38
We put on our angel and devil show-girl outfits and go down to the Strip as often as we can. The money and the flexibility of going whenever we want are too good to stop. Soon, we stake out our own block just outside of the New York–New York hotel and casino. A miniature Lady Liberty casts her shadow over us as we work, making the perfect backdrop for tourists eager to snap a picture. The happy screams of roller-coaster riders echo over our heads.
I jokingly refer to this slice of sidewalk as our “office.” At school, I’ll ask Shelly if we are going into the “office” that night. It’s a secret word between us, a code we can use without announcing our intentions to anyone else.
It’s been nice to reconnect with Shelly. We’re spending so many nights together that it’s like the clock hands have moved backward. Back to the time when we were sisters in every way except by blood.
Rafe makes frequent appearances on the Strip. Sometimes I spot him far down the street, talking to people or lounging around. He’s different every time I see him, changing his hair and clothing the way a snake sheds its skin. I admire that about him, how he doesn’t cling to tradition or routine.
I’m not like that. I get nervous when my mom cuts my hair at our scarred kitchen table. “Just a little trim, Mama. Not too much.”
Often, Rafe wanders down to us. He talks about school or makes sarcastic comments about the tourists who walk by. Rafe and Shelly have mutual friends, kids from Shelly’s apartment complex that she moved into after her mom got married. People I don’t know. Sometimes they talk about these friends. It makes me feel left out, how they have things in common I can never be a part of.
Quite a few kids from my high school haunt the Strip like street waifs from a Dickens novel. Some are there to kill time, some to buy drugs, some to sell them, and some, particularly the girls, are there to do things I don’t want to think about.
I get further proof that Rafe is selling drugs. He does a lot of extended handshakes paired with meaningful eye contact. It’s awfully suspicious. When he’s down at our end of the Strip, he glowers at the men who come to take pictures with us. Eventually, Shelly demands he leave and stop scaring our customers away.
···
One Friday night, Shelly and I are walking back to the car when we see Rafe heading in the same direction. Shelly calls out his name.
The air has grown chilly. Shelly and I wear oversized jackets to keep warm and hide our skimpy bikinis. The feathers and gaudier parts of our costumes are put away in backpacks that bounce against our backs as we walk. Clutching our jackets tighter, we quicken our pace.
Rafe silently waits for us to catch up.
“Where’re you going?” asks Shelly.
I’m still uncertain around Rafe, so I stay quiet.
“The Starlight. They’re having a party.” He gives us an appraising look and hesitates. “Do you want to come? A ton of people will be there.”
“I don’t think—” Shelly begins to say, but I cut her off.
“We can go.” I ignore the shock on Shelly’s face. She’s always asking if I want to get food or ice cream on the way home from the Strip. I tell her no, citing reasons like homework and wanting to be with my mom.
The difference between those times and this one is that Rafe is going to the party. I’m tired of watching him from a distance. I want to get a closer look, maybe spend some time with him. It bothers me that he doesn’t like me, and I need to know why. In my fantasies, I still see myself breaking down his walls. Like he has built himself a fortress, and I will be the sledgehammer to smash it into pieces.
Shelly’s been dyeing her hair different colors. Today it’s a purple-blue. Twirling her midnight-colored hair on a finger, she regards me with suspicion. “Are you sure, Tiffany? Don’t you have a biology test on Monday?”
I do have a test on Monday. A big one. But how often am I going to have this opportunity? I’m tired of always being so responsible, of putting my mom and my academics first. The kids at that party aren’t worrying about getting into college. They’re out having fun and living in the moment.
For this one night, I want to be like them.
Playing it cool, I say, “I have all weekend to study. Besides, we can just stay for a little while. Okay, Shelly?” She drove us here. She’s the one I need to convince.
“I’m fine with staying if you are.” She shrugs, still looking at me like she knows I’m up to something but can’t quite figure it out.
Even though he invited us, Rafe hesitates, giving me one last reluctant glance before we step into the Starlight. I’ve never been inside the dilapidated building before. The scene looks like something out of a horror movie. Debris and trash litter the floor. Graffiti climbs across the closed elevator doors. Faded and torn sunset red wallpaper hangs in long strips, peeling off the walls. There must still be electricity to the hotel because a mismatched collection of floor lamps scattered around the lobby emits random pools of light. Not exactly a “party” type of atmosphere.
This gloomy ambiance doesn’t stop the people gathered in clusters throughout the room. They drink, smoke, and laugh with abandon. Someone has set up a boombox in the corner. It pumps out heavy techno dance music with bass so loud it reverberates through the soles of my shoes.
As soon as we enter the party, Rafe disappears. Within minutes, he’s back bearing a gift. He hands Shelly an unopened bottle of wine. I’ve never seen wine like this before. It’s cotton candy pink. Shelly looks at the label and nods approvingly, like she’s some fancy sommelier. Wasting no time, she unscrews the cap and takes a big swig straight from the bottle. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she passes it over to me.
I hold the wine up to the sporadic light, turning it this way and that to read the label. Boone’s Strawberry Hill. I’ve never had alcohol before, never wanted it, but I feel the weight of Shelly’s and Rafe’s stares, so I take a timid sip. It tastes sweet, like liquefied candy, with a sour fermented aftertaste.
“Not bad,” I admit.
Laughing loudly, Shelly snatches the bottle out of my hands. “Not bad? Is that all you can say? This stuff is freaking delicious. It’s as easy on your throat going down as it is when it’s coming back up.”
“Eww, Shelly. Gross.” My lip curls in disgust.
She laughs and takes another gulp. The casual way that she’s drinking makes me think she’s no stranger to alcohol. It strikes me that Shelly has a life beyond me. One we don’t talk about much. Full of friends and activities I know nothing about. What else does my best friend do when we’re apart?
Shelly hands me back the bottle. Emboldened, I drink a mouthful and then another. The wine has an acidic sting going down my throat. I evaluate myself. Am I drunk yet? How long does it take to detect the effects of alcohol? So far, I feel the same as usual. It’s almost disappointing.
Shelly waves to friends from her apartment building and goes over to them. Rafe leans against the wall next to me with his arms crossed over his chest, watching the crowd like a king surveying his kingdom. I rack my brain, trying to think of something witty to say, but come up blank. He makes me nervous, a tantalizing kind of anxious excitement. It’s a feeling I hate and love at the same time.
Finally, he cuts the silence. “What are you doing here, Tiffany?” His eyes stay fixed on the crowd in front of us.
My first response is pure relief that he remembers my name. The last time he said it out loud was when he rescued me. My second thought is anger at his disdainful tone. It’s like he’s judging me. He barely knows me, so he has no right to make assumptions. I lean back against the wall next to him and cross my arms over my chest, hugging myself. “My mom got sick. Cancer. I need money to pay the bills.”
Rafe lets out a low, harsh bark of laughter. “We all need money.” A lazy wave of his hand to indicate the crowd. “That’s why we’re all here, isn’t it?” His hand drops back down to his side like it’s too heavy to keep holding up. “I just thought you’d find a better way to get it. A smarter way.”
“What smarter way?” I rotate toward him, a moth drawn to his flame.
“I don’t know. You’re the brainiac. Not me.” Rafe continues to study the people gathering in front of us. More teens have joined the party now. I’ve lost sight of Shelly. Too many people block my view. Someone turns the music up even louder. Kids dance frantically to the heavy beat.
“Why? You don’t want me here?” Sadness tingles in the back of my throat. I’m certain he’s rejecting me.
Brilliant green eyes shift over to mine. They glitter in the lamplight, feral and fierce. “You don’t belong here. You belong somewhere better.” He sounds so certain.
“What do you mean by better?” I clench my fists tight with frustration.
His eyes drill into me like he can convince me with the intensity of his gaze. “I mean better. Away from here. Away from us.”
There it is. The opportunity I’ve been waiting for. “What if I don’t want to be away from you?” Standing on the street in a bikini has given me a newfound sense of self-confidence. My developing body used to scare me, but now that I’ve made money taking pictures with strangers, I see that my body can be a tool, a weapon even, used to get what I want.
An unfamiliar boldness overcomes me. Maybe it’s the alcohol in my veins or maybe it’s a year of pent-up longing. Either way, I’m taking advantage of this moment. I’m done daydreaming. Desire for him wells up like blood in a cut, slow and throbbing. I push off the wall and move to stand in front of him. In slow motion, I let my jacket casually slip off one shoulder, leaving it bare. Rafe’s razor-sharp eyes follow the motion. I watch with satisfaction as he licks his lips, a hungry look stirring to life. His eyes flick back to me and narrow. He knows I did it on purpose.
“You should stay away from me,” he warns again.
“No.” I know he’s bad, but he does it so well I don’t care. Playing with fire, I step closer, between his legs, trapping him between my body and the wall. A profound sense of power thrills through me as the pace of his breathing quickens. It confirms I’m not the only one feeling the pulse of need between us. I hold still, delicately balanced inches away from him.
Rough hands move too fast for me to follow, grabbing my upper arms and pulling me to him. Rafe kisses me, or maybe I kiss him. It’s all too quick and overwhelming to figure out the details. All I know is his lips are on mine, his hard body crushing me as he holds me close. Calloused fingers move, burrowing into my hair as he deepens the kiss. He’s not gentle, his tongue plunging into my open mouth. He tastes sweet, some liquor I don’t recognize.
My heartbeat thunders in my ears while Rafe’s heart pounds under my hands. A fire that I’ve haven’t felt before ignites deep in my belly, shifting into my core, molten and hot. Guided purely by instinct, I press my pelvis against his. A low growl rises from his throat, which makes me grind harder against him.
His hand slides under the edge of my jacket, seeking my bare flesh, and then drops to my waist, where he urges our bodies closer together. I’m panting against his lips. I’ve never felt so out of control, so not myself. His mouth is ravenous, sliding along my jaw to graze my earlobe. I arch my chest, baring my neck open for his touch and pressing my breasts tight against him. His lips continue their tour of my body and then return to mine, bruising in their aggression.
He’s awakened something deep inside of me. Something primal. I want this kiss to go on and on. I want to slip into the darkened corners of the room with him. I want to do things my mind can’t even imagine but my body already knows.
Loud voices raised in argument end the kiss all too soon. Shelly’s voice, slurring. My head whips up and swivels until I find my friend arguing with a man. Shelly’s face is flushed maroon, and her jaw is tight with anger. She stalks toward the man with her arm raised like she might strike him.
Rafe leaves me and marches across the room to retrieve an irate Shelly, dragging her back to where I wait. She sways on her feet, clearly drunk, the near-empty wine bottle dangling from her fingertips.
“Shelly? Why were you fighting with that guy?” I ask.
“He said my hair is ugly,” Shelly yells, “that jerk.” She puts her middle finger up, flicking the man off while scowling.
“Okay. Calm down.” I grab Shelly’s arm and draw her close, restraining her.
Unflustered, Rafe tells me, “Come on. I’ll drive you both home.”
“What about Shelly’s car? She drove here. I would take us, but it’s a stick shift. I don’t know how to drive it.” Shelly sways drunkenly in my arms.
“I’ll make sure her car gets home.” He motions to a guy I didn’t notice before. The man comes over, and Rafe whispers to him. Immediately, the stranger gets Shelly’s keys out of her backpack and leaves. I watch the whole interaction with unease. How the man was so deferential toward Rafe unnerves me. It was like he was just standing around, waiting for Rafe’s next command.
The three of us leave the party and walk through the crowded parking lot to Rafe’s truck. Along the way, Shelly systematically tries to open the door handles of each car as we walk past. When the passenger door of a small red sports car pops open, she squeals with delight. She scrambles into the car and begins pawing through every seat and cupholder.
My mouth gapes with disbelief. “Shelly, what are you doing?”
Continuing her investigation of the glove compartment, she slurs. “Let’s see what we can find.” A drunken shout sounds out from the car as she pulls $5 out of the glove compartment. “Look at this!” She waves the bill in the air, grinning, then shoves it into her pocket.
I protest. “You can’t do that.”
Shelly’s voice is muffled as she bends down to look under the car’s seats. “If they’re dumb enough to leave their car unlocked, then they’re asking for this. Don’t worry. I won’t take anything too valuable. Once I saw a lady’s diamond engagement ring sitting in a cupholder, and I just left it,” she says as if that excuses the petty theft she’s doing.
Wait. She’s done this before?
I glance at Rafe to see his reaction, hoping he’ll back me up and get her to stop this madness. But his face is impassive, and he slows to let Shelly do her work.
I try again to get her to stop.
“Don’t be such a goody-two-shoes,” she tells me. “No one’s going to miss this stuff. You know I need it a lot more than they do.”
Finding two more unlocked cars, she steals from each of them. My stomach has turned sour, either from the strawberry wine or watching my best friend rob strangers.
The car ride to my apartment is silent as a tomb. Shelly stares out the window, clutching her belly like she might hurl. Rafe’s truck may not be fancy, but I still don’t want it decorated with the Spaghetti-O’s she and I ate before we left for the Strip.
At my parking lot, I help Shelly down. Leaning back into the cab, I say good-bye to Rafe and then pause. I want to say something poignant, given our epic kiss earlier, but insecurity keeps me silent. I wonder, does he regret it now?
The dim glow of the streetlights doesn’t reach into the dark truck. Rafe is wreathed in shadows, his expression hidden. Just when I’m about to retreat, he reaches out and gently grazes the back of his knuckles along my cheek and down to my jawline. His voice is as rough as his hands. “Night, Tiffany.”
“Good night,” I whisper, breathless from his touch. A minute later, he’s gone, his broken taillight flashing once before he pulls onto the main street. I stare after him, hand pressed to my cheek, which burns from his caress. My fingers move to my lips, bruised from my first kiss.