Little Peach (6 page)

“Listen to me. Drink some. It’ll chill you out.” Her voice is sharp, her eyes cut into me. She’s trying to tell me something, but I don’t understand.

“What’s going on?” I ask, forcing myself to smile, hoping she might smile too, but she doesn’t. I stare at the glass, then back at her. The front door closes again. The music gets louder.

“Ain’t nothin’ bad gonna happen, you’ll just have more fun this way.”

“What’s in it?” I ask.

“Don’t tell me you never drank before.”

“Yeah, I have,” I lie, standing up a little straighter. I push my shoulders back the way Kat does and take a big gulp, bracing myself for the bite of liquor like I tasted from Chuck’s stash last winter when he went inside
Boo’s to pee and I took a tiny sip.

It’s sweet like the punch mix from the corner store back home. I drink it all down and hand her back the empty glass.

“Well, damn,” she says. “You didn’t need to chug it, but okay. Here we go.” I follow Kat into the living room, where a thin sheet of blue smoke floats in the air. There are three guys here. The tallest, wearing a tight white tank top, his shoulders wet with sweat and wide like wings, a shaved head and full lips that look so soft, a cigarette in his left hand, smiles at me. “Hey, now,” he says. His eyes shine as they take me in. “Look at you.”

My cheeks burn.

This is for real.

I’m in New York. I got new clothes and a place to stay, and now they’re throwing a party for me. Devon likes me. So does this guy. He’s not a kid, like Tyrell or Mikey or the other boys from school. He’s not nervous at all.

“I’m Reek,” he says into my ear. Heavy bass slams out of Devon’s speakers. The air sweats.

I try to say my name but I laugh instead, and Reek laughs too, handing me a piece of gum. His face
wobbles. I try to stand up tall like Kat, but the ground is all shaky and I stumble backward. Reek catches me with a thick hand. The minty gum explodes in my mouth. The music bursts in my ears.

“How you feelin’, girl?” he says. I need to sit. I sit on the floor. I shouldn’t do that. I look stupid. Reek’s blurry in my face. He picks me up and sits me on his lap on the couch.

You see me, Mama? I don’t need shit from you. I’m good. I’m better than good. I feel sick-happy, sittin’ here on this couch far away from you, with Devon watching me and this guy Reek lookin’ at me like I’m really pretty because I am, maybe, and he puts his arm around me and the whole room shimmers. I kiss him. I do. On his soft lips. I never kissed a boy before. Reek’s not a boy, he’s a guy. Not nasty like Calvin but nice like Devon. Devon likes Kat, I think. Reek likes me.

I smile at him, lay my head back, and the music slows down. I could crawl inside this song, the woman’s voice singing just for me:
Ooh, sweet thing, don’t you know you’re my everything?

I chew, slow, slower, my face heavy and sinking and I love how sticky my skin feels, I love Kat and Devon
where’s Baby she’s so cute I think I hear Chuck laughing sayin’,
You better be good, ’Chelle
, and Grandpa still alive I was happy then so happy all the time I am so happy now I can’t believe I never felt so this is Reek right here kissing me like he wants to I want him to think I’m pretty like Kat he’s carrying me I want to hug him as he lays me down and pushes when I try to get up pushes me over on my stomach and I sink into myself, into my new bed and blanket and the soft silence that takes me, pulls me down into quiet, enormous sleep.

Am I awake? Something’s ripped me open.

Kat is here.

Hold up, yo. Jesus. Drink more. C’mon, girl
.

Fruit punch. Cold and wet and pouring down my throat I am so thirsty I feel better okay it hurts okay I want to put my head down okay go back to sleep girl please just sleep okay.

I reach down, touch, and someone’s crying.

Reek’s lips in my ear.

You did good, girl
.

Rest now.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Morning.

Blood on my sheets. Fire between my legs.

I don’t have any clothes on.

Baby’s awake, playing a game on her iPad. “Hey,” she says, but she doesn’t look up, just kind of buries her face in the screen like she’s embarrassed.

I can’t remember anything. The party. Sitting on the couch with Reek. I kissed him. I did. But I didn’t do more than that. I’ve never been with a boy before.

I’m not like that. Am I?

Grandpa’s T-shirt is crumpled on the floor. I pull it on under the covers so Baby won’t see me naked. I stand up.

Devon on the couch with a huge smile. “Morning, girl. How you feeling?”

Reek behind me. His hand on my bottom. Squeezing.

“Juicy,” he says. “Like a peach.”

A guy I don’t know in the chair, younger than Reek, short, stocky, and loud. “Hell yeah. That’s what you should call her, D. Little Peach.”

Laughter. Hands slap.

Reek in my ear again. “You loved that shit, didn’t you?”

Devon strolls over, gathers my face in his hands like he did at Pink Houses. “You did good, girl. Now you one of us. Last night you did that shit for fun. From here on out, you sell it. That’s how we get by. Understand?”

“Little Peach.” The guy in the chair laughs again. “Come get a taste.”

Fire between my legs. Baby in the doorway, watching me.

I turn and fall to the ground.

10

CONEY ISLAND HOSPITAL

Coney Island, New York

You ask me how I’m feeling, but when I try to speak my mouth won’t work, so instead I just look at you through my puffy eyes, hoping you can read my mind like you did the first time we met.

“I remember you,” you say. And I smile.

It must be morning, the way the light streams through the window. Everything’s white. You lean forward and hold a plastic cup with a straw to my mouth. I take a sip. The cold water seeps into my cracked lips,
across my tongue that feels like the size of my head.

“I remember your friend too,” you say. “That day in the emergency room. Where is she?”

I shrug and look out the window, the light pouring in like scorching water. I don’t want to think about her. I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to care.

A doctor and a nurse walk in. “Ah, our mystery girl’s awake,” the doctor says in a thick accent. His face is brown like burned toast, with a thin gray-and-black beard. “That’s good. How are you feeling?”

I lick my lips, feeling the jagged edges of my broken teeth. The nurse checks the plastic bag hanging from a tall pole next to me. She stares at me with her tired face and steps away.

“The good news is, your leg’s not as bad as it looks,” the doctor continues. “You’ll have a scar, and we’ll need to keep those stitches clean, but otherwise, you should be fine. You’re a lucky young lady. The bad news is, we can’t do much else for you until you decide to give us more information. We need an adult, understand? There are forms we need them to sign. Otherwise, there’s a limit to what we can do. Your teeth, for example. And the pain. I’m sure you’re uncomfortable. And
we all want to make that better for you. So. Maybe you’re ready to talk?”

You clear your throat. “Can we speak outside for a moment?” And you step into the hall with the doctor.

The nurse stomps around the room, fiddling with the IV in my hand, moving your chair into the corner. I want you to come back. I don’t like the way the nurse looks at me.

“My leg hurts,” I murmur.

“I’m sure it does. Maybe you’ll remember that next time.”

My face gets hot, and I pull up the blanket to my chin.

“I see girls like you all the time. Comin’ in here all hours of the night, all busted up. We put you back together, give you a free meal, free everything, and what do you do? Go right back out there, back on the street. We got real patients to take care of, you know. People who really need help.”

She turns to leave, then glances back at me. “You work the corners?”

I don’t answer her.

She sighs. “You’re no mystery. Not to me at least.”

Suddenly the door opens. You walk in, look at the nurse, then at me. She rolls her eyes and brushes past you. “Good luck,” she snaps.

Your eyes lock with hers. “What did you say to her?” you demand. But the nurse doesn’t answer, letting the heavy door slap behind her as she walks away.
Boom
.

You pull the chair back to my bed and sit down. “Don’t worry about her. She’s just overworked and tired. Let’s worry about you, okay? You’re here. You’re alive. So let’s figure out what we’re gonna do. We have a day, max.”

I turn away from you, the nurse’s words blaring in my head. And then I hear another voice, her breath in my ear, her eyes so hard and pretty.

You better start thinkin’ for yourself
.

“C’mon, Michelle.” You toss your hands up, a hint of frustration in your voice. “You don’t have time to fuck around here.”

“Keisha,” I say. “Her name’s Keisha.”

“Who?”

“My friend. From the morning we met you. They call her Kat, but her real name’s Keisha.” I look right at you, a gush of anger and sorrow filling me up till I choke.

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“
Who
is she?”

“My sister,” I say. “She’s my sister.”

11

2700 SURF AVENUE, APARTMENT 6B

Coney Island, New York

“Hold still. Damn.”

I’m sitting on a hard wood chair in Devon’s living room, a bag of fake black hair in my lap. Kat’s behind me, pulling so hard on my head that my eyes sting. It’s eight o’clock at night. I’ve been sitting here for three hours, staring at the floor, my body shivering.

“Gimme another one.”

I hand her a thin bunch of hair from the bag. She pulls again. I wince. Devon sits on the couch, smoking
a cigarette, talking at me. Baby lies next to him in her red pajamas, munching on a huge bag of potato chips. On TV an orange fish is yelling like crazy. “I need to find my son! Nemo! Please!” Baby giggles and chomps another chip.

“You did your thing last night, girl,” Devon says. “Good for you.”

I shift in the seat. There’s a towel underneath me and a dark purple bruise on my right thigh; another on my arm, shaped like fingers.

I had sex with Reek. I must have. But I can’t remember it. How can I not remember it?

I thought my first time would be different. That I’d feel, I don’t know. Good. Or at least kind of happy. Erica slept with Dez from 23rd Street last summer, and she said it was all right. He really liked her. He’d bring her gummies from the corner store and get all nervous around her. Erica was cool like that. She knew how to act around boys. Not like me.

Maybe it don’t count if you can’t remember.

I fell asleep, I think. I don’t know. The fruit punch that Kat gave me, it made me all happy. Not sloppy drunk
like Little John used to get outside Boo’s. I was laughing on the couch, all filled up and warm next to him, the music pouring into me and the smoke that looked like clouds floating in the room, beautiful clouds like this apartment has its own sky.

But I don’t feel happy now. I don’t know what to feel except that something’s gone inside me. Like someone stole my insides and I’m empty.

Devon keeps talking. “You’ll be with Kat tonight at the Litehouse. She’ll show you how it works. Just do what she says and you’ll be fine. Remember, it ain’t nothin’ you didn’t do last night.”

My head is pounding, slamming in my skull, and I’m sweating hard and shivering, burning cold. My teeth chatter, knocking together like tiny running feet.

I don’t know if I should be scared.

I don’t know if I should be thankful.

I have nowhere else to go.

On the TV, the orange fish keeps getting lost. Baby laughs and takes big gulps from a bottle of Coke. Her soft belly spills out from the bottom of her shirt.

Kat pulls and pulls, twisting and braiding and yanking my hair. Finally she stops, pulls a chair in front of
me, and looks me over.

“You sweatin’ like a pig,” she says. I shake in my chair and look up at her. “You gonna be sick?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I don’t know. I don’t feel right.”

“Hang on a sec,” she whispers. Moments later she returns with a glass of fruit punch and a wet washcloth. I drink and she wipes my face, the cold cloth against my hot skin.

“Close your eyes.”

I flinch as something brushes my eyelids.

“Open. Look up.”

A brush on my eyelashes. I blink.

“Hold your head still. Damn.” Kat wipes hard beneath my eyes. “Look up.”

“You gonna throw up?” She glances at Devon, then looks at the floor. “C’mon, girl,” she whispers. “Almost done.”

A brush on my cheeks, sticky goop on my lips. Kat steps back and smiles. “Come see,” she says, and takes my hand.

I look into the mirror in the bathroom. Long, thin black braids fall across my shoulders. Light-blue eye shadow. Pink lipstick. Rose-colored blush on my cheeks.
She’s a pretty girl. Almost beautiful.

Is that me?

Devon comes in and stands behind me, his hands on my shoulders.

“Look at you,” he says, his eyes sparkling with pride. “My Little Peach.”

I keep my head down and cross my arms.

“You mad at me?”

I shrug and look away. Am I?

“I don’t know why. You should be thanking me.”

“For what?” I say, pulling away from him.

“For giving you a way to live, Peach. A way to take care of yourself. You not stupid, so I’m not gonna talk to you like you are. You’re a hood rat runaway. You’re broke. You’re what, fifteen?”

“Fourteen,” I snap.

Devon nods like he understands. “I don’t know what you runnin’ from, but it must’ve been pretty bad for you to get on that bus with half an address and a pillow. So here you are. And from now on, someone’s always gonna try to grab you. The cops wanna lock you up, or they’ll just send you back to wherever it is you came from. Or there’s always a group home, right? You’re too
old for a foster family. Not that you want one of those, either. Some old-ass man collectin’ that paycheck so he can sneak into your room at night. . . .”