck, moved some furniture, climbed to the balcony on the next floor, and then I stood on Madeleine’s shoulders to get a look in the window.”

Madeleine nods, rubbing her right shoulder awkwardly. “We played rock-paper-scissors for it. I lost.”

“And?”

“And … she was baking. And those baked goods are
not
low-fat.”