Punch Like a Girl (12 page)

On the way home on the bus, I'm upset about everything that's gone wrong today—Alena ditching me, Jamarlo ignoring me, Carmen gossiping about me with my brother, Matt and Melody threatening to show up.

I find Joel sprawled on the leather couch in the den, watching men's soccer, with a plate of cheese nachos perched on his stomach.

“Why did you do it?” I yell.

His eyes stay on the
TV
screen. “Do what?” He stuffs three nachos into his mouth at once.

“Tell Carmen that I punched a Dumpster!”

His eyes flick to me and then back to the screen. “You did punch a Dumpster.” He sounds puzzled.

“I know! But you don't need to tell people about it!” My brother may be able to solve math equations faster than I can, but his sensitivity skills are at rock bottom.

“Who cares what they know? It's not like you have anything to hide.” He turns up the volume.

I leave the den wanting to hit something, but it'll only hurt my good hand. When I head to my bedroom, Mom and Dad cut me off at the stairs.

“What was the yelling about?” Dad crosses his arms and frowns. Beside him, Mom puts a hand on the railing, blocking my way.

“Nothing. Joel is just being an idiot, as usual.” I wish he were leaving for university in September so I could have high school to myself.

“You look upset again. What's wrong now?” Mom asks.

“I'm fine.” Everything is wrong, but I don't want to talk about it.

Mom and Dad exchange a look.

“I just want to go to my room. I'm tired.”

“That's one of the things we're worried about,” Mom says.

Dad clears his throat. “Your mother and I want you to slow down a bit. Exams are soon, and you're doing community service every day. It might be too much for you.”

“You're the one who made me do community service in the first place, and now you want me to stop?” I shake my head, amazed.

“No.” The fine lines around my mother's mouth deepen. “We want you to slow down.”

I plant my good hand on my hip. “Well, you can forget it. Casey waits for me to arrive each day. Manny's about to lose a tooth. The others made me promise to play tag with them.” I push past my parents. “I'm not going to let any of them down.”

As I turn the corner in the upstairs hall, I glimpse Dad putting a hand on Mom's arm.

“Leave her for now,” he says.

Damn right. I shut the door to my room and flop backward onto my bed. This time, I won't let my parents tell me what to do.

SEiZE
to take by force

It's a scorching Friday afternoon, and I'm walking past cozy bungalows to the playground at Mill Pond Park. The bigger kids from the shelter are paired with the younger ones, walking hand in hand, with Jia at the front, Francine at the back and Sal and me midway.

“You have four brothers?” I gape up at Sal. I'm paired with Manny, who's tried to bolt across the street in front of cars twice so far. Once to see a puppy up close and another time to get away from his brother's teasing. His hand is sweaty in mine.

“Yup.” Sal slouches along the interlocking-brick sidewalk, hardly lifting his Nikes. “Two older and two younger. Maybe that's why I like kids. We all have to take care of each other since my mother works a lot.” He's carrying two-year-old Fatima, who's fallen asleep on his shoulder.

“I only have one brother, and sometimes he makes me doubt the future of the human race.” I tighten my grip on Manny's slippery hand as we approach an intersection with overhanging trees.

Sal laughs. “He can't be that bad.”

“You don't know my brother.” I roll my eyes.

“Sal's mama cut my hair,” Manny brags.

I lift Manny's baseball cap, check out his short-cropped black curls and give him a thumbs-up.

Manny beams.

“Your mother did that?” I glance at Sal.

“She's a hairdresser,” Sal says, “so she cuts hair at the shelter once a month.”

“Wow! Five kids and she still has time to volunteer? That's generous.”

“It's nothing.” He shrugs, but he's grinning.

Up ahead, Casey checks both ways before she crosses the street with her four-year-old charge from the preschool room.

“I see the park!” Manny's hand slides free of mine and he bolts.

“Manny, stop!” I shriek. I reach with my good hand for the back of his shirt and miss. A large hydro truck is rolling toward the four-way stop in front of us.

Then Sal's long arm stretches out. He grips Manny's shoulder and pulls him back. The truck screeches to a halt.

“Hold up there, soldier.” Sal's voice is steady. “Wait for your partner.”

He doesn't scream or even lecture Manny. Fatima is still asleep on his shoulder.

“Good reflexes, Sal.” I try to keep my voice calm like his.

The truck rumbles through the intersection.

“If you like that, you should see me bowl sometime.” Sal's bronze eyes meet mine.

“What?” I grab Manny by the forearm, hoping Sal isn't asking me out.

“Bowling. You and me. After your hand is better.”

“Uh, I don't know how to bowl,” I say, even though Dad used to take Joel and me regularly. I turn my back to Sal, my chest suddenly constricting so that I can't breathe properly. I can't date Sal. Or anyone. Not right now. Maybe never. “Let's cross together,” I tell Manny.

“I'm going on the swings first.” Manny leans toward the park, dancing across the intersection on his toes.

“Just stay away from the road,” I say.

The playground has four swings shaded by trees, and two adventure sets with multiple slides and overhead bars. In the nearby pond, geese and ducks paddle close to shore, probably hoping the humans will ignore the signs that say not to feed them. The grassy area between the pond and the playground is littered with goose droppings and picnic benches. Beyond the pond is the forest, with walking paths through it to neighborhoods with fancy four-bedroom homes and double-car garages.

The kids cut loose as soon as their shoes touch the sand of the playground. I run my fingers over the quarter-inch stubble on my head and veer away from Sal, my chest still tight. The urge to shave again is strong, even though it will be hard to do with my broken right hand.

Rachel gets a game of tag going with some other girls. Jonah pushes Manny on the swing, and I follow Casey, who's peering into a patch of tall grasses near the edge of the pond.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

Casey crouches low to peek under a bush. “I'm looking for Monty,” she says.

“Oh.” I savor the sound of her voice; she's only been speaking for a few days. “Well, he—and his friends—might be hard to find.”

“Why?” She tucks her messy brown hair behind her ears and squints up at me.

“He can travel pretty far. He might be a long way from here.”

“Like where?”

“I don't know. How about we look around to see what other creatures we can find? We're bound to find something—maybe a frog or some worms.”

“Okay.” Casey nods. “But no bees. They scare me.”

“No bees. I promise.”

Casey spots a purple-and-brown butterfly with yellow-tipped wings, but it flies too high for us to see it up close. I rustle underneath some wide leaves and find a couple of snails.

“Take a look at these,” I say. “They have yellow racing stripes.”

Casey scrunches up her nose.

“Come on. Snails are cool.” I try to remember interesting snail facts. “Did you know their eyes are on the end of those little stalks?” I point to one eye, and the snail retracts it. The other snail is already tucked inside his shell.

“He doesn't like to be poked.” Casey frowns.

“Sorry, snail.” I bow to him.

“His name isn't Snail.” She brings her face closer to him.

He extends his eye stalks, as if he's curious.

“What is it?” I smile.

“I don't know.” Casey glances down the path that snakes around the east side of the pond to the forest.

“Can we go see the geese?” She points to two giant Canada geese that are waddling onto the shore, tails dripping water.

“You have to ask Jia.”

Casey runs over to Jia, who's sitting on a bench and watching the rest of the kids play. Fatima sits on her knee, blinking sleepily in the sunshine. Sal is at the twirly slide, catching toddlers at the bottom and setting them upright on wobbly legs. I arrive to hear Jia say, “As long as you can see me, Casey. And take Tori with you.”

Casey and I walk the path beside the pond, hand in hand, heading toward the forest. We pass a mom with her kid on her hip and the dad pushing an empty stroller. When we near the geese, one starts honking loudly and tossing its head.

Casey covers her ears. “Why is she doing that?”

“I don't know. Maybe to protect her mate?”

“Or she could be asking for food.”

“Could be.” The surface of the water is coated with feathers, and there are several nests among the nearby shore plants. “My friend came here yesterday to feed bread to the geese, even though you're not supposed to.”

“Why can't we feed them?” Casey asks.

“It's not good for them. They need to eat natural food, not human-made things.”

“Oh.” Her face falls. “My dad used to take me to feed the geese.”

Her father. The one who abused her mother and likely Casey too. “Oh,” I echo, not sure what to say. I suppose she has some good memories of him as well.

Both geese extend their necks and honk some more. When we don't offer any food, they waddle farther down the path to the edge of the forest, near where other people are walking.

Casey follows them. I glance back at Jia, who I can just see through the scattering of trees.

“That's far enough,” I say, catching up to Casey.

The geese stop, and so do we. Casey pulls out some nearby grass and tries to interest the closest goose with it.

I glance toward the forest and notice Mr. Manicure heading along the path toward us. He's swinging his arms and carrying a plastic Wonder Bread bag full of crumbs.

I frown and turn toward the pond, hoping he won't notice me.

“Tori!” He stops beside us, crowding too close. “It looks like we have the same idea today.” He grins, showing his perfect white teeth. “Do you want some of my bread?”

“You shouldn't feed the geese,” I say, even though I promised myself I wouldn't talk to him. “It's bad for—”

I stop abruptly when I notice that Casey has dropped the grass at her feet and gone rigid. Her chin has retreated into her neck, and the whites of her eyes show as she gapes at Mr. Manicure.

“What's wrong, Casey?” I kneel down.

She's speechless. My creep-o-meter goes off the scale. I glance toward the playground—I can't see Jia anymore—and then up at Mr. Manicure.

His forehead has knotted, and his eyes are filled with malice. “Tell Carita she can go to hell,” he practically growls at me before he grabs Casey around her middle and takes off at a run toward the forest.

Casey screams—a piercing wail that jumpstarts me.

“What are you doing? Let her go!” I shriek, sprinting after them.

Casey's sunhat falls off her head. The geese honk. I latch onto the back of Mr. Manicure's shirt with my cast hand, even though it hurts like hell, and land a few punches to his kidneys.

“Jia! Help!” I yell, even though she's probably too far away to hear.

I get in a few more hits. He staggers sideways. I grab Casey's ankle, holding fast. He regains his footing and rips her from me. Then he shakes me off, knocking me backward into the pond.

Casey!
I swallow water. Gag. It's freezing. The bottom oozes muck. I thrash around to get my footing, desperate to help her.

My hand gropes the shore. I pull on some weeds to get myself upright.