Chapter 27 #2
“No, he’s a fugitive,” I answer her. “He disappeared after he was released on bail. My father isn’t a bad man. He just married a bad woman.” I pull in a shaky breath. “So what’s the verdict? Should I leave? I completely understand if neither of you want to be my friend anymore.”
“We’re still going to be your friend, Zilphia,” Leah says and smiles at me. “We already told you that.”
“Yeah, Sandman should practice forgiveness,” Meela retorts, plucking a contact out of the pink heart-shaped case on her dresser and popping it into her left eye.
And of course, the color matches her outfit.
“You made a split-second error in judgment,” she adds.
“That doesn’t make it okay for him to shit on you for the rest of your life.
Anyway, who is he to hold grudges? He actually kills people. ”
Relief washes over me. I won’t be ending the day friendless after all.
“You can’t accuse someone of outright murder without proof,” Leah admonishes her. “If one of the Gods heard you say that…”
“Whatever.” Meela rolls her eyes. “Jig wouldn’t let any of them touch me,” she states confidently. “Come on. I’m ready to go.”
“Thanks for not holding my past mistakes over my head,” I say, counting my lucky stars that I’m not ending the day friendless.
“You’re good,” Meela chirps, parking next to a rusted orange Mustang. “Just don’t do that shit again or your ass is getting kicked to the curb, girl.”
“Trust me, I won’t.” I slide out of the passenger seat and glance around the large property. “I hear music, but the house looks abandoned.”
“It kinda is,” Meela replies. “It was douchebag perv’s grandparents’ farm. They’re both dead now and the family let it waste away.”
“Where’s the party then?” Leah asks as we walk toward the dilapidated dwelling.
“Around back in the barn,” she answers, striding ahead of us. “Come on, slowpokes.”
“If only she were this enthusiastic about school,” Leah retorts sarcastically.
“I heard that, bitch!” Meela shouts over her shoulder.
“Good,” she quips. “You were supposed to.”
Meela’s rebuttal is two middle fingers in the air.
I curl my lips together in an effort to hide my laughter, lest our feisty friend liken me to a female dog too.
We traipse around the side of the house behind her, and a wooden barn comes into view.
The door is open, granting a glimpse into the dimly lit interior.
From this vantage point, it looks fairly crowded inside.
A group of people stand in a circle nearby, sharing a joint, Solo cups in hand.
Their giggles and pungent smoke fill the night air.
“I don’t know about this,” Leah comments nervously. “Is it even safe?” She gestures toward the rickety red structure. “Look at it. It’s a death trap.”
“Quit being a worrywart!” Meela snaps, throwing her arms up. “I’ve been going to parties here for years and I’m still alive.”
I loop my arm around Leah’s. “It’s going to be fine. And look on the bright side, no motorcycles in sight. That means no Sandman or Snake.”
“They could always show up later,” she cautions, her nervous gaze shifting back and forth as if she expects Snake to jump out of the shadows.
Does he do the same things to her that Sandman does to me? What atrocities has he subjected her to? Now is not the time to ask. Maybe it’s better not to ask at all. Maybe, like me, she prefers to suffer in silence.
“Yeah, but we’re not going to worry about that right now.” After giving me the green light for the party, Sandman texted me a lengthy list of rules to follow, but he didn’t say if he was coming. I’m hoping he’s too busy doing only God knows what with his biker gang to show.
We enter the barn and follow Meela across the dirt floor to three huge beer kegs situated on top of a table.
About two dozen more are stacked against the wall behind it.
Reggae music blasts from a tall speaker nestled in the opposite corner.
Bales of hay are strategically placed throughout the open space, providing a place to sit for anyone needing to rest their feet.
“One for you,” Meela singsongs, handing me a cup filled to the brim.
“Thank you very much,” I say and take a small sip. I grimace, my cheeks burning at the tart flavor. I’m not really a beer person, but when in Rome…
“You’re very much welcome.” Meela fills another cup, then offers it to Leah. “And one for you.”
Leah vehemently shakes her head. “I never agreed to participate in underage drinking.”
“Fine, whatever,” Meela gripes, rolling her eyes. “But what about dancing?” she asks, letting the music guide her movements. “Is that on your ‘how not to have a good time at a party’ list too?”
“Well, no, but I don’t know how to dance.”
“No worries, babes.” Meela grasps her hand and leads her to the makeshift dance floor. “Just follow my lead.”
I trail behind them, my free hand raised high above my head as I belt out the lyrics.
A bead of sweat trickles down my temple.
It’s at least fifteen degrees warmer in here than it is outside due to the heat emanating from the gyrating bodies.
My long passion twists hang like a heavy blanket around my shoulders, raising my core temperature even higher.
Thank goodness I decided to exchange my sweater for a crop top.
“You’re too stiff,” Meela chides, clucking her tongue at Leah. “Stop and watch me.” She squats low and resumes her twerking tutorial. I’m one hundred percent heterosexual, but that jiggle is everything. “Up, down, up, down, right, left, then throw that ass in a circle. Now you try.”
I laugh behind my cup as Leah awkwardly mimics the sexually charged dance. The girl has zero rhythm.
“It’s useless.” She sighs resolutely. “I can’t dance to save my life.”
“We agree on that front. I might have to revoke your Black card.”
“At least I know how to cook,” Leah huffs, lifting her chin. “All you eat is takeout or ramen noodles.”
“No need to get all pissy, babes,” Meela quips, playfully pulling on one of Leah’s beautiful locs. “It’s not my fault you can’t dance worth shit. How long have I been begging you to come to parties with me? I could’ve taught you to dance a long time ago. Anyway, what you cook isn’t real food.”
“Is too,” she grumbles.
Meela rolls her eyes and looks at me. “I need to recharge,” she says, then nods at my cup. “You want in?”
“Yep,” I reply, passing her my empty cup.
“I can’t twerk properly in this thot-length dress without flashing everyone anyway!” Leah yells after her.
A few minutes later, Meela returns with our drinks, and soon we’re moving to the beat of the music. Well, Leah does the best she can. I haven’t had this much fun in forever.
Before long, I’m on my third drink. I want to get so drunk that I forget the shitstorm my life has become, however temporary.
During the day, I pretend to be okay. I’m just a regular teenage girl with regular teenage girl problems. My father isn’t a fugitive from the law, and my mother isn’t a selfish bitch. My biggest worries are college applications, senior dues, and deciding what I’m going to wear to prom.
Then the sun sets and darkness falls; that’s when the golden-haired devil comes knocking on my door. He brings hellfire and brimstone. And pain. Yes, the pain he inflicts on my body is merciless.
The worst part is when his touches turn gentle. My body yields to him, becoming his playground to do with as he pleases, and I hate myself for it. Coming for the devil shouldn’t feel so fucking good.
“Oh great, the skank squad is here,” Meela spits, her mouth pulling into a grimace. “Look behind you.”
I glance back and sure enough, my cousin and her posse are on the other side of the barn, surrounded by boys vying for their attention. I figured I’d see her here tonight. “Remember what I said.”
“I know, I know,” Meela grouses. “I’ll play nice as long as they don’t start no shit and stay way over there.”
I shake my head. My aunt and Deja are colder toward me than ever.
I try to avoid them at all costs, but sometimes it’s impossible.
I’ve learned to bite my tongue, but unfortunately, my mother has not.
Too many times, Keith and I have had to mediate arguments.
My grandmother makes the living arrangement tolerable, though. I spend as much time as I can with her.
“Damn, girl!” I turn toward the rowdy voice and find the owner grinding against Meela’s round bottom. I recognize the boy from school. “Your ass gets phatter by the day.”
She whirls around and smacks him upside his head. “Keep your scrawny dick away from my booty.”
“Don’t be like that,” he coos, his gaze glued to her breasts. “You know I been crushing on you since fourth grade. Give a brother a chance with your mean self.”
“Wasn’t interested then, and I’m not interested now. Now move along, little boy,” she demands, shooing him away. “You’re killing my vibe.”
“Wanna get lit?” He pulls a Ziploc bag filled with weed from his jacket pocket. “This that good shit too.”
Meela taps her chin in contemplation. “It has been a minute since I’ve gotten high.”
“Then come on,” he cajoles, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “You know you want to.”
“Okay, let’s go.” She elbows him in the stomach, then latches onto his shirt, yanking him down to her eye level. “But you better keep your grubby little hands to yourself.”
“Damn, girl, you got it.” He grins, raising his hands in surrender. “You ain’t got to be so violent.”
“Y’all coming?” Meela asks us.
“Not me,” I answer her. “I want to keep dancing.”
“And I need to rest my feet,” Leah says.
“I’ll be right back.” Meela walks out of the barn, with our horny classmate tailing her, and Leah finds a bale of hay to perch on.