Masked (5 page)

The man in the mask is Leon, the non-athletic brother. The one who took piano lessons—although he was never allowed to practice when his dad was in the house—and who excelled at art. The one who actually liked poetry.

Leon, his mother's sweetie (her word, not mine), was wearing a mask and holding a gun and sticking up Mr. Mirelli's store even though, for the past six weeks, he had been going out with Mr. Mirelli's daughter Rosie. What would his mother call him if she knew about that?

He's staring at Rosie, although he keeps glancing at Mr. Mirelli and at Corey Dubuque, who has just stumbled into the store and is mad at Rosie. They used to go together—tough-guy Corey and drop-dead-gorgeous stuck-up Ice Princess Rosie—but, boy, he didn't make it easy for her.

Corey's problem: he has a temper. But, despite everything, he somehow got himself recognized as cool. Guys like to hang out with Corey. Girls like to dream about being with him.

Personally, I don't understand it. Yeah, I can see that he's not bad-looking. Yeah, I get that his sarcasm and back talking to teachers are big hits, because Corey steps up and says stuff the rest of us only dream about saying. And, yeah, I can see the appeal of knowing someone who's as connected as Corey is. No matter what you need— party invites, fake ids, booze, smokes, you name it—Corey can get it. And besides that wicked mean temper of his, he has a sense of humor and a quick wit. You figure a guy who makes you laugh until you feel like your sides are going to split open can't be that bad.

But I'll tell you what—he doesn't look so cute and so cool standing there between two guns with his hands so high you'd swear he was trying to grab hold of the ceiling so he can pull himself up out of harm's way.

And Leon doesn't seem so sweet as he turns, the gun turning with him, so he can get a good long look at Corey.

“Leon,” Rosie says sharply, sounding like her old self now. “Put that gun down right this second.”

“Leon?” Corey says, confused. He's looking at Rosie, trying to match up the words she's speaking with the scene he sees in front of his eyes.

“What does he mean, Rosie?” Leon says. “Why was he waiting for you?”

“Put the gun down, Leon,” Rosie says.

“Leon the Loser?” Corey asks.

Rosie nods, but in a distracted way.

“Yeah, Leon. Put the gun down,” Corey says, cocky now that he knows who he's dealing with.

I guess no one told him you can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar. I guess no one told him that even though a doofus with a gun might still be a doofus, the fact that he's armed makes him dangerous. I guess it never occurred to Corey that it takes an even bigger doofus to piss off a man with a gun.

Leon doesn't put the gun down. “What does he mean, Rosie? Why was he waiting for you?” he says. He doesn't sound sweet either. He sounds confused. He also sounds impatient: how many times does he have to ask before he gets an answer?

“Leon, please put the gun down,” Rosie says, the nervousness in her voice matching the impatience in his. Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm getting the feeling that she doesn't want to answer Leon's question while Leon is holding a gun because she suspects—maybe she even knows for a fact—that he isn't going to like what she says.

Leon isn't the only one who is impatient. Mr. Mirelli is too. “Rosie,” he says. “Do you know this clown?”

“Please, Leon?” She's begging him now. “Put the gun down.”

“Yeah, idiot,” Corey says, taking a step toward him. “Put the gun down.” He's halfway to Leon, his hand out to grab the gun, when Leon aims it directly at him and braces himself, like he's ready to shoot.

“Leon!” Rosie is frantic. Her voice is shrill.

“Leon.” It's Mr. Mirelli now. “Leon, look at me.”

Leon doesn't look, but I do. Mr. Mirelli's gun is pointed at him.

“Why was he waiting for you, Rosie?” Leon says. “He treated you like garbage. He used you, and then he just threw you aside.”

“What?” Corey says. His face is flushed. He looks angry.

“What?” Mr. Mirelli says at exactly the same time.

Rosie holds her arms away from her sides. Her whole body seems to be saying,
I'm no threat to you, Leon. I'm
not going to hurt you.

But it turns out you don't need a gun to hurt someone.

“You're a good person, Leon,” Rosie says in a soft voice. “I don't know what I would have done without you. You were there for me, and I'll never forget that.”

Leon is shaking his head. He knows, the same as I do, what she really means. He knows exactly where this is going.

“Corey came back,” Rosie says. She takes another half-step closer to Leon. “Corey came back. He loves me, Leon.” She smiles at him, and it's the expression of an angel. All of a sudden I understand why Leon has been following her around like a puppy for the last six weeks. A guy like Leon, a sensitive guy, his mother's sweetie, who has never been with a girl before, a guy like that could never resist that smile.

“
I
love you,” Leon says. “That's why I'm here.”

I hear an explosion of laughter. It's Corey.

“Right,” he says. “Nothing says love better than a gun and a mask.”

Leon's eyes harden in the eyeholes of the balaclava. His lips twist.

“For the love of God,” Mr. Mirelli says, disgusted. “You, Leon, put that gun away and get the hell out of my store before I call the cops.” I bet he'll call the cops anyway. “And you.” His eyes flick to Corey. “Go away. Rosie's not going anywhere with you. She's busy.”

“Corey's not leaving,” Rosie says. She reaches for his hand, and he takes hers. “Not without me.”

Chapter Thirteen
The Masked Man

Rosie isn't listening to me. She isn't looking at me either. She's looking at Corey.

“You said you wanted out,” I tell her. Just like my mom wanted out. “You said he practically keeps you a prisoner.” Just like my dad kept my mom a prisoner. “That's why I'm here. To get you out.” Like I got my mother out.

“Who keeps you a prisoner?” Mr. Mirelli says, all surprised, like he has no idea what I'm talking about. He reminds me of my dad talking to the cops that one time I called them:
Hurt my wife?
Officer, I would never hurt my wife.
I love her
. But he hurt her bad as soon as the cops left. Then he hurt me.

“You do,” I tell Mr. Mirelli. “You keep her a prisoner. But you're not going to get away with that anymore. I'm not going to let you.”

“Get away with what?” He looks at Rosie. “What's he talking about?”

They're all like that. My father was like that. He used to yell at my mother all the time. He used to tell her she was ugly (she isn't) and stupid (she isn't) and worthless (he was the worthless one). He used to hit her, usually in places where no one would see it. But sometimes he got extra wound up. Sometimes he hit her in the face. Then he'd tell her, “You say one word and you'll be sorry.” So she would either stay in the house until the bruises were gone or she'd make up some excuse, like she fell. And people would go along with it. That's what really killed me. People would go along with whatever she said, like they didn't care.

Well, I cared. And I did something.

First, I took away my dad's gun, and I didn't let his threats and beatings force me to admit it was me. Then I called a shelter and arranged to get us all out of there. I don't know what I was going to do with the gun. I told myself I took it to make sure that he didn't decide to use it. But, really, it felt good having it in case he found us after we left the shelter, in case he threatened my mother again, in case he beat her again. I didn't have anything to do with what happened to my dad after that. Nobody made him drive drunk. But am I sorry he's gone? No way.

I didn't turn my back on my mom like everyone else did. And I wasn't going to turn my back on Rosie.

“That's why I'm here, Rosie,” I say. “To take you away.”

“
You're
here to take her away?” Corey says. He glares at Rosie. “What the hell is going on?”

“Don't you talk to my daughter like that,” Mr. Mirelli shouts at him.

“It's okay,” Rosie tells Corey. “Just give me a minute.”

“Give me a minute. Give me ten minutes. I'll be right back, I promise.” Corey says all of this in a phoney girl voice. He's making fun of Rosie.

I try to shut him out. I try to shut out Mr. Mirelli too. I focus on Rosie.

“We can go,” I tell her. “We can go right now.”

She's shaking her head.

“You don't have to put up with him anymore, Rosie. You don't have to let him hit you or bully you anymore.”

“Hit you?” Mr. Mirelli says. “Did someone hit you, Rosie?”

“You know
someone
did,” I yell at him. He's just like my father, with that stupid “Who, me?” expression on his face, like he doesn't have a clue what I'm talking about. I struggle to get a grip. I tell myself that it isn't about him. It's about Rosie. “I thought—Rosie, you said you wanted to run away somewhere where he would never find you.”

I've seen it on tv a dozen times. A guy in a mask walks into a store. He sticks up the place and takes off with the owner's daughter. He tells the owner,
Don't even think about calling
the cops
. He trusts that the man won't, at least not for a while. By the time the man does make the call, the man in the mask is long gone. So is the girl.

That was my plan. Get Rosie safely away from her old man and then meet up with her later when the coast is clear. The cops would think that some man with a gun took her and maybe killed her or something. They would look, but they wouldn't find her. Neither would her father. She would be free—and no one would ever suspect I had anything to do with it. At least, they wouldn't have if Daniel hadn't been in the store.

Rosie says, “I can't go with you, Leon.”

Can't go? My mother used to say that. She said it because she was afraid.

“Yes, you can,” I tell her. “I have it all worked out. You'll be safe. He'll never find you.”

She's shaking her head again. “I can't.”

“But you said…Rosie, what about the baby?”

“Baby?” Mr. Mirelli says.

“Baby?” Corey says at exactly the same time.

The baby. From that one time Rosie and I were together. From the time she cried and cried, and I put my arms around her. I didn't know what else to do. I put my arms around her and I held her. I told her everything was going to be okay. The next thing I knew, we were kissing. It was only the one time, but it changed everything. That's why I'm here.

Chapter Fourteen
Rosie

Everyone is staring at me.

“What baby?” my father is yelling. I wish he didn't have that gun in his hand.

“Yeah,” Corey says. “What baby?”

“Our baby,” Leon says.

Corey is staring at me. I know what he's thinking. He's wondering how much I could have loved him if I went off and got myself pregnant with another guy—worse, with a guy like Leon. He doesn't understand. How could he?

I was with Corey forever—the whole year. I loved him. I
love
him. I don't think I could ever love anyone who wasn't Corey. But he fooled around with that other girl, and we got into a fight over it. I was the one who started it, even though I knew Corey well enough that I could have—should have—predicted exactly what he would do. Which turned out to be exactly what he did. He dumped me. He took off up to his uncle's place. He wouldn't return my calls. Two days after he left, I found out I was pregnant.

I could have gone to a clinic. They would have helped me. But it's Corey's baby. How could I get rid of Corey's baby?

Of course my dad would have freaked out if I told him. Look at him now, red-faced, scowling, looking like he wants to shoot Leon more now than he did when all Leon was doing was robbing the store, which, it turns out, he really isn't doing at all.

Leon's a nice guy. Sweet. Not a boyfriend kind of guy—not for me anyway—but a friend kind of guy. He caught me crying at my locker after I found out about the baby. He crept up to me like I was a bunny with its foot caught in a snare and he was a kind hunter who was going to set me free. When he asked me what was wrong, I started to sob. I couldn't make myself tell him what Corey had done.

He drove me home. He watched out for me the next day and the day after that. He brought me a teddy bear to cheer me up. He knew I was crying about Corey, but he never mentioned his name because he didn't want to remind me. He didn't know about the baby. He didn't know how scared I was to have a baby by myself or how much more scared I was of what my dad would do if he found out.

Then I had an idea.

I let him do it with me—just once. When I finally told him I was pregnant, he assumed the baby was his. I figured my dad wouldn't push me so hard to get rid of it if the guy was still in the picture. I could keep the baby, and then later, when Corey came back—I knew he would eventually—there I'd be, with his baby. He would take me back. We would be a family.

But Corey wasn't supposed to find out like this. He wasn't supposed to be hearing about his baby for the first time from Leon.

“It's not
our
baby, Leon,” I say. “It's
my
baby.”

I see confusion in Leon's eyes. And Corey's.

“What do you mean,
your
baby?” Corey says. There's a tremble in his voice.

“
What baby
?” my dad yells.

“It's your baby, Corey.” I move toward him and take his hands in mine. “Yours and mine.”

Behind me, Leon says, “Liar. It's
my
baby.”