On the Edge (5 page)

“Maybe he just wanted to avoid the
I'll call you
thing,” I said. “I don't know. But I'm not buying anything from Sasso's for at least two weeks.”

“I've always thought he was full of himself,” Iz said. “Next time I go there, I'm pouring a Slush Puppie over his head.”

THAT NIGHT I DREAMED OF ORTIZ.
I dreamed that I was watching him box, mesmerized by his ripped body and the sheer power of his punches. And then we drove off and found a cozy motel room.

That's when I woke up—before things got really good.

I lay back in bed. Couldn't I fantasize about someone who
hadn't
rejected me in the last twenty-four hours?

I took a shower, my vanilla body wash stripping off the remains of last night. I stood in the stream of hot water, trying not to relive scenes from the dream. Trying to forget what it felt like to be wanted, no,
needed
, like that.

Although I hadn't admitted it to the girls, I'd actually thought Ortiz was into me. Not burning for me, exactly, but interested. Who was I kidding? It was our topic of conversation he was interested in, not the rest of the package.

Which is probably why I was the editor of
Prep Talk
instead of the homecoming queen.

Cornflakes. After last night's drinking and greasy eats, they were all I could handle. I turned on the E! channel to enjoy the latest celebrity hot mess, and sat down on the couch, trying to get comfortable. All of our furniture was old and too soft, especially the couch, which was lopsided—thanks to two hundred and fifty pounds of Boyd practically living on it for three years.

Dex curled up beside me. Since Mom was at work, we had the place to ourselves for a while. It was nice.

Mom was smothering me these days, and I didn't like it. Weird. When Boyd had been in our lives, all I'd wanted was more of Mom's attention. Now that I had it, I didn't want it.

My phone rang. I had input all of my friends into my new phone, but I didn't recognize this number.

I caught my breath. “Hello?”

“Hey, Maddie. It's Julia.”

I was an idiot. Of course it wasn't Ortiz. But this was also a surprise. “Hey.”

“Hope I'm not calling too early.”

“Not at all, I was awake.” I perked myself up. I wanted Julia to know that I was glad she was calling me. “How late did the party go last night?”

“I'm not sure. Eric and I crashed around three, but some people stayed longer. We're done cleaning up and are going to Cosmo's for breakfast. Or brunch, I guess. Wanna come?”

Julia and Eric wanted to hang with me? Wow. “I'd love to, but I can't. I have to work at one.”

“No probs. Oh, and I wanted to see how things went with Ortiz. He's cool, don't you think?”

This was embarrassing. “Yeah, he is. But he got a text and took off really fast.”

“I kinda noticed that. Don't take it personally. Eric says Ortiz is always bolting. Maybe he's got ADHD.”

“It's not a big deal.”

“Anyway, Eric's about to chew his arm off here so I gotta go. But let's do it another time, okay? I'll call you.”

“Sounds awesome.”

I had to smile. Last night hadn't been a total loss after all.

Someone was watching me. I could feel it.

I glanced over my shoulder, but saw nothing. From the moment I'd walked out of McDonald's, I'd felt vulnerable.

It was 9:06 p.m. The bus was due in four minutes. I stood, waiting, in the midst of a group of harmless-looking people.

Abruptly I turned my head and saw a shadow hovering in the alley. Then it was gone. Had I imagined it?

So much for Manny's offer to be my personal driver. He'd called in sick tonight. I needed him right now. I needed someone. Actually, the one I needed was Dex. I felt safe with him by my side, like nothing could touch me.

Three girls in their twenties were standing nearby, dressed for a night out—tight clothes, slicked-back hair, huge earrings, and oceans of perfume.

“You heard about Juan getting jumped last week?” one girl said.

“Jumped? They rolled his ass bad. Took all his cash and supply. Musta had him staked out.” She cracked her gum. “It had to be the Destinos.”

The short one disagreed. “You believe that shit? There's no such thing as the Destinos. It's an urban myth. My mom said there was a gang just like them in the eighties.”

The girl scoffed. “The Reyes weren't even around in the eighties. And they're
only
fucking with Reyes. How do you explain that?”

Her friend was stumped.

The Destinos gang was the talk of the neighborhood. I didn't care if they were a real gang or a couple of rogue thugs, I was just glad that they were brave enough (or stupid enough) to give the Reyes a hard time. Hopefully they were higher on the Reyes hit list than I was.

I'm a fucking guppy
, I reminded myself. It was my mantra, thanks to Manny.

I spotted movement from the corner of my eye, and my heart rate spiked. A young guy was walking toward the bus stop—toward
me
. He was a bit older than me and dressed clean-cut, but who knew what his story was?

The guy's eyes met mine. I was ready to run the second he made a move toward me.

I stood there, full of adrenaline. He looked me up and down, kind of smiled, and walked by. My heart was beating out of my chest.

My worst fears were confirmed. I was going crazy.

“I think I'm being followed,” I told the school psychologist on Monday morning.

There, I'd said it. I would never tell my mom, because she'd freak out. I couldn't tell my friends, because they'd say I was being paranoid. And I couldn't go to Detective Gutierrez, because I had no proof.

But I could say it to Jennifer. She'd made it clear that I could say anything. No judgment.

This was only my second visit with her, but I'd decided that she was trustworthy. Which didn't mean I felt a connection with her. She was too clinical. She only had a handful of facial expressions, from the sensitive nod to the almost-smile to the compassionate brow furrow.

“Followed?” Her blue eyes opened a fraction wider, then she gave the sensitive nod. “Tell me more about that.”

“Ever since the incident I've felt like I was being watched. When I'm at the bus stop. Or walking somewhere with Dex.”

“Do you feel this way when you're in a safe place, say at home or”—she subtly glanced down at her notes—“at your friend Iz's house?”

I thought about it. “Not really. I mean, sometimes I worry that my house'll be set on fire, but that's just because a friend suggested it. I don't think anyone's looking through my window or anything. It's mostly when I'm outside.”

“Have you spoken to Detective Gutierrez about this?”

I shook my head. “I don't see what he can do.”

“But don't you think he'd want to know?”

“Maybe but . . .” This was the strange part, the embarrassing part. “Whoever they are, I don't think they're out to get me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That surprises me, in light of what you've been through.”

“I know it's weird.” Weird didn't begin to cover it. “Did you ever see that Oprah rerun with the ‘gift of fear' stuff? My mom made me watch it. It's all about how your instincts know when there's a predator. Even if it's not rational, that feeling is there. But I don't feel any of that. Not like . . .”

She leaned forward in her chair. “Not like what?”

“The Reyes at the park. I knew right away that they were dangerous. That I had to get away from them.”

She glanced down at her notes. “I want to go back to something you said. You said,
they're
not out to get you. Plural.”

She was sharp, all right. “Sometimes I think it's more than one person. I mean,
different
people. Do I sound crazy?”

“Absolutely not,” she said emphatically. “The sense of being followed is very common when you're experiencing post-traumatic stress.”

Okay, so I wasn't crazy, I was just stressed. Post-traumatically stressed.

“So you don't think . . . it could be real?”

She gazed back at me, her blue eyes intense. “What do
you
think?”

That was the problem. I didn't trust my own judgment anymore. And I could tell she didn't either.

IT DIDN'T GET ANY BETTER THAN THIS.
I sat on a bench, the salty beach air blowing on my face. It was seven o'clock at night, still light out, and I was eating a taco.

“Holy shit, this is good,” Julia said. “When you said you wanted tacos from a truck, I was doubting.” As she took another bite, half of her taco fell into the tray. I held back a smile. If she was going to survive in Miami, she'd better learn how to eat a taco.

“Food trucks are big here,” I said.

“Not in Flatbush, where I come from. If you're buying street eats, you'd better be packing Pepto Bismol.”

I laughed, glad I wasn't holed up at home tonight. I'd been expecting a boring night of school newspaper editing when Julia had called. No way I was going to pass up another invite. Besides, even if I'd have to stay up late working, tomorrow was Friday.

As we ate, I scanned my surroundings. Nothing unusual. Women in bikini tops and their bare-chested boyfriends rollerbladed by us. Tourists strolled, vendors hawked overpriced T-shirts. If the Reyes were planning to strike at me, they wouldn't do it here on the bustling boardwalk with so many witnesses.

At least, I hoped not.

At the end of my last visit, the school psychologist had suggested I take some anti-anxiety meds. Weird, because I thought psychologists weren't into that pharma shit.

No, thank you
, I'd told her. I might be a little crazy these days, but the real crazy thing would be to dull my God-given senses.

“See someone you know?” Julia asked, picking up some taco entrails and popping them into her mouth.

Guess I wasn't so subtle after all. “Um, no. Just people watching.”

“I know what it's like, Maddie. Back in Brooklyn, I got on the wrong side of the Bloods.”

I gaped at her. “How'd that happen?”

“I heard Eric was going to get jumped, and I warned him. In the ghetto, that's snitching. I'm sure you can relate.”

“Oh my God. The Bloods came after you?”

She nodded. “So I joined the Crips.”

“What?”
I couldn't picture smart, classy Julia as a gang member. No way.

“It's true,” she said. “Anyway, that's ancient history. Point is, I know how it feels to be on your guard all the time. After I got jumped the first time, I was never really the same.”

The first time?
I didn't even know what to say.

“My theory is that a little paranoia's good for you. Keeps you alert.” She closed up the remains of her taco and tossed it in the trash. “I have an idea. Let's go somewhere where you won't have to look over your shoulder.”

“Sure. You lead the way.”

We got on a crowded bus heading downtown. Julia told me about U. of M., about how much she loved her classes. But she said it wasn't always easy to meet people—the downside of living in an apartment off campus. The upside was that it was cheaper, she could cook her own food, and she and Eric could have as many sleepovers as they wanted.

It was so cool that Julia wanted to get to know me. I felt sort of bad that she didn't have the same interest in Iz, but I had a sense of why. Iz was outrageous and a magnet for drama, which had probably put Julia off. She'd had enough drama in Brooklyn.

I almost felt like I was cheating on Iz, although I realized how ridiculous that was. I shouldn't have to include her in
everything
. A little distance was healthy, especially since I was going away to college.

Julia pulled the cord to get off the bus and we stepped onto a busy block downtown. I spotted a weathered sign that said “The Ring,” and followed her through a heavy door.

The massive room looked like a converted warehouse. There were two boxing rings on either side of the space and separate areas for sparring, punching bags, and weight training. The sounds of grunting and cheering echoed across the room.

I smiled. “Yeah, I'm safe here.”

“There's Eric.” Julia pointed toward the weight training section. He was doing some bench presses, with a massive guy spotting him.

“Let's not bug him until he's finished a few sets,” Julia said. “He says I distract him.”

“I'm sure that's a compliment.”

She actually blushed. “Hey, look who's pummeling someone in the ring. That's Ortiz in the red shorts.”

Ortiz. I couldn't see his face because of the headgear, but I could see the tall, muscled body glistening with sweat. Too bad my girls were missing it.

“It's okay to drool,” Julia said.

“I wasn't drooling. I was admiring his shiny shorts.”

She smirked. “He might've run out on you like a jackass, but he was into you. That's why I brought you over to him in the first place.”

“What made you think he was into me?”

“He told Eric he saw you at the store sometimes. Said you were hot.”

“He said that?”

“Absolutely.”

Wow.

Double wow.

“Then why didn't he ask for my number?” I sighed. “Iz could be right. He could have a girlfriend. Or a string of them.”

“Maybe he's a gigolo who answers booty calls for female executives.”

I smirked. But as I watched him beat down his opponent, my mouth went dry. “There's not enough cash in the world to pay for a piece like that.” I winked at her, and we burst out laughing.

When Eric had finished his last set, we went up to him. He smiled when he saw his girlfriend. “Hey, Divine.” It was a play on her last name, DiVino. Eric wrapped his sweaty self around her, and she didn't seem to mind one bit.

“Maddie, how's it going?” he asked me once Julia had slipped out of his arms.

“Good. Just scoping the place out, seeing if it's a good place to train.”

“The cat-fighting gym's down the street,” he said. Julia punched his arm. “I was playin'!”

“He is
so
not PC,” Julia said.

Eric drank some water, wiped his mouth, and checked the clock. “I'm going up for the sparring circle. Wanna watch?”

We agreed and followed him up some metal stairs to the loft. It was a big empty space with blue mats on the floor. There were four guys up there, stretching and air-boxing. Eric skipped a little rope to warm up. I didn't know what a sparring circle was, but I doubted it involved holding hands and singing.

Julia and I stood against the wall as the guys assembled into a circle. “I hate this,” she said into my ear. “But he likes it when I watch.”

“That sounds so wrong, you know,” I teased.

“Trust me, I know.”

The last guy to join them was Ortiz. He walked by without noticing us and took his place in the circle. Once everybody was quiet, he pointed at Eric, and then another guy. “You and you. Go.”

It didn't look like boxing to me. It was street fighting, fast and dirty. Julia chewed her lip, wincing every time Eric
or
his opponent landed a kick or a punch. I didn't like it either. I knew that a lot of guys had a natural fighting urge in them, an instinct left over from our primitive selves.
Feeding the beast
, Ortiz had called it that night at Eric's party. But I guess it was better to control it in a boxing gym than to let it loose in a bar brawl.

The fight went on for two, maybe three minutes, but I could tell that for Julia, it felt like hours. Eric's opponent finally tapped out, admitting defeat.

Next Eric called the pair. He chose Ortiz and a bear of a guy who must've outweighed him by fifty pounds. It didn't matter. Ortiz stunned him with several rapid-fire punches, then pinned him to the ground. Obviously Ortiz wasn't just a studied fighter, he was a born one. Strange, because the Corner Store Guy I'd seen so many times didn't give off an air of aggression. Sex appeal, sure, but not aggression.

The sparring circle lasted about twenty minutes. By the end of it, the guys looked exhausted, and Julia did too.

Afterward Eric came up to us and downed some more water. “We going somewhere?”

Julia turned to me. “You up for it?”

“Nah, I'd better get home and work.”

“Come on,” Eric said, “they can't take away your scholarship now, can they?”

“It's the school newspaper. If the articles suck, it's on me. Great seeing you guys.”

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Ortiz heading in our direction. After the quick end to our last meeting, I knew it would be awkward to stand around and chat with him. I decided to make a strategic exit.

The bus stop was only steps from the front door of the gym. According to my iPhone app, I had to wait seven minutes, and the bus ride back would be twenty. Not bad. I could be at my computer by nine thirty, hopefully in bed by eleven.

I checked my phone and saw a text from Iz.

Actually I could. Carmen hadn't been returning my texts lately. She seemed to be making a point of showing us how into Rafael she was. I texted Iz back.

Her reply came within two minutes.

A horn honked, and I looked up. A black car had stopped at the curb. Ortiz was in the driver's seat, his hair and skin glistening from a shower. I blinked. Must've been the quickest shower known to man. Did he deliberately hurry up so he could drive me?

“Why don't you get in? I'm going to work.”

The car behind him beeped, jolting me. I hurried up to his car and slipped into the passenger seat. “Thanks.”

The second I buckled my seat belt, he started to drive. “I'm guessing you live near Sasso's.”

“Yeah, I'm just off Seventeenth.”

After a couple of minutes, he said, “Not a boxing fan, are you?”

“What I saw up there wasn't exactly boxing.”

“Yeah, it's more raw. Nothing's off-limits. That's how I like it.”

Oh yeah?
I was tempted to reply. But he looked so cool that I wasn't totally sure he was flirting with me. So I said, “I guess it's okay to fight like that if you're not training for competition.”

“I'm not chasing the Rocky dream, trust me. But self-defense can come in handy.”

That made me stop and think for a minute. “Were you there any of the times Sasso's was robbed?”

“Yeah, a few times.”

“Really? Hope you weren't tempted to test out your skills.”

He scoffed. “The sight of a gun kills the temptation to use my moves. Plus, any self-respecting stickup guy knows not to get within an arm's length of you.”

“
Self-respecting
stickup guy? Seems like an oxymoron to me.”

“Don't see why.” He slanted me a look. “It's a trade like any other.”

“Yeah, right. Aren't trades supposed to be
legal
?”

His mouth crooked. “Not in this city. You've got the drug trade. The gun trade. The sex trade.”

“Okay, you got me there. But they're not like other trades—by the time you've been in five years, you're probably dead instead of a master tradesman.”

“You got
me
there.” He stopped at a light. His eyes drifted over me. I swallowed.

A tight silence settled over us. The cabin of the car suddenly seemed too small. I had a flash of my dream in which we were driving together, my hair blowing in the wind, my hand on his hard, muscled thigh.

Damn it. I shouldn't let my mind go there. Ortiz was sexy in a way that made my insides melt, and he undoubtedly knew it. Every hot-blooded female between fourteen and forty would be attracted to him. Maybe some cougars, too.

The point was, he could have any girl he wanted. If we hooked up, it probably wouldn't go anywhere. And the last thing I needed was a booty call setup. Okay, so maybe I
needed
it, but I definitely shouldn't go for it.

Distracting myself, I turned to look out the window. Little bungalows and palm trees rushed by. I'd always loved my neighborhood. Not in an
I want to stay here forever
way but in a nostalgic way. I loved how my neighbors lived on their porches, how they all looked out for each other. Sure, I grew up knowing about the gangs, the violence, but none of it had ever touched my life. I'd always felt safe.

Until that night.

The moment I thought of Hector, I mentally pressed Delete. I'd taught myself to do that whenever the memory came up. Put it in a box and seal it with UPS tape and ship it off to Siberia. Compartmentalizing, Dr. Drew called it.

I called it staying sane.

Then I thought of Ortiz heading for another graveyard shift, and my stomach felt queasy. “I hope the graveyard shift's worth the risk.”

“It's fine. Quiet. I can read, listen to my iPod. But as I told your friend, it takes real
stamina
.”

He winked at me, and I couldn't help laughing.

The tension in the car had evaporated, but my house was coming up far too fast. I pointed to the right side of the street. “It's one eighty-six, second from the corner.”

He pulled up to the curb and put the car in park.

“Thanks a lot,” I said, unbuckling my seat belt and getting out. “Have a good night.”

“You, too.”

I shut the door on the seat belt. Classic move on my part. “Oops, sorry.” I fumbled to put it back in, then shut the door again. His face stayed neutral, but I was pretty sure he was amused.

I hurried up to unlock my front door, not looking back until I was inside.

His car was still there, engine running. Sign of a gentleman, I thought with a smile.