

# Burn's World

In every love triangle, a heart must break: A Romantic suspense, urban romance Book

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### (Part 1)

By

### Eve Rabi

~~~

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 Eve Rabi. All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is dedicated to all the Burns of the world, who were made to feel like they didn't belong.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Where to find Eve Rabi online

Chapter One

My name is Burn and I've never been a size eight.

I'm almost seventeen, I like cigarettes, Rocky Road ice cream, Friday afternoons, vodka and orange juice, my iPhone and I crave heartache, heartbreak, love sickness and all the stuff that goes with falling in love and being in love, because... it's so goddamn romantic!

Bella and Edward – now that's the love I dream of. Simply can't wait for the day I get to experience _that_ kind of love and all that comes with it.

I suck at math, I diet every single Monday morning to Wednesday lunch time, I spend most Saturday nights dateless and catching up with laundry or shaving my legs just in case I get asked out, and, I don't like Beyoncé.

Why? Because she is so beautiful and perfect and I'm not. Am I jealous of her?

Duh!

She's friggin' perfect. I mean, ever seen her drunk like a skunk, or should I say, drunk like Mariah at an awards evening? Nooo.

Ever heard of her having a public war of words with Kelly Osborne like Christina did?

Of course not!

Ever seen her showing her vijajay like Brittany Bitch? No.

Ever seen her steal someone's husband like Angelina did? Hell no.

'Great' is the word. I mean, she's a great singer, she looks great, she has a great husband, she has great parents, she has a great sister, she's got great friends, she has a great career, she's got a great clothing line, she's got a great ass and she's got great self-esteem. How do I know that she has great self-esteem?

'Cause she lets Jay-Z work with Rihanna and Alicia Keys. Puhleese! If Jay-Z was my husband, I'd only allow him to work with Joan Collins, Betty White and Ellen Degeneres. Maybe Rosie O' Donnell as well.

But wait, there's more – she has an adorable baby girl called Blue Ivy Carter.

Carter? Like President Carter? Trust her to pick a husband with the surname of a president.

And, unlike Posh, she got her baby girl with her first try!

She's not real, I tell you. I think she's the second most amazing Disney cartoon ever created. (The first is Joan Rivers and the third is Nene.)

Anyho, nuff about me and my jealous rants about Ms. Beyoncé Knowles Perfect Carter. Allow me to introduce you to the many facets of my average, if not boring life.

First there's my fucked up school. (I believe that school is only there because juvenile halls are overcrowded.)

Sorry, I digress. Walk with me and you'll see what I mean.

Keep up now!

****

"So Fung Chin, how often do you shave?" Bud McGraw asks.

Fung Chin is our Chinese exchange student and Bud only talks to him when he wants to make fun of him, so all our ears are pricked knowing that a joke is on its way.

"Eh," Fung Chin looks to the left of the ceiling, drums on his desk with his fingers, looks to the right of the ceiling and says, "Maybe, I shave three day...?" He nods several times. "Three day, yes! I shave three day."

"Reeeally? Every three days, Fung _us_?" Bud nods almost pleasantly. "And your face?"

Laughter all around the classroom.

Embarrassment and confusion flits across Fung Chin's face.

Satisfied that he was able to entertain our class at Fung Chin's expense, Bud McGraw zeros in on Harjoon Singh. "Hey Apoo!"

Harjoon visibly tenses as all eyes rest on him.

I spin around in my chair to glare at Bud. "Leave them alone, dickhead."

His blue eyes widen. "Why Burnt, that's really offensive language you're using, Burnt."

"It's Burn, you moron."

"Fuck me! I got your name wrong?" Bud lifts up his finger. "Question everyone ...?"

The class falls silent and brace themselves for Bud's next joke.

"Why is Burn's skin so brown? Answer: Because when Burn was born, they put her into a microwave instead of an incubator!"

The room shakes with laugher.

"Very funny," I say. "Where's your white hoodie, KKK asswipe?"

He high-fives his cousins, Nick McGraw and Bobby Rivers seated next to him.

"You guys need to grow up," I mutter.

"Okay, whatever you say, Banjo Lips!"

Screams of laughter all around as everyone cranes their neck to look at my lips.

I give him the finger.

Nick McGraw and Bobby Rivers aren't offensive with their jokes; they're funny and even entertaining. But they laugh at Bud's offensive jokes, which make me mad at them.

Bud is probably the cutest guy in school. Tall, blue-eyed and ripped. Pity he's such an asshole. It masks his good looks. His cousins Nick and Bobby are also eye-candy and girls go gaga over them.

We are interrupted by the arrival of our substitute teacher.

"Settle down now," he drones. "You can call me Ardie, or you can call me Mr Burbak, if you like." He smiles as he links and unlinks his fingers. "I'm not fussy and I, more than anyone else, would like to ensure a pleasant, but relaxed classroom environment."

He's fiftyish, stocky, lots of salt and pepper, curly hair. He wears a hound's-tooth jacket with leather patch elbows, which I'm guessing, fell out of Noah's ark. His pants are equally outdated – beige corduroy and high-waisted.

He has sideburns — like that Elvis dude my Aunt Carlene likes.

"I'm Armenian," Mr Burbak explains. "Like Kim Kardashian. "Though, I might add, we Armenians generally stay married for a lot longer," he chuckles.

"Now, starting from the back, I would like you to tell me your names." He points at Nick McGraw.

"Coombs," Nick says without hesitation. "Sean Coombs. My friends call me 'Diddy'."

"Nice to meet you, Mr Coombs."

We all start to giggle.

Mr Burbak looks at Bud-the-jerk McGraw.

"Tatum, Channing, Sir," Bud says with a straight face.

Mr Burbak nods and looks at Kate Spelling, who is Nick McGraw's blue-eyed, blonde-haired girlfriend.

"Nicky Minaj," Kate says.

By now we're all fighting to contain our laughter.

Celebrity names fly around us. "Kelly Rowland."

"T- Pain."

"Carey, Mariah."

"Hemsworth, Liam."

"Pattinson, Robert."

"Poo, Nannie."

"You guys have some pretty unusual and somewhat original names," Mr Burbak says, as his eyes move to me.

Although I'm tempted to say Fergilicious, I feel bad for Mr Burbak, so I say my real name, "Burn, Burn Ballantyne."

Mr Burbak peers at me. "Come now, young lady. That can't be your real name." With a smile, he wags his index finger at me. "Good one though. Now, let's have your _real_ name."

Okay, he asked for it. "Ritchie, Nicole," I say.

"That's better," Mr Burbak says. "Moving on ..."

What can I say? (I warned you about the juvenile halls being overcrowded.)

Welcome to Emhart County High in the good ol' US of A.

When the bell goes, there is a stampede out of the classroom.

Kate Spelling (who has the confidence of Paris Hilton) and her friends saunter up to me. "Burn," Kate purrs, as she plays with her silken hair, "I just want you to know that we thought it was highly inappropriate for Bud to call you ..." She puts a hand to her mouth to suppress a chuckle, "Ban ... Banjo Lips."

Her friends fall around laughing.

"Kate, why don't you and your skank-ass friends here go fuck yourselves?" I say as I push past them.

"Banjo Lips!" one of them coughs. Another burst of laughter follows.

As I walk, I catch sight of my reflection in a window. The word that comes to mind when describing my almost-seventeen-year-old self ... average.

Slightly rounded figure, average boobs, caramel-colored skin, hazel eyes, full lips, long spiral curls that have a tendency to halo my face. No banjo lips.

I'm wearing black, skinny jeans, a hooded black and white Tee, black ankle boots which are scuffed around the sides and hooped silver earrings. I do love fashion but I'm not obsessed with it.

I'm not fugly enough to win an extreme makeover, I don't turn heads when I enter a room and I probably won't win _America's_ _Next_ _Top_ _Model_ anytime soon. When I need to, I can clean up pretty good though.

"Yo, yo, yo, yo, Nigga!" Harjoon Singh says as he swaggers up to me. "One of these days I'm gonna bust a cap in that nigga's ass!" He holds up his thumb and forefinger and points in Bud's direction.

I roll my eyes at Harjoon's words. He's half Bud's height, wears a ton of wet-look hair gel, some of which has seeped down his face and has added to his already glistening forehead. So, Bud, ever so quick on the draw says, "Hey look, you've got cum on your face."

Harjoon wears a beige and red hoodie, a pair of colorful, long shorts and you can bet there is a comb in one of his pockets 'cause he's always combing his hair.

"Yep, he's an a-hole alright," I say.

"Us niggas must stick togetha," Harjoon says and knocks his chest with the side of his fist.

Time to jog his memory. "Harjoon, _I'm_ black, you're Hindu."

"Sikh!" he corrects, his index finger stabbing at the air in front of him. "Sikh! Don't ever confuse me with Hindus! There is a big difference. Big difference between Hindus and Sikhs. Big difference."

"Okaaaay! Calm the fuck down, man." Everybody calls him a Hindu. When they're not calling him Apoo.

"And ..." He drops his voice and flashes me his version of a sexy smile, "it's HarLo, baby. Don't forget that." He wriggles his eyebrows at me.

"Got it, Har...Lo."

Jennifer and her JLo. Look what she's done.

Fung Chin runs up to us holding two blue iced cupcakes. Fung Chin has really embraced our culture and his English is improving rapidly.

Even his dress has changed since he's been in the US. Gone are the colorful Kimono-styled shirts and Chinese straw hats you seen on people in ...I dunno – rice fields? Maybe it has something to do with Bud calling him 'Crouching Meerkat, Hidden Dragonfly.'

Today he wears blue shorts, a T-Shirt with Justin Beiber on it and a Justin Beiber bandana on his head. His purple, black and white Reeboks are current with their bright orange laces. Cheerful much.

I do believe Harjoon took him shopping for some spiffy threads. Spiffy? Strike that.

Fung's taste in music is varied – he's also a huge fan of Kanye West, sings his songs and got his swagger, so we lovingly call him Kanye East. (Lovingly, I said.)

"Nigga, what the hell took you so long?" Harjoon asks, snatching a cupcake out of Fung Chin's hands.

Fung explains: "Nigga, I go coffeeteria to buy cupcake, fucking. Queue very long, fucking. Coffeeteria lady with fat arms say no change for fitty dollar, fucking. I ask everyone for change for fitty dollar, fucking. I get change, fucking. I go back to coffeeteria, I buy cupcake, fucking."

Good ol' Fung Chin. As I said, his English is improving. Progress may be slow, but we're getting there. Now, if only we can get him to wear his backpack on just one shoulder.

Harjoon, as can be expected, is borderline brilliant and he does my math homework for me. In return, a couple of times a month, I'm to wear hooker-red lipstick, totter out of the school grounds with him to a car full of his cousins, touch his face and say, "Are you gonna call me, HarLo?"

See, one of his cousins is Sunita, a sourpuss with a nose ring, who he has a major crush on. So, I'm to make her jealous and get her to run into Harjoon's arms. So far it hasn't worked – Sunita won't even look at him. But Harjoon's sole ambition in life is to mate with Sunita, so I persist.

He's sweet and a genuine guy when he's not trying to be hood. Harjoon, that is. Eh, sorry, make that _HarLo_. But as you can see, he provides ample fodder for jokes and Bud-the-moron zeros in on that.

Bud and his crew pick on _everyone_. Live for it, actually. They're anti blacks, anti-Jews, anti-Mexican, anti-Indian, anti-French, anti-Italian, anti-Persian, anti-teachers, anti-students, anti-everyone, I think. They have their own clique of blues and greens. Eyes, that is.

Our school is divided like that – scoffing whites on the one side, angry blacks on the other and then there's the Mixicans who are all over the place.

I'm a 'Mixican' which means I'm mixed. White mother, black father. Like Halle Berry and Mariah Carey, without the gazillion dollars and the adoring fans. I'm not white enough to belong to the Scoffing Whites and not black enough to belong to the Angry Blacks. So, I do what most mixed-race kids do, seek out other Mixicans.

Similar to prison, but with fewer tattoos.

Anyway, Nick McGraw's father is Robert McGraw – an outspoken, but well-known politician.

Rumor has it that his great-granddaddy was a Ku Klux Klan founder. You'll recognize his father's convertible – it has a 'Honk if you're KKK' bumper sticker on it. Okay, so I exaggerate – he doesn't have one at the moment, but if he did, it would be along those lines.

Nick's not as obnoxious as Bud and on his own, he can be okay. But, put them together and you have mayhem.

Nick is tall, blue-eyed with sandy-blonde hair. He plays football and is dating Kate Spelling, who we met earlier. The sweetest looking bitch you'll ever find. But a purebred bitch, make no mistake about that.

Kate is a Facebook addict. She's a serial poster of pictures that show her having a blast. Every little thing that she does is Facebooked. Her aim is for us all to look at her life and envy the fuck out of her. Sometimes, we do.

She adds _everyone_ on Facebook. Friends of friends – she just randomly collects 'friends' and 'likes' like seashells. Guess it's not too hard to collect likes and friends when you post pics of yourself with your tits hanging out.

We suspect that Guinness Book of Records is probably going to show up at our school one of these days and declare her _The Facebooker with the Most Number of Friends in the World_. If they give her a sash, Kate would wear it every day, I'm sure. Even on Sundays.

Back to Bud and his crew – they may be offensive smart-mouths, but I gotta admit, they keep us entertained, and isn't that what every student wants – to be entertained while at school?

Again, welcome to Emhart County High.

Chapter Two

I visit my school library during my lunch time and Google, _why am I hearing voices in my head?_

My screen fills up with _Schizophrenia, Schizophrenia explained and Managing Schizophrenia._

"Assignment or lyrics to a song?"

I glance behind me at the owner of the voice. It's _nosey_ Miss Assinburger, one of the librarians. (I kid you not; that is her surname. Contrary to what you may think, she wasn't named by Bud McGraw.) She cranes her neck to look over my shoulder.

"Eh, lyrics," I lie.

"Ah."

The rubbish these youngsters listen to these days! No wonder they're so stupid.

That's her thoughts, not mine. See, that's why I'm here right now. I can hear people's thoughts. Randomly. As you can imagine, it's freaking me out like crazy.

"I love that song," she says.

I turn around to look at her. "Which song, Miss ...?" Forget it – I ain't saying her name unless it's a matter of life and death.

"The one with the...you know – schizophreniaaaa."

"Ah...yeah, yeah, me too." There's no fucking song on schizophrenia or schizophreniaaaa.

With a smile, she backs away.

After scanning a few pages in front of me, I realize I don't have schizophrenia. I click out of the screen and leave the library, still disturbed over the voices in my head. I have to work out who they belong to. That can be annoying, disruptive and depressing at times.

JLO. Nah, Katy Perry. Nah, JLO. Nah, Matt's mom – that's who I'll jerk off to. Yeah, Matt's mom. She's hot. A MILF. But hang on, what about Matt's gran? She's a GILF. Yeeeahhh!

See what I mean? That kind of voices, those American Pie thoughts – random shit - drives me mental.

Recently, it made me look like a nut job. Allow me to explain.

Angel and I were walking along the street when this dude, fortyish, potbelly, tattered windbreaker and dirty-blonde hair under a striped beanie, looked leeringly at us. _Man, I would love to do both of you at the same time._

Say what you like to me, do what you want to me, but do not, under any circumstance, interfere with Angel, my eight-year-old sister.

"You dirty old man!" I yelled. "Fucking pedophile!"

He looked at me, panic in his eyes, eyebrows high up into his beanie. "What the ...?" Then realizing he hadn't actually _uttered_ those words, his eyebrows slowly dropped. "I ain't never said nothin'..."

"Dirty fucking ..."

"Bitch, you got Tourette or something?"

I glared at him. "Just fuck off, okay?!"

His eyes darted around nervously, before he hurried away with his head bowed.

Angel touched my arm, her eyes the size of saucers. _Burn, he never said anything, so ...?_

I looked at her, confused. She wasn't talking, but I could hear her thoughts and she was right – he hadn't uttered the words.

I put my fingers to my temples. What is going on with me, I wondered? Am I going mental? Maybe I need more sleep.

Burn, you're angry all the time.

I looked at Angel and attempted a smile. "I just need sleep, then I won't be so ...so _snappy_ ," I said, in what I hoped was a reassuring voice.

Anyway, the next time I encountered my gift was in math class. Mr Soames asked me for an answer to a math question. Okay, I was in trouble for various reasons. In no particular order:

I hated math like I hated a cold sore on my lip and I barely managed to pass it.

I wasn't paying attention; I was thinking about Rocky Road ice cream with cream and nuts sprinkled on top. Or maybe chocolate sprinkles. Or maybe chocolate sauce. Or maybe all of the above at the same time. Yum!

As usual, I had no clue what the answer was.

I was in hot water with Mr Soames already, as I had skipped two math classes and faced a week of detention.

Come to think of it, that was the _exact_ order of reasons.

"Burn?"

I stared at Mr Soames.

52. 52. 52. 52.

"Five fifty two?"

He frowned. " _Five_ fifty..."

52. 52. 52. 52.

No wait, hang on, I thought. Concentrate. "F...fifty-two?" I finally said in an unsure voice.

His frown disappeared. "That a question or an answer, Burn?"

Answer.

"Um ... an ... swer."

"Very good, Burn," Mr Soames said, sounding impressed, but looking perplexed.

I mean, me giving a correct answer in math? It was as often as Christmas.

Whew!

Okay, maybe it was pure coincidence that I could read his mind, I thought. That, and the pedophile incident. An _unusual_ coincidence. Had to be. I mean it's 2011 – who reads minds in this day and age?

The next day I stood in line at the supermarket eating rocky-road ice cream and waiting to pay for bread and milk. An old woman around seventy stood in front of me. I watched her hand the teller a fifty dollar note. The teller, a bubbly woman around forty, with curly blonde hair and bright orange lipstick, smiled and said, "Here's your change – thirty-nine dollars and fifteen cents. Have a lovely day." So charming, so sweet. Not.

Five dollars short, but I'll distract you with my dazzling smile and by the time you discover it, it will be too late.

"Excuse me!" I heard myself say.

The old lady looked up at me, change still in hand. _Oh no! I'm being robbed again! Damn teenagers – nothing but trouble! Lock them all up, I say._ "Yes dear?" she asked in a taste-like-sugar-but-it-isn't-sugar voice.

"Eh, ma'am ..." Did this old bat just think that I was gonna rob her? What a bitch. "Eh, you should check your change."

"What?" The old bat looked at the money in her hands, then at me again.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed the teller stiffen and glare at me. _You shut your mouth, you little nincompoop! You little ..."_

"Always a good idea, ma'am," I said to the grey-haired bat. "Just be cautious, that's all."

She frowned, then examined her change. _Oh well, maybe she's not a robber after all. Let me check ..._

Please let the change be wrong or I will look like a fucking nut job, I prayed.

The old lady looked at me, surprise all over her face. _Well, what do you know – a teenager who can both count and pay attention? Will wonders never cease?_ "Young lady, you are right." _Bet she'll want a frigging reward now._

"Five dollars short?"

She nodded. " _Five_ dollars short, yes."

I exhaled.

With glee, I watched the teller mutter apologies as she opened her cash register and righted her wrong. _Five dollars. Five dollars, that's all it is! Here, take your stupid five dollars._

When it was my turn to pay, after serving me, the teller smiled (the kind an executioner would give you just before he threw the switch or kicked the chair from under you) and pointed to the sign above the entrance to the supermarket–the one that said that they have a right to search all bags larger than a purse.

I'll teach you to butt into other people's business, you black shithead.

She thoroughly inspected my school bag and then, unable to nab me for anything, slapped my change on the counter and looked at me with orange lips pressed together. _Now get the hell out of here. Go on, scoot!_

I whistled as I walked out the store – she had no idea that I hadn't paid for the rocky road ice cream.

But I was experiencing mixed feelings – I was freaking out and at the same time, I was experiencing a deep thrill.

As I sat at the bus stop, I tried to put things in perspective. That's three experiences only. All could be coincidental. What would it take to convince me?

My answer: One more. One more experience would convince me that I could hear people's thoughts.

I listened out, braced myself for that all-important experience. Nothing. Not one single voice, not a single thought. Zilch! Imagine that?

After a week of nothing, I was convinced that the weed I had smoked two weeks ago had fucked up my grey matter. Don't know what shit they put into it, but man, did I have to stop.

So, that's why I'm at the library, on the internet to see if there is something wrong with me. The last thing I need right now is to be sent to some nut house because I have multiple personalities or something.

My research tell me that I'm not schizo.

I should be happy that I'm not, but, what if it's something more sinister?

Chapter Three

I wake up with a start. It's the middle of the night and there's a man in my bedroom. I blink rapidly. No, I'm not dreaming – a man I've never seen before is in my room. Shit!

Slowly, my eyes snake over to Angel. She's still asleep next to me. _Okay, keep calm, keep calm, pretend you're still asleep and you can jump this motherfucker._ I force my breath to slow down.

Suddenly, I jump up, grab the baseball bat next to my bed and swing wildly. Piñata first, questions later.

Wham! Rib cage first. He doubles up in pain.

Bam! I whack him on the head. He goes down like a bean bag.

I stand, legs apart, bat above my shoulder, breathing rapidly, ready to swing again. This time, I'm going for gold - right for his nuts.

With my eyes trained on him, I reach for my iPhone to call _911_. Damn phone is password protected. I key in my password and just as I'm about to dial the cops, the dude slowly rises to his feet.

You gotta be kidding! Those blows should have at least cracked a couple of ribs and bruised his pancreas, whatever that is and wherever that is. Damn! I should have went for the nuts first.

He smiles at me like he's from one of those silvery, slippery characters from a Schwarzenegger movie or something.

Time to wipe that smile off his mug. Round two. I raise my bat again.

Wait!" he says.

"Get the fuck out of my room, asshole! Now!"

"Relax, Burn, relax."

Okay, so he knows my name. Ninety percent of women are raped by someone they know. Shit!

"Put down the bat, Burn. You can't hurt me."

In my most intimidating voice, I say, "Wanna bet, _bitch_?"

He rolls his eyes then gives a long sigh. "Seriously," he mutters, "the people they give the gift to these days ..."

"What do you want?"

"I don't want anything. You need to put the bat down and ..."

"Like I will. It's the middle of the night and you're in my room. I don't know you, motherfucker." He'd better not rush me 'cause if he does, I'm in trouble.

"Relax. I'm not gonna rush you."

I never said that out loud. How did he know what I was thinking?

"I can hear your thoughts, Burn," he says. "Like you hear other people's thoughts."

I blink rapidly and shake my head. This is all so weird. How the hell...?

"Yes, it is weird but it's true, and your sister, even if she wakes up, she won't see me. So you can relax."

My eyes sweep over him in the dimly lit room. He's fortyish, with dark wavy hair and bright, grey eyes. He wears a light blue Tee and jeans. Not a bad looking dude.

"Thank you," he says.

Okay, he's doing it again - reading my mind.

"I come in peace."

"You come in peace? What are you – a fucking Red-Indian? You don't look it, white boy."

He smiles and takes a step towards me. "You're a funny one. Let's talk about your gift."

"Gift? What the fuck you talking 'bout?" I lower my bat an inch. I mean, if he's going to give me a present, that will change things.

"You have a gift, Burn – you hear people's thoughts and ..."

That's a gift? I raise my bat again.

"...that's a gift."

"You come to talk to me about a 'gift' in the middle of the night? You on drugs or something?"

"Drugs ... mmm." He strokes his chin and appears thoughtful. "Talking about drugs, Burn – you did marijuana the other night with your friends."

Who uses the word _marijuana_ these days? Except the cops when they appear on TV bragging about how they busted a crop grower.

"You a cop?"

"What?"

"You wearing a wire? Do I need to watch my words?"

"No, Burn, I'm not a cop and no, I am not wearing ...why would I use a wire?"

I shrug. "Look, most teenagers do it. It wasn't like I was packaging it and selling the shit. I just smoke to chill. Big deal. I have stresses, I have issues. I'm seventeen – well, almost, and I live in _this_ house. Take a look around you, man. You blame me?"

He shakes his head from side-to-side. "Not when you have a gift, Burn. You can't do that."

"Man, you keep talking about a _gift_. My birthday was in ..."

"Burn, listen to me - you hear people's thoughts, you hear their whispers. That is a gift. It is something sacred."

"That's a _gift_? You call that a _gift?_ My head buzzes randomly like static with people's thoughts - crazy stuff at times and you call that a _gift_? _"_

He nods.

I roll my eyes. "I don't understand –who sent you? ET?"

He smiles. 'No. Burn, you are supposed to use your gift for good. Now when you disrespect it - smoke cannabis, smoke cigarettes and consume alcohol, you are compromising the gift. That cannot happen."

"But I'm a kid. Kids do stuff like that."

"You're almost seventeen, Burn. Not a kid anymore."

"Mff. Look, I appreciate all this gift and all, but I really don't want it. Take it back and ..."

"You don't have a choice."

"But ... but ... but, I should have a choice. All kids should have a choice."

He falls silent. I sit on the bed, a bit spooked with this midnight visitor asking me to live life like a monk, eh, nun.

I fold my arms and squint at him. "How do you know all this stuff about me?"

He shrugs. "I just know. I know a lot."

"Oh yeah? Tell me 'bout it. About me?"

"Well,' he scratches his nose, "I know that your parents died in a car crash, and that you and your younger sister live with your aunt ..."

"Huh huh, huh huh ..."

"I know you have anger issues ..."

"WHAAAT?!" I glare at him.

He shrinks back, his eyes wide.

"Kidding."

He gives a small smile. "Black father, white mother..."

"Huh huh ..."

"... and I know that since you were little, you've heard people's thoughts and at times you were scared."

I fall silent and bite my lower lip.

"I'll be shadowing you to help you out."

"Shadowing me? I don't ..."

"A gift is given to someone with a pure heart, Burn. In this world of obstacles, you may need a mentor, a guide at times. That's what I'll be to you."

I cock my head and look at him. "Are you like, dead?

"I am ... I am in a different realm."

It's 3:30 AM and he's using words like 'realm'?

"Allow me to explain: you and I can see each other, but others, they can't hear or see me and I'm not alive, but I'm not dead either."

"Oh greeeeat. I have an imaginary friend."

He gives several small shrugs. "You could look at it that way."

"Awesome. Problem is, you're supposed to lose the imaginary friends when you reach double digits, right?"

"Look, Burn, whenever you need me, I will be there." Sounds like the words to a Celine Dion song.

"Yeah? So, like what - you gonna give me an Ouija board so I can locate you?"

He shakes his head.

"A walkie-talkie? A flare gun?"

He rolls his eyes. "Whenever you need help, just call and I will be there."

I crane my neck to look out the window. "You got a magic carpet, a Batmobile ...?"

He shakes his head. "I have to go now and you have to continue sleeping, so be good and call me, okay?"

"Can I tell my friends about my _awesome_ gift? You know, the one that doesn't allow you to be a youngster, a kid anymore?"

"No. Nobody is to know until you turn twenty-one."

"Why?"

"It's the way it is. Protects you – prevents people who know about your gift from exploiting you."

"Aww! That sucks. I would love to tell my friends about it. They'd think I was sooo cool. "

"This gift is not about being cool. Now, I have to be go ..."

"Wait! I'm kinda confused about ..."

"Look, don't worry about things," he says in a reassuring voice. "One step at a time. No need for information overload."

"Oh, okay, imaginary friend."

"Call me Hawk."

"'Cause you fly?"

"Because, that is what my parents named me. With a smile, he vanishes.

Hey, maybe I can win at poker? Gambling? Lottery? I mean how cool is this gift? Wow! I'm gonna be so freakin' rich I'm gonna buy Angel and me everything – all the shit I never had. I'm gonna even buy me a ...a cloud. Because I can.

Wonder if he left a PDF or an instruction manual for this gift?

I can't wait for tomorrow when I can use my gift to make us some real money. I fall asleep with a smile on my face.

When I wake up the next morning, there is no sign that I had a visitor during the night. I look to the side. My baseball bat is in its usual place. It was all a dream.

I turn to face the wall and draw the sheet up to my chin. Ah well, maybe I have to forget about winning at poker, but at least I can drink and smoke without worrying about compromising shit.

Chapter Four

I wake up to yelling.

"Where the fucks my bandage skirt?"

"I didn't take your bandage skirt, bitch!"

"Well, it's missing and that means someone has borrowed it and ..."

That's my two adorable cousins, Lanie and Daisy.

"...if you didn't take it, then where the fuck is it?"

"How the fuck must I know? I got my own, bitch."

"Why don't you girls shut the fuck up?" That's my adorable aunt Carlene, mother of Lanie and Daisy. She had her first child when she was just sixteen and her second when she was seventeen.

Welcome to my crib. Stay close and watch. As they say in Springer: "It gets reeeeeeal innertaining."

"It's too early for all this shit!" Aunt Carlene says.

I look at my iPhone – 11 AM. That means she's hungover.

Carlene's my late mother's younger sister who took Angel and me in when my parents died, because she had a big heart.

Strike that – it has nothing to do with the size of her ticker. It was solely due to the fact that she'd receive two thousand dollars every month from the trust fund my parents set up for Angel and me.

Angel and I see not a cent of that money. Not even pocket-money, so I have a part time job. (I never complain, as I dare not risk Angel and I being separated.)

Carlene is always on the Posh Spice diet – all the water you can drink and still lose weight. Eight glasses or more. Carlene, being as inventive as she is, varies her diet a little – she substitutes the water with vodka, but hey, it still works. Eight glasses of Vodka a day and my aunt is thinner than me. Drunk as a fucking bar room fly and broke-ass as anything, but still, most important, she's a size six.

Carlene really enjoys her part time job as a waitress at a truck stop and the constant stream of dates it brings her.

With her bottle-blonde hair, micro-minis that are plain skanky, especially when worn by a mother of teenage girls, and her scarlet lipstick that stays glued to her collagen-plumped lips, she is able to secure a fair amount of losers. Eh, boyfriends.

She likes whisky, menthol Marlboro, sleeping pills and eighteen-year-old boys. She oozes charm, is touchy-feely and calls everyone 'Hon'. Getting the guys might be easy, but keeping them after day three is a challenge.

When she loses them, you want to run for cover because she becomes mean as a Nevada rattlesnake.

Now, don't get me wrong – she's not the wicked stepmother from Cinderella or anything. She just doesn't care about ... _anything_ or anyone _._ Not even when it comes to her own daughters. Lacks maternal instinct and should never have had children. Very different from my mom.

"Burn dear, will you be a honey and do the dishes? Sweetheart? Steven's coming to visit later on."

Three terms of endearment in one sentence. Gotta hand it to Aunt Carlene – she lays it on thick when she wants something out of me.

She's sleepy and hung-over right now – want me to wake her up? Really piss her off? Watch this.

"Okay, Aunt Carlene." An innocent remark? That's what you think. Wait for it ...

"Carlene! Not AUNT Carlene!" That's her yelling. "Just plain Carlene! How many times must I tell you that, Burn?"

See? Not a single term of endearment now from my darling, guardian aunt.

Like all families, Carlene has rules which we have to obey. A list of 'nevers' and they are in no particular order: (Actually, they are in this precise order.)

Never call her 'Aunt Carlene' (as previously demonstrated), just Carlene.

Never let her daughters call her Mom, Mommy, Mother etc. (Mommie Dearest is okay, providing it's under your breath.)

Never tell anyone we're related. Ever. Tell them she adopted us. She does not want anyone to know her sister married a black man and contaminated her bloodline. 'Sides, adopting a black kid is so fashionable these days. Ask Branjelina and Sandra Bullock and Charlize.

Never wake her up before noon, unless a man with a six-pack comes calling (abs or beer, she's not fussy about the six-pack) for her, or for any of us at home. (Again, she's not fussy who he calls for.)

Never ask her to shop for groceries, food, medications, etc.

Never expect her to cook, clean, wash up, etc.

Never ask her for money for essentials, like food etc.

End of the list of 'Nevers'.

I roll out of bed, put on my Ugg boots and stagger to the refrigerator. I look inside and wriggle my nose as I take stock – beer, wine, gin, Vodka, flat soda, gel eye-masks, line-reducing eye cream, tons of ice, bottles of water, low fat milk, ketchup. That's it.

Gotta find another way to feed Angel.

I scan the kitchen. Sinks full of dirty dishes, empty pizza boxes scattered around, empty beer bottles, cigarette butts, dirty wine glasses, a snaking ant trail to a can of half-drunk Pepsi.

I haven't cleaned the place in three days, so it's now a three hour job. I walk back to my room to get my headphones. Yeah, that's right, I don't clean, it doesn't get clean.

I find some instant noodles in the back of a cupboard for Angel, heat them up and leave them to cool on the table. While I'm waiting for them to cool, I try to tidy up the kitchen.

"This place stinks!" says Daisy. She's also seventeen, like me. "Oooh, can I have these noodles?"

"No, they're for Angel."

Her lips turn downward. Unlike me, Daisy's blond, thin, blue-eyed and popular with boys, gets invited to all the parties and doesn't eat. So she's always miserable. When she does eat, it's followed by a quick trip to the bathroom.

"Then clean it up!" Carlene shouts.

"I'll be damned if I spend my Saturday cleaning up. I have a social life, unlike some people." _Mother!_

Some people, as in me.

"Then, shut your pie-hole!" Carlene says. Someone's in need of double-strength Tylenol for that hangover.

"You shut your mouth," Daisy flings back.

I never dared speak to my mother like that.

"Get a dishwasher!" Daisy mutters.

Lanie walks in and shudders at the sight of the kitchen. _We have one – Burn!_ Lanie laughs and slaps my butt. _Here's the help._

"Get lost, Lanie!" I say.

"What? What? What did I say?" Lanie asks. She looks at the noodles. "Oooh, can I have these?"

"No! They're for Angel."

"Mff." _Angel gets everything._

Lanie is Daisy's older sister. She's nineteen and a 'gimme' child. Gimme this, gimme that, gimme gimme gimme. All the time. All thanks to good ol' Carlene for raising her daughters the way she does.

Carlene has one more daughter, Katie-Anne. Three-year-old Katie-Anne lives with her father, a twenty-something druggie nicknamed Panda, as he is famous for his black eyes – giving them. His own eyes are green.

"Carlene!" Lanie yells.

"What, Lanie?"

"Do you know where my bandage skirt is?" Lanie has such an obsession with bandage skirts and bandage dresses.

Oh, I forgot to mention – we're all around the same size and it causes a problem, as we're always pinching each other's clothes. Nobody steals mine, mainly because I don't have much to steal. And also because of one other problem – I'm eh, bigger than them. (My name is Burn and I've never been a size eight. Remember my confession?)

It's a while before Carlene answers. "Yeah. It's in the wash!" she yells.

"What the hell!" Lanie explodes. "I told you never to wear my stuff."

"Aw shut up! It's just a skirt!"

"I'm supposed to wear it this morning, now I can't! And you took my goddamn hair-straightener too, Mommy Dearest!"

"Don't call me that, you little witch!"

"See?" Daisy says. "And you blamed me?!"

"Aw shut up!" Lanie says and storms off.

Another day in a place I call home.

I take the noodles to Angel, then return to the kitchen where I stuff my headphones into my ears and crank up Pink to drown out their arguing.

When they continue shouting and Pink's not enough, I bring in heavy-duty help – I switch to Eminem. Since he's always pissed with someone and _something,_ he can scream anyone down. Drown the motherfuckers. Sometimes, in the mornings, when I have trouble getting a move on to school, I listen to Eminem and it's like having a cold shower. I'm awake immediately and I'm dressed before his song ends.

Chapter Five

I'm pretty together when it comes to the opposite sex. I pride myself on not being one of those gals who goes nuts about guys. So it came as a surprise when I went gaga over Brody McGraw.

Okay, so he was beautiful. Taller than all the teachers, ripped abs, sculptured chest, disheveled, sandy hair, bright-blue peepers. With those powerful thighs, he was of course, a track athlete. Most beautiful was his smile.

But when I learned that he was the brother of Nick McGraw, and cousin to Bud-the-dickhead McGraw, my hopes and dreams of us meeting, him ditching his girlfriend for me, him falling head-over-heels in love with me, us getting hitched and raising children together, Titaniced.

He's probably as obnoxious and annoying as Bud, I thought. Probably also drives a truck with a bumper sticker that reads, _Honk if you KKK_.

Brody and Nick McGraw recently joined our school. They were in a private school before this. Not exactly sure why they enrolled at our school. Heard something about his father wanting his kids to be schooled with his supporters. You know – live among the people, to win over the people.

A ploy or something. If it means that I get to see his beautiful mug every day, then I'd say it's a mighty fine ploy.

He's currently dating Alicia Cooper, a cheerleader (who else?) with a small waist and a pea-size brain. She's eighteen, with long blonde hair, blue eyes. Every guy wants to date her and every girl wants to be her. Including myself. (Be her, not date her. Let's get that out of the way, okay?)

The bad thing about her – she's nice. No really, she's a cheerleader, good looking, popular, and she's _nice_. Go figure; I'm still trying to. She smiles at me and she's pleasant to everyone around her.

Anyway, the object of my perving looks right through me, so I guess I need to lower my standards.

"So, have you decided?" That voice belongs to the pretty pixie called Tina. (Bud calls her Tuna. Don't let her hear you call her that. She'll kick your ass.) She's one of my best friends.

Tina is Mixican too. Her father is white and her mother is from the Seychelles - a mix, French/Indian with green eyes and dark brown skin, all of which Tina has inherited. Her skin is lighter though, but she doesn't need bronzer.

Tina gets underestimated a lot because she is tiny and sweet. Appears _sweet_. But ... she has a talent and is wonderful at it. She's a serial shoplifter.

She's so good, she actually gives lessons to others. Got a special occasion like, Prom night? Talk to Tina before you go shopping.

Hot date and low budget? Talk to Tina first. She's got a great heart and will happily share anything she owns with you. Maybe it's because she gets it for free anyway. You know the saying: easy-come-easy-go?

But she's sweet with olive skin, long, spiral curls and a warm smile.

"On what?" I ask.

Her eyes follow mine to Brody McGraw. "Guess you can perve."

"Guess I can. He's so beautiful." My sigh is wistful. "How can one guy be so good looking? There ought to be a law against that."

She places herself in front of me with a forget-about-it-he's-never-gonna-fall-for-someone-like-you look, and blocks out my view of my crush. "Let's talk about a more pressing issue – your birthday. What d'ya wanna do?"

"I wanna go to _Danes_ ," I say. "I wanna do the Diiiiiirty like Christina Aguilera, get real nassssty." I put my fists to my chest and shake my booty.

"You're not eighteen yet. _Danes_ won't allow you in. Next!"

"Fake IDs," Laura says. "It's about time we got them."

Laura is our problem-solver. She too is mixed – Mexican mother, American father. She looks white, but considers herself Mexican, mainly because her father, asshole that he is, dumped her mother with two children and married another younger, _white_ woman.

Laura shuns whites, doesn't fit in with them and declared herself Mexican years ago. However, the Mexicans are confused when they hear her speak Spanish, especially since she's tall, slim, has blue eyes and waist-length naturally blonde hair. So, they sort of shun her.

She's really pretty, but she wears glasses and she hunches so much, that her beauty is sometimes hidden. Most times hidden.

She's got an IQ of 162 and sometimes I think she's way too smart to be joining us. (Mine – I'm still waiting for my IQ to be delivered from God. I have faith that one day it will arrive by registered post.)

She can do great shit, like turn a PC into a supercomputer that NASA would kill for, hot-wire a Lear jet, read a map and even hold it the correct way, create a website without using a ready-made template, and bust the code for Photoshop, so we can all use it without paying for it. All the things I can't do. But she has no idea how to clean her bedroom and can't cook for shit. Together we make a great match.

She's really good with the 'keystroke' thing. Like the time Amy's mother suspected her father of cheating on her with his brother's wife.

They stole his laptop and gave it to Laura. Even though it was password protected, Laura broke in, captured some keys, and before long, Amy's mother had all the dirt on Amy's father. Since she knew when and where the errant couple were meeting, Amy's mother was there with her video camera to capture the deceitful lovers without their knowledge.

Of course, since the bust was going to be cooler than watching JWow and Sammy from Jersey Shore cage fight, we made it our duty to be there too, iPhones in hand. Cool huh?

But wait, there's more - Laura went one step further; she rigged things so that every email sent and received, was also cc'd to Amy's mother's account. As you can imagine, there was drama after that. Biiiig drama. Humungous.

But wait, there's even more – Laura went one step further – she got emails from both sides sent to _her_ email account, so _we_ got to see everything: the dirty emails, the sexy nude photos, everything. Entertaining much? You bet! We got a great amount of sex education from it all. Especially since we rewound and watched it over and over and over again.

"Luther can get us fake IDs," Sultana reminds us.

Sultana is third generation Persian/Lebanese/Arab/Iranian/Pakistanian/Afghanistanian ... you name it – she stakes a claim to it.

But she's a huge disappointment to us – she's never been to Iran, Lebanon, Iraq or any of the Middle-Eastern countries, doesn't know how to spell 'burqua', has never worn one, has never been involved in any terrorist activities whatsoever.

Not even been trained in Pakistan or Afghanistan to be a terrorist, to our disappointment.

We suspected she was a bona-fide American when we told her that Osama Bin Laden was dead and she said, "Oh, is he? How did he die?" I mean, really? 'How', Sultana? What's the use of having all this scary genealogy if you have no hatred toward America, no ties to Al Qaida and can't scare the shit out of anyone?

When we first met her, we were so excited. We shivered with delight at the thought of future conversations: "Don't fuck with me, Bud. My friend here is from the Middle East and we know where you live." Did we get that chance? Noooo!

To make matters worse both her mother and father are medical doctors in Los Angeles.

Medical doctors. Really, Sultana?

She has olive skin, dark brown, large eyes and humungous boobs – an E-cup. She's always talking about a breast reduction, even though her boobs get her lots of attention from boys. Unwanted attention, she calls it.

What is she good at? She can belly dance. Almost as good as Shakira. Well, not quite, but she can keep you mesmerized with those hips. But, and this is a huge 'BUT', Sultana is pretty dumb. Surprisingly so, considering that her parents are doctors. I'm no Einstein so I don't mind her dumbness – makes me look smart.

"Let's pay Luther a visit then," I say and we all get up and go in search of Luther for fake ID's.

****

Luther is surrounded by three guys and three girls. All black, all one hundred percent badass, and of course angry as hell.

"Hey Luther," I say. "Can we talk to you?"

He flexes his finger at me.

"Alone," I say in a polite voice.

The girls in Luther's company exchange what-the-fuck? looks.

Luther slouches over a chair and eyes us. "Anything you wanna say, you say in front of mah niggas, shawty. I ain't getting up for no one, maan."

Luther is all hood, a Sean Kingston lookalike, complete with low hanging pants and dark shades, even at night, I'm sure. He professes to be related to Jay-Z, Neo and Ludacris – which we think is bullshit. Of course, he adopts the Sean Kingston accent as well.

Having no choice, we walk up to his crew. "We need fake ID's to get into Danes. Can you do them for us?"

"Sure, I can do them. If you blow me."

His friends laugh, while my friends look at him with disgust.

"Fuck off!" I say, as I drop my bag and sit down.

"You four can stand in line and take turns or you can do it all together. I ain't fussy, maan."

We roll our eyes but stay focused. "The fake IDs Luther – how much?"

His eyes travel over me slowly. "For you, we can work out something, baby girl."

A girl with a fishnet top – his girl, I assume, or who wants to be his girl – glares at me as if I am considering Luther's proposal. _White bitch!_

I ignore her thoughts and focus. "Luther, I'm talking money here, okay? How much?"

Nice watch, white bitch. It'll look great on my wrist.

I jerk my neck to look at her. She's eyeballing Laura.

"How much you got, Burn baby?"

I tear my eyes away from her to look at Luther. "How much you asking? We need four."

"Fifty apiece."

"When?"

"Three days."

"Fifty's too much. I don't know ..." I look at my girls.

They nod eagerly. Too eagerly for Luther.

"Might be a little more than fifty," he says. "Might be more like seventy, maan."

I snatch my my bag and stand up. "That's too much. I can get it for fifty but it's gonna take a while 'cause he's busy, that's all."

My girls frown at me. _What the hell, Burn?! That's not true!_

"Whoa! Slow down li'l Mama," Luther says. "We can work somethin' out. Sit yo fine ass down, baby girl."

Slowly, I sit down. My friends exhale.

We agree on fifty a piece. I give him the money and get up to leave.

Fishnet and her friends put their heads together and whisper. I get a bit worried when I realize they plan to roll Laura. Fishnet stands up.

I move in front of Laura and look directly at fishnet. "Just you fucking try!" I say in what I hope is a snarl.

Her two friends stand up. The look in their eyes tells me they're ready to take me on.

They're fugly, big and tough and we're absolutely no match for them. Shit! Shit! Shit! I'm gonna get my ass kicked something terrible here.

Fishnet glares at me, but I catch a glimpse of uncertainty in her eyes. Slowly, she sits down. Her friends follow. Whew! I resist the urge to wipe the sweat beads off my forehead.

"Let's get out of here!' I mutter to my girls.

Laura talks excitedly about the fake IDs, clearly having no idea of the risk I just took for her.

Chapter Six

As I enter the classroom, Bud looks at me and says, "Ah, here comes the lovely Miss Alicia Key's ..."

I swell with pride. Alicia Keys? Me? Wow! Thanks Bud, you're not such a fuckhead after all.

"... ugly stepsister."

My smile vanishes as everyone laughs in surround sound.

I pick up Fung's textbook and throw it at him. He ducks and it crashes against the wall and sprays over him.

That should deter him, but it doesn't. "Burnt, Burnt, Burnt, people in black houses, shouldn't throw stones," he chuckles.

He is saved by Mr Keith's appearance.

An hour later, Bud is at it again. "Hey dipshit," he says to Harjoon, "got a riddle for you.

'How does every ethnic joke start?"

When I see Harjoon's distress, I decide to do something. I burst out laughing.

Bud swivels his head to look at me.

"Sorry, you're so funny, Dick! You're just so so funny."

Looking a little thrown by my mocking laughter, he says, "With a look over ..."

"Ha, ha, ha!" I hold my sides and guffaw.

"...your..."

"Your'!" I laugh my ass off. "What a funny word, 'your'!"

Bud glares at me. "...shoul...der. What the hell is so funny, bitch?"

"You, dick, you!" I wipe my eyes. "Your jokes are sooo funny, dick! Just thinking about it ... the ones you said last week ... ha! ha! ha!"

Everyone around me starts laughing with me.

His nostrils flare and his eyes become hard. "You fucking with me, Burn?"

"You got my name right! Ha, ha, ha!"

"That wasn't a joke, bitch!"

"'Joke! Ha, ha, ha!" I slap the desk. "Say it again! Say it again!"

Bud grabs his stuff and storms out of the classroom. "Black bitch!"

"Hey come back, Bud! Come tell us more racial jokes!"

From then on whenever I see Bud, I start to laugh and look at him with expectant eyes. He rolls his eyes and walks away and I never get to hear any more racial jokes. Aaawww!

After school, Harjoon calls out to me. "Burn! Don't forget."

"Sure thing, HarLo." That's what he wants to be called these days, remember? And remember, he does all my math homework.

"Make it different today."

"Okay, but don't you go dissing me in front of your cousins now," I warn.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever!"

In anticipation of seeing Sunita, Harjoon flips his cap back to front, pulls out his shirt from his pants, lights up a cigarette and with a Snoop Dog swagger, makes his way out of the school grounds. When he sees his cousin's car blaring with Bollywood rap or somethng, he throws out his arms, gangsta style and says, "Yo! Yo! Yo! Muddafuckerrrrrs!"

I put on my red lipstick, toss my hair a bit and totter after him. "HarLo, call me later. Please? Will you? Please?"

He flings me an annoyed look. "Bitch, I'm too busy to call you."

"Please, HarLo? Please?"

"Whateva bitch!" he says and sneaks a look at Sunita.

Sunita sticks her head out of the car window and glares at me. _Slut._

Satisfied by the results, Harjoon struts.

"Harjoooon! Harjoooon!"

Everybody stops whatever they're doing and looks towards the source of the voice.

It's a grey-haired woman, dressed in traditional Indian attire, a brightly colored saree. She waddles up to him, carrying a tray of what looks like sweets. "Beta, you left your asthma pump at home. Here it is."

"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!" HarLo loses both the cigarette and the swagger. "Turn off the music!" he hisses to his cousins. The music dies instantly.

"I bring you _mitai_ for you and all your friends," she says as she grabs him and starts tucking his shirt into his pants. Vigorously. Then, she turns his cap around and pats his face.

Harjoon stands frozen like an ice sculpture with clothes on.

Nobody laughs because I'm guessing it's every kid's nightmare.

Bet Harjoon is praying for a tsunami right now.

Grandma leaves, to Harjoon's relief. Then the laughter cracks like thunder.

As I walk away from the thunderous laughter, HarLo and his mitai, I think how lucky I am that I don't have asthma. Or a grandmother.

****

I wake up in the middle of the night to see an old woman in my bedroom, sitting on the edge of Angel's bed, headphones in her ears. Startled, I jerk upright and look at Angel. She's still sound asleep next to me.

I look at my iPhone – 03:12 AM. I run my hand slowly over my face. Okay, so I'm having one of those dreams again. You know – like the one I had the last time where I slugged the bird-man – Hawk, whatever. This time, it's an old woman, so no need for the baseball bat.

But then I'm thinking, maybe I'm not dreaming. Maybe she's real and she's lost –wandered out of an old-age home in the neighborhood. Not that I remember seeing one around.

Ma'am?"

She doesn't answer. She's probably seventy or so, grey hair, lots of wrinkles. She wear a grey top, grey skirt, grey cardigan and her sensible court shoes are charcoal grey.

Her headphones are huge – like those used by DJs.

The lady's eyes are closed as she listens to music. Probably, opera or classical.

"Oooh ... bitch ... fuck this shit ... fresh-as-im-is ... ooooh ..."

What the ...?! "Excuuuuse me!" I say and cover Angel's ears.

"... cash ... money ... you-my-dog-man, you-my-dog man ... no hos gon come 'tween us ..." The old lady bobs her head to the music. "Ma'am!"

This ain't no dream – this is friggin real.

I leap out of bed and lift up her headphones. "Oh, hello, dear," she says. "Sorry, I was listening to Executioner. Man, I love rap! Snoop, Wiz Khalifa, Ja Rule ... whoa!"

What? Am I in the Twilight Zone? 'Twilight', as in a weird place, and not as in cheating ass Kristin Stewart and ripped Jacob. (Yep, I'm Team Jacob.)

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"Why, I'm your fiery godmother."

"Fiery ... you mean 'fairy' godmother?"

She waves dismissively. "Oh no, dear. You'll see the difference. You want to go to the ball, dear?"

Who doesn't want to go to a ball? My mind races – if I say 'Yes' I may just score myself a Vera Wang gown, some diamante stilettos, maybe a Prada purse ... "Eh, yes!"

In the corner of the room, Angel's basketball appears. Levitates.

"Go to it, dear." She shoos me towards it – "Go to the ball."

What the ...?

She throws her head back and laughs. "I'm messing with your brains, dear. Your fiery godmother in fifty shades of grey." She points to me. "You should see your face. Priceless!"

I stare at her, my jaw hanging.

Bird-man suddenly appears, looking mad. "Erro! I told you to wait for me. Wait for me. Which part of that don't you understand, Erro?"

"Oh, stop being such a fuddy-duddy," she says. "I just wanted to have some fun." She puts her hand over her mouth and says, "She fell for the ball trick." She slaps her thigh and laughs. "Vera Wang? Prada? Really dear, your tastes are somewhat expensive considering you're broke-ass. Dear."

I stare, stunned at her cheek. She's offensive!

Hawk turns to me. "I do apologize for that, Burn."

"So, you're real, then? I thought you were just a dream."

"Yes, in a way I'm real, and so is Erro. She and I will shadow you and help you along with your gift. We know you have been searching for answers to the voices and we just want to reiterate that we are here to help. You just have to call."

"So, I'm not nuts after all."

"Oh, no, not at all," he says in a pleasant voice. And you're not schizophrenic either."

I sigh, weary and confused. I don't know if this reveal is good news or bad news. But, I'm tired and I want to go back to sleep. And I want the old bat out of my fucking room.

"I'll take her away now," Hawk says reading my mind.

"Thanks," I say in a sleepy voice and pull the covers over my head.

"Lovely meeting you, dear," the old bat says. "It's been a _ball_."

Fuck off.

"Hey, watch that language, bitch!" she snaps.

I throw back the covers and gasp at her.

"Erro!" Hawks chides as they vanish.

With a sigh, I draw the covers over my head again and fall asleep. Vera Wang, my ass. Why do they have to visit at this time of night and interrupt my sleep? Why can't they visit during math instead?

****

The blast in my ear is so loud, I jump out of bed and scramble for my baseball bat, convinced that we are being attacked.

"Wakey, wakey!" It's the old bat from my dream.

Baseball in hand, I blink rapidly as I try to shake the cobwebs of sleep. She's still in my room, shaking with laughter and pointing at my face.

Slowly, I lower the bat. I rub my eyes and shake my head hard, but the old bird is still there with a tub of mint choc-chip ice cream in her hand.

"You again?"

"Me again, in forty-nine shades of grey," she says. "I lost the scarf. It was too much. Now, I'm here to help." She nestles into Angel's bed and spoons ice cream into her mouth. "Don't worry, nobody can see me except you, dear," she says with her mouth full. Every time she utters the word 'dear' I can't help feeling she is fucking with my brains.

Is this another dream? I look at my iPhone clock – 7:15 AM. Damn, I overslept! I quickly shake Angel awake and dart around the room.

I give Angel breakfast, get her dressed for school, put her on the school bus then hurry to mine. Erro follows at a safe distance, munching on crisps and bobbing her head to music, her elephant-sized head-phones in her ears.

After a while I forget she's around and continue my day as normal. It's Thursday, but it feels like Monday and I can't wait for the day to be over.

As I enter, I see Lana Tucker, (friend of Kate Spelling, who if you remember, is Nick's girlfriend) handing out invitations to her birthday party. I know that it's going to be one of those Sweet Sixteen parties that will be the buzz of Facebook and Twitter, just like it was last year. Except that she's turning seventeen this year and it's going to be bigger than last year's. Her parents are loaded so they do everything in style.

All eyes are on her, wondering if she is going to call their name and hand them an invitation too.

Except me – I don't give a crap about being invited to her party as I feel it's ridiculous that ...

Okay, okay, okay. I'm almost seventeen – I, like every girl in the class, would loooove to be invited to her party, but like last year, I'm not white enough; but ... it doesn't stop me from holding my breath.

Every white girl and white guy in our class is invited. No blacks, no Mixicans. Ah, well. That's the way it's always been around here.

I sneak off during class and duck behind the school bathrooms to have a smoke.

Just as I light up, Erro appears in front of me.

"What? You gonna tell me that smoking is bad for me and that I should cut it out?"

"Absolutely not! You go right ahead and smoke all you want. Dear."

"Oh wow! Really?"

"Yes, really. It's your temple and you should worship it the way you want it. Your body, that is."

Mmm. Maybe she's not so bad after all. I mean she seems to like, _understand_ teenagers. How cool is that?

"Smoking can't be that bad," she continues.

"Yeah, there's worse shit teenagers can get up to."

"Yes, I totally agree and that's why I think you should not regulate smoking. Children all ages should be allowed to smoke. Your little sister should also be allowed to puff away as well."

"WHAAAAT?!"

"Think about it - both of you can smoke together – what a bonding session!"

"Angel is EIGHT!" I spit, furious at the thought of her even suggesting something so inappropriate. "And you're nuts." I twirl my finger at my temple. "Crazy!"

She shrugs. "Let's agree to disagree."

I'm so disgusted with the thought of Angel smoking, I throw down my cigarette and squash it with my sneaker.

Suddenly, I hear a girl crying. I lower my head and listen to the conversation that follows.

"Get rid of it, then! Don't bother me with this shit, bitch!" A young man's voice.

"It's yours – you have to help me. I can't do this on my own."

What the hell? I look around at Erro and whisper. "Did you hear that?"

She nods and pats her finger to her lip.

"How do I know it's mine, huh? Word is you're a ho. A big one."

"How can you say that? I thought you loved me."

"I _don't_ love you. I just said that to get into your panties."

"You are such a jerk." The girl starts to cry.

Erro points to the boy's bathroom. I nod and creep behind a pillar where I hide and listen.

"Oh man, now you'll start this crying shit. I'm outa here." I watch in surprise as Bud McGraw storms out of the toilet.

"What should I do?" I ask Erro. "Brittany his girlfriend – she's obviously in trouble."

"Nothing for now," she says, looking perturbed. Which is refreshing considering she is annoyingly comedic.

A few minutes later, to my utter astonishment, it isn't Brittany, Bud's girlfriend who emerges from the bathroom, but Kate Spelling, girlfriend of Nick McGraw – the Facebook addict.

Remember now, Nick McGraw is the cousin of Bud McGraw. Ain't that just fucked up?

I lock eyes with the girl who called me 'Banjo Lips' a few days ago. For a moment, I see panic in her bloodshot blues. Then she takes a deep breath, thrusts out her triple-As and walks off. She has no idea that I overheard her conversation.

In class, she maintains her arrogant and superior ways. I say nothing to anyone, but secretly, I feel sorry for Nick, because clearly, he doesn't know that his girlfriend fucked his best friend and cousin.

It's hard to feel sympathy for Kate, as she is as mean as a scorpion. She gets off mocking people in a passive-aggressive way, like, instead of calling me 'Banjo Lips', she will say, in a voice as sweet as honey, "Bud shouldn't have called you Banjo Lips. This is most offensive." Get what I'm saying?

I hate it when she makes fun of people who aren't able to fight back, people like Fung and Harjoon.

But she's undoubtedly pretty, with her lovely, long blonde hair and her sparkling blue eyes.

Nick is very good-looking too, so together they'll look great as a couple on a brochure advertising limousine hire for Prom Night or something.

I don't say anything to anyone about the conversation I heard, but I keep a close eye on her and Bud.

Right now, Bud is all over Brittany and he totally ignores Kate.

When Nick puts his arm around Kate, she shoves him off. A hurt look crosses his face, but he says nothing.

Over the next couple of weeks, I watch Kate's belly grow rounder. She appears to have put on a little weight and spends a lot of time in the library reading or surfing the net.

Then Kate disappears for a while. According to Nick, she's gone upstate to visit her sick grandmother for a few weeks.

When Kate returns to school after a two week absence, her tummy is once again flat.

"Hey Harjoon!" she says in a sweet voice.

"Hey!" Harjoon says, appearing thrilled that she's even talking to him. Thrilled that she even remembers his name.

"How's your grandmother?"

Harjoon turns the color of baby beetroot.

Kate and her friends laugh their asses off. Yep, Kate is back, minus her burger in the oven.

Meanwhile, Nick and Bud continue being friends. And cousins.

But wait, there's more - Kate has brought Brittany a friendship bracelet with the words, "Friends forever."

Sweet.

Chapter Seven

Bobby Stainer is Aunt Carlene's latest squeeze. No really, 'squeeze' is the word. She squeezes his ass all the time, in front of all of us, including Angel. Her daughters are mortified and I cringe each time I'm unfortunate enough to witness her doing that.

When she's not squeezing his ass, she's sticking her tongue down his throat. Public displays of affection or PDAs are one thing; but there's a difference between PDA and groping.

Does he look like he minds? Nope. He loves it, judging by the size of the bulge in his pants.

"All alone with five women – how lucky can a guy get?" he says in a bragging voice. Five women? Fuckface is referring to Angel as a _woman_. Aaarrrggghhh!

He's medium built, around 5-foot-8, tattoos on his arms and chest, long, stringy hair, blood-shot green eyes and his skinny jeans look like they have been tattooed on him. A Kid Rock wannabee, minus Pamela Anderson, a band and...

Let me rephrase that – a Kid Rock wannabee with ... zilch _._

"I see you got help?" he says, when he sees me vacuuming the living room.

I don't hear Carlene's response. Since he stares at my ass, I stop bending over and try to ignore him, but he continues to stare, making me self-conscious.

"Wow, that's quite a suck you have there," he mouths.

"What?" I snap, hitting the 'off' button.

"I said, "That Hoover sure sucks gooooooood!'"

I glare at him in total disgust, roll my eyes, then continue vacuuming.

As I hang out washing, he leans against the frame of the back door, beer in hand and watches me. As usual, he's shirtless, with just a pair of ripped, dirty jeans. It's 10:52 AM but guess what? The bar is open.

As he stares, I get self-conscious, so I casually hitch up my top to hide any cleavage.

No, don't do that sweetpea!

Why the fuck is he watching me when there's Lanie and Daisy walking around in next to nothing? Not to mention Carlene, who's parading around in her fucking underwear.

What an ass.

I'm silently freaking out. When I go back inside, he remains at the door forcing me to have to brush past him.

Yeah ... yeah ....that's it baby....that's it...ooooohhhhh!

I find him revolting and when he's around, I feel pretty helpless. At times like this I feel like running away. If it hadn't been for Angel, I swear I would've taken to the streets a long time ago. It would have been better living there than here for sure.

But I do nothing to make my aunt send me away, as it may mean that Angel and I may be separated and I cannot bear the thought of that ever happening. If I don't do chores, nothing around here gets done. But I do them and I keep the place as tidy as I possibly can, as I worry that Social Services may drop by for an unscheduled visit. If they don't like what they see, they could remove Angel from Carlene's care and that is my single biggest fear.

Whenever Carlene brings men home, I worry about Angel. Most nights, since I don't have a lock on my door, Angel and I drag a cupboard across our bedroom door to keep us safe.

How many sleeps till I'm eighteen? Can't wait.

I daydream about the house I will own one day. It will be clean and pretty with beautiful, modern furniture and a lovely modern bathroom and I will have a little play area for Angel and we will be safe and comfortable and ...

As I said, I just cannot wait.

****

I have the gift that keeps giving. Now that I'm aware of the gift, I'm a little more tuned into it and I hear a lot more these days. Unfortunately, I cannot choose whose thoughts I want to hear. It just happens. Like, if I _need_ to read someone's thoughts for whatever reason, it may not happen. And that can be a real let down, especially if I was banking on it.

But hearing a buzz of thoughts, like static when you don't want to, can be a real pain in the ass. It's like having a million people in your bedroom, all talking at the same time, while you're sleeping. It's like turning off your iPod when you've had enough of Kesha but she keeps going, telling you about Diddy and how she brushes her teeth with Jack, over and over and over and over ...

The voices are random and make no initial sense.

What shall I have for dinner?

She's such a slut.

Did I turn off all the stoves?

65, 66, 67, 68, 69...

Oooh baby yeah, bend a little bit more.

Drink up baby, I got plans...

... _70, 71, 72, 73 ..._

That can't be a real diamond...

Pink or white? White. No pink. No white. Or well, maybe I'll have one of each in my hot chocolate.

AAAARRRGGGHHH!

Erro and Hawk are no help. None whatsoever.

As I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, I wonder if I will ever get rid of the voices. Will I eventually cave and become mental enough for them to institutionalize me? The thought is daunting and shrouded in despair, my eyes fill with tears.

"What's wrong, Burn?" Angel asks.

"Nothing," I say and blink rapidly. "Why?" I scan her lovely face – does she know something? Angel is the image of my mom – she has dark blonde, straight hair, blue eyes and white skin. She could easily pass as Kate Spelling's sister. Doesn't look like me at all. She was a beautiful baby – like a porcelain doll, and she's just as lovely now. She may be quiet, but she's very intuitive and misses nothing. In spite of our environment, she's very innocent and pure. I protect that innocence with all that I have.

"You're looking down these days. Like you lost your best friend or something."

"I'm tired, I guess."

"Then sleep." She draws the covers up to my chin, tucks it around me and kisses my forehead. Just like I do for her. "You know how important it is for teenagers to get more than twelve hours of sleep."

I smile. "Aaaahhh! So that's where my IQ is. And I thought they didn't deliver it. You sure you're eight?"

"Almost nine," she chuckles and hops into her bed. We lie in our respective beds in the room that we share and look at each other.

After a while, I open my arms. She hops out of her bed and rushes into my arms where we snuggle and drift off to sleep. Like we do every night. Her bed is just for show.

"You really have to start sleeping on your own, Burn," she whispers in a sleepy voice. "You're gonna be seventeen soon."

"Mfff."

****

It's Saturday and once again, I'm cleaning the house. Dusting, mopping, doing laundry – all the stuff I suck at, but I do anyway.

As I do, I spy the most beautiful white dress in Daisy's room. Soft, flowing fabric with pearly beads on the front bodice, which, when it catches the light, almost lights up the dress. Awesome!

She's going to some big party tonight and she's really glamming up for it.

She's got an even prettier pair of white stilettos with silver studs on the heels. I gasp at how gorgeous they both are.

"Can I try it?" I ask. "Please?"

"No," she snaps, "you'll ..." Her lips curl, "you might split the dress."

"No, I won't. We're almost the same size. Please! Please!"

_Like hell we are._ "NO!"

"Aw, c'mon, Daisy."

"I said, NO!"

Bitch. I slink away.

Angel's invited to a birthday party, so I drop her off at the party and return home.

Daisy's left for the hairdressers and nobody else is around. Great! Wasting no time, I race to her room, slip on the white dress, the white heels and strut in front of the mirror. Wow! I look great. The white against my tan is awesome. I'm not that much bigger than Daisy and the shoes just about fit. A little tight, but who cares?

How lucky is Daisy.

Suddenly the room door is yanked open and there stands Bobby. "Helloooo, Sweetpea," he says.

Oh no, not again!

"You look very, very seeeexy!" To my horror, he locks the door behind him.

"Wha ...?" My voice dies as he inches closer, a glassy look in his eyes.

My heart beats like a bongo drum with every step that he takes. "Should you be wearing Daisy's dress? I heard her say 'no' to you." When he talks, I get a strong whiff of booze on his breath.

I shrug and try to look unafraid. "I'll take it off when you leave."

"Take it off ... _now_ , sweetpea."

"Can you just leave?" I hiss when he backs me into a corner.

He runs the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip. "You know, I always prefer dark chocolate to milk chocolate."

Fear grips me and my knees start to shake. "Can you p ... pleeease leave?"

'Take off the dress, baby," he says, his eyes slits. "Do it sloooowly."

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

I know I'm in trouble. He's going to hurt me. Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! What do I do?

"Go on, baby, I'm waaaaiiting."

"I ... I ... I'm gonna tell!"

"Tell what?" His smile is evil.

"That ... that you asked me to take off my dress!"

"Yeah, the dress that doesn't belong to you, honey. You shouldn't be taking stuff that ain't yours, Princess."

"I ... I ..."

"Sweetpea, if Carlene finds out that there's something going on between you and me, she'll send you away. Then what? Where you gonna live?" His smile is smug.

_Between you and me?_ Is he nuts?

"I can help you take it off."

Fear seizes me. "Erro!" I yell. "Erro!"

Erro appears and stands behind Bobby. "I got it, Burn," she says in a quiet, but angry voice.

Immediately, we hear a car in the driveway.

Bobby's smile vanishes. He quickly unlocks the door and steps out of the room. I rip off the dress and shoes, place them where they were, slip on my own dress and hurry out of the room. Shaking, I run into the bathroom, lock the door and lean over the sink to compose myself.

"Erro!" I call.

She appears before me, looking mad as hell.

"Thank you for helping."

"You're welcome."

"Why didn't you come sooner?"

"I can only help if you ask me to."

"But you could see everything?"

"Yes."

Maybe this gift is not so bad if it can save me from harm.

"Yes," she says.

I give a small smile. "Forgot you can read my mind."

She shrugs. "Your aunt is not here right now. I just created a little illusion of them returning to distract him and give you a chance to escape. He's outside smoking. Go into your room and lock your door till they return."

I nod and run out of the bathroom. Once in my room, I shut the door and since I don't have a lock, Erro helps me push a cupboard in front of it.

"So, how did I manage to get this gift?"

"You inherited it."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes, your mother had it and ..."

"My mother? You're kidding me!"

"I'm not. She had it and that's why she worked with the police and helped catch bad guys."

"But ... but ... I thought ...." Suddenly, so many things make sense. "My mother – she was killed by one of those bad guys! Ohmigod! No wonder we got an extra payout and everything was kept so quiet and stuff!" I grow thoughtful. This gift – I don't want it if it means something may happen to me, Erro. I mean, what about Angel? What would become of her if something happens to me?"

Erro drops her eyes. "I ... look, Burn, you're worrying for nothing. Relax." Her tone of voice tells me she's equally worried. "You're not helping anyone right now – no bad guys on the scene, just petty stuff so ..."

"If my mother knew she was in danger, why didn't the gift 'Elders' or 'Overseers' help her?"

She shakes her head slowly. "I'm afraid, I can't answer that, Burn. But different people get different gifts."

"Yeah, like the Virgin Mary."

"Exactly. Why you smiling?"

"Well, I'm thinking what would happen if I explained my gift to anyone or tried to. They'd call me cuckoo - institutionalize me."

"They might. But imagine the conversation between Mary and Joseph about Baby Jesus. Now her gift – boy did it require a ton of explaining. Imagine her conversation:

"Hey Jo, guess what? I'm knocked up."

"What? How is that possible, Mary? I thought you were saving yourself for our wedding day? Well, at least that is what you kept telling me, Mary dear."

"But I was, Joseph."

"I don't know, Mary. Something is not quite right here."

"Now Joseph, don't you start calling me a ho."

"I'm not calling you a ho, Mary. I'm just saying. So who is the father, Mary?"

"God."

"What?"

"God."

"'God' as in 'God only knows' or God, as in you had ...?"

"Joseph, I swear, it really is God. You gotta believe me, Jo."

"Mm. Just how did you have 'relations' with God, Mary?"

"No, Joseph. I just lay in the sun and wham! I'm knocked up."

"I don't know Mary, let us run this by your parents and then mine."

Erro looks at me. "There was no Maury Povich for paternity test then, Burn."

I laugh. "Poor Mary."

"Now that you're laughing, I will be off. Daisy is on her way, so you should be safe from Bobby for now. Any problems, call me."

I nod.

"Anything else you need from me, Burn?"

I shake my head.

"Okay, in that case I'll go finish my chocolate cheesecake. And don't worry about Bobby. They won't be calling him 'Stainer' for nothing. I'm gonna make him live up to his name."

"What do you mean?"

With a dismissive wave, she vanishes.

Chapter Eight

No time to dwell on Bobby as I have to be at work.

My part time job at the Carlos Pizzeria keeps me busy and by the end of my shift, I'm totally exhausted. But I need the money. Also, I get free pizza at the end of my shift to take home to Angel.

The location of the Carlos Pizzeria is great – not far from the water's edge and in the midst of several other restaurants around. Since my boss, Carlos, keeps it open from 10 AM

till 3 AM, it's a popular hang-out for all ages.

Carlos puts tables everywhere. No walking space – no problem. Who needs to walk when you can fly over the tables with plates of pasta in your hand?

He'd put a table on the window sill if he could find a way to balance it. He'd put a table in the toilet if the health inspector suddenly died of food poisoning and couldn't be replaced.

Now, when you hear "Carlos" and "Pizzeria, the image that probably comes to mind is a fat Italian man who says, " _Mama_ _Mia"_ and " _Buongiorno"_ and " _Bambino,"_ right?

Right. Except ... Carlos is actually Tong Lok from ... China. Let me break it down for you:

Tong arrived in the US about a year ago and bought the Pizzeria from the previous owner, called Carlos. Then Tong decided that, to keep it real, he would call himself Carlos.

You gotta give him points for trying to be Italian. He walks around, trying to be jolly and says (or mispronounces) words like _Ciao_ _belly_ and _Buono_ _sarah,_ , but hey, you can't say Tong doesn't try.

In the beginning, it was hard, cos we'd call, "Carlos! Carlos!" and he wouldn't answer 'cause he forgot that that was his name. Then we'd call, "Tong Carlos!" and he'd answer.

Most people find it really weird when they see a Chinese man who can barely speak English answer to the name of Carlos or being called Carlos by his staff. He doesn't.

His wife Mi Mi Mi Lok also works at the Pizzeria and she is another paragraph waiting to happen. A long one, I must warn. But very quickly – if it's anyone's birthday, staff must gather around, clap and sing "Happy Birthday." In Italian.

We can barely speak it, let alone sing it. It usually embarrasses the hell out of the singled out patron and entertains the hell out of the rest of the patrons, especially when they see Tong and Mi Mi Mi link arms and dance around. Staff get entertained just watching the anguish on the singled out patron. It makes our night.

Anyway, a couple with a child walks in and takes a seat. They order pizza and some drinks and sit in silence. The woman talks to the child and plays with her, but the man picks up the newspaper and buries his head in it, ignoring both his wife and child. A few times the woman tries to make conversation with the man, but his reply is mainly in the form of shrugs. I assume they're husband and wife – if they were anything else, they'd be talking nonstop to one another. Also, the woman sports a what's-the-use? look.

Let me explain: she wears no make-up, her clothes are faded, navy sweat pants and a mismatched sweat top, her hair is in a ponytail, her nails are bare, and her shoes are fugly sneakers.

In other words: what's the use of enduring the pain of a Brazilian, starving myself to be a size zero, wearing top designer wear all the time to look glamorous, torturing myself and my back in stilettos all day, taking the time to put on tons of make-up each day so I look amazing all the time, only to find that my precious man doesn't look at me and doesn't notice how I look anymore. Get my drift?

I see it often among married couples who frequent the restaurant and eat in silence.

While _they're_ eating in silence, a lady with a red scarf around her neck, stilettos, a fake tan, and a _Guess_ handbag, enters the Pizzeria and joins them. The couple seems relieved to have company and they quickly order her a pizza too. A short time later, _Guess_ , who's barely touched her vegetarian pizza, starts to leave. She kisses the lady with the child goodbye, then glances at the man.

Parking lot, 10 minutes?

I heard that clearly even though her lips never moved.

The man's nod is so faint, that the wife doesn't see it, but I do.

_Guess_ sashays away without looking back. For about five minutes I watch the man shift about in his seat, his eyes flitting between his wife, his wristwatch and the door. Finally, he mumbles some excuse and heads for the bathroom. The lady with the baby is distracted and doesn't appear to have noticed anything.

As he walks, he glances back at his wife, sees her busy with the baby, then veers away from the bathroom and towards the parking lot. Intrigued by what I heard and what I'm seeing, I grab a trash bag and follow him outside.

I watch him race towards a grey Pontiac, where _Guess_ and her red scarf awaits. The moment he gets into the car, they neck furiously.

With a smile, I reach for my iPhone and hit the video button. YouTube, here I come.

"And what are you doing?" Erro asks, eating a slice of pizza.

"Hey, you eat a lot. All the time. Junk too. What's with you?"

"What?" she asks with her mouth stuffed. "Am I gonna get sick and die from unhealthy foods? Look where I am? Duh!"

"God, you're sounding like a teenager – lose those words, will ya?"

"You know my whole life, I refrained. From everything. I ate colorful salads, drank eight glasses of water, skipped bread, skipped butter, skipped dessert, skipped the wine, skipped caffeine, skipped tanning, wore sunscreen, never smoked - all because I wanted to look good and look young. And I was a miserable, uptight bitch. Frigid, unhappy and despised happy women who dared reveal a muffin-top, who dared to indulge in bread, who dared to eat ice cream and not throw up, who dared to slur and dance on a table. Then I die at the age of sixty-three. Yes, I had a fine looking corpse, I tell you. But I felt cheated by ... _me_. I had no fun, because _I_ stopped me from having ..."

After a quick glance at Erro, I hit the zoom. The man's hand slips under her skirt and dances there. They're too caught up in the moment to notice me standing a few feet away from them.

"...fun. Now, I'm doing everything I avoided and it's exhilarating. I'm eating everything, drinking _everything_ and hey, I'm even considering a tattoo."

"What?" I frown at her. "You must be joke ..."

She touches her left breast. "A paw print here," She touches her left butt cheek, "and a paw print here."

I throw my eyes heavenward. _Dear Lord, in my past life, I probably offended you big time. Did some terrible things, like forge Carlene's signature, stole her cigarettes ...whatever!_

Maybe I was a prison warden or an immigration official or a hangman or something in another life, but ... I apologize. Sincerely apologize. So please Lord, make her go away. I'll be good. I'll do my math homework and I'll give up cigarettes. Well maybe not give it up, but I'll certainly cut down by at least ..."

The couple straightens up and the man starts to get out of the car. "See you tonight? Eight sharp?"

Quickly, I back away but continue filming. When I get all the incriminating footage I need, I skip back to the lady with the baby.

Without a word I pull out my iPhone and hit play. With a confused look on her face, the lady watches the footage. Then, her head swivels to look outside, her eyes wide with shock. "I ... wha ...?"

"Where are you tonight at eight?"

"I ...I got classes. Why?"

"She's gonna be at your house then. Take your video camera, catch them red-handed and post it on YouTube. _Then_ confront them. It's the way to do it. Trust me."

With a crushed look on her face, the woman nods, then hangs her head.

I put my hand on her shoulder. "Or call me and I will do it for you," I say in a gentle voice.

She looks up at me, her eyes glassy. "T ... thanks."

The man enters the pizzeria. "Here comes asswipe," I say. "Act normal. You have plenty of time to be angry." I dart away.

Erro appears in my line of vision, eyebrows raised.

"What?" I ask. "What's the use of having a gift if you cannot use it to help someone? Someone deserving."

"Hope she kicks him in the nuts," she says, before she vanishes.

The shattered look on the woman's face haunts me for days and I wonder how she went with the busting of her cheating ass husband.

A week later, a woman I've never seen before walks into the pizzeria and touches my shoulder.

She smiles and says, "I want to thank you. I let myself in with _two_ cameras, not one, caught them red-handed and posted it on YouTube and emailed the link to everyone I could think of." Her voice is light with excitement. "Thank you so much ..." She peers at my name tag. "Burn."

My jaw falls "You're the same lady?"

She nods.

"Ohmigod!" My eyes dart all over her. She looks hot! She's wearing make-up which shows her beautiful grey eyes, her hair is shiny, copper and straight, her nails are painted bright pink, her lipstick is flattering, she's wearing heels, a short black dress that clings in all the right places – very Playboy Mansion girl.

"Gosh, you look like a babe!" I whisper. "How did you ...?"

She laughs. "I heard somewhere that women are most desirable when it comes to the three D's."

"Huh?"

She counts on her fingers. "Death of a spouse, desertion and divorce – the three Ds – they bring out the best in a woman, Burn. Always remember that."

"Gosh ...I'm like so ..." I shake my head slowly. "You're amazing, and yeah, I _will_ remember that."

She smiles at me, showing all her white teeth. "How can I ever thank you for what you did?"

Just write me a check. Or a fifty will do. Man, even a twenty will do.

Erro immediately appears in my line of vision with a you-can't-take-money-for-your-gift look. I turn away from her.

"I'm embarrassed to tell you this, but I'm with Emhart County Police and I don't know how I can possibly help you, but," she hands me her card, "if ever you need help, call me."

I look at the card and smile. "Thanks Detective, Lisa Farrell. You sure look nicer than Detective Olivia Benson."

She cocks her head at me.

"Law and Order," I say.

"Ah." She smiles. "Anyway," she says, pointing to the card in my hand, "I sincerely hope you don't, but if ever you do ..."

Then as if she's reading my mind, she pulls out a fifty and hands it to me. "A little something ..."

Hawk appears in front of me. "Burn don't!"

"Oh fuck, Hawk, it's a fifty, Hawk! Allow me this."

"Don't Burn!" Hawk says. "You can't take money for your gift. Tell her to pay it forward."

If I had a taser, Hawk would be breakdancing on the fucking floor right now.

"I heard that!"

"Let her take it," Erro says. "It's no big deal."

"You stay out of this!" Hawk yells.

"She needs money for a joint," Erro explains.

"Will you shut up?" Hawk snaps. "You're incorrigible."

Erro rolls her eyes.

With a heavy heart, I hold up my hand and choke out the words, "Eh, t ... thanks, but I'm okay."

A frown appears on her pretty face. "You sure?" She seems flabbergasted that I'm refusing the money.

"Yeah, just ... just ..." It cuts me to say this, "Pay it forward, I guess."

"Wow! You're amazing, Burn," she says. "For a teenager."

"Tell her you watch Oprah," Erro says.

"Don't, it's lying," Hawk says.

"I watch Oprah," I say with a straight face.

"Wow, you're something. I will never forget you, Burn." With a smile, she turns and leaves.

"Why did you lie?" Hawk asks.

I turn and storm off. "Don't talk to me! Ever again!"

"You know what your problem is, Hawk?" Erro says, "You probably, your whole goddamn life, skipped bread, stopped at five glasses of Merlot, skipped the truffles, never had a tattoo ..."

"Oh, shut up!" he says.

I zone out and hold a private funeral for my fifty that got away.

Chapter Nine

"I know you did not do this homework, Burn," Mr Soames says. "I want you to tell me who did it or I'm going to double your detention."

How can I possibly rat on Harjoon, the rebel without an asthma pump? Especially after the grandma incident.

As expected, to my absolute misery, I get double detention. A whole fucking month.

"We're going to assign you a student who will tutor you in math during your detention," he goes on to say. "Because you are dishonest and because ... yadda! Yadda! Yadda!" He lost me at "double your detention."

I silently fume at the thought of being cooped up for hours with some nerdy geek who is probably a cross between Harjoon and Fung Chin, trying to drum into my head the Theorem of Pyrethrum. Or is it Theorem of Pyrenees? Pythagoras? Well, whatever – some boring ass theo ...whateva!

Or in my case, my 1 x tables.

Armed with M&Ms, I drag myself and my bottom lip to the detention room. There I am met by Mrs. Tyson, a plus-size, no-nonsense bottle-blond. Mrs. Tyson lives a few doors away from me and for some reason she doesn't like my family. Fuck knows why.

She reads me my rights. "Don't show up and we extend it by a week. Then suspension. You got that?" She slaps the page into my hand and says, "First door on the right. 17:30, sign the register and leave. Don't get up to any crap or you're out the door. Forever. You got that?"

"17:30? That is the entire day gone!"

That ain't my fucking problem.

With the biggest sulk on my face, I shuffle to the detention room, throw open the door and gasp.

In the room are two guys. Geeky Timothy Coen and – drumroll please – Brody McGraw! Well, well, well, maybe detention won't suck after all.

"Hey!" I say wishing I had worn something other than ordinary jeans and a baseball jersey.

"Welcome to _Sing Sing_ ," Timothy says.

Brody gives a slight nod, then looks away.

"Sing Sing? Is that like a Glee Club or something?"

"It's a prison. What you in for?"

"Ah. Well, I beat up a teacher," I say, as I throw my bag on the ground and flop into a chair.

"What?!" Timothy's eyes bulge. "Why?"

"She called me 'Dear'."

Brody looks up flashes all his beautiful teeth, while Timothy jerks back in his seat.

"How 'bout you guys?"

"Well," Timothy says, "Assignment ..."

"That's it? You didn't do ...?"

"Times four."

"Ah." I shift my gaze to look at handsome. He's wearing a purple T-shirt, grey ripped jeans, grey cap and sneakers. He's pretty, but really disheveled and rugged – just the way I like 'em. I mean, I'm not into girly-men who can't pass a mirror without checking themselves out. That's my job, know what I mean?

"And you?" I ask handsome.

Assignment not done, failed to turn up for detention twice and things just...

"Let me guess," I say. "You failed to show up for one detention and things just ..."

His eyebrows shoot up at my amazing insight. "Something like that," he says and clasps his fingers behind his neck. "How long you here for?"

"I got life without the possibility of parole," I say. "But my peeps, they're on their way. Bringing a cake with a file in it."

He chuckles. "Did you really beat up a teacher?"

"Nah, though the thought crossed my mind. Homework, failing to show up for detention ... yadda! Yadda! Yadda! Usual shit."

"So, why did you say ...?"

"I wanted to scare the shit out of you guys in case you decided to thumb wrestle me or something."

His blue eyes crinkle. He's just so cute.

"Well, I gotta tutor some punk-ass junior who cheated on math big time. That's my punishment, I guess. My," he flexes his fingers in the air, "community service."

I slink back on my chair. Shit! _He's_ gonna tutor me?

"How they cheat on math?" Timothy asks.

"Got someone else to do his math homework for almost six months."

He? He said, 'he'. Maybe I can talk my way out of it? Maybe I can ...?

"Six months. Wow, some cheat!" Timothy says.

"For sure."

I groan inwardly and sink deep into my chair. Shit! Shit! Shit!

Brody drums his fingers on the table. "Where the hell's this kid?"

After a while, I look at Brody and say, "About that 'punk-ass junior..."

His eyes open wide. "You? I thought it was a guy."

I shrug, a more than sheepish smile on my face.

He shakes his head. "Well, then, I guess we'd better get into it, punk-ass Burn," Brody says.

"You two know each other?" Timothy asks.

"Yeah, I've seen Burn around," Brody says.

OMG! He knows my name, he's seen me around. Did you hear that? Did you hear that? Omigod! Wait till I tell the girls. I should twitter this! No Facebook. YouTube! No Facebook, Twitter _and_ YouTube it. It's newsworthy for sure.

"He looks familiar," I say, trying to act cool. "Barney, is it?"

"Eh," he gives an embarrassed chuckle and shakes his head.

"Oh yeah, Barney is ... sorry, it's the purple..." I point to his T-shirt.

"It's _aubergine_ ," he corrects, with a smile on his face.

"Oh, nice to meet you, Aubergine."

With a huge grin, he moves to the corner of the room and I follow. He takes out all his math books and adopts a teacher's disposition and I think to myself, what a waste of an awesome piece of eye-candy.

"Let's start off with what you know," he says.

"Well ... I know my ... 1 x tables."

His eyes twinkle. "We're gonna need more than that."

"Did I mention I suffer from amnesia? It comes and goes and whenever I'm stressed, my memory, it like goes –" I click my fingers, "AWOL. Seriously. I take pills for it." I pull out my M&Ms and hold it up. "See?"

He smiles and puts down his pen. _You're cute._

Ohmigod! He called me cute. Ohmigod! Oh...mi...

Pity she's so dumb.

What?! Sonovabitch! Calling me dumb.

He tests me on various aspects of math, giving me a hangover-type headache. A mother of a headache.

"How come you're sporty and smart?" I ask. Not to mention sooo good-looking and downright ...

"Whaddyamean?"

"Aren't you athletes supposed to be dumb as hell?"

_You mean as dumb as you?_ "Are we?"

Oh man, you're lucky your eyes are so blue or I'd stick my pencil in them and give you Edward Cullen fucking eyes.

Superbitch pops her head into the class and yells, "17:30!"

"What? Already? But I thought they said 17:30 _AM_?"

"Out!" detention lady who doesn't make the rules, snarls.

Man, why couldn't detention be longer? I need to be punished till at least 18:30.

Of course, I conference my peeps right away to share the news. "Imagine he knew my name?!"

"Wow!" Tina says.

"Wow!" Laurie says.

"Yeah, and you know what? He said, 'I've seen her around.' How's that? He's _seen_ me around. Can you believe it?"

"Wow!" Sultana says.

I hang up and shiver with delight. I just can't wait for detention tomorrow. Humming, I wash my hair, exfoliate my face with sugar and olive oil, paint my nails, brush my teeth twice and pinch perfume from Lanie, all in preparation for my date tomorrow.

Okay, so it's not a date – a girl can wish, can't she?

****

We're at the library and my girls are helping me choose books.

"How 'bout this?" Tina holds up _Twilight._

"It has to be impressive, Tina," I say, my voice filled with stress. "He thinks I'm dumb, so if I show him that I'm kinda literary and good at other shit, then he won't think I'm _that_ dumb."

"Okay, how 'bout this?" Sultana says and holds up _A Midsummer's Night's Dream_ and _Julius Caesar._ "

I peer at the book. "Man, I hate Shakespeare."

"Me too," they chorus. "Don't know why we must learn from a guy we're never gonna speak like or write like."

"Or dress like," Laura says.

"Yeah, he's wordy and drags on and there are sooo many interesting modern day movies and stories and plays we could learn from, instead of trying to understand what the fuck he's saying," Tina says.

"Yeah, like Real Housewives," I say. "We can learn a shitload of stuff from them. I mean they got a reality show and they are now famous."

"Family Guy," Tina says. "It teaches us that being dumb and even stoopid is not half bad."

"Jersey Shore!" Sultana cries. "I mean, Snookie is as thick as wood and look at her – she's a goddamn celebrity now."

"Fifty Shades of Grey!" I say. "I mean, if you can bag a billionaire like that chick did, who needs to learn anything? How is math, history, science and all that crap helping her? Who needs tutoring and homework?"

That we all agree on.

"The possibilities are endless!" someone says.

"Yeah, but just remember," Laura says, "that there are a lot of Snookies out there who are unemployed or earning minimum wage. Some of those Snookies are in their forties. You don't want to be like that now, do you?"

We all glare at Laura for being the voice of reason.

Laura shrugs. "And that chick from Fifty Shades – when he gets tired of her and finds another weak-willed chick to take her place, she's gonna have to go back to her job, then what?"

Nobody answers her.

I shake my head and head towards detention.

First stop - the bathroom, where I fix my make-up and change into my 'date' clothes. I'm wearing Lanie's black skirt (bandage of course), Daisy's white sweater with wooden beads on the neckline and her white stilettos with the spikes. I add some gloss to my lips, a dust of bronzer to my face, spray on Lanie's perfume and I'm ready. I smile at myself in the mirror, blow myself a kiss, grab the attaché case I borrowed from Tina's mom, sling my bag over my shoulder, and totter out of the bathroom.

In my bag I have a pair of jeans and a sweater which I will change into before I go home. Can't let Lanie or Daisy see me wearing their stuff. They'll have mini strokes – both of them.

"Hey," I say and place the attaché case on my desk. Can't risk him not seeing it.

"Hey," he says, looking cool in a dark blue Tee that makes his eyes look even bluer and a pair of blue Levis.

Nice.

I allow myself an internal smirk at his compliment.

"Excuse the way I'm dressed," I say. "Just came from a job interview."

"Oh, really?" Kudos to me – he looks impressed. "What's the position?"

"Position?" Is that a sexual remark? The jerk!

"Yeah, the job? What _position_ are you applying for?"

"Oh, the jooob! Oh, eh ..." I never thought he'd ask me that. Why didn't high-IQ-Laura warn me about such a possible question? I'm gonna fire her as my co-conspirator. "Eh, lawyer," I finally say.

"Lawyer?" He jerks back and squints at me. "How does that work?"

"No, no, no. It's at a lawyer's _office_. Part time, assistant to ..."

"Ah, now I get it. Great."

Whew! That was close.

"Did you get it?"

"Yes, but I'm not taking it. Environment too stiff for me."

"Ah."

"Hey, I thought I could spend some time catching up with my English reading before we start math. That okay with you?"

"Yeah, sure," he says. "I'll catch up with reading too. What you reading?"

The question I was waiting for. With great ceremony, I remove my book from my bag and hand it to him.

"Just some _light_ reading," I add in a casual voice. Impressed much, handsome?

Brody looks at the book and nods. " _Othello_ , huh? I didn't know you were into Shakespeare."

I shrug and open the book to the pre-inserted bookmarker in the middle of the book. Thanks to Laura's ingeniousness. I try to read.

"...In following him I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, but seeming so for my peculiar end. For when my outward action doth demonstrate the native act and figure of my heart in compliment extern, 'tis not long..."

What the fuuuuuuuck?! Was Shakespeare on acid when he wrote this?

I have a good mind to shut the book, but I continue to speed read. Well, not really speed read but I look for pictures. I'm big into images as I do believe that they are worth a thousand words.

Brody smiles and says, "Trifles light as air, are to the jealous confirmations strong, as proofs of holy writ."

"Huh?"

He points to my book. "A quote from Othello. One of the many quotes on jealousy. What's your favorite?"

What is wrong with this guy? He's too good-looking to be speaking in tongues.

"Eh ... 'It wasn't me' by Shaggy."

He laughs.

My laugh borders hysteria. Quickly, I remove the bookmarker and slip it under my issue of Cosmopolitan.

Handsome resumes his reading and takes notes as he reads.

Not to be outdone by him, I also 'take notes.' Except that my note taking, is me signing my name one hundred or more times – Mrs. Burn McGraw.

Whaaaaat? I'm just practicing. You never know when you'll need it.

After a while, we put down our pens, shut our books, and chat about music and other stuff. To my utter disappointment, we have completely different tastes. I like Rihanna, Eminem, Pink and Beyoncé (Okay, I admit, I like Beyoncé and I love her music.); he likes Linkin Park, Fall Out Boy, Coldplay and Tim McGraw. And no, there's no relation to Tim McGraw. I already asked him, in case he could get me Faith Hill's autograph for Carlene. She's such a fan.

I have to change him - his taste in music, his clothes, his fondness for aubergine...

So much to do on him.

Another day of detention passes all too quickly and we have to part ways. Parting is truly sweet sorrow for me. (Hey, that's Shakespeare, right? I'm getting smart by association!)

These days, I really look forward to detention.

You can't believe I'm saying that? Hell, I can't believe I'm saying that either!

****

After a week of attempting to tutor me, a ton of empty "huh huhs" from me, and "You sure none of your teachers covered this with you, because it's pretty basic stuff?" from him, I seize control of the situation.

"Look, Aubergine," I say, "I don't think anyone's gonna monitor how well I do with this tutoring thing, so how 'bout we go easy on it, huh? Make your life easy and my life easy. In return ..." I reach into my bag and take out a packet of M&Ms, "I will give you all the blue M&M's in here. Fair trade, right?"

He smiles and shakes his head.

"There's green ones if you don't like blue?"

He sits back in his chair, clasps his hands behind his neck and grins at me.

"I don't eat M&Ms but," he leans towards me and looks me in the eye, "I would probably like the brown ones."

"R ... re ...ally? I thought ..." I wriggle my nose at him and grin, "... I thought you liked the white ones? I swear I saw you with _white_ before."

He looks to the left, looks to the right, then says, "I may have, but I secretly like the black-brown ones."

_Secretly_. "I ... I see."

We grin bashfully at each other.

"Are we still talking M&Ms?" Timothy asks.

"Of course!" we chorus.

I thrust my packet of M&Ms at him. With his eyes locked on mine, he deliberately brushes my hand with his, then accepts a brown one and pops it into his mouth. Just one.

I turn scarlet at his touch. Wish he'd do it again.

"So, do you have a bumper sticker?" I ask touching the spot his hand touched mine.

"A what?"

"A bumper sticker?"

"I might have." He cocks his head to one side. "Why?"

"Honk if you're KKK?"

He smiles and shakes his head.

"Hey, you're Bud's cousin– bet you own a collection of white hoodies too."

He slaps the desk. "You're unfuckingbelievable! You know that?"

I look behind me, then point to my chest. "Me?"

He responds by picking an M&M and throwing it at me. It falls into my cleavage and we both burst into fits of giggles.

As we end our day, he says, "Where you going after this?"

"To get high," I answer truthfully. Just got a text from Laura to say her parents are out for the evening and she's got some Kush-bush.

He laughs. "You serious?"

"I sure am. Do you?"

"Nope. I'm an athlete. Need to be focused."

"Yeah, I forget athletes don't do drugs. Ever!"

"Well, I don't. Anyway, enjoy," he says as we part company.

I can't wait to tell my girls about our little tete-a-tete.

"And he said he likes brown M&Ms. Browns. Ha!"

"Wow!" Tina says.

" _Secretly_ likes the brown ones ..."

"Wow!" Sultana says.

"And he said I was 'unfuckingbelievable.' Used that exact word."

"Wow!" Laura says.

Okay, so I'm padding the truth here. I can't help it – I'm on a roll.

Guess I so much want to be in love and be loved. I've never even been kissed. I so much want to experience what other girls experience when they are in love, like heartache and pining and break-ups and make-ups – bring it _all_ on. I'm so ready for all of that.

I wanna be able to change my status on Facebook to 'In a Relationship' and then post a photo of my boyfriend and me as my profile picture.

I wanna be able to say, "Meet my boyfriend." I wanna be able to say, " _We_ thought ..." and " _We_ didn't care for ..." and " _We'd_ love to ..."

A delicious shudder runs through me at the thought of me becoming a 'we'.

Chapter Ten

The next day at detention, Brody puts his head close to mine and says. "Wanna see something interesting?"

"You got a tattoo of my name?"

He frowns. "No, I hate needles. But I've got a present for you."

"Oh, okay." I close my eyes and put out my hand. When I open them again, I gasp. "Holy crap, Brody McGraw! This is a fucking joint!"

With a smile, he motions me towards the window where he lights up, drags on it and hands it to me. We share it, Timothy, Brody, another chick called Eileen who joined us for detention, and I.

"I can get plenty of this," Timothy brags. "Tomorrow, I will bring a joint."

"You do that," Brody says.

"I can do better," Eileen boasts. "I can bring Vodka."

"Vodka!" I exclaim." Wow!"

She nods. "My stepdad has an amazing bar."

"You do that, then," I say.

I look at Brody. "So, Aubergine, heard you want to become President of the USA one day?"

"Huh huh."

"Okay, so when you become president, you gonna legalize weed or what?"

"No way!"

"That's it, you're not getting my vote."

He laughs.

"Mine neither," Timothy and Eileen chorus.

The following day, as promised, Timothy brings in a joint and Eileen brings in the Vodka and we have fun with both.

But we get careless. Mrs. Tyson barges in and catches us with the joint. "What in HELL'S name are you kids up to?!" she yells, with both hands on her childbearing hips.

I quickly move the vodka bottle out of sight. Shit! This is grounds for expulsion. Nobody moves, nobody says a word.

Her sharp eyes scan the room before it lands on Brody who has the lit joint in his hand. "Give me that!" she says and snatches the joint out of Brody's fingers.

No fight from him.

I hold my breath. Expulsion – that's all I can think of. I get so scared.

"Mrs. Tyson," Brody says, "Would you like a drink?"

Our heads jerk to look at him. Is he nuts?

To our horror, he brings out the half empty bottle of vodka.

Mrs. Tyson narrows her eyes at him. "You trying to bribe me, boy?" She's still got the joint in her hand.

He shakes his head. "No ma'am. You look tired. I'm sure you worked hard and ...it's almost time to end the day. I reckon we need to cut you slack, ma'am and offer you a drink. That's all."

She glares at him.

Shit.

Brody appears undaunted and holds up his thumb and forefinger, a narrow gap between them.

Mrs. Tyson appears mesmerized with the bottle of vodka.

Without waiting for an answer, Brody takes a disposable cup, pours a double and holds it out to her.

I hold my breath.

To my absolute surprise, Mrs. Tyson accepts it and shoots it. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and nods.

I furiously motion to Timothy to video this and he does.

With a smile, Brody sits down and relaxes into his chair.

Mrs. Tyson sits down and puts the joint to her mouth.

We all exchange shocked looks, before we all smile.

Brody takes the bottle and pours her another. Without a word, she drinks that too, then puts the joint to her lips.

"Afghan?" she asks, before inhaling deeply, her eyes watering.

Brody nods. "Yes ma'am."

She bobs her head several times. "Good ... shiiiiit."

Then, she gets really quiet and sits with her head bowed. Feet firmly on the ground, but head hung. We exchange uncertain glances, questioning shrugs, until we finally continue our shit. It's like she's not in the room with us.

Of course, we continue filming her – our little insurance against her getting any ideas – like telling all to Mr Palmer, our principal.

As we leave detention, I make a decision to put an end to the drinking and smoking at school. Can't afford to get kicked out of school.

Later on that night, Hawk gives me a tongue lashing. "Burn, you are compromising the gift with your drinking and your smoking of illegal substances and yadda, yadda, yadda, yadda..."

"C'mon, Hawk," I say. "I'm young and like, I'm just having fun. How am I hurting anyone?"

"You need to be more responsible, Burn."

"Hawk, look, I am a mother right now. I have all the responsibilities of one and I ain't complaining; I'm just saying, cut me some slack, man. Compared to my friends, I have a really hard life, you know. I never get to be a regular teenager. I'm always having to be an adult. Been one since I was thirteen, Hawk. Now I get this gift – added responsibility. I never asked for it, I just got it. It's a kinda noose around my neck. I'm not saying I won't do my bit, I will. But give me a chance to be what I'm supposed to be – a normal teenager. "

Hawk scratches the back of his neck and looks at the ground.

"She's right," Erro says. "She goes to school, comes home, takes care of her sister, takes care of the home, does homework, takes care of her slutty aunt and then goes to work and works till ten most evenings. That's a lot for a youngster. And, she never complains."

I spin around to look at Erro, surprised by her observation. "Thank you, Erro," I mutter, tears filling my eyes. "I really appreciate it."

She nods.

For the first time since my parents died, I feel sorry for myself and tears course down my cheeks.

Tears for all the times I felt overwhelmed with responsibility, for all the times I felt exhausted from all the cleaning and washing, for all the times I didn't know what to do when I watched Angel look longingly at families with both mom and dads, for all the times I felt helpless and wished I had someone to show me the way and to shoulder the burden, and for all the times I lived in fear of Social Services taking Angel away. Scalding tears slide down my cheeks and collect under my chin.

"Well, let's eh, let's talk more about this another time," Hawk says. "Get some rest, Burn."

His sympathetic voice makes me cry harder.

Life has been so hard. I envy my friends who have moms and dads and who have no idea how easy they have it.

****

"May I borrow your lighter?" Brody asks. For a fellow pothead, he sure has good manners.

"No."

"NO?!" He looks at me, surprise all over his face.

I shake my head. "No."

"Why ...not?"

I put down my pen and sigh. "See now, if I lend you my lighter, Aubergine, then you're gonna be so grateful that you ask me out on Friday night. Then I will say yes and then you will fall for me and then you'll wanna date me and marry me ..."

"Whaaaat?"

"... and then we'll have 2.5 children and a dog and a cat who doesn't get along, then we'll have to work out names for the children and whether we should live in Emhart County or Lil Stone or ..." I shake my head. "Life can become so complicated over a simple thing like a lighter, Aubergine."

He laughs and snatches the lighter off my desk.

After he lights up, we smile at each other, then he blows smoke on my face. I grin at him as I hear his thoughts.

Would you like to go out on Friday night? Um ... what are you doing on Friday night? Are you free on ....? A few of us are going out on Friday ... since you mentioned Friday night, I might as well ...

Ohmigod! My heart starts to race. Oh, please let him have the courage to ask me out.

He clears his throat. "My name is Brody, not Aubergine, and since you mentioned Friday night, Burn, would you like to go out with me? And a few friends. Together, I mean."

"Friday night? Hold on." I reach into my bag, grab a large exercise book and thumb furiously through it. I shut the book and look at him. "I'll pencil you in for Friday night."

He laughs, snatches the exercise book out of my hands, flips through it and says, "It's not a bloody diary, it's an exercise book!"

"Yeah, but it makes me look super-cool." I sit back and smile. "Friday night is good. I would love to go out with you, Brody."

"Cool." He actually looks pleased, which is confusing to me.

As we leave, I ask, "So you aren't like, seeing any ...?"

"I was until a month ago. I'm a free agent now."

"Oh. How come?"

"We couldn't agree on children's names."

I laugh as we part ways.

Immediately, I conference my peeps to tell them the good news.

"You serious?" Laura asks. "So quickly?"

"Yeah, I'm stunned," I say.

"You guys sure are moving at an alarming rate!" Tina says.

"Yeah, I know. But _he's_ asking me. It's not like I'm pushing things or something."

"So where you going to?" Sultana asks.

"I dunno. But damn! I have nothing to wear. Nothing nice!"

"Can't you steal something from your cousins?"

"Yeah, but they will see me going out and you know what happened the last time – Daisy made me take off her jacket before I left. Imagine that happening in front of Brody?"

"I can take you _shopping_ tomorrow after school," Tina says. We all know what that means.

"Can't. I got detention. Can we do it at lunch time?"

"Yeah, okay."

"Great."

How I wish I had lots of money so I could go shopping and find something that will make me drop-dead-gorgeous. I so want to impress Brody.

****

"Calm down, calm down," Angel says. "Breathe in, breathe out - natural valium, remember?"

"Don't tell me to calm down, Angel! This is Brody McGraw we're talking about! Where d'ya learn about natural valium anyway?"

She chuckles. "I watched _How to Look Young Forever_ with Carlene. Talks about how stress ages you and the importance of deep breathing."

"Okay, okay, okay!" I say and gulp at the stale air in the room.

"He's just a boy, that's all," she says. "So just relax, be _interested_ , don't try to be _interesting_."

I look at my little sister with my mouth opened. "What? Where d'ya learn all of that?"

"I watched _How to Snag a Millionaire_ with Carlene. Now ... in ... out ... in ... out ..."

"You sure I look okay?"

"Yeah, you look nice, Burn."

I squint at the mirror and gasp. "Ohmigod, Angel! I have lipstick on my teeth! Why didn't you tell me? _Red_ lipstick too, Angel. Ohmigod, imagine if he saw me like this? He'd have thought I was one of those Twilight blood-sucking vampires."

"Relax, Burn. It's just a little lipstick. It's not like you have something in your teeth."

"My teeth! Ohmigod!" I dive for the mirror again and bare my teeth. Nothing. Slowly my heart rate returns to normal. In ...out ...in ...out ...in ...out...

I think I'm more stressed about Brody picking me up from home than anything else. I couldn't very well tell him that he couldn't come to my home, so I have to risk it.

When I hear Carlene playing Shania Twain's _I feel like a Woman_ I decide to start praying.

Please let Carlene be clothed, when he shows up.

Please let Lanie and Daisy not fight in front of him about the missing black bandage skirt.

Please don't let them tell the stories about how much weight I lost or how I sometimes talk to myself.

Please let him think I look pretty.

Please don't let him fall for Daisy or Lanie.

Daisy balks when she sees me. "What the ...?" She skirts me, surprise all over her pretty face. "You going on ..." Her hands fly to her mouth. "Ohmigod!"

"She's got a date!" Carlene yells over Shania.

I've never seen Daisy look so shocked. "With ... whom?" _You've gotta be kidding me._

"A boy! What do you expect? Burn's not a lesbian."

"Shhhh!" I hiss.

At that moment, the doorbell goes. Of all the moments – crap!

Please let him not have heard that remark.

"I didn't say Burn was a lesbian!" Daisy shouts. _Skanky ass Mother!_

"Shhhh!" I hiss again.

"Are you?" Daisy asks.

"Shhhh!" God, these people are driving me nuts. I shake my head furiously as I race to the door.

"I'll get it!" Carlene says. I reach the door the same time she does.

Brody looks handsome as ever. Okay, so he's wearing a check shirt, reminding me of a cowboy from _Brokeback_ _Mountain,_ but he's cleaned up and shaved and he fills the jeans he's wearing really well. I've never seen him look this scrubbed before, so I suspect he's dressed for me. _Me_! In his hand, he carries a single red rose.

With a beautiful smile, he hands it to me. "You look nice, Burn," he whispers. I get a whiff of aftershave. How cool is that?

"Thank you," I murmur as I caress the blood-red rose. "It's so pretty."

"Ahem!"

"Eh, Brody, meet Carlene and ... and my cousin ..."

"Well helloooo, Brody!" Carlene says, as her eyes sweep slowly over him. "Come on ... in."

"... Daisy."

His eyes dart to me, then to her, then to me again and I feel him squirm under her penetrating gaze.

She's dressed for the occasion - a pair of white shorts which shows off her butt cheeks. Her white top shows cleavage and nipples as she's not wearing a bra, and it barely covers her midriff.

With a dazzling smile, she puts out one hand while the other clutches a glass of Merlot.

They shake hands.

"I didn't know it was _you_ she was talking about when she mentioned the name Brody," she says holding onto his hand. _You sure look good enough to eat_. "How is your father?" _He was good enough to eat._

"My father?"

"Yes," I've had the privilege of meeting him before. Is he still wanting a family of presidents?"

"Eh, yeah ..."

Daisy tosses her hair, sticks out her boobs and dazzles him with her smile. "Hey!" she says in a flirty voice. "Burn and Brody – imagine that." _Never in a million years did I think she'd get this lucky._

"Eh, this here," I drag Angel forward, "is my sister Angel, Brody. "Say hello to Brody, Angel."

"Hello," Angel says with a shy smile then scurries off.

"Brody, I'll be with you in a second," I say.

"Sure." _She's got my hand. Hurry up, will you?_

I run off to say goodbye to Angel.

"Oh Burn, he's really cute," Angel whispers.

"He is, isn't he?"

"He's the one who wants to be president?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I think he'll make a really good-looking president one day."

"Yeah, I think so, too. Anyway, see you later." I give her a quick kiss and hurry back to my crush.

I get back to the living room to find that Carlene still has his hand in hers. "I'm ready," I say.

"... and now that she's lost some weight ..."

I grab Brody's hand out of hers. "Let's go!"

"Okay, now you kids remember, no glove, no love," Carlene says.

"Christ, Carlene!" I put my hands over my eyes while Brody laughs. "Shit!"

He's still laughing when we drive off in his car. His car is shiny and clean and smells of leather polish. "Nice wheels," I say.

"Thank you. I cleaned it for you."

"For me? How sweet."

"So you're not a lesbian, then?"

I groan with embarrassment and put my hand over my eyes. "Ohmigod, no!"

He gives me a cheeky grin. "Must admit, it's very disappointing. A bit of a deal breaker."

I look at him through the slits in my fingers. "Don't say that."

We both chuckle.

****

He takes me to Al Pako, a Mexican restaurant. It's just him and I – none of the friends.

I take Angel's advice and probe him with questions over Tapas, and we have a great time eating and talking. There is not a moment of silence between us.

"So where do you see yourself in five years?" I ask, trying to make conversation.

"Mmm. The youngest governor of California. Well not in five years, but shortly thereafter."

"Wow. Really?"

"Yep. And you?"

"Oh me, well, my vision is simple – on the moon, running a tavern of some kind for truckers and long-distance drivers ..."

"Trucks on the moon .... mm." He smiles. "Interesting."

"I'll serve lemonade too, just in case."

"Good idea." He chuckles.

"So how come you won't legalize weed when you're president?"

He smiles. "Just won't!"

"Oh, come on! That's it, I'm not voting for you."

"I'm straight-laced, a bore, a drip," he says.

"Yeah, well, hang around me more and all that will change." (All that I don't like, I will simply change once we're married. Jumping the gun here, but as Pussycat Dolls said: You might get what you wish for.)

He laughs. "So, Carlene ... who's she to you? I mean, she's white?"

I explain that she's my mother's sister. "Don't tell anyone, though. Carlene tells everyone she adopted us, took us in. It's so Brad and Angelina, except that we're older and can do the dishes."

He smiles and shakes his head. "Apparently my grandfather, my mother's father was a purebred racist, so I think my mom was rebelling when she married my dad."

"Yeah?"

"Anything else you want to know about me, Aubergine?"

"Yeah." He puts down his fork and looks at me. "How come you don't have a boyfriend?"

"I ...eh, I did have a boyfriend," I lie. "We, eh, broke up." Can't tell him that I've never had a boyfriend and never been kissed.

"Why?"

"Eh, he ... he ... he was possessive." If only.

"Ah."

"So you've met my aunt," I say, changing the subject.

"Ah, yes, she's a piece of work for sure."

We both laugh.

"I have an aunt like that. We cross the street whenever we see her approaching. Then we break into a sprint. Away from her."

We share a lot of laughs and I'm sorry to end the evening. As we walk back to the car, he takes my hand in his. His hand is so big, strong and warm and I like it. My smile is bashful.

He looks at me and squeezes my hand and shyness overcomes me. I'm literally tongue-tied.

He stops walking and squints at me. "Burn is shy?"

I giggle and look away. This is so not cool.

"I don't believe it. You?" He jerks my hand so I look at him.

"W ... what do you mean?"

"You're just so ... confident and cocky and smart-alecy all the time."

"That wasn't me – that was my stunt double. This is the real me." Thank God he can't see me blushing in the dark.

He walks me to the door and we face each other. "Goodnight, Burn," he says in a husky voice.

"Goodnight Brody. I had a nice time. Thank you."

"Me too. I'd like to do it again."

You would? You would? You would? Me toooooo! How 'bout tomorrow morning, 8 AM? I can even be ready at 7? Even 6 will be okay.

"Maybe next Saturday?" Before I can answer, he holds up his hand. "Don't answer! I know you have to check your diary first."

I double over laughing with a mixture of joy and nervousness. When I straighten up, he takes my face in his hand and looks at me.

His face is so close to mine, I feel his warm breath on my face. My heart threatens to stop beating at first, then I hear my heartbeat in my ears.

He lowers his lips closer to mine, my face still in his firm grasp.

Should I close my eyes? Should I keep them open? Should I smile and be all casual like I've done this before?

My hands – what should I do with them? Put them around his neck? On his chest? Around his waist? Shit, why didn't I research this? There must be an app that tells you what to do in situations like this – first-kiss-from-your-crush app.

His face inches closer and he lowers his lips to mine. A gentle, but firm press. Before I can react, he raises his face and smiles at me.

Dumbfounded, I just stare at him, wishing he hadn't stopped. Wishing he wouldn't look at me like this.

Something needs to be said, so I take charge and say, "I...eh...I...um ..."

I'm blowing this big time.

With a small laugh, he swoops down and kisses me long and deep, and my knees – they start to collapse and I have to clutch onto him to stop myself from falling. Luckily, he's backed me up against the door so I have added support.

His mouth is sweet and minty from the after-dinner mint at the restaurant. The feeling is indescribable, but if you had to hold me at gunpoint and say "describe or else," then I would say; it's like someone threw a handful of glitter in the air and it's raining down on me.

Awesome and unforgettable. Totally.

When he catches his breath, he rests his forehead on mine. For a few moments, we stand in silence, our arms around each other, our breathing slowly synchronizing, our heartbeats starting to match.

I like the feel of his mouth on mine.

I like the way he feels – firm chest, solid body, strong arms, tender lips. I've never been held like this before and it feels ...well, I don't want it to end.

I like him.

He breaks the silence. "Cat got your tongue?"

"Miaow!" I whisper.

With a smile he moves to kiss me again.

But, the door is flung open and both of us almost topple onto Carlene. She gives us a well-well-well-what-have-we-here? look. "You have a key, Burn. Don't you?"

Brody and I quickly try to compose ourselves. He sticks his hands deep in his pockets, while I pat my hair down.

"Yeah, yeah!" I say and frown at her short satin gown which shows a ton of cleavage and a lot of thigh.

"Why you ringing the doorbell then?"

"Door ...? I suddenly get it – Brody had backed me against our door, right onto the doorbell. Shit! I sneak a glance at Brody and bite my lower lip.

Even though it's dark, I see his blush.

"Sorry," we chorus.

"Well, I'll be ..." Brody tips my nose with his finger. "Night, Burn," he says, as he backs away, then runs down a few stairs to his car.

"Night," I mouth. Actually, I'm really embarrassed to say, I gushed.

At his car, he looks at me and waits for me to enter the house. The moment I do, I look at him through the window and wave. He waves, then drives off.

Thereafter I float. This was my first date and my first kiss and it couldn't have been with a nicer person. Not to mention just how friggin' hot he is.

Five minutes later, he texts me. _ilikeitalot._ Jumping up and down with happiness icon.

I laugh and text him back. _Ilikeitalottoo_ _Xoxo_ blushing face icon _._

He texts me back. _xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxox_

Feeling like I've got a fever, I make my way to bed. As I lie in bed in the dark, I keep touching my lips. Even though the kiss ended a long time ago, if I close my eyes, I still feel the imprint of his lips on mine, the taste of his mouth and the feel of his body against mine. Then, I post-mortem every step of the way leading to that kiss. Magical.

My first date, my first kiss and he wants to see me again. I have some major boxes to tick. Wow!

I drum on the bed with my legs, a huge smile on my face.

****

Our second date is even nicer than the first, even though he's wearing a check shirt again. (This guy can't dress for shit. Seems like he doesn't care.) But judging by the way the girls eyeball him, he still looks hot.

We go to watch a movie. Some dance movie that neither of us bothers to watch. We just sit in the back row and neck all the time. Kiss and hug every thirty seconds. It is just so nice and I'm in a purple haze. When we leave the cinema– he walks on the side of traffic and walks me to the door, then waits for me to get into the house and wave at him from inside, before he drives off. I like that – makes me feel really cared for.

Brody sees me every day and we hang out all the time. He doesn't have a part time job, but he has his mom's credit card, which he uses on me all the time. When I get off work, he's waiting to pick me up. By the time I get home, it's usually after midnight.

I introduce him to my crew who are thrilled to have a McGraw sitting with us. It helps that he's a sweetie – easy to get on with and he's not in any way pretentious, so with each passing day, I dig him more and more.

I love how he holds my hand with both of his and his order of kisses – first my forehead, then my cheeks, then my nose and finally my lips. As for his hugs, they are so warm, that I don't want to leave his arms. How can't I help but fall in love with him?

My seventeenth birthday arrives, but unfortunately our fake IDs haven't materialized. _Danes_ is out of the question for now.

I make a mental note to go after Luther with a baseball bat for fucking us around.

But Brody is so sweet; he buys me a gold neck chain with a heart-shaped locket. Carlene tells me it's gold.

I'm stunned. I slip it on and vow never to take it off.

Then, he takes me to dinner at a restaurant where the prices are not on the menu and where the waiter speaks with an accent like Inspector Clouseau from the Pink Panther.

I feel intimidated and afraid to even speak in case I say something dumb. But Brody, who I do believe is trying to impress me, is at ease and even speaks French to the waiter.

Am I impressed? Duh. Think about it – I have Bobby Stainer, Fung, Harjoon and the likes in my life to compare Brody with, so yeah, I'm way impressed.

I ask him to order for me. I'm so glad one of us knows how to pronounce stuff on the menu.

He uses his mom's credit card to pay for the dinner. I'm so glad one of us can afford this.

After dinner, he takes me to _Airee Fairee_ for ice cream. As we laugh, kiss, and feed each other, the words 'soul mate' comes to my gaga mind. I want to marry him and have his kids and his grandkids. I want to be one of those couples who celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary and who share eyeglasses and walking aids.

I think he feels the same way too, because he's always hugging and kissing me.

It's a bummer that the evening has to end. My best birthday ever.

At home, Daisy's envy is visible when she sees the gold chain. "It's very fine. Will break very quickly. You sure it's gold? No rolled gold or plated?"

"It's gold, believe me," Carlene says. "I know what the pawn store looks for when I take stuff to them."

Daisy's lips thin. "Who'd have thought – you and Brody McGraw? It's not Christmas but you've got your miracle, Burn."

"It won't last," Lanie predicts. "You guys are too different. He's just sampling."

"Sampling?" I've never heard of that term before. "What do you mean?"

"Trying a variety of offerings," Lanie says, her tone light and happy. "A good-looking guy like that likes his smorgasbord – tonight I feel like Indian, tomorrow I'll try some Chinese, Sunday, how 'bout Mexican? Ass, that is. Get it?"

Daisy laughs. "A smorgasbord of ass – ha, ha, ha!"

Lanie is older than me and more experienced when it comes to jerks. I mean guys. Could she be right?

My excitement dips. "Well," I say, dressing my fear in a coat of arrogance. "He's free to sample if he wants to. I can get better." Yeah, right. If only I believed what I just said.

Synchronized eye rolling.

That pisses me off so I steam ahead. "I mean, if I can get Brody McGraw to buy me a gold chain, I can get _any_ guy I want." As I said, if only I believed the shit I'm talking. Secretly, I would simply die if that's what Brody was doing.

Carlene doesn't say much; she just tries to seduce him every time she sees him. I swear she'd dry hump him in front of us if it was socially acceptable.

She even opens the door in a bikini. I'm stunned; Brody is stunned, while Daisy and Lanie look like they're praying for a tsunami.

I usher Brody out of the house as fast as lightening. Then I leave him in the car and return to fetch my key, only to walk into a heated exchange between Carlene and her daughters.

"I was trying out this new bikini when the doorbell went. That's all."

"That's bullshit!" Daisy says.

"He's too young for you!" Lanie says. "He's younger than me, for fuck's sake!"

"You're making a big deal out of nothing," Carlene says as fixes her lipstick in the mirror.

"Your ass is hanging out and your nipples are showing!" Daisy says. That's a big fucking deal."

When they see me, they shut up.

As for me, I'm not insecure in any way, so I am more embarrassed than anything else that my aunt makes such a spectacle of herself.

"Got an eyeful, did you?" I ask Brody when I return to the car.

"She's nuts," he says. "Scares the shit out of me."

I want to say, "Be afraid. Be very afraid." But I just say, "Mff!"

Chapter Eleven

We're at a local hang-out called _Marlows_. The place is vibey – lots of laughing teenagers, flashy cars with loud music and everyone seems to know one another.

There we meet Brody's cousins - real loud assholes. I mean, rednecks. As noisy as they are, they fall silent when they see me with Brody. At first I feel uncomfortable under their scrutiny, but after a while, when I see that Brody doesn't give a shit, I stop giving a shit.

Marcus McGraw, who is brother to Bud McGraw, is Brody's eldest obnoxious cousin. Tall, with blue eyes, big muscles and even bigger attitude, (a shitty one) he's clearly the leader of this pack and I'm immediately uncomfortable around him. From the corner of my eye I see him checking me out, a toothpick in his mouth. _Aunt Dawn ain't gonna be too happy with you, little nigglet._

Since he hasn't voiced his thoughts, I can do little about it. But I wish he would shove that toothpick up his pasty ass.

Nick is also there with Kate. He looks sheepishly at me. "Burn! What a delightful ..."

"Say one fucking racial joke," I threaten quietly.

He chuckles and raises his hands in a surrendering motion. But he's unable to resist. "I don't need to say anything. My cousins here – wait and see."

Bud walks over and smiles at me. "Hello, Burnt. How nice of you to take time out of your schedule and ..."

"Save it, Bud."

"What?" He grins and throws out his hands. "I'm being nice, Burnt."

"Yeah, right." I turn my back on him.

Kate and Brittany stroll over. "Hiiiii, Burn!" Kate says. "How cool is this? We all hanging out together. Never thought I'd see the day." _BanjoLips._ "I have to Facebook this," she says, whipping out her phone and taking a photo of all of us.

Even though I know that my friends will be furious with me for that photo, I can't help but feel a thrill – I'm finally hanging out with the popular kids. Ashamed, but secretly thrilled.

Brody puts his arm around me and draws me to him.

A black BMW, blaring out Fifty Cent's _In Da Club_ mix, cruises by. Inside are four guys – two black, one Hispanic and I can't see what the fourth guy is because of the dark windows.

"What the fuuuuck?" Marcus says, looking at the BMW and gesturing wildly.

The BMW brakes.

"Oooooh!" The guys around me murmur.

The BMW reverses. All our guys get to their feet and brace themselves.

Brody untangles himself from me and jumps up to join the rest of the guys around us who are now snarling at the occupants of the BMW.

"You say something?" the driver of the BMW says to Marcus.

"Yeah, I say, ya must be lost, _boy_ , 'cause this ain't where ya should be cruising," Marcus says, chewing on his toothpick, a bring-it-on-look in his eyes. "That's what I say, _boy_. Now move the fuck on!"

I nudge Brody. "Stop this, Brody," I say. "This is dangerous. I mean, those guys don't look like the sort of guys you should be starting shit with."

"Relax, Burn," he says, his eyes fixed on the occupants of the BMW.

"Guys could get seriously hurt here, Brody. And tell Marcus to stop calling them 'boy'! That's disrespectful, Brody."

"Stand back!" Brody says and literally shoves me behind him. "It's about time we put this guy in his place."

I look around him at the BMW and lock eyes with the guy in the passenger's seat. He's got dreadlocks, earrings, lots of chains around his neck and a gleam in his eyes that tells me something bad's gonna happen.

I tear my eyes away from him and walk backwards.

The BMW moves on.

The guys around me relax. They go on to high-five each other and post-mortem their brush with 'them niggas'.

"You've had run-ins with them before?" I ask.

"A couple of times," Brody says.

"Okay, but Brody, Marcus is asking for trouble," I say. "You guys shouldn't be messing with them."

"No, he's not," Brody says. "Chill – those niggas aren't gonna hurt you."

"Brody!" I'm horrified by his use of the 'n' word.

"What?"

"What's with the 'nigga' shit? How can you use that word?"

"Whaddya mean?" He actually looks surprised.

"Brody ..." I touch my chest, "am I a 'nigga'?"

He jerks back. "What?! Who called you that?"

"Brody, I am black. You can't ..."

"No, you're not! You're ..." His eyes sweep over me slowly as if he's seeing me for the first time. "You're ... Burn." What a dope.

"Man, Brody, for someone who's gonna be president one day, you sure are dumb sometimes. You shouldn't be using the 'n' word. It's disrespectful."

He runs his hand slowly over his face. "Guess you're right. Sorry. Habit. I'll stop, okay?" He leans in and kisses my cheek. "Sorry. You're right. I won't use those words again."

"It's good to call a spade a spade, Burn," Marcus pipes up. "In my case, I call a spade a nigga." He guffaws like the asshole he is.

All the guys around him laugh as well.

"Marcus, that is not funny," I say. "It's disrespectful."

"It ain't like I was calling ya a nigga, Burn," Marcus says with an amused look on his face.

"Marcus, what the fuck!" Brody snaps.

Marcus laughs. "I withdraw the comment, coz. Sorry." He looks anything but sorry.

"Let's get out of here," Brody mutters, appearing peeved at Marcus's words.

Pleased that Brody is seeing things from my point of view, I grab my bag and stand up. Can't wait to lose these racists shitheads.

Then the BMW returns along with two other BMWs. They pull up across us and my head swims with the outspoken abuse and all-round hostility.

Fucking niggers!

Whachulookinat?

You eyeballing me? Huh?

Yeah, keep looking 'cause that's all you're gonna be doing, mother fucker.

Watchusay whiteboy?

" _What a sellout, fucking black bitch."_

I spin around. They talking about me? I'm the only 'black bitch' here.

A black guy with a kind of Mohawk eyeballs me. _What you staring at ho?_

I look away. The thing about me – I never start a fight. I'm too busy looking for the next laugh to want to start trouble.

The girl on his arm, a Barbie look-alike, glares at me for a while, then gives me the finger.

I look at her, then I look at the guy with the dreadlocks – the one who eyeballed me the last time. Again, our eyes lock.

"Brody, let's get out of ..." I stop when I see the guy with the dreadlocks pointing a gun at Brody. "Gun!" I yell.

Shots are fired. We all duck as bullets whizz over our heads. The shooting stops but beer bottles fly towards us. Brody shields me with his body until the bottles stop coming. In the process, one of them slams against Brody's head.

After that, Marcus pulls out his gun and all hell breaks loose.

"Burn, get into the car and lock the door!" Brody shouts. I race to the car, which is unlocked, get into it and lock the door.

Then to my horror, I see Brody and the guy with Dreads rolling on the floor. Everyone is fighting and it's just crazy.

When we hear the sound of police sirens, the fighting stops and everyone scatters. Brody dives into the car and we race away.

"Brody, you're bleeding!"

"I'm okay."

"No, you're not! You're bleeding. You have to go to the ER, Brody." I'm freaking out at the sight of blood running down the side of his face. I force him to drive to the emergency department, only to find the black guy with Dreads and a few of his mates there being treated for wounds as well.

Then Marcus and the rest of Brody's friends and cousins arrive for treatment and both sides hurl abuse and threats at each other.

"There's more, white boy," Dreads says.

"Yeah, well, you know where I am," Brody says. "Anytime you want, bring your water pistol again."

"Brody, stop!" I hiss.

"Fuck him!" Brody says.

"Fuck me?" Dreads walks towards Brody. "Fuck me?"

My heart sinks at the thought of him pulling out his gun again for Brody. Luckily, hospital security steps in and keeps both groups apart.

Brody needs eight stitches to the head wound. Shaken by the events of the evening, I sit with him and hold his hand throughout.

It feels like hours later before Brody is finished. I am really upset at everything – the blatant racism, the gun, the fight, Brody's injury ...

In fact, I have to fight back tears.

"Hey!" Brody says. "Why the long face?"

I don't answer.

"I'm sorry," he says. "'Bout everything."

I nod.

"Give me a smile."

I grimace him one.

"Bigger."

"Bro ...dy!"

"Bigger, baby Burn."

I flash him all my teeth.

"Aww c'mon! Give a Burn special."

I smile and touch his face. "Don't look now but you've become Indian," I point to the huge white bandage on his head. "I'm gonna have to change your name from Aubergine to Apoo and ..."

He holds up both hands. I place mine against his so that our fingertips touch, then our palms. He draws me close, raises our hands above our heads and kisses me gently. Then he brings our hands behind my back and jerks me into him, close and tight. We kiss again, this time deeper and longer.

"I love you, Burn," he whispers.

When I get over my surprise at his words, I touch his nose with mine. "I love you, Brody."

As he draws me to him for a kiss, I realize I never want to be out of his arms again. Yeah, I know we're young and I'm thinking ahead, but that's how I feel right now.

"I'm gonna marry you one day," he says.

"Yeah?" I'm seventeen! Maybe he hurt his head really badly.

"Yeah. We're gonna have three kids – one boy and two little girls. No, no, no, make that one girl and two boys. I'm gonna need help with her if she's anything like you."

"Yeah?" A deep thrill shoots through me.

"You're mine now," he says. "We gotta make it official."

"Well, I'll start by changing my Facebook profile to 'In a Relationship'," I say.

"Yeah do that. Upload a pic of both of us."

Wow! All my dreams are coming true.

"I have one, right here," I say.

"Then change it. Now."

With a smile big enough to fit in a coat hanger, I change my profile pic and my status.

When I'm done, I show him my phone.

We grin then kiss again.

"Brody!" We jerk apart as his parents barge into the room.

"Who's she?" his mother asks, eyeing me with naked disdain.

I'm really taken aback at her hostility towards me. Disappointed, more like it. His father on the other hand looks at me with a mixture of annoyance and confusion.

"Mom, dad, this is Burn, my date," Brody says. "Burn, meet Robert and Dawn."

'Hi, nice to meet you," I murmur.

His mother's lips purse. _You got to be kidding me!_ She says not a word.

Even though it's almost midnight, she looks really well put together. Her shoulder-length blonde hair is shiny and flicked out and she wears a pair of chocolate, velour sweat pants with a matching jacket. She's slim and has the back of a ballerina.

His father gives me a curious but curt nod, then turns to Brody. "You okay, son?"

As they fuss over Brody, I quietly walk out of the ward and wait outside.

The police arrive and question both Brody and I about the assault. I tell them what I saw – the guy with the Dreads drew out a gun and fired at Brody. They take my statement and shortly after that, I see them with Dreads. He's now in handcuffs and being led out of the hospital.

Almost an hour later, Brody is allowed to leave the hospital, but of course, he's not allowed to drive. Brody's mother drives Brody's car. Throughout the drive back home, she never says a word to me except to mumble goodnight when I get out of the car.

"I'll walk you," Brody says and opens his door.

"No!" Dawn says. "You shouldn't walk just yet, Brody."

"Yes," I whisper. "I'll be okay, Brody." I lean in to give him a hug, but Brody gets out and gives me a hug and a kiss.

Goddamn you, girl!

"I love you," he whispers.

"I love you, too," I whisper, feeling Dawn's anger at me.

"Don't say the evening wasn't entertaining," Brody says in my ears.

I chuckle. "Oh boy, was it entertaining."

"Night, baby Burn," he says.

As I walk to my door, I'm feeling both happy and disappointed. Brody told me he loves me – that is amazing. His mother and father don't like me – that is disappointing.

In spite of all that's happened, I smile and hug myself. Brody loves me!

As I fall asleep that night, I reflect on my luck. Imagine me, Miss Nobody, a misfit, a Mixican, getting the star athlete in our school to tell me he loves me, all in a couple of months – record time. How cool is that? Some boxes need to be ticked.

Changing my status on Facebook to 'In a relationship' – tick!

Changing my profile picture to me and my crush – tick!

From now on talking in "We" – tick!

Getting my first kiss from someone I really like – tick!

Falling in love – tick!

Getting your crush to fall in love with you – tick!

I can hardly believe my luck. Life is just puuurrrrfect.

Chapter Twelve

"Get the fuck away from me, hos!" Luther snarls.

"We will," I say. "Just give us our money and we'll go. You didn't come up with the fake IDs, so give it back."

"I told you, maan, you have to go to Darius to get it, maan."

"There's no Darius, Luther. I know that for a fact. You're just stiffing us, you dirtbag!"

"Listen, Oreo, you best walk or I'm gonna unleash _my_ bitches on ya'll bitches." He points to the group of girls behind him.

I size them up. Okay, they're big and mean and we're outnumbered for sure.

"I'll be back, Luther," I warn. "C'mon girls," I say and storm off.

"You know where to find me, maan!" the arrogant douchebag yells.

I know that I will one day deal with Luther, but right now I have other pressing problems. Problems like Brody wanting to go all the way. He's confused as to why I won't.

"Everyone's doing it," he argues.

"I know, I know," I say. "I just want to wait till I'm eighteen. I promised my mom I will and I want to keep my promise, that's all."

"But, that's a year from now, Burn!" Brody nags. "We're in a relationship! It's the twenty-first century!"

"Brody, stop!" I snap.

"I'm gonna marry you, Burn. You do know that, right?"

"Yes, baby, but ..." I sigh. "I need you to wait. It'll be great, I promise."

"Fine." He sulks, but I'm determined to wait. It's not like I'm a prude or something, but I just want it to be special and I promised my mom so if it's not good enough for Brody, then that's tough, I guess.

Strike that – I would absolutely _hate_ to lose him over that. But if I can just get him to understand.

****

"How much you got?" Laura asks, holding out her hands.

"Count me out," I say. "I'm meeting Bro ..."

"Oh yeah, we forgot – you're going to hang out with _Brody_ today. How could we forget that? So dumb of us to forget that you're 'In a Relationship' and hanging out with Kate and Brittany. Silly us!"

I peer at her. "Laura, what the fuck?"

She rolls her eyes and walks away.

I follow her to the rest of the girls who have their heads together. When they see me, they clam up.

I try to read their thoughts but I get nothing. "You guys mad at me or something?"

Nobody answers.

"So, what ... you ignoring me now?"

"What does it matter?" Sultana says. "You've got Brody and his crew now. No need for us."

"No, that's not it," I protest. "I hang out with you guys too."

"Well, I guess we're sick of you giving Brody first dibs at your time."

"But ... but he's my _boyfriend_."

"Yeah, well, not all of us are fortunate enough to date the school star athlete, so I guess we'll just hang out together while you move onto bigger and better."

They walk away, leaving me staring in disbelief after them. How could they say all those nasty things to me? I'm with them all day. Troubled, I go to class and sulk.

To my dismay and disappointment, they exclude me from the group by not inviting me to any of their hangouts.

I act like I don't care, but I do, 'cause it hurts. I mean, I've always had their backs. I saved Laura from being rolled by Luther's Rottweilers. That was a big chance I took. Those girls could have kicked my ass, yet I put her first.

I've defended Tina with Bud a million times over.

I can't remember how many times I've hurled abuse at people who hurled abuse at Sultana simply for being from the Middle East.

And after all that, this is how they treat me. It sucks.

Chapter Thirteen

Brody looks in the mirror of the changing room and nods. "I do look good. You're right about this shirt."

"You always look pretty," I say, standing behind him and putting my arms around him. "But those check shirts ..."

He laughs, turns around and grabs a handful of my ass. "Take off your top," he says in a husky voice.

I shake my head.

"C'mon, I want _you_ to try one of these shirts on so I can see what it looks like, that's all."

"You just wanna see my tits," I say and try to squirm out of his grasp.

"Yeah, for sure," he says, slipping his hand under my shirt and running his hands all over me.

I like his touch. Very much, so I allow him to feel me up as we kiss.

Must say, it's very tempting to give in to Brody – we love each other, we care about each other, and we both are committed to each other. But still...

"Let's pay for these," I say, pulling down my top and pushing him away. "You look so good in them; who knows I may just give in when I see you all dolled up."

"Mff!" He pouts. "Like you will. Anyway, I don't really care about how I look, but if you think I look 'prettier' in this shirt, then let's take it. Take them all. I just want to get out of here 'cause I hate shopping for clothes."

Excited, I rush the four smart T-shirts to the cashier. No more check shirts! Whoo! Hoo!

"So when are you changing your Facebook profile," I ask as we walk hand in hand out of the mall.

"Soon," Brody mumbles and looks away. "Been busy with stuff. You coming to lunch on Sunday?"

"Brody, I ... I ...you sure?" I'm confused–his mother clearly didn't like me, so why is she inviting me to lunch?

"Yeah, Kate's gonna be there as well."

"Mmm." As if Kate will make me feel comfortable in any way.

"I'll show you my bedroom," he whispers in my ear.

I grin. "I'm sure you will."

"Now, let's go for a run. I'm gonna teach you the _correct_ way to run."

God, I hate exercising. As for running ...

Anyway, I want to impress him so I say. "I'm ready when you are. But don't cry like a bitch when I kick your ass in a race."

"Talking about ass ..." He pinches mine.

"I just want to learn how to win at the Olympics next year," I say, smacking his hand away.

He laughs and for the next hour, he gives me pointers. "Stay focused, keep your hands loose, don't look back ..."

He's such a pro and he's such a good teacher. How the hell does a guy like him fall for a girl like me? I'm so lucky.

****

When Brody picks me up for lunch at his parent's, he hands me a box of chocolates. "For my mom," he says.

I squint at him.

"You're supposed to take something so ..."

"Ah. Me and my uncouth ways," I say with a smile.

His smile tells me it's okay not to know these things.

Clutching the chocolates and feeling uncomfortable as hell, I go to lunch at Brody's. His house is like a home out of a _Homes for the Elite_ magazine. At the entrance to the long driveway stand heavy wrought-iron gates which swings open to let us in. As we drive along, we pass manicured lawns with red and yellow roses on one side and pink and blue hydrangeas on the other side. Beautiful.

As we approach his house, my nervousness peaks. "Gee, Brody," I say, "I'm so nervous about meeting your family, again."

"Why?" He takes my hand in his and leads me inside. "They're gonna love you when they get to know you."

"I don't know about that," I say as my stomach churns.

"Mom, Dad!" he calls as we enter. His parents appear almost immediately. "You've met Burn," Brody says.

"Ah yes," Dawn McGraw says and nods at me, her lips pressed tightly together, a saccharine smile on her lips. Dawn's wearing white pants, white strappy top, a tan jacket and a bronze belt. Her jewelry is simple and classy. Her hair is streaked and flicks away around her shoulders. She looks like she's stepped out of a women's magazine.

"Nice to see you again, Mrs. McGraw," I say politely, as I hand her the box of chocolates.

"Chocolate? How ... nice." Her tone of voice tells me it's not nice.

"Hello, Burn," Robert McGraw says in a polite but distant voice. He gestures for us to enter the living room.

The living room is furnished with white, designer couches, mahogany, ornate furniture, huge paintings and expensive looking drapes. It's stylish, plush and immaculate. I cringe inside when I think of what Brody must have thought when he saw my house for the first time. He's such a darling that I don't think he's even noticed.

We sit in the living room. Just as Brody leaves to get us drinks, Kate Spelling and Nick breeze in.

Dawn jumps up from her seat and opens her arms to Kate, who rushes into them. They hug like mother and long-lost daughter.

"How lovely to see you again, Kate!" Dawn says. "You look as pretty as ever."

"And you," Kate gushes, "Your hair is fabulous, Dawn." She's not calling her _Mrs_. McGraw I notice.

"Ah, thank you." Dawn leans towards Kate and drops her voice "It's the Parlor shampoo honey – fabulous stuff. I can't live without it. Even when I go to my hairdressers, I make sure I take my shampoo and conditioner with."

"It works, I can see that. And the color – it's great!"

"Nutmeg highlights, hon – very flattering." She winks at Kate.

"For sure," Kate gushes. "You look amazing! I wish my mom would do this to her hair. She could learn so much from you."

"Oh, now don't let your mama hear you say that," Dawn says, a pleased smirk on her face.

Then it's Dawn's turn to compliment Kate on the way she looks. Kate does look nice – she's wearing skinny blue jeans, a bright blue T-shirt and a white jacket. She wears heels and her hair is as shiny as Dawn's.

I took great pains with my looks today, yet I feel shabby, unattractive and ...poor. Slowly, I tuck my white scuffed heels, with my worn-out heel tips out of sight. My hand goes to touch my hair – wish it was straight and blonde like theirs. Maybe I should have worn a skirt instead of black jeans. Compared to Kate, I look fat and frumpy.

They chat away about people they know and places they've been to, while I sit alone at the far end of the room and am excluded from their private conversation.

Finally, Kate looks at me. "I didn't expect to see you here, Burn. What a lovely surprise." Every word of hers seems well chosen.

"Yeah," I mumble, then shrug.

"Oh, you two know each other?" Dawn says.

Well, if we didn't know each other, Dawn should have introduced us. It would have been the polite thing to do. But she didn't plan to, it seems.

"Hey, how's your mom these days?" Dawn asks, steering the conversation back to the two of them and excluding me once again.

"Oh, but you have to come too," I hear Dawn saying to Kate. "You don't need an invitation – you're like family now."

Guess I will never hear those words from her.

Dawn really adores Kate – imagine her face if I had to tell her that Kate Spelling was pregnant with another guy's baby? Her nephew's child? Not that I would.

Brody arrives with the drinks looking so happy, that I try to be happy for his sake. "All my favorite people under one roof," he whispers in my ear, then kisses my cheek and takes my hand in his. From the corner of my eye I see Dawn's eyes narrow. I move my face away and smile at him. I feel bad, because he's such an affectionate person, that touching, hugging and kissing comes naturally to him.

We sit down to lunch. I cling to Brody's hand, as I am so intimidated by the fanciness of everything – the plate settings, the heavy crystal glasses, the gilded soup bowls, the different forks ...

I'm so nervous about using the wrong fork that I wait to see which one Kate uses, before I pick up mine.

Man, I could do with a drink. An alcoholic one. A few alcoholic ones.

As we lunch, Dawn continues chatting to Kate. Now and then, for Brody's sake I assume, she throws a question at me. But other than that, she basically ignores me.

I'm too nervous to focus on thoughts or reading anyone's mind right now.

After lunch, Brody shows me around. I'm so relieved to be out of Dawn's company that I hurry after him.

His house is truly lovely, better than my dreams will ever be. Dawn's bedroom has been professionally decorated and her bathroom is almost the size of her bedroom.

"What is that lovely smell?" I ask.

"Oh, that's my mom's Parlor Shampoo," Brody say. "It's her favorite. She can't live without it. I pinch it sometimes."

"Really _Gaylord_?" I say.

"Yes, I'm a pussy," he chuckles.

As we walk towards his room, he points to a window in the passage. "See this window?" He drops his voice, "It's what Nick and I use to sneak in and out."

"Really?"

"Yeah, you jimmy it and it opens up." He winks and leads me to his bedroom. His messy bedroom with his unmade bed.

When we enter his room, he turns and locks the door. With a grin, he pushes me onto his bed and makes out with me. It's great lying in a bed in Brody's arms and it's really easy to give in to temptation and go all the way.

I mean, I love Brody and he loves me and it's almost right.

I try to get out from under him, but he holds me down and pushes up my skirt. "Say 'yes'," he whispers in a husky voice.

"No, Brody, get off me!"

"Say yes!" he whispers as he nudges my thighs apart with his knee and positions himself between them.

"Brody!" Dawn calls, saving us from another argument about the same thing.

He hops away from me and darts to open the door for his mother. I scramble to sit up then dive to the window as if I'm looking outside.

I notice Dawn's eyes flit between me and the bed. She surprises me by taking my arm and leading me to the patio. "Let Burn and I get acquainted, Brody," she says as she steers me away from him.

_No, Brody, don't leave me alone with her!_ I want to shout.

"Sure thing, mom," Brody says.

My gut twists at the thought of being alone with her.

We sit across each other on the patio and sip on our drinks. I should have brought one of those hip-flasks, I'm thinking. Mental note to myself: invest in a hip-flask or pinch Carlene's.

After some more small talk, she dangles a gaudy bracelet in front of me. "Isn't this precious?"

"Yes, it's really pretty."

"Alicia bought it for me."

"Alicia?"

"Alicia Cooper, Brody's girlfriend." She twirls the bracelet as she talks. "She's got such great taste."

I'm Brody's girlfriend, so what the fuck?

As if she too has the _gift_ , she reads my mind and smiles. "You're a _friend_ , right? You can't be his girlfriend because Alicia, she's his girlfriend."

"I ... I think Alicia and Brody broke up months ago."

"Oh really? Wonder ..." She looks at the sky and drums on the glass table with her acrylics. "Mm, wonder why she was here for dinner last week, then?"

"What?" I almost choke on my drink. "Last week? That's ... that's not possible."

"Alicia was here last week, _you're_ here this week – Brody sure is busy." She gives a merry laugh.

I stare at her, gobsmacked.

She whirls to look directly at me. "You know, my husband plans to become president one day."

I nod, still confused and disturbed about Alicia having dinner with them last week.

"It's a big responsibility our family carries. Our boys, they have to toe the line and ensure they ... you know, do as he says, do the right thing ..." She examines her nails and frowns. "Alicia's father and Robert are really good friends."

Alicia again. I silently fume.

"Been friends for years. Brody knows how much we like her and how both families love the idea of them both carving a future together. I mean, don't they look great together?"

She can't be serious. I put my fingers to my temple, feeling intimidated and even passively bullied.

"You know, Robert believes that Brody has what it takes to become President of the United States of America one day. Follow in his father's footstep. Alicia will make a great first lady, don't you think?"

I stare at her, unsure what to say, my lips pressed tightly together. I mean, she's fortyish, I'm seventeen – how is that even? How could this ever be a fair fight?

"She's blonde, blue-eyed, beautiful skin ... just perfect." _Everything you're not._

For the first time in my life, I feel colored. I feel inadequate, poor, less.

I slowly get to my feet and look at her. I may be seventeen but I have feelings and I don't want to sit here and be put-down.

"Sit down!" she snaps. Her eyes are dark and hard, her voice equally hard. Intimidated, I slowly sink into my chair.

"Brody knows his place – both my sons do." Her lips press together as she glares at me.

"Brody loves me," I whisper.

She nods. "Maybe. But he knows where he's going long-term, honey. Think about it – where does he take you every time you go out? To some far-out place, right? Somewhere nobody knows you both."

"Wha ...?" What the hell she's talking about? I look at the floor, my mind racing. Yes, for the last six weeks, we've been to way out places. She's right! Hurt bands around my heart. Why would Brody do that to me?

"His father has discussed it with him and explained that we ... our family, we're very traditional and even conservative and we believe, Burn, that everyone in life has a place. Step out of that place and you upset the status quo. We're decent, God-fearing folk, Burn. We go to church, and 2 Corinthians 6:13 ...know what it says, Burn?"

I shake my head.

"It says that you should never become unevenly yoked. That means white should marry white and black should marry black or you will run into all kinds of unnecessary problems, Burn. You don't want that now, do you?"

I stare at the floor. I don't know the Bible and I don't even know what 'yoked' is.

"Do you?"

"Well, no, I guess. But Obama, he's like me," I argue. "He's president. And my mother is white too. Was." I put my fingers to my temple. "It shouldn't make ..."

"Maybe, but all Robert's supporters, Burn, they will dump him like a hot potato the moment they find out that Robert's son is a ... is seeing someone who is _other_ than white, Burn. Know what I mean?"

"But ...but that's just horrible of them to do that."

"I know, I know. But what can we do? It is what it is."

I cover my face with my hands as Dawn's words and threats wash over me, as I try to understand Brody's two-faced actions, as I try to make sense of all that I've just heard.

"Brody has no choice but to end things with you. Soon. He knows it. Do _you_ get it?"

"I ... he...he brought me to lunch, to ... to meet his _parents_. That means ..." I swallow hard, trying my best not to bawl. "That means he cares about ..."

"Yet, Alicia was here last week."

I want to throw up. I hang my head as disappointment floods my soul.

She puts her hand on mine and it's like touching marble – smooth but cold. "I'm thinking, let's make it easy for him and just end things right now, Burn. Spare you and him and everyone around him the pain and discomfort of ..."

I snatch my hand away and glare at her, nostrils flaring, hot tears pricking the back of my eyes. "No! I care about Brody and he..."

"So you ... don't mind that he's seeing Alicia and you at the same time?"

"I do mind!" I spit. "I mind very much."

She gives me a there-you-have-it look.

"Well, there has to be an explanation. I'll look into it, see what the problem is and make Brody sort it ..."

She grabs my arm and puts her face in mine. "You listen here!" she says in a harsh whisper. "I have a beautiful home, a beautiful husband who dotes on me, two beautiful boys who are my life, and I have worked my butt off to get all of this."

I try to jerk my arm away, but she hangs onto it.

"I am the envy of every woman I meet and I like it. A lot. Don't you dare ruin my family by embedding yourself in Brody's life, you hear? It will be a cold day in hell before I let you taint my bloodline with that hair. You hear me?"

My hand flies to my hair.

"I've seen the bill he's racked up on my credit card. A gold chain, expensive dinners? _Grocery_ shopping? And I have to pay for it? _Groceries_? Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I ...I didn't ask him. He just wanted to."

"Brody is my pride and joy. When he was a baby, he was so beautiful, people used to stop me in the street just to talk to him. Robert and I have plans for him. Big plans and they don't include you. Alicia has been handpicked for him when they were just babies. He knows that. He understands, and in the end, he will do the right ..."

Robert steps into the patio and Dawn quickly straightens up, links her hands on her lap and smiles.

"Hey, Bobby!" Dawn says in a lyrical voice. "Just briefing Burn here ..." She cocks her head at me. "Is Burn your real name? Short for Bur ... na ... dette, by any chance?" Her smile grows wider.

She'd make a great executioner. I mean, I'm gutted and she smiles like we're discussing _Real Housewives of Atlanta_ or something. Just how does she do it? I shake my head for Robert's sake, trying hard to swallow the bubble of disappointment in my throat.

"Ah." She looks at Robert. "Bobby, honey, I was just telling Burn about our dinner last week with Alicia and her family and how much fun we had."

He nods and something in his eyes tells me that he is aware of our "special talk".

Then Brody, Nick and Kate join us, laughing and chatting. Brody sits next to me and takes my hand in his. Even though I feel like I've swallowed glass, I manage to grimace a smile. But, I don't join in the conversation. I would like to drag Brody away and slap him senseless for doing what he did, but I'm in a state of shock. My hair ... I can't believe she said that.

Brody is obviously clueless – laughs and jokes with everyone and that irritates me a bit. I mean, surely he should know me by now to know that something is amiss?

"I should be going," I finally whisper to Brody. "Angel ..."

"Oh, okay." He hops to his feet and slides his arm around my waist.

"Thank you for having me," I mumble to Dawn without making eye contact with her.

"Burn, it's been really great meeting you," Dawn says. "Now Brody, you drive carefully with Burn, you hear?"

"Sure, Mom!"

"And hurry home, son. I need your help with some things."

"Yeah, Mom, okay," dutiful Brody says.

As we drive, Brody looks at me and frowns. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just ..." I give a small smile. "Bit of a headache." I long to ask him about Alicia and all the things Dawn told me, but I'm so afraid of his answer, that I swallow my questions. Instead, I withdraw and fall silent.

When we stop at a red light, he leans over and kisses my hair. "I'll kiss it better."

I grimace a smile, but say nothing.

After he leaves, I lie on my bed and post-mortem my conversation with Dawn. I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed. As everyone knows, not only do I suck at math, but I never get the answers to any of those lateral-thinking jokes. I seldom do crossword puzzles and if you give me a Rubik cube, you'd better give me a hammer with it. So, I'm struggling to make sense with all that Dawn told me, to work out the logic of it all. I just know that I feel a dull but consistent pain in my chest and the urge to bawl hovers like a black cloud.

It's true, Brody has been taking me to some way out places recently. I put it down to him being adventurous and just wanting to try different places, but now, after Dawn's remarks, I feel betrayed by him and the dull pain intensifies. I now question everything he did, everything he said, every promise he made.

What if I looked like Alicia? Would all that change? What if I didn't have "that hair"? Would I be more acceptable?

I jump out of bed and rush into the bathroom, where I peer at myself in the mirror. Yuck! I look downright ugly. Suddenly, I hate my mother for putting me in this situation, for marrying a black man and giving birth to me – a less than perfect person. Why couldn't she think before she had children with him? Stupid, unthinking bitch!

Then I rush to my bag, take out my purse, empty all my money on the bed and count it.

Erro appears in my line of vision.

"What do you want?" I hiss.

"Nothing," she says. "Just wondering what you're up to?"

"Can't you see? I'm counting my money so I can go to the store, buy some hair color and color this ...this _mess_ I call hair!" I slap my head several times.

"Hair color?"

"Blonde hair dye, if you must know. And I have enough for it here."

"I see," she says in a voice that tells me she doesn't see, which irritates me right now.

Ignoring her, I grab my purse and race towards the mall. She follows silently. "You don't have to follow me," I say. "I'm okay on my own, you know."

She shrugs.

With _Scandinavian_ _Blonde_ hair color firmly in my grasp, I hurry home.

Erro is not eating – she just looks at me with concern. "What?" I ask. "Why you looking at me like that, Erro?" My voice is crackly and I still have that pricking sensation behind my eyes.

"You need to stop and think about what you're doing, Burn," Erro says in a kind voice.

"Listen, Erro, you don't understand – if I'm blonde and blue-eyed, then Dawn, she will love me. Don't you get it?"

"But you can't be that, Burn. You can only be you."

"Yes, I can. Tina, she's got blue contacts and she's bringing them over. I can wear them, then I will look beautiful like Alicia and Kate. So please, keep out of it. It's all about looks. I know what I'm doing. I got it covered. Relax."

Turning my back on her, I apply the hair color and impatiently watch the clock. After I rinse out the hair color, I spend hours blow-drying and hot ironing my hair till it's poker straight. Then I slip on, with great difficulty, the blue contacts Tina dropped off. I look in the mirror and nod even though my eyes burn like hell.

"See? My hair is blonde, straight, I have the bluest eyes and I look great."

"But you don't look like Burn anymore," Erro points out.

"So? I don't want to look like Burn. She's ...ugly and ..." I shiver with disgust at the thought of what I looked like before my hair color and before my contacts.

"People change their looks all the time. It's not a biggie. Pink changed her hair color from whateva to pink. Lady Gaga wears wigs, seldom her real hair. Even Oprah wears a wig so she can look like anyone other than Oprah."

Her nod is reluctant. "They change it for themselves, Burn, not because they're trying to get into Dawn's club."

I roll my eyes. She just doesn't get it. How could she – she's white?

"Burn, what if one day, Angel tells you that she hates the way she looks and wants to change her hair, her eye color, her...?"

"That's crazy. Angel is blonde and blue-eyed – she'll neeeever have a problem."

"You mean like Kate Spelling? The one who got knocked up?"

I look at her and blink rapidly.

"She doesn't look very happy to me, you know. Even with her blonde hair and cornflower-blue eyes."

"I ... I ..." As I think of Kate and Bud and Brittany, confusion reigns over me. I mean the thought of Angel feeling anything like I'm feeling now, is a shock to my system. She's so lovely and she shouldn't let anyone tell her otherwise, because they'd be lying. Suddenly I'm drained, exhausted. Slowly, I sink into a chair.

Could Erro be right? Maybe I need to re-think this. Tomorrow. I'm too tired to think right now.

But, I'm not too tired to hate Dawn McGraw. She doesn't know me, doesn't know of my flaws, my likes, my dislikes ...so what makes her dislike me so much?

My looks. My color.

Anger wells up inside of me. How could she make me feel this way? How dare she?

As tears flow down my cheeks, I make a silent vow – one day I will get back at Dawn McGraw. Somehow, I will.

I go to bed fantasizing about it – I will be in a position of power and she will come to me and beg me for ...for _something_. I will be dressed in a beautiful, floor-length designer gown. I will look at her and shake my head. "Sorry Dawn, but we just aren't able to accommodate you. So sorry." She will look crushed, broken and her eyes will fill with tears like mine did earlier on today.

Yes.

Chapter Fourteen

I'm no chess player so I don't take ages to make my move. Too impatient for that. But I'm angry. Angry at Brody for his deceptive behaviour, angry at Dawn for making me feel inferior, angry at Kate for having life so easy and having Dawn's approval, angry at Erro for being right, but most of all, I'm angry at myself for (in spite of how Dawn made me feel) still wanting to belong to Dawn's fucked up world.

I stroll over to the racetrack where Brody trains. He's there, looking as hot as ever in his running gear. I don't want him to see me just yet, but he does, and his face lights up at the sight of me. He scales a wall between us and rushes to me. "Burn baby, Burn!" he shouts.

"Hey, Brody."

"Came to cheer? Where's your pompoms?" He plants a kiss on my lips.

I manage a tiny smile.

"What's with the blonde hair?"

I shrug. "You like it?"

He squints. "Not ... sure."

I can tell he doesn't like it, but that's tough. It's not for him, it's for Dawn.

"Brody," I blurt, "this is not the right time, but I have to ask you a question."

"Yeah?"

"Did ... did Alicia have dinner with your family last Friday night?"

He looks to the left, then to the right, then at me. _Yes_.

I squeeze my eyes shut as a million little porcupines nestle around my heart. "Brody, are you seeing both of ...?"

"I didn't invite her. My mother did."

"So ... why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think it was necessary, baby."

I shake my head. "It was, Brody."

"McGraw!" His coach calls.

He scratches his head and looks at the ground. "Can we talk about this later? I'll pick you up and take you out and we can talk?" He gives me a quick kiss and starts to hurry off.

I grab his arm. "Where to?" This is such a loaded question. "Where to, Brody?"

"Eh ..." he thinks about it, "Emerald Town?"

Dawn was right. The porcupines dart around my heart. "That's like half an hour away, Brody."

"So?"

I take a deep breath then nod. "Later," I say and walk off, my heart heavy.

That evening, when he arrives to pick me up, I say, "Let's not go anywhere, Brody. Let's just sit and talk, okay?"

With a frown, he switches off the ignition and looks at me. "'Sup?" His eyes are full of concern.

"Your father and mother – they don't want you dating me, right?"

"Whaaaat? Nah..." He's unable to meet my eyes.

"Brody, stop!"

He sighs, then hangs his head. After a moment, he looks up at me. "I don't care what they say, Burn. I really care about you. I love being with you." He shrugs. "That's all that should matter, right?" He leans over and starts to kiss me. "Let's go eat, okay?"

I push him away. "So that's why you've been keeping me under wraps? Because they don't want you to be seen with me?"

He runs his hand slowly over his face. "Burn, the election is in four months. After that I don't care. I just don't want to jeopardize my Dad's chances."

"How does dating me affect ...?"

You're black, baby.

Startled that a thought like that could be so be undisguised in his mind, I gawk at him.

He grabs me and hugs me. "Look, don't worry 'bout them, baby. It's me and you ..."

I shove him off hard.

"Burn, you don't understand ..."

"No, _you_ don't understand, Brody. You guys really are KKK."

Not me.

Nuff said. Or in his case, nuff unsaid.

"Your family is. That's disgusting, Brody."

"I agree, I agree, but Burn, It's how I was raised and it's kinda hard to shake. But, I really care about you and I don't see your color 'cause I just love you, Burn. And I'm sorry..."

"If you cared about me, you'd tell your father to take a hike, Brody."

"Burn, it's not so easy. If I do anything to harm my father's career, how do I face my family, Burn? I'm eighteen, baby." He sounds so helpless.

"Burn, baby ..." I allow him to take me into his arms and kiss me. He buries his face in my hair and squeezes me to him. "How 'bout just for the next four months we keep it on the low? Thereafter we can ..."

"Like I'm a secret, huh? Is that why you didn't change your profile picture on Facebook? Huh?"

He looks at me with guilt all over his face. "I changed my status, I just didn't change my profile picture. Burn, try to understand – I'm not listening to my father. He wants me to give you up. I'm saying, let's keep a low profile – do what it takes so we can be together. Why can't you appreciate that? Huh?" His nostrils flare. "Why can't you be happy with what we have? Why must everything be your way? Things don't always have to be black and white, Burn!"

"Black and white ... good choice of words, Brody McGraw," I sneer.

"Oh, for fucks sake, Burn!"

I shoot him a defiant look.

He turns his whole body to look at me. "Let me ask you a question: if Angel was trying really hard to get into a special college and she's worked for years at it – done everything necessary, worked hard on her grades ...and you knew that what you did, leading up to her getting in, these next couple months, could impact _negatively_ on her dream, ruin her chances – what would you do?"

I look down.

"If you knew that in a couple of months, she'll be in, and then you could do as you please, Burn? Huh?"

I continue looking at the floor.

"Would it make sense to lay low for a while, huh?" He reaches over, grabs my chin and turns my face so that he can look into my eyes. "Would you do it for Angel?"

I open my mouth to speak.

"Don't answer," he says. "Just think about it. I love you, I want to be with you, but my father, he needs my loyalty and ..." Slowly, he runs his fingers through his hair and lets out a long sigh. "Gimme a break, Burn. Help me with this, okay? I'm trying, I really am. There's you, and there's my family ..."

I sit back and mull over his words. If I say, "yes" there is no problem. We can meet in secret and nobody will know. But hurt's a bitch - it slithers through me and coils around my heart.

After a few moments of silence, he reaches out and pulls me to him. "Baby, I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry about all this ... this crap." He puts his forehead to mine. "I don't wanna lose you."

I close my eyes as the weighing starts.

Never to see him again, never to kiss him again, never to laugh with him again ...

It's too much to even think about.

But then again, my personality has changed, I'm hurting all the time, I'm being treated like I'm something to be ashamed of and _I'm_ starting to feel ashamed of myself–of who I am.

My mom always said that nobody can make you feel ashamed of yourself – you volunteer to feel that way. So why am I complaining?

I am Burn. I refuse to let people treat me badly.

Summoning every bit of strength from God knows where, I hold his face away, kiss him one last time and say, "It was nice knowing you, Brody, and I think ...I think ...that I will love you f ...forever." I open the door, get out of the car and run into my house.

He jumps out of the car and runs up to me. "Burn, wait! Burn!"

I shut the door on his pleas.

Hurriedly, I strip off my clothes, crawl into bed and lie in the dark. I will not cry over a boy. That's what he is – a boy.

Fucking racists! I thump my pillow. God! I hate them all.

He calls my phone but I ignore his calls. He texts me but I ignore his texts too.

I need a cigarette. Badly. I get out of bed, slip into Carlene's room, steal a couple of her Marlboros and go out to the porch to smoke. My hands shake and I worry I'm going to burn myself with my cigarette. I sit on one hand and use the other to smoke.

Erro sits on a chair and looks at me, but I ignore her.

My phone rings again. I look at caller ID and hit "End call".

Guys like Brody don't go for girls like you.

He's sampling.

It won't last.

Lanie was spot on.

"It's okay to cry, Burn," Erro says in a gentle voice.

"No, it's not," I say. "You should never cry over a boy."

"You're not crying over a boy; you're crying because you feel pain, Burn."

"I don't feel pain."

"What do you feel?"

I have to think about my answer. "Angry."

"What about sad? Do you feel sad?"

I look at her for a few moments, then burst into tears.

Erro walks over to me, takes me in her arms and holds me while my heart splinters into a million pieces. Finally, I give myself permission to cry. I bawl for Brody who I love so much.

I bawl for me, for having the strength to ignore my heart and listen to my head.

I bawl for all the Burns of the world who were made to feel inferior by the Dawn McGraws of the world.

One day, I will get Dawn McGraw. I promise.

****

I stay in bed for three days, unable to get up. My whole body feels like lead and my head hurts all the time. I barely eat and I fall asleep in seconds. However, I awake at 4 AM every day and can't go back to sleep.

Why didn't anyone tell me just _how_ painful heartbreak was? The movies and TV shows makes it seem so glamorous that I longed to experience it. Now that I have, I want to curl up and die from the deep physical and emotional pain. Surely there must be a pill for this already? Surely there's an app for this?

Brody's called so many times, that I've just put my phone on vibrate. I scroll through his messages and re-read them one by one.

21:55 Call me, please. We can work this out.

21:59 Burn, call me.

22:15 Answer ur phone. Called u 15 times.

23:10 U r being pig headed.

23:45 Answer ur fucking phone!!!!!

01:15 Youre such a fuckn drama queen.

02:55 GO FUCK URSELF IM NEVER CALLIN U AGAIN.

0:5:02 Wat kind of ghosts haunt hospitals? Surgical spirits. :)

06:01 That was funny. Bet u lol.

9:03 I miss u like crazy. Im sorry.

11:13 I want to fix the problem Burn. Give me a chance to do that.

14:23 k, this is the last time I try to contact u after this, I will never contact u again.

16:32 Ur problem is that ur too dumb - don't understand politics or the world of business for that matter!!!! Stupid cow!

20:59 u left ur scarf in my car uwantitcomengetit:)

22:03 I luv u. please answer ur phone. Please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please

23:55 go fuck urself. I don't need u in my life going to bed. Not gon waste nnee sleep on u. done.

06:08 What did Batman say to Robin before they got in the car?

Robin, get in the car. Smiling? am wearing ur scarf today. Don care if its pink :)

11:14 I give up

01:32 I hate u.

01:32 I hate u

01:33 I absolutely hate u

01:34 I regret ever meeting u

07:24 morning! :)

****

When I finally get back to school, as expected, Kate and her friends corner me. "Hey, Burn!" Kate says in a voice like maple syrup. "Missed you at Brody's mom's birthday bash."

"Yeah, well, Brody and I are no longer an item." I attempt to keep my voice upbeat and light. I will only cry alone. Never in public. Nobody will ever know my pain. It's how I'm wired.

"Oh that's right, you've changed your status on Facebook. Mm, we noticed that."

"Yeah, well, shit happens," I say in what I hope is a dismissive voice so that they'll get the fuck out of my face and leave me and my broken heart alone.

"It does, it does. And you're okay with the breakup, Burn?" She looks directly at my face, her voice dripping phony concern.

"Yep. All dandy! "

"Good, 'cause I was worried with your eyes looking all so red and puffy. But I guess you've been partying too much, that's all."

"Mff! Something like that."

"Such a relief to us." She places her hand on her chest and smiles, reminding me of Dawn McGraw.

The moment I leave them, I burst into tears again. In an attempt to prevent anyone from seeing me cry, I dart into the girls' bathroom only to run into Tina.

"What's wrong?" she asks when she sees my red eyes.

"Nothing," I mumble.

"I know something's wrong." She grabs my shoulders and peers into my face. "What is it, Burn?"

We are joined by Laura and Sultana.

"What ...?" Laura is aghast to see tears running down my cheeks.

They mill around me, all their bitchiness they displayed a few days ago forgotten.

"I b ... broke up with B ... Brody," I sob and dab my eyes with toilet tissue.

"Whyyyy?" Sultana asks.

Between sobs, I tell them everything and soon they are crying with me.

They offer words of comfort, crumpled Kleenex from their purses, M&Ms and suggest we go to Fung's so we can weed our troubles away.

I nod and we cut classes and make our way to Fung's.

After smoking a joint that Tina produced, offers to get revenge on Dawn follows. I'm to cut to get involved in their discussion.

"We can put sugar in the bitch's gas tank," Tina says, her eyes smoldering.

"Okay, but then they have so many cars, she'll just drive another one. What's the big deal?" Told you Laura was the smart one in our group.

"Mm. We can call her at 4 AM and abuse the crap out of her," Sultana says.

"What will you say?" Laura asks.

Sultana takes a deep breath and rears up in preparation for the abuse she's gonna heap on Dawn. "'Hey bitch, you're a ... a ...a real bitch!'"

"That's it?" Tina asks.

"Yeah, but _you_ have to be awake at 4 AM to call her and abuse her."

"I can't get up at 4 AM," Sultana says, looking horrified at the thought of having to break her sleep.

"Plus you don't have her cell number?" Again, Laura is almost as smart as Google, I tell you.

"Yeah, true." Sultana's shoulders drop.

Silence.

"Hey, we can put a scorpion in her letter box!" Tina says.

"A scorpion, eeeewww! That's a great idea!" Laura says. "Then, when she goes to fetch her mail – ouch!"

"That's an awesome idea!" Sultana says.

"But ... where you gonna get the scorpion from?" Laura asks.

"From the dessert," Sultana says.

"You mean _desert_?" Laura says.

"Eh ... yeah. I think ..." Sultana scratches her head.

"How do we get there? How do we transport it?" Laura asks.

"We drive there in your mother's car, pick it up, put it in a box and keep it till we're like, ready to you know ..."

"How do we keep it alive till then? Won't we have to give it water and like, food?" Laura asks.

Silence.

"What if it bites us?" Tina asks.

"You must wear gloves, that's all," Laura says.

Tina goes ballistic. "I must wear gloves? _I_ must wear gloves? Are you fucking MAD? I'm not touching a scorpion, thank you very much." Her added measure is to hold her hands close to her body as if the scorpion is in the room with us.

"Well, I can't 'cause I ... I ... like, I got allergies and stuff," Laura mumbles.

"I'm not touching it either," Sultana says. "Oooh no!" She looks at Tina. "It was your idea ..."

"Yes, but did you hear me say that I was gonna _pick_ it up? Huh?"

"No _Tuna_ ," Sultana spits. "I didn't."

"That's right, Grape!" Tina snarls.

Okay, so they didn't put sugar in Dawn's gas tank and they didn't get a scorpion from the dessert, eh, desert. But it is the thought that counts and I love my friends for it.

My phone goes off. Tina picks it up and twists her mouth. "It's the racist mother fucking asshole."

I wish she wouldn't call him that, even though she's half right.

I shake my head. Has to be a clean break to heal, I'm told.

She cuts the call, again and spits. "Bastard!"

I wish she wouldn't call him that, even though she's half right.

"You're making our friend cry, asswipe!" Laura yells.

I wish she wouldn't say that even though she's right.

"Yeah, dumb, shit, mommy's boy," Sultana says to the phone. "Go fuck your mommy!"

I wish she wouldn't say that at _all_.

Chapter Fifteen

Life without Brody is like sipping soda that has been left in the sun. I feel tired all the time and I don't want to do ...anything, really. Nothing interests me anymore. Even music, which is my thing – I quickly kill any love songs that come my way. Any songs on heartbreak.

The last three months was wonderful and I was so happy, but maybe I didn't deserve so much of happiness. Things moved so fast and so much happened in such a short space of time.

Anyway, as they say, life limps on, so I force myself to limp ahead. The hardest thing I had to do, was change my Facebook status to "Single" and change my profile picture.

It was like the death of a dream and it cut me to the bone. But, the hard part's over.

Being the extremist that I am, I block Brody's cell phone number as well as his emails. When he calls at my house, I get Carlene to answer. She's only too happy to lie that I'm not home. Then invite him in for a mojito.

"So he dumped you!" Daisy whispers, when she enters my room for God knows what, sees me lying in bed in the middle of the day, staring at the ceiling. "Omigod! He DUMPED you!" The shock on her face turns to smug. "Lanie! Brody DUMPED BURN!"

"What?!" Lanie leaps over furniture to get to me, eyelash curler in hand, eyes wide with excitement. "Oh noooo!" she says in a voice as fake as her double-Ds. _Told you so._

Carlene stands with Lanie at my doorway, whisky glass in hand and shakes her head. "Come have a drink with me, Burn," she slurs.

I shake my head. I'm not in the mood to talk to them or answer any questions. I just want to be left alone.

"BURN!" It's Brody's voice. "I know you're there! I wanna talk to you!"

We all look at each other with big eyes, then dart to the window. Brody paces outside with a beer in his hand. I quickly drop down and out of sight.

"Burn!"

I can hear him but I can't see him.

"Burn, listen to me! All I asked for was four months. Four fucking months, Burn! That's all. And you wouldn't give it to me. Now you won't take my calls, huh? HUH, Burn?"

"I'll ask him to come in," Carlene says, adjusting her push-up bra.

"No!" I say.

"He should come in and sleep it off. He can use my bed."

"NO!"

"Ohmigod, he's so cute," Lanie gushes. "No guy has ever done that for me."

"Me too," Daisy says in a wistful voice. "And you didn't tell us that you broke up with him. How could you do that? Are you nuts?"

I wave dismissively. No way am I going to give them details.

"People are watching," Lanie reports. "Ohmigod, he's stumbling around. He's taking off his shirt ...Ohmigod, he's so seeeeexy!"

"I hate you! I absolutely hate you, Burn! I despise you!"

They look at me with huge eyes. "Did you hear that?" Daisy asks. "He despises you."

"That's too bad," Lanie says.

"Why can't we work it out? Why? 'Cause you're too fucking pigheaded, thaaats why, you stubborn bitch!"

I crouch with all of my fingers at my mouth and listen to him.

Then he changes his tune. "I love you. Just give me a chance, that's all. We can do this, Burn." His voice is soft and pleading. "I'm sorry, okay?"

"Ohmigod, he's crying!" Daisy says. "He's sitting on the pavement and crying like a baby. Ohmigod!"

I start to cry. I love him so much that it takes so much out of me not to go to him.

"Burn ... Burn ... I'm sorry. Talk to me, Burn. Talk to me. Burn! Burrrrrrrrn!"

I think of running out to him, throwing my arms around him and telling him it's okay, that we can keep our love on the low because I love him so much, that without him I am just a shell.

Suddenly, glass shatters inside our living room. We all scream and take cover.

"He's thrown his beer bottle at us!" Daisy screams.

"I'm calling _911!"_ Lanie starts dialing.

"All I wanna do is fucking explain!" Brody yells. "But you won't ..."

Within minutes the cops arrive, handcuff him and take him away.

I'm still in shock when, to my horror, Robert and Dawn McGraw show up at our door. Carlene invites them in. The moment Dawn enters our house, she takes one look around and folds her arms tightly across her chest probably to prevent herself from touching anything. They even refuse a seat.

Anyway, they apologize and offer to pay for the damaged window and a little more in compensation.

Robert tells Carlene that Brody has big plans for the future, so they would really appreciate it if she would drop all charges. Carlene readily agrees and tells them she prefers cash.

Throughout their time at my home, neither Dawn, nor Robert says a word to me. Not even "hello" or "goodbye".

When they leave, I get into my bed, curl up and sob for Brody.

Hours later, Daisy runs into my room with her laptop opened to YouTube. "You have to see this," she says and clicks on play.

"What is it?"

"Your boyfriend's arrest. Someone posted it on YouTube."

"Really?" I scramble up and watch the screen. I watch Brody's earlier pleas to me. "Ohmigod!" I place both hands on my chest as I watch Brody pace outside. He's shirtless, with a beer in his hand and he looks smashed. After yelling for a while, he leans against a post and says, "Burn ... Burn ... Burn ..."

Then he yells out and throws the beer bottle at our house. Shortly thereafter I watch the cops arrest him. "I wanna talk to my girlfriend," he says as they throw him in the back of the police car.

"Not today, you're not."

"BURN!" Brody shouts through the patrol car window. "BURN!"

I cry all over again thinking how sad he looks. The only thing I don't doubt, is that he loves me. Still, at the end, I'm not good enough for them and I just can't get past that.

To my dismay, I later learn that, because Brody and I were in a relationship, Brody was slapped with a restraining order for domestic abuse. I can't believe it – a restraining order – that is huge. How terrible.

I guess the arrest was a wake-up call because Brody's texts stop and so does all contact.

That's even more devastating to me.

****

I look at the newspaper in front of me. On the front page are Brody and his smiling family with their hands in the air – their triumph at Robert McGraw's political win. He is now Governor of California. Yay!

At school, it's a big deal and there is an announcement that Governor Robert McGraw and his lovely wife and his sons are scheduled to appear at school as our guests in a week's time.

"I guess keeping me on the low paid off," I mutter bitterly.

"She and her _Parlor_ shampoo," Erro scoffs. "Uppity bitch!"

I look at Erro with huge eyes. "I've got an idea!" Bristling with excitement, I pick up the phone and conference my peeps. "Guess what? Forget about the scorpion, I got me a greeeeat idea for the revenge on Dawn."

Ever ready to extract fun out of our day, my girls are all ears.

Two days later, we're ready to exact revenge on Dawn McGraw.

I look at my girls. "Got it?"

Tina holds up the bottles.

My smile reaches my eyes. "Let's go."

Armed with our doctored bottles of Parlor's shampoo and conditioner and with a rhythm to our step, we make our way to Brody's house and scale the fence. I've been there before so I know about the side window that Brody and Nick use to sneak out at night.

Tina and Laura walk up and knock at the front door, while Sultana and I sneak around the side of the house. If we're spotted, Laura has a bunch of half-wilted flowers to hand to Mrs. Dawn McGraw – for winning the election.

I hear the doorbell. No answer. Doesn't appear that anyone's home. Perfect.

Laura hits me with a text: _All clear._

I slip into the McGraw house through the faulty side window, creep into Dawn's bathroom and empty our doctored shampoo and conditioner into her bottles. Her Parlor shampoo and conditioner now contain scented, double-strength hair remover.

Bye bye Dawn's beautiful hair!

Then, I riffle through her make-up and help myself to her Dior bronzer, a palate of YSL eye shadows and her Chanel No 5 parfum and start to leave.

"Wait!" Sultana says, holding up two toothbrushes, an evil smile on her face. She brushes the toilet bowl with them, then replaces them. Dusting her hands, she says, " _Now_ , let's go."

We bolt out of the house and run back to school, laughing and high-fiving each other all the way.

"Tomorrow!" I say.

"Tomorrow!" they chorus.

"Ha! Ha!" Erro says, 'You girls are wicked!"

"We sure are," I say laughing.

"Hey, you're laughing again – does that mean Burn is back?"

"Yes, Erro, Burn is back and she's baaaaad!"

"Great! You were such a drip."

"I was, I was. But I'm back."

At assembly, we laugh our asses off when we see Dawn McGraw with a scarf around her head, looking less than perfect and miserable as fuck.

"Poor Dawn, it'll take ages to grow," Tina says.

"Poor, poor Dawn," I say. "Gone is her lovely blonde shoulder-length hair with nutmeg highlights. Aaawww!"

To make things worse and to our sheer delight, the newspapers run an article with her photo saying things about chemotherapy and all kinds of cancer stuff.

Dawn fires back with a statement saying that she does not have cancer and that she shaved her head for some charity. Liar, liar, pants on fire!

I feel good after that. Who wouldn't?

Chapter Sixteen

I'm in my house when a brick is thrown into our lounge, shattering glass once again.

Everyone screams and takes cover. Brody? I peep out of a window. Is he nuts?

It's not him, it's Mrs. Tyson, one of our neighbors – the admin clerk from my school I weeded with months ago. In her mouth is a cigarette, and each time she takes a drag, the cigarette lights up almost to the end. Not only is her surname Tyson, but she looks like a white version of the ear-biting boxer.

Behind her are her two plus-size daughters, Trixibelle and Elly-May, both sporting heavy blonde bangs, both wearing loose maternity-styled dresses (even though they're not knocked up) and both looking equally pissed.

"Carlene!" Mrs. Tyson's yells, cigarette still in mouth.

Carlene blanches. "Oh shit!" She darts into the bathroom and locks the door.

Confused and even a bit scared now, I look out of the window.

"Mrs. Tyson, what the hell you doing?" I cry.

"Where's the skank?" Mrs. Tyson says. "Where the fuck is that whore? She's sleeping with my Cletus!"

That doesn't sound right at all. So, before you mistake Cletus for Mrs. Tyson's clitoris – let me explain: Cletus is Mrs. Tyson's son. A seventeen-year-old, high school dropout, who believes that he's God's gift wrapped up in a white sleeveless T-shirt to women.

A total loser.

"He is jes seventeen!" Mrs. Tyson screams.

"Jes seventeen," Trixibelle echoes.

"Okay, okay, hold on," I say. "Let's talk about it. I'm coming out. Don't throw more stones. There's a kid here."

"Come with me," I say to Daisy and Lanie. I quickly go outside hoping to God the Tysons don't beat me up.

Behind me I hear the front door lock. Lanie and Daisy are inside! Chicken shits.

The three Tysons eye me like roadkill.

"Let's talk about it, okay?"

"You shut your pie-hole and stay out of this!" Mrs. Tyson says.

Not the reaction I expected.

"Carlene!" Mrs. Tyson shouts. "I ain't got no beef with your nigger here. Jes you. You come on out or I'm calling the poh ...lice."

The poh ...lice – shit! Carlene's in big trouble. Sex with a minor – jail time for her.

When Carlene doesn't come out, Mrs. Tyson picks up another rock. I grab her arm and knock out the rock.

"Stop!" I say. Fuck, between her and Brody, we have no more lounge windows.

She glares at me. "Touch me again nigger, and I will whip yo ass too, understand?"

"Yeah, Burn," Elly-May says and shoves me hard. So hard, I fall to the floor, convinced I broke my tailbone.

Although I'm in pain, I scramble to my feet and dart around the house, where I overturn an old wooden table, grab a loose table leg and point the stick at them. All three of them are bigger than me and I have no doubt that they can kick my ass from here to Timbuktu.

"Touch me again and I'll fucking stick you all, hear?" I say, wielding the stick like it's a spear and I'm an actor from _Lost_.

All three of them eye the table leg in my hand and I catch a glimpse of wariness in their eyes.

"Now back the fuck off."

There's three of them, one of me – I'm outnumbered. Yet, they take a step back. Hallelujah!

Resisting the urge to sigh with relief, I look behind me at the window. Carlene, Daisy and Lanie are there watching from inside.

I also want to shout, "Daisy, Lanie, you chicken shits, come out here and back me up!" but I don't.

I look back at Mrs. Tyson. "Look, I know you're mad – I get it. I will talk to Carlene and I will get her to stop. If she is doing that, that is."

"Oh, she is, trus' me," Trixibelle says. "We then got photos of her, naked photos of her that she did send to Cletus of her ...her like, thingi." She zips her hands across her crotch, "He did send it to all his friends."

Fuck! How could Carlene do that?

"What did Cletus say?" I ask. "Sending pictures don't mean a goddamn thing." I'm playing for time here. Till they simmer down and go home.

"He did say that he wasn't sleeping with her," Trixibell says. "Then Emily-Lou saw him come out of here yesterday 'round 2 PM. He was smiling and he was zipping up his ..." She zips her hand across her crotch. Okay, so she has difficulty with certain words.

I want to laugh. And I want to scream at Carlene.

"Okay, okay, let's calm down here. Here's the deal," I say. "I will ask Carlene to come out so you can talk to her. But you touch her, you throw another brick and ..."

Trixibelle shakes her head. "You don't make no deals with us, nigger. You in no position to make any deals." As she talks, she creeps towards me.

Okay, so I'm fucked. I'm gonna get my head kicked in by this trio of food-in-motion for defending my skanky aunt.

"Carlene is going to jail, nigger."

My mind races as I back away. If Carlene goes to jail, Angel and I will be taken out of her care. Can't have that. "Mrs. Tyson, remember that day in detention when you and I ...you know ...?"

She stiffens.

"How 'bout I show the school principal that video?"

She turns white. Well, _whiter_ than she is. "You videotaped us?"

I nod vigorously.

"You videotaping my mama when she didn't know it?" Elly-May says and joins her sister. They fall in step pretty quickly and muscle in on me. "You pervert – making a sex tape with my mama? Like Kim Kardashian."

"Whaaat?" They can't be serious.

"My mama ain't no lesbian," Trixibelle says.

"Lesbian!" Eeeewww! What the fuck is wrong with these girls? "That's not what I said."

"Skanky ass pervert!" Trixibelle says, her voice laced with disgust.

"Gimmee your phone!" Elly-May snaps.

"Yeah, give us your phone," Trixibelle says.

Luckily, my phone is inside the house. "I don't have the video on me. I emailed it to my Hotmail account. I will YouTube it and your mama, she will lose her job. And it's not a goddamn sex tape!"

"She'll jes find another one," Ellie-May says.

"Yeah, she'll jes find another one," Trixibell echoes.

Shit, now I'm really fucked.

"Yeah? With the reference the school principal gives her? Are you crazy?"

The echoing stops and both mini Tysons halt. They look at each other. Then they look at Mama Tyson.

Her shoulders drop and she puts a hand to her forehead.

"I will sort it out," I say. "Promise."

"You do that, nigger. You do that." She nods to her pitbulls on two legs. "C'mon!"

After throwing hateful glares at me, they stomp away.

Whew! I can hardly believe my luck. When I get inside the house, I don't have to say anything – both Carlene's kids are giving her hell in surround sound.

"It was a once-off thing," Carlene says. "I didn't know his age. He told me he was eighteen."

As if that would have been better.

"What about Bobby?" I whisper.

"Don't tell Bobby," she pleads. "He's lousy in bed. I need more, Burn."

Fuuuuck! Why the hell did I ask?

With a groan, I walk away. No use telling her about how I just saved her ass. She's just a fucking skank.

****

It doesn't end there. It's a week after the Tyson incident. I arrive home to find Mrs. Tyson kicking the shit out of Carlene.

I dive into the fight and pull apart the two women, copping a couple of blows in the process. Thank God her two pitbulls are not with her.

"What the hell, Mrs. Tyson?!" I cry. "We had a deal." I turn to Carlene. "Did you stop your shit with Cletus?"

"Yeah," she says, wiping blood off her mouth. "I never saw him again. Ever!"

I turn to look at Mrs. Tyson with my palms out, a what-the-fuck? look on my face.

"Your foster mother is sleeping with my husband!"

"WHAAAAT?!" I spin around to look at Carlene.

"It was just a once-off thing," she says, avoiding eye contact with me.

Turns out that Mrs. Tyson made a mistake when she showed everyone Carlene's photo of her ... (I'm making a zipping motion with my hand across my crotch.)

After seeing Carlene's _thingi_ , Mr Tyson immediately made contact with Carlene and they hooked up.

Furious with Carlene, I let go of Mrs. Tyson. She lunges at Carlene and pummels away at her. I make feeble attempts with my refereeing this time.

After that, I do believe Carlene stopped messing with father and son 'cause I didn't hear from Mrs. Tyson and baby Tysons.

I hope.

Chapter Seventeen

Unfortunately, my sadness lingers no matter how hard I try to forget Brody.

To help my broken heart, I get stoned with some friends in the back of the school. Stupid, I know, but I needed some calming, I guess.

"Blue lights! Blue lights! Run!"

Nobody moves. We're way too stoned and of course, the cops bust us.

"What's your name?" a cop asks me.

I think about it for a while before I answer. "I want an attorney."

"What?"

"Sir, I would like an attorney, please."

The cop rolls his eyes. "I'm asking you for your name."

Again, I have to think about it. "Oprah," I finally say.

My stoned friends giggle.

"I asked you what your name is, not who you wanna be," he says, a slight smile on his face.

"My name is Oprah Winfrey. Sir."

My stoned friends burst into fits of giggles.

"You think that's funny, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yeah?" He zip cuffs me. "Let's see how funny you think being in the back of a police truck is."

My fellow stoners roar with laughter at the sight of him marching to the back of the cop car.

"You taking me to jail, sir?"

"You bet."

"Okay." In my haze, I think about Angel. "Sir?"

"What is it?"

"My sister, Angel, can you please get a message across to her?"

"No can do."

"Please, sir?"

He pauses and looks at me, curiosity all over his face. "What is it you want to say to her?"

"I wanna say ... I wanna say that ... I'm sorry for being such a fuck up and for letting her down."

"I see. And is she your older sister?"

I shake my head from side-to-side. "She's just eight. Eh, nine."

"And you want me to use such language on a nine-year-old?"

"Nah, I know you'll censor it, sir. She's all I have."

"Is that a fact? Then why do you mess up like this?"

"'Cause, sir, I'm ..." I take a deep breath. "I'm suffering with a broken heart."

He stares at me.

"I wasn't white enough for his family."

He walks over and stands right in front of me.

"Have you ever suffered a broken heart, officer? Or do you know anyone who has? Cos it sucks."

He looks down.

I peer at his name badge. "Farrell? That's funny – at the pizza shop I helped a Lisa Farrell. She's a cop too." Blabber mouth that I am ...

"That's my sister!" He peers at me. "You're the girl – the video ...?"

I nod.

"Aaaaahhh!"

"She okay?"

"As good as can be. Thank you," he says. "I appreciate it. _We_ appreciate it."

"Yeah?" Suddenly, I feel really good. "Well, you're lucky you haven't experienced heartache, 'cause I tell you, it sucks!"

Again, his eyes drop to the floor.

That's what you think. Eight years and I still think about her every day.

I drop my voice. "Eight years is a long time, sir. Is that how long I have to wait for my heart to heal?"

His eyes grow wide.

"Did you ever smoke weed to help you forget her and your best friend?"

His eyes dart all over the place. Then he stares at me and rubs his chin.

"You're psychic or something?"

"Something," I say in a dismissive voice. "Did it help?"

_It doesn't._ Present tense. He swivels to look at me. "How ... how do you know all of this, Oprah?"

"It doesn't matter. I just don't want to be like you and eight years later still feel incomplete. I'm going to change it. Now. Today. Fuck them."

His smile is sad. "What do your friends call you?"

"Burn. Burn Ballantyne."

"How old are you, Burn Ballantyne?"

"Seventeen."

He nods. "You're not going to jail. You're going into a holding cell until a parent arrives to take you home, okay?" His voice is kind.

"My mother and father's dead. I live with my aunt."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

I shrug. "Hey, I'm starving. Any chance of a burger before we go to prison?"

"You must be kidding – I'm a police officer, you know."

"Mff."

He drives us to the police station.

But I find myself outside a fast-food drive and he springs for burgers and Cokes. After he cuts off our zipcuffs, I devour my burger. "You're the greatest, Farrell. Thank you."

"It's 'Officer' Farrell and you're not welcome." His voice is not unkind. He hands me a card. "Better not need it, Oprah."

I giggle and pocket the card. "I'm collecting these cards at an alarming rate, you know. So, I'm curious – what if you have a police officer called Roger? Does he also say, 'Roger that?'"

Officer Farrell rolls his eyes again.

Carlene arrives to pick me up. She's dressed to impress. Men, that is. She wears Lanie's navy and white figure-hugging mini dress (which barely covers her vijayjay) with a broad silver belt under her boobs (that gives her great cleavage) and Daisy's white lace-up off wedges.

After hearing all that Farrell has to say, she turns to me. "Burn! Is this how I brought you up?!" She puts both her hands to her head. "I ... I give up. Really, I do. I cook, I clean, I shop, I drive ... all of that and look where you are now? In prison?"

Yeah, right. I suppress a giggle.

"Eh, ma'am," Farrell says, "It's a holding cell. Not prison."

She turns to face Farrell. "Silly me. I know so little about these things." She turns on the wattage of her smile and wrings her hands. "You should come over for drinks sometime and educate Burn and I. God knows, we need help, officer. We are just such a bunch of helpless females." Her voice becomes all soft and breathy.

"Well, I ..." Farrell scratches the back of his head.

I grab Carlene's arm and walk. "Let's go!"

As we drive, she turns to me. "Who's your supplier?"

"Wh ...why?" I ask. "You want some?"

She nods.

I text her my contact. Why am I surprised?

Exhausted, I get straight into bed. But, as expected I get a visit from Hawk. "This behaviour is not acceptable, Burn." Standard reprimanding. "Imbibing in illegal drugs – that is sure to compromise your gift something blah! blah! blah! blah! blah! blah! blah! blah! blah!

"I'm sorry," I mumble.

He blah! blah! blahs me for fifteen excruciating minutes before he finally disappears.

"What a drip," Erro says. "Couldn't wait for him to leave."

"You still here?"

She nods. "Now that there's no Brody in your life, perhaps you will pay attention to your gift."

_No Brody in your life ..._ Those words trigger a wave of loneliness.

But Erro is right – I can now focus on other things like my gift.

"Yeah, maybe I will. Maybe I can have some fun while I'm at it."

"Maybe you will," she says. "The main thing is acceptance. Once you accept the gift, it's no longer a burden."

"Now you tell me this? Why didn't you advise me of this before?"

"I was busy with other stuff – important stuff."

"Like what?"

"Like, how I go about dating a boy toy?"

"What?"

"I want me an Ashton like Demi. She's happy. Blissfully. Look at her; she's lovely, thinner than her daughters and getting younger by the day. She's no longer a cougar, she's a friggin cub. Did you see the photo of her she tweeted in her bathroom with a bikini? She's hoooot! Why can't I be like her? I'm better looking than her, both my eyes are one color and I ..."

I turn away, close my eyes and think of my first love. I picture his smiling face, the way his eyes crinkle when I tell lame jokes, the way he kisses me, sometimes in the middle of a sentence silencing me, the way he hugs me from behind and rests his chin on my shoulder, and shards of glass stab at my heart.

Wonder what he's doing now?

Wonder if he's thinking of me?

How do I live in the same town as him and watch him date other girls?

I take out his necklace, caress it for a while, then place it under my pillow and fall asleep with Brody McGraw on my mind.

Chapter Eighteen

I have a routine – the moment I wake up, before I can even shake off the cobwebs of sleep, I reach for my phone and check for messages from Brody. Of course, I see nothing.

Still, I check every half hour just in case he decides to violate the restraining order and hit me with a text. Then I debate with myself – should I text him instead of waiting for him to text me?

Something casual: _Im sorry, didn't mean to get u in trouble with the cops._

Or something more heartfelt: _I miss u._

Then I decide against it, and with a long sigh, I put my phone down, throw off the covers and get dressed for school.

However, I dive for my phone every time Katy Perry's _ET_ goes off, snatch it and with my heart racing like the bullet-fast Superman rollercoaster ride, I read the message. But, as usual and to my disappointment, it's always Laura or Tina bitching about something trivial, like the amount of chores they have to do at home or how they fell asleep and weren't able to complete their homework on time.

Not Brody.

God, how I miss him!

I can understand why some girls stay with their cheating ass boyfriends – I mean, breaking up with someone you love is the hardest thing to do, no matter what they've done. It cuts like crazy.

But, I guess staying in a toxic relationship is worse. Especially one that changes your personality – makes you wish you were someone else.

****

The Pizzeria is packed.

I have to work ten tables and they keep me on my feet.

"Ben, hurryyuuup! Hurryuuup!" Tong Carlos chants. "People is wait for service, Ben."

"Coming, coming!" I say.

Trying to please everyone at the same time and taking good care of my tip, which I really rely on, is no easy task.

Plastering a smile on my face, I weave my big ass between the tables. As I walk, I feel someone watching me. Like a piercing kind of stare. I look up into the face of the dreadlocks guy. The one who pulled a gun on Brody. My smile dies.

Oh fuck! Fuck! Fuck! He's probably gonna shove my head into a pizza oven and cook me Hansel and Gretel style.

If you saw his tattoos, you too would be scared. He's wearing a short-sleeve Tee so I cannot miss them. They're multicolored and extend from fingertips to his thick neck. Some have writing on them. I'm almost sure those tatts contain a cryptic hit list. I'm _positive_ my name's in it. If those tatts were done purely to intimidate people, boy is it working!

Does he have to wear that many chains at once? Maybe it's what he uses to strangle people. A great way to carry a weapon. As for his grill – gold and probably diamonds. Don't think he's the type to wear Swarovski crystals or cubic zirconia.

He's with at least thirteen other fellow tattooers, most of whom I recognize from our last free-for-all bottle-throwing, gun-pulling, abuse-hurling encounter. The one that turned Brody into a turbinator, remember?

Right now, I'm a loss for words, at a loss as to how to react. I mean, he's staring at me with a poker face – don't know if it's "So this is where you work, bitch?" or "You did not see me pull a gun, bitch." That's telling, not asking. And ... and this is a big "AND", he's sitting at one of _my_ tables. Am I supposed to serve my murderer before he whacks me? That's plain cruel.

I take a deep breath and summon my gift. "Hawk! Erro!"

No answer.

"Haaaaawwwk!"

Still no answer.

I desperately need to hear his thoughts, but as usual, my gift is AWOL.

Am I scared? Duh. Thirteen of them and one of me so that would make me a teeny tiny bit outnumbered.

The last time he called me a sellout, remember?

"Hawk, can you be on standby, please?" Hawk, the mother-fucker, is missing-in-action as usual. Maybe I should pretend that I'm taking money for my gift from someone? That will bring them running.

After procrastinating for a while, I take a deep breath, drag my feet over to their table, pen and writing pad in shaky hand, heart in dry mouth, fake smile plastered on my ashen face. "H ... hi there my name is Burn. What can I get you?"

"Well, well, well, look who we have here," a girl next to Dreads says. His girl, I'm assuming.

She's pretty alright – banging body, brown-skin, long extensions, tons of eyeliner, humongous lashes, fake double-Ds. Like Barbie with a hell of a tan. If I had to name her, I'd call her _Overdone_ _Barbie_.

All eyes are now on me.

"What can I get you guys?" I ask, ignoring her.

"Can you smell that?" she says wrinkling her nose. "I smell bitch."

Everyone laughs.

I say nothing, but I suddenly remember her – she was there the night of the brawl and she was the one who flipped me the bird.

"Yep, it's bitch I smell."

I don't like to be disrespected like this. Especially when I didn't do anything wrong. "You gonna order?" I ask in a steel voice.

She wrinkles her nose again. "Smell that? It's shit."

"Take your nose out of your ass then," I even. I'm going through a painful breakup, so the last thing she should be doing is fucking with me.

A collective gasp, followed by an unnerving silence.

Her smile vanishes. She grabs her drink and flings the contents at me.

The table roars with laughter.

"Don't be messin' with me, li'l mama," she warns, standing up and waving her finger at me. "Don't be messin' with me. Don't be messin' with me."

I stand with Coke and whatever dripping down my face, while the rest of the table laughs. Then, I grab the drink nearest to me and fling the contents into her face. "Drink's on me, bitch!"

The laughter turns to a shocked roar.

She kicks back her chair and lunges at me, but the guy next to her grabs her and stops her coming at me.

Carlos, horrified out of his Chinese skull, hurls himself at me and leads me away, while Melinda, another waitress, steps in for me and tries to broker peace.

"Ben, why you do that foooor?" Carlos says. "Why you fight with customerrrrrs, Ben?"

"She started it, Carlos. She threw a drink at me."

"It no matter, Ben. You must not fight with black peoooople. You fight with black peoooople, they come back with gangster, they shoot everything, no business left, Ben. How I pay you then, huh? With noodles _?"_

"Sorry, Carlos," I mutter and glare at her. Fucking bitch!

"You don't see _Boy in the Hood_ movie? They shoot everythiiiing, Ben."

Overdone Barbie is still mouthing off at me. I give her the finger.

Carlos grabs my finger and clutches it with both hands, a look of absolute horror on his face. "Ben, why you do that foooor? I fire you. Now!"

"But she started it, Carlos."

"You must not fight baaaack, Ben. I tell you that." He looks really stressed.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever!" I say furious and humiliated.

He runs to the table and apologizes to them while I take my bag and storm out of the restaurant.

Fuck! Now I have no food for Angel tonight and I'm down to my last five bucks. I was expecting to take home some pizza.

Fuming, I make a turn at the local supermarket and buy some bread and tuna with my last money.

As I walk home, reality bites – I've lost my income. I need to find a job ASAP or Angel's gonna starve.

Dreads didn't get a chance to whack me or shove me into the pizza oven. For that I should be grateful, I guess.

****

I get up at 5 AM, unable to sleep. I stress about losing my job, so much so, that I don't even check my phone for Brody's messages.

Then at around 7 AM, my phone rings. I dive for it. To my absolute surprise, it's Tong Carlos offering me back my job!

"How ... come?" I ask.

"He black man, he tell me last night to give you back your job. He say I must do it or else."

"Or else ... what, Tong?"

"I don't know what 'or else' mean, Ben, but he big black man, he got tattoos, he got chains, he got black friends who wear lot of chains and lot of rings and stuff in their mouth. He tell me what to do, I not Jackie Chang, so I do it. Now you come back and you work and you be good and don't fight back with black people. And white people. And Chinese people. Everybody. Don't fight with nobody. But please, you come back, no? Today, okay?"

The only big black man with tattoos was dreadlocks. Could he have been the one asking Tong to give me back my job? Nah, can't be. My statement got him cuffed, after all.

Anyway, I got my job back. I suddenly feel like I've had several cups of espresso.

Carlos seems desperate to get me back so I decide to try my luck. "Gee thanks, Carlos," I say. "But I need a raise." Pushing it, sure, but it's worth taking a chance.

"Okay, you come, we talk."

Wow! I'm amazed. Maybe I should have asked for a company car, holiday pay, free parking ...

Wonder who exactly threatened Carlos into giving me back my job?

After school, I walk out of school to find Overdone Barbie, the bitch who threw Coke in my face, waiting for me. She leans against a four-wheel-drive wearing a pair of leopard print shorts, strappy heels and a pink tube top. On her ears are pink hoop earrings, the size of her head. Her hair extensions are dark blonde and long. She's got rings on every finger and her nails are pink leopard print.

She's brought two of her friends with, one Hispanic and one black, both also dressed like they came straight out of an episode of _Jerseylicious_ – big hair, bright clothes, smoky eye, wearing probably every piece of jewelry they probably own.

"You!" she says, pointing to me. "Bitch, I got beef with you."

I don't react, I just look at her.

"Shit, Burn! She's calling _you_ ," Laura whispers and hunches further.

"Yeah?"

She nods and takes a step forwards. "I'm gonna kick your ass."

" _My_ ass?"

"Yes ho, your fat ass."

I know the score right now -- back down and whimper like I'm scared and she'll chew me up and spit me out. And ... and this is a big "AND", the whole school has milled around us and are watching. Every girl will try to bully me if I don't fake it.

"Bitch, I don't know what your problem is," I say, "but I suggest you keep walking."

Her friends snigger at my bravado.

"You know who you talking to, bitch?" Overdone asks, her head cocked to one side.

Harjoon suddenly appears in my line of vision, wearing blue-on-blue and red sneakers. "You know who _you're_ talking to, ho?" Harjoon asks. "She gon whip yo black ass, ho!" He flings out his arms as he talks, acting all hood. I resist the urge to backhand him across the mouth.

Overdone's eyes turn huge. "That a fact, smurf?"

"Smurf?" Harjoon looks puzzled even though he's wearing blue with red shoes.

Overdone presses her lips tightly and looks at me with narrow eyes.

"You game for a punch-on, _Mr_?" Harjoon asks. "Or you chiiiicken?" He flaps his arms and clucks.

Overdone smiles. "Bring it," she says, flexing her fingers and ignoring his gender confusion. "Or are you chicken?"

"Me chicken? D'ya see me running scared, bitch?" I ask with such false bravado, even I am impressed.

Her friends laugh at my Kamikazeness.

"Tomorrow, you me – Cain Park, 4 o'clock," Overdone says. "Don't be late, don't be chicken, bitch. You don't show, I gon come lookin for yo ass."

"I won't," I say with all the bravado I can possibly fake. "Don't _you_ be late, bitch." Mental note to myself: choke the fucking daylights out of smurf at the first available opportunity and flush his dead body down the toilet.

Then Nick, Bud and their crew drive up, screech to a halt, hop out of their ride and head straight for Overdone and her friends. "You lost, hos?" Nick says, a baseball bat in hand.

Overdone and her friends scramble to get into her four-wheel. "Fuck you, white boy!" Overdone says as she shifts the car into gear. "You don't wanna be startin' nothin' you can't finish."

"Yeah?" Bud says and runs towards her, baseball bat poised to swing.

"Trust me," she yells and screeches off.

Bud flings his bat at her four-wheel-drive, but it misses by inches.

"Punch on! Punch on! Punch on! Punch on! Punch on! Punch on! Punch on!" People crowd around me and slap me on the back, congratulating me for being so brave. I want to scream at them to shut up but I gotta play it cool.

That low, anguished groan you hear? That's me. She's gonna kick my ass from here to Timbuktu tomorrow. Fuuuuuuuck!

"Well, she asked for it," I say in what I hope is a cocky voice.

Chapter Nineteen

At home, I take stock of the situation. My mom was a cop turned FBI agent, turned FBI profiler. She knew self-defense so she taught me a few moves, so I can handle myself to a degree. To a small degree. But Overdone – man, she looked strong like a dude and I have no doubt she is going to kick my ass.

At home, my cousins, being the darlings that they are offer words of comfort.

"She's gonna kick your ass, Burn," darling cousin Daisy says, her eyes bright with excitement and excitement.

"Yeah?"

"For sure. What time is the match? I've gotta be there. Can't miss this shit."

" _Match_? It's not a _match_ ," I mutter. It's more like a mismatch.

"Four," darling cousin Lanie says, equally reassuring and supportive. "I'm gonna be there too. This I have to watch – Burn going down. I'm bringing popcorn."

"Gee, thanks guys," I say in a sour voice. "Shouldn't you guys be offering to help me fight her? Stand by me?"

They look at each other and burst out laughing.

"Yeah, well," Daisy says, "she's probably gonna have backup just in case you win."

The cold hand of fear clutches at me. "Whadyamean?"

"She can't let you win. Ever. Her reputation is at stake here, Burn. If you win, you'll have her whole crew to fight."

Oh fuuuuuuuck!

Maybe I should round up a crew too. I think about Laura and her hunched shoulders, Tina and her tiny self, Sultana and her dumb self, Harjoon and his grandma, Fung the "Belieber" ...nah! It's just me against the world.

Fuck me. In every sense.

****

I'm up early to – I dunno, try and work out something, I guess. When, where, how? Fuck knows! I've barely slept. This is how Mike Tyson must feel before he gets into an arena. Poor fucker, no wonder he bit the guy's ear. Right now, I really don't blame him. In fact, it's a downright plan – if I bite her ear or any part of her anatomy, maybe I can somehow win?

At school my girls flock around me and give me advice.

Girls I _don't_ know, also flock around me and give advice. Guess it's now "us" against "them".

The advice is solid and steady.

"Go for the eyes first."

"Go for the jugular first."

"Go for her hair extensions first. Rip really hard."

"Don't waste your time going for her hair – it'll just come out in your hands."

"Pull a Naomi Campbell on her – throw your cell phone at her."

"Or a Russell Crowe."

"Cut your nails so they don't break on you."

"Don't cut your nails. Keep 'em sharp and use them to rip at her."

"Tie your hair into a pony."

"Braid your hair, don't wear a pony. She'll have something to pull on."

"Keep your shoes on so you can really kick."

"Take your shoes off in case you have to run."

"Squeeze her tits really hard." (That was advice from a boy.)

"Actually, squeeze her nipples really hard and let her squeeze yours." (That too, was advice from a boy.)

"Run around and let her try to catch you, that way you tire her out."

"Don't run away from her, tackle her headlong – just rush her like a bull. Hope she's wearing red."

"Wear denim; it's protective."

"Wear a bikini; it's more protective, believe me." (Advice from a boy.)

"For sure! Bikinis are way more protective than denim. Hey, how about a wet-T-Shirt fight? I can get a hose ready?" (Advice from a boy.)

"When all else fails, just slam your head into the nearest wall like The Situation did in _Jersey_ _Shore_. That way, it'll completely confuse your opposition. Remember how confused Ronnie was?"

"Burn, ask yourself, what would Nene do?"

"Burn, ask yourself, what would Homer do?"

I nod so much, my head feels like it's going to fall off.

I watch the clock on the wall. An hour to go. I'm sweating. This is so fucked up. How badly am I going to get injured? I know I can give, but I will have to take a lot here.

"Stupid black bitch!"

I jerk to look at the source of that racist comment. "Who me?"

"Nah, that chick."

"Oh."

As we file out of school, I see Harjoon with a book and pencil collecting money. Another pencil is behind his ears. Why does he look so busy?

I spin around to look at know-it-all Laura.

"Bets," she says.

"Bets?"

"Mainly in her favor. Sorry."

My mouth turns downwards. "Nice." Who would I have bet on? Her, of course.

Bud strolls over, folds his hand and laughs. "Burnt, today is the day you meet your maker."

"Leave her alone!" Sultana says.

"What's that, Grape?" Bud asks cupping his hand around his ear.

"She needs to focus," Sultana says.

"Oh, I get it, Grape," Bud mocks. "You want me to bring mud. But then again, two niggas fighting – we gonna need white mud for this one. Now, where the hell do I get white mud from, Grape?"

"Bud, leave me the fuck alone!" I hiss and move away from him.

He jerks back. "Well, fuck me for being supportive."

"Yeah, fuck you," Tuna says.

When Overdone Barbie sees me, she bares her teeth, which are artificially white, like she's been using a whitening pen or something. She dangles her arms loosely at her side and she jerks her neck around. Then she jumps up and down as if she's walking towards a boxing ring. Fuck, she looks so comfortable, I can tell she does this for a living. Come to think of it I think I saw her in Christina's Aguilera's Dirty video, as one of the cage fighters.

Behind her are about one hundred supporters. Behind me are about two hundred supporters. You think that's a good thing? Not when just about all her supporters have baseball bats in their hands.

Daisy's words about her never losing, gongs in my mind. Fuuuuck! Why couldn't I have the gift of strength? How the hell is this gift of hearing people's thoughts or reading minds helping me now?

Overdone stands in front of me, a malicious smile on her face.

"So," I ask, hoping for a sneer in my voice, "this between you and me, fair and square, or between me, you and them?" I point to her supporters. "'Cause if you're under-confident about winning and need backup, then shout it now."

After a moment of thinking about it, she shakes her head. "Just you and me, bitch."

Okay, got that sorted out. My hair is braided and I have no shoes on. Her hair is in a ponytail and she also has no shoes on.

Somebody with a bell-sounding app, hits play. The moment we hear the bell, she lunges at me. I sidestep her and punch her in the temple. My school goes crazy and cheer like I've hit a home run or something.

With a snarl, she swings wildly without looking and catches me in the head. Her punch staggers me. I stumble, but I don't fall.

She rushes me and we grapple with each other, both of us vying for the eyes. She's stronger than me, but I'm faster. Together we're kind of even.

One of her blows catches me on my temple and I drop. Her peeps roar and raise their bats in jubilation. She's winning, fuck!

She comes at me. I grab a handful of dirt and fling it at her eyes. Bingo! She reels back and blinks rapidly. I take the opportunity to sock her in the face several times. She recovers fast and hits me, catching me on the nose. Pain shoots up my nose and I am convinced she's broken it.

No time to dwell on the pain - I swing again and catch her on the face and the way my hand hurts, I know I got a solid one there.

She lunges at me, grabs my braid and yanks it. I grab hers and we both fall clutching each other's braids. I feel like my hair is being torn out of my scalp.

This is not looking good.

Suddenly I feel myself being pulled away and suspended in the air. "What the fuck?"

A guy from her team has me around my waist while another guy also from her team has her around her waist.

In spite of my fear at guys from her team holding me, I do what she's doing - I thrash and yell, "Lemme at her!"

They laugh as they hold us apart even though the crowd boos them for spoiling the fight.

"And don't you mess with my man, bitch," Overdone spits.

"Me mess with your man? Are you nuts? I'm not into him or any of your guys. Not my type. Too hood for me."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, bitch. If that's your concern, you can relax. That dude's all yours. I'm into _real_ men. Not boys with fake tattoos, okay?"

A low hush among the crowd shaves off some of my cockiness and has me a little confused. But, I talk big, because I'm supposed to. It's all part of the act. Like the wrestling you see on TV.

"Fuck you, bitch! He ain't fake."

"Whateva!"

She suddenly smiles and when her smile does not reach her eyes, I get a little spooked.

"Ye ... ah." I look behind me into Dread's face. The guy with a gun. The guy with the tattoos, the guy who called me a sellout – that guy.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

The guy I said had fake tattoos. He's obviously heard everything I said. Shit! Shit! Shit!

He leans against a black Escalade four-wheel drive, cigarette in hand and watches me. His face is expressionless, so I can't tell if he's going to kill me anytime soon with his bare hands or with his gun or if he's just going to set Overdone and her crew on me to kick me to death.

The crowd goes silent.

He drops his cigarette, squashes it with his shoe and walks towards me.

My heart drops. He's gonna kill me in front of everybody.

We hear the sound of police sirens in the distant.

He stops walking.

Oh, thank God! I exhale.

"This ain't over," Overdone warns.

"B ...bring it," I say.

The sirens get louder and my confidence returns. "Anytime. Bring it." Big shit talker – that's me.

As the five cop cars screech to a halt around us, the crowd scatters.

Once again, I get thrown into the back of a police car. Overdone also gets thrown into another.

This time I get no burgers, no Coke and no sympathy.

Chapter Twenty

"What is your excuse this time, Burn?" Officer Farrell snaps, his lips a thin line. "Huh?"

"Sir, she started it." I point to Overdone who sits across me and snarls like a rabid Rottweiler.

He turns to her. "Did you?"

"Fuck you!" she spits. "Fucking racist cop."

Farrell seems shocked at her words. I know I am.

"Hey, watch your mouth!" he says to her.

She flashes her palm at him."Whateva!"

"I don't care who started it. I have so many pressing cases to handle without ... blah! blah! blah! we have a five-year-old missing girl and we have to handle your stupid ..."

I groan and zone out. I have scratches on my arms and face and I suspect I have a shiner. She too has scratches on her face and arms, so I say all-in-all, we're pretty even ass-kicking-wise.

Because of Overdone's snarling, they march us into another room. As I shuffle along, I pass a room with a window. Seated in the room are two detectives and a man with a beanie who looks like he hasn't had a bath in days – scraggly beard, hair sticking out from under his beanie, brown teeth and stained clothes. Even though he looks like shit, what catches my attention is the smug look on his face.

She's in the cupboard chained like a dog but you're neeeever gonna find her.

The words I hear give me goose bumps. I stop walking and look at beanie, who's now smiling and drumming his fingers on the table.

"Give us _something_ ," the detective says. "You've had your fun and now it's time to let it all go. She deserves ..."

Same place I kept the other girls, assholes, but you're never gon find her 'cause you're too stupid.

"Where's her body? In some makeshift grave? The family needs closure. Give them that, man."

Beanie shrugs. _I wouldn't call Marine Palms a make shift grave._

Officer Farrell ushers me forward. "Move it, Burn!"

"Wait!" I say. "That man ... is he being questioned about the missing girl?"

"Yeah, but that's' none of your ..."

"Wait! I might know where she is!"

He stops and eyes me curiously.

"Marine Palms? Do you know where that is?"

"What do you mean?"

"That's where she is!" I whisper.

"And how would you know this?"

"I just do. Check it out."

"No!"

"Farrell, listen! She's there. Please, check it out."

"Burn, are you yanking my chain?"

"No, no, no! I swear."

"How do you know?"

"Bitch, move yo ass!" Overdone shouts, distracting us.

Ignoring her, I look at the floor as I focus on the man's thoughts. For added measure, I place my fingers on my temple and close my eyes.

"What the fuck?" Overdone cries. "You meditating now? Here?"

Ignoring her and under the curious gaze of Officer Farrell, I zone in and stay with the man's thoughts. After a few moments, I look up at Officer Farrell. "She's there and she hasn't eaten for four days 'cause he ....he ...." I focus again. "'Cause ... 'cause you're watching him and he didn't want to take a chance and go to her. But she's alive!"

Officer Farrell peers at me. "You've been smoking weed, again?"

"Sir, please! Just check. Please!"

Reluctantly, he walks over to another police officer. After a while, he returns to me and the look on his face tells me that he doesn't believe me.

This is so frustrating to me. "Okay, okay, okay ... tell you what – just go inside and talk to the man. Mention the address and watch his reaction? Please! I beg you, please!"

With great reluctance, Officer Farrell walks into the room and whispers in the detective's ear. The detective nods and talks to the man.

I wait to exhale.

"You a voodoo chick or something?" Overdone asks, eyeing me curiously.

"Yeah," I say. "And I got a doll that looks like you. Gonna stick needles into it the moment I get home."

She stares at me, then takes a step back.

Ignoring her, I focus again. I smile when I hear the man's thoughts: _I want a lawyer._

The detective and Officer Farrell rush out of the room and bark out instructions. After that Farrell turns to me. "If this is a prank ..."

"No, no, no, no! I swear. "

He grabs my arm and Overdone's and leads us into a room. "Sit down and don't move."

"Wait! Is a cop car ...?"

"It's on its way there, Burn."

About ten minutes later, I hear, "They got her!"

"Yes!" Officer Farrell fists the air and a whole lot of back-slapping takes place.

Farrell looks at me and nods, his face frown-free for the first time.

"You're a damn smart cop," I whisper, then wink, relieved that I was able to save the little girl.

He wags his finger at me as he backs out of the room. "You and me, we need to talk."

I sit down and rest my feet on a chair. Overdone doesn't say a word to me. She looks straight ahead but I catch her nervous sideway glances.

About ten minutes later, Officer Farrell walks over to me with two detectives in tow. They look mean and bad-tempered – like they haven't had a good night's sleep in one hundred years.

"Burn," he says, taking my arm and leading me out of the room again. "These detectives want to question you, but you can choose to have a parent present or you can ask for a lawyer."

"For assault? Oh, this is so _Law and Order_. Do you guys have a female officer here like Detective Benson? Mariska Hargitay?"

He shakes his head, a look of regret on his face. "Aiding and abetting."

"Aiding and abetting ... who?" This doesn't sound right. Two school kids fighting and _detectives,_ fugly ones at that, want to interrogate me?

"The man in the room."

"The man in the ..." I glance towards the kidnapper in the room, then at Officer Farrell. "Him? You gotta be kidding!"

"I'm not, Burn. This is serious. But you're underage so you're entitled to an attorney at no cost." Frown lines age Farrell before my very exhausted and probably black eyes.

I sit back in a chair and stare at the two sleep-deprived detectives in front of me. Detective Conan is skinny, with a bad case of adult acne. Detective Fartmoor (That's a name? Who names these people? Surely there's a governing body to prevent babies being saddled with scarring names?) is about ...twelve months pregnant and his belly threatens to pop the buttons of his shirt. His comb-over is amazing – rivals Donald Trump's.

Both eye me with total disdain. I mean, that's what I think – it's hard to tell, with my one eye swelling and my nose hurting like crazy.

"Something you want to tell us?" Fartmoor asks.

"Yeah, Judy always says, 'No good deed goes unpunished.'"

"Judy?" Fartmoor asks.

"Judge Judy."

The roll their eyes anti-clockwise. I think.

"And your point is?" His eyes are piercing.

"Man, this is so fucked up," I mutter.

"Hey watch your mouth!" Conan barks, sending a blast of doughnut breath my way. Hasn't this guy ever heard of Listerine?

I fold my arms across my chest, my left eye starting to throb. "I'm not talking without my lawyer present. Or I want a burger and a Coke. No, make that Diet Coke. And make sure it's cold. Oh, and can you ask them to hold the lettuce. Please?"

They exchange exasperated glances. "In your dreams," Conan says.

"Then, I'm not talking." I shake my legs.

"You know what? We'll call your aunt." His voice is threatening.

"Oh, please, don't do that. Please!"

A look of fierce determination appears on Conan's face as he storms out of the room to call my aunt.

Fartmoor follows him.

Alone, I get a little scared. What if they are serious? I need help here. "Hawk?"

He shows up right away.

"I don't want this gift, Hawk. Look what it's done? I'm in trouble, yet I was just helping."

"Burn, just hang in there. You'll get through this."

"Hang in there?" I look at the ceiling.

"I didn't mean that." He smiles and sits across me. "They're doing their job and soon you'll be on your way. It's all part of the process."

"So, what do I say? How did I know where the little girl was?"

"Be vague. You'll think of something."

"Why should _I_ have to think of something? This gift is ..."

"Relax. If you get into trouble over the gift and you have to spend the night in jail, we'll orb you home and leave your body here. The next morning we'll orb you back. You won't really be in jail. We help you, Burn. Always."

"Right. So where were you guys today when I was getting my ass kicked by Overdone?"

"It wasn't over the gift."

Mff.

Carlene is ushered into the room an hour later, so Hawk vamooses. Conan and Fartmoor sport a now-you're-gonna-get-it smirk.

Mff. They don't know my aunt.

Carlene is dressed in Daisy Duke type burgundy boots, a short denim skirt and a red-and-white, checked, tie-up shirt. Her hair is long and loose and she looks pretty good. All the officers stop to look at her.

She looks at me and gasps. "What the hell, Burn? The cops did this to you?"

"Yes," I say and manage a sorrowful look on my face.

Detective Fartmoor jerks his head to look at me. "What?! That's a downright lie, Burn!"

"My God! How terrible!" Carlene says, her hands on either side of her face. _We can get money for this. Whoohoo!_ "How could you guys do this to her? She's seventeen, a baby."

"Baby? She was in a street fight," Detective Conan says. "She's no baby." More like a baby elephant.

"Yeah and she's a suspect in a kidnapping case," Detective Fartmoor adds.

Carlene's jaw drop. "Street fight and kidnapping. Is that how I brought you up, Burn?" _Did you ask for money for the kidnapping? Hope it was a lot. I could really do with some bucks._

"That's not true," I say. As if she brought me up. If anything, I probably brought her up.

Carlene whips out her iPhone and starts photographing my facial bruises. Then she frowns. What the ...? _Memory full. Delete some images. I can't delete any of Bobby's and my videos. Damn! Oh well, I'll just pretend like I'm taking pictures._

"Tell Mrs. Rowe the truth." Detective Fartmoor glares at me, appearing worried that Carlene is taking photos and accusing them of police brutality.

Carlene stops photographing, rolls up like a cat, thrusts out her silicones and looks at the detective. "That's ... _Miss_ Rowe, detective." She drops her voice and bats her eyelids. "And please ... call me Car...lene." Her tongue stays out of her mouth long after she finished talking.

The detective's eyes flit between the two of us. _Fruitcakes. Both of them._ He glares at me. "Tell her!"

"Okay ..." I look at Carlene. "I ... I fell as I was walking up the stairs."

Fartmoor groans and shakes his head. "Moving on ..." He sits with his pen poised over his little notebook. "How did you know where the little girl was?"

"I read people's minds," I answer truthfully.

"Burn!" Hawk's voice booms in my ears. I ignore it.

Carlene giggles behind her hand.

Conan slaps his pencil on the desk. "You think we were born yesterday?" He wags his finger at me. "I will lock you up and for the weekend. Do you want that?"

"No, of course not. It's the friggin weekend and I wanna have me some fun." I bite my lower lip as I think of an answer. "I ... eh, I saw him come out of the building a couple days ago. Bumped into him. He looked suspicious."

He nods and picks up his pencil. "That's more like it."

Carlene fans herself with her hand. "This place is so hot," she says and jerks her top, drawing all eyes to her cleavage. "I get so hot so easily," she says in a breathy voice.

Both detectives' eyes are glued to her chest.

Fartmoor tears his eyes away from her cleavage to look at me. "What were you doing there? That's a distance away from where you live?" _Bet you were buying crack._

"I was buying drugs."

"Oh, ok ... ay." _That's more like it._

They ask more questions, I tell more lies. Finally, they let us go.

Carlene has both their cards in her hand as we exit the police station.

We drive for a while, before she pulls up outside a liquor store and hands me a fifty. "Get me some Heineken, will you?"

"I'm underage," I remind her. "I'm not allowed to buy alcohol."

"Use your fake ID."

"I don't have one."

"What?" She shakes her head and gets out of the car. "That's just crazy."

When we get home, she cracks open a bottle of beer, hands it to me, then cracks open another one for her.

We clink and swig in unison.

Doncha wish your auntie was cool like mine?

Doncha wish your auntie was a freak like mine?

Chapter Twenty-One

I walk up to one of my tables on autopilot, pen and notebook in hand. "Hi, my name is Burn. What can I get ...?" My voice dies on my lips at the sight of Dreads. Again.

With my stomach in knots, my eyes dart around to look for his crew. I see none of them. Does this mean he's alone? Can't be. He's super-glued to them, I'm sure.

My mind races. Has he come back to waste me in broad daylight? Wants to do the job himself so there are no comebacks?

Although I'm freaking out, I try to keep calm. Slowly, I start to back away. "What?" he asks. "What?"

" _Sir_ , because of you and your _crew_ , I got my ass kicked, I almost lost my job and I got arrested. So, if you don't mind, _sir,_ I'll send you another waitress so there's no drama, okay?"

He slouches back and eyes me, his arm dangling over his chair. "I want _you_ to serve me."

Wants to torture me before he kills me? How cruel can he be – making me serve my murderer minutes before he whacks me? Even the Sopranos weren't that cruel, man.

I put away my notepad and hold up my palms. Why did I open my big mouth and tell the cops what I saw? I should have asked to enter The Witness Protection Program first.

"Relax. I'm here to apologise. For the ... the drama with Tyra."

Yeah right. Like I would believe that. "No need, sir," I say to my murderer. "Thank you, though, but there's no need." I look at Cecelia and frantically motion her towards me.

"Sit down," he says as if he owns the joint.

"Thanks, but I will get fired." We both turn and look at Madonna Lok at the same time. She quickly turns away.

"Okay," he says in a low, kinda husky voice – reminding me of Denzel Washington. "After work, then?"

"No, no, no, no! Your girl – Tyra whatever ..."

"Forget about her – I just wanna talk to ..."

Cecilia's arrival interrupts us.

"Cecilia, this nice gentleman needs service. Please take over." I back away before he can say anything more.

"Sure!" Cecilia says and smiles at him. "What can I get you?"

I hurry away.

He finishes his coffee and leaves.

Cecilia runs up to me. "He left this for you," she says waving a hundred dollar bill at me.

"Omigod! You serious?"

He wants to bribe me with a hundred? Wow! I can't believe ...hang on, I'm gonna need at least one hundred and ten to retract my statement.

"Yeah. I couldn't believe it. How cool is he? And he's hot too!"

"Wow!" I lovingly caress my hundred dollar bill. I can buy some decent grub for Angel now. "We split it?" I say.

"Nah, dude gave me a fifty. Told me that that money was for you. Made it clear, so I ain't messing with that dude. You keep it."

I peer at her. "Whaddya mean?"

She puts her hand over her mouth and drops her voice. "He's Trojan Catrell – you don't mess with him."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah." She drops her voice and leans towards me. "Want a hot iPhone, a laptop, a fucking car, someone's kneecaps broken ...mm?"

"That badass, huh?"

"Mm. His brother is Grover Catrell, the music producer. Know him? They're really connected. You don't wanna mess with them."

"Really, huh?" And he just gave me a hundred dollar tip. He didn't kill me and he gave me the biggest tip I have ever had, without me doing a thing. Confusing. In a daze, I kiss the bill and pocket it.

When I finish work, I rush out for my bus only to find Trojan outside, smoking. Crap! What now? Again, I look around for his peeps, but he appears to be alone. My stomach starts to knot.

"I spent the money," I say, masking my fear with flippancy. "No refunds."

He smiles and puts out his cigarette. It's the first time I've seen him smile and when he does, he doesn't look that scary. Maybe it's because he's lost his grill. I check him out. He looks different today. No chains, all tattoos covered with a long sleeve shirt, formal pants. Dreads in a neat ponytail. In fact, had it not been for the ponytail, I wouldn't have recognized him.

Looks like he's been working behind a desk. Or at a bank or something. But not robbing it. Not dressed like that anyway.

"What do you want, Dreads?"

"My name is Trojan, Burn, and I want to talk."

"Nice to meet you, Trojan. 'Bout what?"

He folds his arms across his chest and looks directly at me. "Why you say I'm too hood?"

"Huh?" I didn't expect that question. I expected him to talk to me about the gun incident.

"I ...I ..." My eyes sweep over him. He's tall, around six-three, 'bout two hundred pounds of well, some would say, muscle. I would say that too, now that I've got a better look.

"Had a good look?" he asks, a flicker of amusement in his brown eyes.

"Wha ...?" A hot blush creeps through me.

"You said that you're not into me 'cause I'm too hood, the day you and Tyra fought? You don't know me, so why ...?"

"Gosh, I said so many things ... I guess ... I guess I just wanted to get rid of Overdone Barbie."

He laughs and drops his arms. "What did you call her?"

I chuckle. "Overdone Barbie. Cos she's like sooooo ... ver ... done."

"Don't let her hear that," he warns. He jerks his head towards the parking lot. "I'll walk you to your car."

"Gee thanks. That'll be in two years' time."

A confused look flits across his face. "You don't ...?"

"I don't have a car, Trojan. I'm catching the bus and I'm gonna miss my bus unless I get going."

"I'll give you a lift home."

'No! Don't you get it? Your girlfriend's probably watching right now and ..."

"She's not my girlfriend. Never was."

"Oh yeah, yeah, right, yeah. Sure."

"No seriously. I've never hooked up with her."

"Then you need to tell her that."

He shrugs.

"Look, I know why you're here, okay? Because of the gun thing. Like, I can't retract my statement. I'm already in trouble with the cops over the assault. I was busted for ..."

"Ah, so you're badass."

"No!"

"Yes, you are. I've never been in trouble with the cops until the night your boyfriend got in my face."

I don't answer.

"Heard you're not seeing him anymore." His eyes are fixed on my face.

I shake my head from side-to-side and look at the ground. Any talk of Brody makes me somber.

"I see. Look I ain't worried about the gun incident. I just wanna buy you a drink."

I peer at him, suspicion running through my tired brain. "Why?"

He shrugs. _Do I need a reason?_

"I'm seventeen, I don't drink, and yes, you need a reason."

He smiles. "Yeah, right – you don't drink." _That's not what I heard._

I chuckle. "You know a lot about me, don't you?"

More shrugging from him.

"I'm ..." I exhale loudly. "Look, I don't quite know how to say this, but I'm sorry, I'm ...I'm not into guys like ..."

"Like me?"

Shit, this is hard. "Well ..." How do I say this without hurting his feelings? I have to be honest with him. I pinch my bottom lip.

"So, if I was blonde, with blue eyes, then you'd be cool with it?" His voice is tinged with hurt.

"No, no, no! I didn't say that." I'm horrified to think I could come across like Dawn McGraw. "That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?"

I let out a low groan, not knowing what the fuck I can say without hurting his feelings. I mean, the dude gave me a hundred dollar tip.

"All I ask of you is that you keep an open mind. Think you could do that?"

What exactly does he mean by that?

I'm relieved when my bus arrives. Saves me from having to continue this awkward conversation.

He persists. "Think you could do that?"

I shrug. "Sure."

"Good girl." He smiles. "Sure you don't want a lift?"

With a smile, I back away. "Yes, sure. Thanks for the tip." I turn and run towards the bus, confused as to why he wants to buy me a drink. I mean he waited till 11 PM to talk to me?

"Hey!"

I stop and turn around to look at him.

He hitches up his sleeve and touches his tattoos. "They're real," he mouths.

My laugh is nervous. I remember saying to Overdone that their tattoos are fake. "I don't believe you. I think it's a spray on and I think you have a pink love heart somewhere there."

His jaw drops. So does his hand.

"Maybe even a cute butterfly. Goodnight!" I wave and hop onto my bus.

I take a seat and watch him through the window. He lights up another cigarette, looks at me and blows smoke my way. Then we grin at each other.

The moment my bus moves, I conference my peeps.

"One hundred?" Tina gasps.

"Huh huh."

"Maybe it's counterfeit," Sultana says.

I take out the money and rub it between my fingers. "Feels real." It better not be counterfeit.

"He actually waited till after you finished work?" Laura says. "Maybe he really digs you."

Tina laughs.

Sultana laughs.

I laugh.

"Loser!" Laura says.

"Yeah right, like I'm gonna go for someone like him. I mean, compared to Brody, he's chalk man."

"Compared to Brody, everyone's chalk," Laura points out.

"How the hell could he possibly think he's got a chance with me? I mean, with all those tattoos and those chains and the thugs he hangs with – so lame."

"Yeah," Sultana says, "he's kinda gross. Scary too."

"And that name? Awful."

"Yeah, sounds like a brand of condoms."

We poke more fun at him and mock him all the way home.

"In a way, I feel sorry for him," Tina says.

My ears prick up.

"Yeah, me too," Laura says. "The fucker hasn't a chance in hell with you."

"I don't feel sorry for him," Sultana says. "He pulled out a gun for Brody, remember? He should spend the rest of his miserable life in the slammer."

"Well, he's gonna spend umpteen years in prison anyway," Laura says. "I mean when PDiddy pulled out a gun for some guy – that time he ran with JLO, he faced something like a hundred years behind bars. So this fucker – he's already been arrested because of that. Probably gonna get his day."

"Yeah, well," Sultana says, "next time you see him, tell him to piss off."

"I will," I say and hang up, conveniently forgetting to tell them that I had promised to keep an open mind.

Everything they say about him may be true, but I remember the night he pulled out the gun – Marcus McGraw started it, calling them 'boy' and asking them to piss off from _Marlow's_.

I look out of the window in the dark, suddenly feeling bad for him.

The next day when I arrive at the pizzeria, a huge bouquet of flowers with a fluffy white bunny rabbit, is delivered for ...me.

I'm stunned. Everyone congregates around me as I eye the envelope. "Open it!" they chorus.

I tear open the envelope to find a photo of an arm full of tattoos. Among the tattoos is a

hand-drawn pink love heart and a colorful butterfly.

_You were right_ the card says.

That's it. Nothing else. I burst out laughing.

"Is it from Trojan?" Cecilia asks. "I saw you talking to him last night. Is it?"

"Eh ...no," I lie. "Someone else."

"Liar!"

Busted "Okay, look, it's from him – but listen, can you not tell anyone that it's from him?"

"Why?"

I shrug. How do I tell her that I am embarrassed to let anyone know that I am having any dealings with him? Not only because of his rep as a thug, but also because I ran him down so much in the past.

Not to mention that he pulled a gun on Brody.

"Okay, so you're embarrassed," she says, reading my mind "He's taken the time to draw a butterfly, draw a love heart, then photograph it, then print it, then drop it off at the florist, then order the flowers, then order the bunny, then have them delivered to you with a message. Means the whole time he was doing all that shit, he was thinking of you. That's a looooot of thinking for a guy like him to do."

I never thought about it that way.

"You plan on hooking up with him?"

"No!"

"You sure?"

I nod as I hug the rabbit to me.

"Great! I plan to, then."

"Wha ...?"

"I'm dying to fuck a black guy. It's so Chloe and Lamar. 'Sides, I heard they got humungous dicks."

I spin around to look at her, and for the first time I notice her reddish-brown hair, liquid hazel eyes and white skin. A young Kelly Clarkson. Pretty, confident and determined. Who wouldn't like her?

"It'll be a whole lot of fun getting that ass in the sack."

"Mm!" I say and walk away tight-lipped. Fucking slut!

I throw the bunny into my bag. Chloe and Lamar, my ass.

Wonder if he'll dig her?

Why didn't he give me his number so I could text him a 'thank you' for the flowers and bunny?

Ah, well, I'll express my thanks when I see him this evening.

Keep an open mind, keep an open mind, keep an open mind, keep an open mind.

When I get off work, it's 11 PM. I step outside the restaurant and look into his face.

"Hey!" I say. "Where's the love heart and butterfly?"

He looks at his arm. "Washed it off." He shrugs.

"Ah, told you they were washable."

"Not the others."

I smile. "Thanks for the flowers and the bunny. They are beautiful."

More shrugging on his part.

"What are you doing here?"

"Came to walk you to your bus. I can take you home, but I suspect you're gonna say no to my ride."

"Yeah, sorry, something to do with Stranger-danger and stuff."

We both laugh.

"Well, then, I will walk you to your bus."

"Walk me to my bus? It's like a few feet away from the pizzeria!"

"Doesn't matter. Just wanna make sure you're safe."

Is he serious?

I look at him and smile. When was the last time somebody cared about my safety? After Brody, there has been nobody else.

"That's nice of you." Just then my bus arrives. "Well, that's my bus, so ..."

We hurry to it. "Good night, Trojan," I say.

"Nite, shawty," he says. "Hope you dream of me."

I laugh.

He hands me a card. "Holler if you do, okay? You've got my number."

I take the card and hurry into the bus. Through the window, I wave at him before I take a seat.

This time, I don't conference my peeps. Why? 'Cause I know that they'll run him down, laugh at his flowers and his bunny and I don't want them to. Not today, not anymore.

Strange, I know.

Instead, I take his card and study it.

It says, _Hey, Burn, if you'd like to take me to dinner, just smile._

Below that is his cell number and email address.

"What the ...?" I smile. Me take him to dinner? He's nuts.

I get a text. _You smiled._

"What the ...?" I peer at my phone in disbelief. Is this Trojan? If it is, he's guessing. He has to be.

Look out ur window

I scramble to the window and see him driving alongside me.

I gasp, then texts fly between us.

Ur nuts. Where u get my fone no from

I got people in lo places. U smiled. I demand my dinner

_Lol!_ _I a student. McDonalds happy meal complete with toy._

Ill take it. Nite burn smiley face

Nite Trojan smiley face

He speeds away.

All this effort for me? I look at the card in my hand. It looks professional, not a handwritten one. Then there's the tattoos that he drew, photographed and sent to me. Such a lot of effort. Could I be worth it? I have to see what he sees.

I whip out my phone and open my mirror app. When I see my shiny eyes, my amused smile, my slightly flushed face, I put my hand to my mouth and giggle all the way home.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Emhart County is buzzing with the death of Marcus McGraw, brother of Bud McGraw and cousin to Nick and Brody. The newspapers scream that it was gang-related shooting.

I know for a fact that not many people liked Marcus, as he was an asshole. I was one of those many people.

He was a rude, racist pig who rode on the McGraw name.

But I met him when I dated Brody, so I'm shocked at his death.

Since his death is gang-related, it is major cause for alarm and people fear that it could spiral out of control and more youths could die.

Anyway, I'm perturbed enough to approach Bud, who is standing next to Nick. "Hey, Bud," I say. "Just wanted to offer my sympathies. I lost my mom and dad, so I know how hard it ..."

"Yeah, well, guess what nig - I'm gonna become a cop one day just so that I can beat the shit out of all the niggas 'round me." He slams his fist into his palm as he speaks, a menacing snarl on his face. "Plenty time for me to get my revenge." He suddenly smiles, flooring me. I stare at him, unsure what to say. I mean, he just lost his brother so I feel sorry for him; at the same time, he's being such a dipshit.

When his phone rings, he steps aside to take the call.

I look at Nick. "He's kidding, right?"

Nick shrugs.

"So who did it?"

"That fucker Trojan and his asshole friends."

"Trojan? You sure?"

"Oh yeah. This has been going on for a while now. It was bound to happen sooner or later."

"Wow!" I think about the flowers, the bunny, the fake tattoos ...

Is he really capable of killing someone? Disappointment wells inside of me.

"Heard he gave you a hundred dollar tip." Nick's tone is accusing.

"What?!" Word sure gets around quickly. "I ..eh ..."

"Don't be fooled by it."

"Whaddyamean?"

"You're a witness to him shooting. He can't let you live."

I'm not gonna mention the flowers and bunny rabbit, of course. "He's had plenty opportunity to do it," I say.

"Oh, he will, he will. Give him time."

I look at the ground. Maybe that's why he's been chasing me, sending me flowers and stuff – to soften me up – get me to change my story.

"Word is, he's placed a hit on Brody."

"Whaaaaat?! Ohmigod! You serious?"

"Yeah."

Now that changes things. I will not let him hurt Brody. "I'm gonna go talk to him."

"What you gonna say that's gonna make a difference, Burn?"

"I dunno, but ..." I grab my bag and sling it onto my shoulder. "I can't sit around and do nothing."

"Burn, I don't think it's a good idea to ..."

"How ... how is Brody, these days, Nick?"

He looks at the ground, then at me. "Miserable."

"Oh."

"Fighting with my parents over you."

My spirits soar as his words. "But I've noticed he's with Alicia?"

He shrugs. "Parent pressure – it's worse than peer-pressure."

"That's too bad – an arranged marriage in this day and age? In the US? It's tragic. Anyway, I will talk to Trojan. Where do I find him, though?"

"Under some rock."

I chuckle. "Yeah."

"I think you should stay away from that cunt."

"Yeah ... see ya, Nick. I'll let you know how it goes. Going to find Luther. He'll know which rock I must look under for that cunt."

Luther is only too happy to spill it. "Goer's Gym," he says. "Hangs out there all the time, maan."

"Not a good idea you visiting him, shawty," Luther says. "Why don't you come sit on my lap instead?"

"In your dreams Luther," I say and walk away.

I find this whole Brody/Trojan thing a little daunting and unsettling.

Erro appears in my line of vision. "Why you frowning?" she asks. "You seem stressed."

I slow down my steps. "Well, what exactly do I say to Trojan, Erro? I mean I practically snubbed him, talked crap about him to everyone – now I must go and ask him to lay off my boyfriend? He might tell me to jump in the lake."

"That's _ex_ -boyfriend. And what will you say then?"

"Yeah, _ex_ -boyfriend." Hate that word. "I will say, 'I will if you join me.'" I look at Erro and chuckle. "You know what a smartass I am."

"As a matter of fact, I do. I think he does too, Burn. In fact, I think that everyone who knows you, knows what a smart ass you are."

"I can't help it – I'm wired that way."

"Well, appeal to his kindness. Flatter him. Tell him what big muscles he has and how much you like his ..." She gestures to his Dreads. "Tell him that you love his sense of humor, yadda, yadda, yadda."

"Guess I can do that. After all, he got me my job back – that means he plays fair."

"There you go."

"Then he gave me the biggest tip ever ..."

"Exactly. You will mean everything you say, all the compliments you give him."

"Yeah, you're right." I peer at Erro. "When did you get so smart?"

"The same time you became a smartass."

We giggle.

"You know, Erro, I think I know why they paired us – we're both crackpots."

"Speak for yourself. I'm as sane as ..." she wriggles her mouth as she thinks about it, "Nah, you're right, we're both loopy."

Our giggles morph into laughter.

"Now, listen, when you go there to see Negro, dress ... you know, nice."

"'Negro'? Who says 'Negro' these days?"

"These days? Burn, I died _twenty_ years ago!"

"Omigod! You serious?"

"As a hernia – which is what I died of, by the way."

"People die of hernias? That's awful! Terrible." I squint at her. "What is a hernia?"

She rolls her eyes. "Never mind – back to the clothes bit – easy on the eye does it. And wear high heel shoes."

"We call it 'heels' these days. Just 'heels' – not 'high heel shoes."

"Mff. Thank you very much for enlightening me," she says in a sneering voice.

My turn to 'mff'.

****

_Goers_ gym is thumping. Dressed in my "high-heels", an easy-on-the-eye tank, and an easy-on-the-eye short black skirt, I weave my way through bulging biceps, protruding pectorals, and gorgeous glutes (which I resist the temptation to grab) as I try to spot Trojan, the bunny-and-flowers-giving-fake-tattoo murderer. Wonder if anyone will notice if I whip out my iPhone and snap away at these fine specimens scattered around me. So what if I'm labelled a pervert?

I spot Trojan with Curtis the dickhead and some other guys, pumping iron and laughing about something.

Trojan wears a cut-away Tee that shows off his bulging muscles and clings to his chest, outlining his ripped abs. Have to say, he's one of them I'd like to photograph. Under normal circumstances I would have been interested. If my heart didn't still belong to the son of two racist, Bible-quoting hypocrites.

Trojan's eyebrows shoot up when he sees me.

"Hi," I say in an extra friendly voice. "Bet I can lift double that?"

"Hey!" he says with a smile. "Didn't know you work out here."

"I don't." I drop my voice. "I'm stalking you."

"What?" He puts down the weight.

I laugh at the glimmer of nervousness in his eyes. "Relax, you're not that lucky. I just wanna talk to you."

"Ah, so you came to ask me out to dinner!" he says, folding his arms across his chest, a smile on his face.

"Eh ..." I look at all the other curious faces around us. "Eh, in private? Please?"

Curtis steps forward and rolls his hands over each other as he speaks. "Is like dis, shawty – anything you gotta say, you say in front of us. Daz how we roll here, Caramel. It work like dat, see?" He gestures a lot as he speaks which I find a little intimidating.

But I stand my ground and look at Trojan. "In private. Please?"

Trojan's eyebrows lift and shifts.

Curtis looks pissed with me. "See now, dat ain't right. You disrespecting our ..."

"Okay, I'll come back later, or you can meet me after work today. You know where that is?"

"Wait, wait, wait! Lemme get dis right," Curtis says. "You wanna talk to my dwag here, but you want _him_ to come to _you_. Dat correct?"

Why doesn't this guy just shut the fuck up?

I look at Trojan. "Look, I'm here now. I came to you. I'm not being disrespectful; I just need privacy, that's all."

"Privacy? Ooooh!" Curtis is annoying the shit out of me.

"Fine, forget it!" I turn to walk away.

Trojan grabs my arm. "Wait! I'll see you this evening."

I smile. "Thank you. I appreciate it. And, I'll buy you a drink."

"A drink! Wow!" Curtis scoffs. "What, lemonade?"

Both Trojan and I glare at him. Curtis shuts up and shakes his head slowly.

With a smile, I hurry out of _Goers_ _Gym_ and away from fuckface Curtis.

When I glance back, Trojan is watching me walk away.

I flash him a quick smile, then walk on.

That wasn't too bad.

****

He's waiting for me when I step of the Pizzeria. I hurry to him. "Thanks for agreeing to meet me," I say, realizing that my nervousness is making me sound stiff and formal.

"Thank you for the flowers and bunny rabbit," I say. "It was nice."

"You're welcome, shawty." He gestures for us to walk. "So, when are you taking me to dinner?"

I smile. "Look, um ..." I play with my hair and look at the floor. How the hell do I say this? I take a deep breath and look up at him.

"Trojan, I need you to call off your hit on Brody McGraw."

He stops walking. "What?!" His surprise seems genuine.

How else could I have said it? Had to be direct.

"That's what you called me here for? To ask me _that_?"

My courage dips. "Eh, y ...yes."

He folds his arms across his chest. "Why?" Okay, so he hasn't denied there is a hit on Brody.

I ignore the irritation in his voice. "Because."

He stops walking. "That ain't an answer. That's a word."

I nod and scan my brain for a reason. "Because ... I ... I ..." I shrug. "Guess I care about him."

"You said you were done with him." His voice is accusing.

"Yeah, but I still care about him."

"You mean you're in love with him?"

"Eh ..."

His eyes scan my face, making me shift in my hi-tops. "I take that as a yes." His voice is filled with disappointment.

We walk again.

"Can you call it off?" I ask, eager to change the subject.

He stops walking and turns to me. "Hey, I dunno nothing about no hits, and you may be wired for all I care, but ... my question is ... what's in it for me?"

"Waddyamean wired?" My eyes grow huge and I drop my voice. "Oh, you mean like the FBI listening in and stuff? That's so cool."

He frowns, then waves dismissively in a forget-I-said-that sort of way. "What's in it for ... me?"

"For you?" I shrug. "Like ...?"

"First rule of business – gotta be a win-win situation, know what I'm saying?"

"Eh, well, I don't have a business and I don't have much to give you. How much are you wanting?"

"I don't want your money!" His tone is scoffing.

"Oh, okay." I scratch my head and look at him. Maybe I should talk about me changing my story about the gun incident? "There's nothing else I can give you that you'd ..."

"I want you." His voice is almost a whisper.

I look at him with huge eyes. "I'm seventeen!" I blurt.

He shrugs.

I frown. "I ...I don't do shit like that. Ever."

"Ever?"

I shake my head.

"How come?" His tone tells me he doesn't believe me.

My turn to shrug. "I'm doing it right. I'm waiting for the right guy before I give it up."

His eyes turn to slits.

"And I want to be eighteen when it happens."

"You serious?"

"Yeah."

"Not even for white boy?"

"Not even for white boy."

He folds his arms across his chest. "Don't know if I believe you. I mean, you're here asking me to save your boy, but you tell me that you haven't given it up to him as yet, even though you ...?"

"Love him? Yes. But I guess he doesn't want to go to jail either." I take a deep breath and cover my eyes with my hand. "Can we talk about something else? I'm getting really awkward here."

He smiles.

"Back to your question – seriously, what do you want from me in return?"

"That." Again, his voice is soft but serious.

I peer at him in disbelief. He wants my virginity? Is he fucking nuts? "I told you, I'm _seventeen_. You'll go to prison and a pretty boy like you will get lots of sex there."

He smiles.

"I'll wait till you're eighteen." His voice is way too serious for my liking.

I stare at him, flabbergasted by this whole conversation. "That is the most indecent proposal I have ever heard ..." I turn away from him then turn back to him. "It's crazy. It's absolutely crazy!"

My rant does not faze him. "That _and_ three dinner dates with you."

My jaw drops.

"Since I have to wait six months for my payment, it will be a 'meanwhile' scenario."

"I ...I ..." This is so fucked up. "Why me? I mean, there are so many other girls around who are more experienced ..."

"'Cause you're white boy's girl. I want ... what he has."

"Because I'm ..." I shake my head in disgust. "That is really fucked up, Dreads. It really is."

"Maybe. But it is what it is, know what I'm saying?"

Of course I know what he's saying. "And if I say no?"

He runs his hand slowly over his face, then locks eyes with me. "Then we have no deal."

I stare at the ground as his words wash over me. "You'll wait six _months_?"

"I'll wait six months."

Maybe in six months he'll lose interest. Maybe he'll just forget about it. But in the meantime, Brody will be safe. "Okay, fine, whateva!" I finally say, eager to end this conversation.

He shows no reaction. "But white boy's gotta back off or else _someone's_ gonna waste him. He's one arrogant motherfucker."

"Deal. I'll talk to him."

" _You'll_ talk to him?"

"Well, I won't, but I'll get someone to."

He gives me a that's-better nod.

"Can I have your guarantee that he's safe?"

"Yes. Can I have your guarantee that we have a deal? That you're not lying to me about you being pure as the driven snow?"

"Pure as the driven ..." I cock my head to one side and look at him. "Hey, I never said that. I said I haven't like ... you know, been with a guy. Not _pure_ for sure. I mean, I wasn't planning to donate my organs or something. I was just like wanting it to be a special experience. "'Sides, my mamma made me promise to wait till I'm eighteen and I want to keep that promise."

"Your mama is a smart woman."

"Was," I correct. "She died a few years ago."

"Sorry to hear ..."

"Thanks. And yes, we have a deal. Now, I gotta go."

He jerks his head towards his car. "Get in, I'll drive you."

"Eh, no ..."

"Relax. If I wanted you now, I'd take you now, know what I'm saying? But I said I'd wait, and I will. So get in." He jerks his head towards the parking lot.

He has a point, I suppose. Feeling a little unsure, I get into a black Cadillac Escalade. He's way too young to be driving such fancy wheels, I must say. Please don't let it be hot. A scenario flashes before my eyes: we're on _Cops_ – us being pursued by the police; he jumps, leaving me to handle the cops. Then me getting out of the car with my hands in the air. They frisk me, cuff me and throw me in the back of a police car. Everybody in the world watching me on TV and thinking that I stole the vehicle. Shiiiiit!

"Do you do this often?" I ask.

"What?"

"Run a barter exchange?"

He smiles. "It's my first, but if it works ..." He shrugs.

The music in his car is rap, but cool, haunting with lyrics. "Who's this?" I ask, pointing to the radio.

He shrugs. "Some new kid on the block."

"It's nice," I say.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He nods. "Which is your house?"

"You see that beautiful, big, double-story ..."

"Yeah ..."

"Not that one."

He smiles again.

"You see that smaller house there with a neat garden?"

"Yeah ..."

"Not that one."

He looks at me and frowns.

"You see that tiny, rundown, trailer park house?"

"That's not your house?"

"Yeah, that's my crib. Sorry to disappoint you."

"That's okay," he says. "I'll be in touch with details for my dinner dates."

"Okay, thank you." I get out of his car and wave goodnight.

I immediately call up Nick and fill him in, but I don't tell him the price I will be paying for Brody's safety.

"You have to tell Brody to stay away from them, Nick."

"I will. Don't worry."

"Maybe talk to your mother about it as well. Get her to knock some sense into Brody."

"Yeah, okay."

I start to hang up.

"Burn!"

"Yep?"

"What did he want from you?"

"Whaddayamean?"

"He wouldn't have done it for nothing. I wouldn't have."

Silence.

"He wanted you?

"Eh, Nick ..."

"I thought as much."

I say nothing. "Did you?" he finally asks.

"In six months' time when I'm eighteen," I hear myself saying.

"Motherfucker!"

"Don't worry about it," I say. "In six months' time, he'll probably have forgotten this conversation."

"Or be in the slammer."

"Yeah, exactly." I chuckle.

"Anyway, Burn, thanks. I owe you one."

"Yes you do, Nick. You owe me big time." I hang up.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Laura counts the money we've collected. "Enough for a bottle," she announces. "But we still need money for orange juice. Can't drink vodka neat."

I crane my neck and look around for someone who can chip in. I spot Fung Chin. "Hey Fung!" I beckon him over.

"Burn, fucking what you want?"

"We need ten dollars. Can you chip in?"

"No way," he says. "I not a bank, fucking."

"We'll split the drinks with you, Fung. But you have to go buy it and then ..."

"You give me alcohol and drugs? Fucking?"

"Not drugs, Fung. Just alcohol."

"Okay, but why I must buy it? Fucking. Why you not buy it? Fucking."

"'Cause we're underage and you're twenty-one. And cut out the 'fucking' shit, okay? It's not cool."

"Okay. Fuc ... okay."

I grab a pen and write on his hand. "Vodka, okay? See this? Vodka. Get it?"

"I can read," he snaps, then runs off. He returns with a bottle of gin.

"Gin?! Fung, what the fuck? Gin?"

"I discuss like this: I show my hand to man. Man read and give me this. I say, is no vodka. Man say, 'Get the fuck out of here, asswipe!"

"He said _that_? The fucking asshole!" Furious, I decide to confront the man. "Come with me, Fung." I grab his hand and march over the Liquor Martee, my girls in tow.

The patrons in the bottle shop are in such a good mood – smiling and giving each other way – never seen this kind of courtesy before in my life.

"After you!"

"No, no, after you!"

"Ah, thank you so much."

"You are most welcome."

Friendlier than church. Confusing much.

The teller who served Fung is a fat, balding fucker with green teeth. Well, green and yellow teeth and he's got a perpetual mean expression.

I put on my adult voice. "You gave us, eh, _him_ the wrong ... him. You gave _him_ the wrong drink, sir," I say. "We wanted ... _he_ wanted vodka, not gin."

"What?!" Green teeth eyes me like I'm roadkill or something. "Get the fuck out of here, you dumb bitch." He points to a sign. "See that? Says no returns. Now get the fuck out of here. Go on, scram!"

Even though I'm intimidated by him, I stay focused on the vodka at hand. "We want our vodka," I say. "We paid for it and ..."

"You want me to call the cops? Huh? You got ID?"

"Burn, let's go," Sultana whispers.

"Yeah," Laura says. "Leave it."

I ignore them and look at green teeth. "Well, sir, _I_ didn't buy it and _I'm_ not buying it. So, _I'm_ calling the cops." I pretend to dial.

Slowly, he rubs his bald head. _My_ _outstanding warrants. Fuck!_ "Wait!"

I pause with my dialing. "Give us _two_ bottles of vodka and I stop dialing."

"Whaaaat?!"

"And a gallon of orange juice."

He glares at me.

"And some M&Ms. _Peanut_ M&Ms."

"You fucking bitch!"

I start dialing again. "Better not have outstanding warraaaants," I sing.

"Okay! Okay!"

I pause with my dialing.

Cursing under his breath, he gets two bottles of vodka and slams it on the counter.

I nod, excited at my luck. A quick glance at the faces of my friends and I know, I'm a star in their eyes. "Now the gallon of orange juice. Sir."

With a snarl, he gets the orange juice and Peanut M&Ms and places it on the counter. "Now get the fuck out of here!"

Unable to believe my luck, I grab the orange juice while Fung grabs the vodka and we hightail it out of there.

"Burn, you good ho! Fucking."

"No, Fung, I'm a smart ho. Fucking!"

Fung is the only one with his own place so we take advantage of him. It's a studio apartment filled with two-minute-noodles and octopus. Frozen octopus, not real live ones.

We drink, get him drunk and eat up all his noodles. Then we teach him to rap for us. Eminem, Kanye, 50 Cent – he goes for it. Then we teach him how to dougie. He's a great sport and we laugh our asses off.

"You want to have relations with me?" he asks.

"Eh, no thanks."

"Oh, okay."

He takes turns propositioning all my friends and we all respectfully decline.

"Hey guys, I have a confession."

They look at me, eager to hear what I have to say.

"Like, I have this 'gift' and ..."

"Did we miss your birthday?" Tina asks, peering at me.

"Nah, it's not that kind of gift."

All eyes are on me. "But you can't tell anyone about my gift, okay?"

They nod, their eager faces ready to receive my gift.

"I ...I can hear people's thoughts ... whispers," I say and brace myself for the 'Wow!' and the 'You lucky thing, you' and 'Give us a demo'.

"Burn!" Hawk yells. "You can't do this.

"Yeah, and I have this gift-keeper kinda dude – a real pain in the ass sometimes."

"Burn!" Hawks snaps.

I ignore him and look at my dear friends. They stare at me for so long, I shift in my too-tight skinny jeans.

Then they burst out laughing.

"What?" I cry. "What? Why you laughing?"

They slap each other's shoulders and fall around with laughter.

Mfff!

"I see dead people too," Tina splutters. Another burst of laughter from the assholes I call my friends.

"Hey, my tongue can touch my nose," Sultana says. "Watch this!" With her eyes crossed on her nose, she attempts to touch her nose with her long tongue. Everyone marvels at her "gift" then tries to outdo her.

Well, serves me right for thinking I could share something so amazing with these stoners. That's the last time I will tell anyone about my gift. I will wait till I'm twenty-one before I do it again and then too, I will only tell anyone on or over the age of twenty-one. _Mature_ people, for that matter. Very mature.

"You want octopus?" Fung asks.

"No, thank you!" Sultana says. "I will not eat anything that killed Steve ...Steve ..." She closes her drunken eyelids as she tries to remember the name.

"Steve?" Tina asks.

"Yeah, the crocodile guy," Sultana says, clicking her fingers in the air. "The Australian dude."

"Stingray!" Laura says. "It wasn't ..."

"Nah, his name wasn't Steve Stingray," Sultana says. A combination of drunk and thick can be both hilarious and infuriating.

"Irwin," I say.

"Yeah," Laura says. "Steve Irwin. And, Sultana, it wasn't an octopus that killed him – it was a goddamn stingray."

"Yeah, Sultana, you're giving octopus a bad rep here," Tina says.

"You guys are wrong; it was an octopus that killed him," Sultana insists.

"HOW?" Tina challenges. "How the hell did an octopus kill him?"

Sultana turns out her palms and shrugs. "Stabbed him with one of its thingies, I think."

I hear a collective groan from my other slightly smarter, but equally drunk friends.

While they argue among themselves, I look at the time, gasp at how late it is and jump to my feet. "Gotta go, guys. Angel's probably waiting."

My friends decide to leave as well.

Swaying like he's on a ship, Fung stands at his door with his Justin Beiber headband across one eye and says, "Come back to my crib, okay?"

"Okay, Fung," we chorus.

"Next time you teach me how to pop, drop and lock, okay?"

"Sure thing, Fung," I say. "But that's Pop, Lock and Drop, by the way."

Ya, ya, whateva. You American have such stupid names for everything.

Ingrate! I shake my head.

As I walk home, my mind drifts to Brody and his great smile.

Wonder what he's doing now? Wonder if he's thinking of me?

I put my phone on private, then dial his number.

He answers on the first ring. "Hello? Hello?"

Hearing his voice makes me want to cry. I quickly end the call and put my phone away.

"Burrrrrn!" Hawk's voice bellows the moment I am in bed. "You are only supposed to talk about your gift when you are twenty-one. Those are the rules, Burn. Not only did you drink, but you also told all your friends about it!"

The alcohol is wearing off and all I want to do is hangover in peace, so I do what is necessary. "Sorry. It won't happen again," I say, in a humble voice. "You're right. That was irresponsible of me. Sir."

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Burn. You're saying all the right things so I will leave you alone."

"Yes, sir."

"I can read your mind, you know."

"Yes sir."

"I have to tell you – you're the most frustrating of all _Gifters_. You break every single rule and you never listen. I'm sick of this."

"Sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

"Aaaarrrggghhh!" he cries as he vanishes.

Thank you, Genie, for leaving.

He reappears. "I heard that! You're making fun of me, calling me Genie."

"Sorrry, sorry, sorry, sorry!"

He vanishes again. I pull down my eye-mask and snore like Mrs. Tyson's Doberman.

Chapter Twenty-Four

I'm surprised to see him at the pizzeria, sitting at one of my tables – alone. Perhaps he changed his mind about Brody? I walk up to him, feeling nervous, not knowing what to expect.

When he sees me, he smiles. A sheepish smile. Again, he's wearing a long-sleeve black shirt, dark jeans, dreads tied back, and a stud in his ear. He has no other jewelry on.

"What's your pleasure, sir?" I ask notepad and pencil in hand.

You.

I smile.

"What do I have to do to get you to get on the bar and do a Coyote Ugly for me?"

I look at the ceiling, then at him. "You'd have to dance with me."

"No way!" he laughs. "I'll just have a beer."

"What kind of beer, sir?"

He narrows his eyes at me. "You choose. Impress me."

"O ... kay. One ginger beer coming up."

"Ginger beer? What the fuck?!"

"And how would you like your ginger beer, sir? Rare, medium-rare, well done ...?"

"Lemmee think ...on a long body shot."

I giggle and walk away to fetch the beer. When I return, it's with an icy-cold Stella Artois and the entire staff.

His eyes flit around. "What the ...?"

To his absolute horror, we clap and sing Happy Birthday to him.

He sinks lower into his seat and eventually puts his hand over his eyes. "Burn, I'm gonna fucking kill you!" he mutters as Tong Carlos and Madonna link arms and dance around.

My response is to "Yip! Yip!"

"Hooray!" they chorus.

When they leave, he tries to glare at me and fails. "I'm gonna get you back for this," he warns, sinking further into his chair. "I promise."

"Whaddyamean? You want them to sing in Chinese? I can arrange ..."

"No!"

"Okay, okay!"

"So, what are you doing here?"

He shrugs. "Was in the neighborhood. 'Sides, you promised me a drink and ..."

"Ah."

"It's my birthday on Saturday and I'm having it at _Danes_. I'd like you to come."

I wasn't expecting him to invite me to a party.

"I want you to come. Bring your friends too."

" _Danes_? Bring my friends? Wow! Really? Man, am I impressed!"

He nods. "I'll send a car for you guys."

My jaw drops. He'll send a car! This is just too good to be true. Hang on, I'm underage. Has he forgotten? _Danes_ won't allow me in.

"What? You need a written invitation or something?'

I shake my head. "Only one problem – my age. I tried to get fake IDs, but the guy stiffed us for our money and ..."

"Why ya trippin'? Just be there. I got it covered."

"Whaaaaat?!" I feel faint with excitement. "You can get us in? Really?"

"Really."

"I ..." Wow! My friends will worship me for life if I can get them into _Danes_. How do I pass on it?

I look at him with one eye closed. "What's the catch?"

"Catch?" He thinks about it. "One body shot."

"Fuck off."

He laughs. "I'm kidding!"

"No strings attached?"

"None whatsoever. But ...this ..." He wags his finger between us, "it don't count as a date. We straight?"

I nod. "We straight." Hell, the dude's getting us into _Danes_ – no more trippin' from me.

"Say yes."

I smile. "Yes!"

His turn to smile. "Cool." He looks pleased.

****

Overnight, because I'm getting into _Danes_ , I've achieved celebrity status at school.

News of Trojan taking me and my girls out on Saturday night to _Danes_ has gone viral and everyone wants to suddenly talk to me, wants to invite me to parties and wants to be my friend. Even Kate Spelling, Brittany and gang try to wrangle invites out of me.

But fuck them – I take my three best friends as well as Harjoon and Fung.

I take the boys because they are so excited about our good fortune and nobody ever invites them to parties. Plus, I like them, I trust them. They like me, they can trust me. Guess we're real friends.

"Now remember, HarLo, bring your asthma pump and Fung, don't use the word 'fucking' unless it's a verb."

"What?" Confusion reigns in Fung's face and his eyes turns to slits, smaller slits, that is, as he stares at me.

"Never mind, Fung, just no headbands."

"What about Justin ...?"

"No, no, no! Not even JB."

To get me looking half decent, we go shoplifting. Eh, shop _ping_. I score a luck – I get a slinky black mini with a black and silver corset-style top for ...nothing. How lucky am I?

Shoes are a problem. I don't have enough money to buy a pair right now. So I decide to pinch Daisy's when she's not looking. To ensure she doesn't wear them, I put them into a bag and hand them to Tina with instructions for her to bring them the night of the party.

As if I'm handing her the latest unreleased Breaking Dawn, Part Twelve book or something, she holds the bag containing the shoes close to her chest and says, "Burn, I will guard them with my life."

There is so much excitement among us and in class. Everyone seems excited for us. Except Nick.

"I didn't expect you to start dating him, you know," he says, sounding really pissed.

"It's not a date," I say.

"It is a date, Burn. And he's doing it to get back at my brother."

"So what? I'm using him too – to get into _Danes_. Works both ways. No biggie."

"It's a fucking big biggie!" he snarls.

"Hey! What the hell is your problem, Nick? I'm not going out with Brody? Duh!"

"Yeah. He's just what you need. Have fun. Give him a good BJ and you'll become a back-up dancer for 50 cents by Monday."

"Fuck you, Nick!"

"Slip you a roofie and you're good to go."

"Go fuck yourself!" I say and storm off.

I'm pissed off with Nick for saying all those mean things. But his words bother me and put a damper on things. Sure Trojan is using me to get back at Brody. He's made it clear from the beginning. I accepted the terms, so what the hell?

And where is Brody right now? Probably with Alicia.

Fuck them all. I've got one chance to get into _Danes_ and I'm taking it.

Fuck everybody.

****

We're all in my house, loading on the bronzer and fighting over the bathroom mirror. We're all channeling some celebrity – Sultana's going for Kelly Osborne, (the one on Fashion Police, not the one on the Osborne's years ago). Laura's going for Taylor Swift, Tina's going for Eva Longoria and I look like ... well, I don't know. I haven't channeled anyone; I just make do with what I got. But I think I look good and most importantly, I _feel_ good. Even more importantly, I'm looking twenty-something which is a huge plus.

Also fighting for the mirror are Fung and Harjoon. Both take turns to stand in front of the mirror, narrow their eyes at the handsome dude looking back at them with equally narrow eyes, then strike different poses. Although both will deny it – we suspect they're channeling Justin Beiber.

Fung is dressed (as per my strict orders) in a black shirt and regular black pants. No colorful, weird clothes tonight. His hair is flat though, so Carlene puts down her glass of Bacardi and steps in to lend a hand. She adjusts his hair to a mini Mohawk in no time. He's thrilled with it – very Karate Kid.

He's also our lookout for the cab Trojan's sending over, which we're all gonna have to squeeze into, as none of us have dough for a cab.

Harjoon wears a white shirt with a pair of brown jeans and he too looks fairly presentable. His hair gel is minimal and I'm happy with that. Carlene pulls and tugs until he too gets a spiky look. He just loves it and he can't stop grinning at my aunt.

I get cheesed off when I hear him say that Carlene is hot.

"Remember now, Harjoon, don't use the 'n' word ever, even when _they_ use it, okay?" I warn. I don't want some dude to knock his lights out for using that word.

"Got it." He pulls out his phone-cam. "Can all you bitches hang around me so I can post this on Facebook?"

"Okay, sure, but lose the 'bitches'," I say.

"No, no! I want you bitches in the photos."

Never mind.

I round up the other "bitches" and we drape ourselves around him for the photos, which he immediately posts, hoping Sunita is logged onto Facebook.

Next, it's Fung's turn. We do the same for him and he too posts it on Facebook.

Then we all take photos and have fun posing for them. The kids at school are going to be green with envy when we brag on Facebook. For once it's others who are envious of me and it's a greeeeaaat feeling!

"You sure we don't have to pay for the cab?" Laura says.

"I ... I don't think he'd expect us to," I say feeling unsure.

"What about club fees?" Sultana asks. "You sure he's not gonna be cheap ass and expect us to have to pay entry fees?"

I shrug. "Hope not."

"Drinks?" Tina asks. "Do we buy our own or will he ...?"

"Look, guys, I'm not sure, but we get to see inside of _Danes_ and ..."

Suddenly, Fung goes ballistic. "Islimoo! Islimoo! Islimoo!" he screams and jumps up and down.

We stop with our bronzing and exchange confused glances, then peer at him.

"I think he's talking Chinese," Sultana says.

"Islam ...Islamic, perhaps?" Laura says, her eyes scanning his face.

"No, no Chinese, not Islamic!" he cries, battling to contain himself. "Is ... lim ... oo ... out ... side!"

I cock my head. "Out ...?"

We all dart outside and gasp. There is a limo in our driveway. A _stretch_ limo!

"Ohmigod!" we chorus and jump up and down with Fung like morons.

"He's trying so hard to impress you!" Sultana says.

"Boy is he succeeding!" I cry.

Neighbors stream out of their houses to see the limo, while Carlene, Daisy and Lanie look like they sucked on a slice of lemon without the tequila.

The closest I can come to a limo is to be knocked down by one, so I'm like, super impressed and thrilled. Absolutely thrilled.

The limo driver greets us cordially, introduces himself as Gus, and ushers us into the limo.

"I can't believe Trojan sent us a limo!" I whisper. "I was expecting a cab."

"Well, if he expects us to pay for this limo," Laura says, "he's gonna have to wait a lifetime."

"Don't worry, I will issue him with an IOU," I say. "I'm an expert at issuing them."

Before we get into the limo, we do what probably every teenager would do – we take more photos next to the limo then Twitter like crazy.

We take photos outside the limo, then _getting_ into the limo, then _inside_ the limo, then of each other inside the limo, then of ...well, we go crazy with our cameras.

"Sorry, Gus," I say. "It's _their_ first time in a limo." No need to declare that it's my first time as well.

"Sure, miss. No problem at all. Take all the photos you need."

Finally, we're on our way. I reach into a bag, take out Daisy's shoes and slip them on. Perfect!

"Help yourselves to drinks," Gus says.

There's all kinds of hard stuff in the bar so we look at each other, unable to believe what Gus just said. Unable to believe that nobody's asking us for our ID. And, of course, after a nanosecond of hesitation, we help ourselves to drinks. It's so much fun, and of course, we take photos of ourselves drinking.

"Don't post these guys or we're gonna get in trouble for underage drinking," Laura says.

We all post it.

"Got the gift?" Laura asks.

I nod and point to my bag. I managed to get Trojan a black and silver thick hoop earring. It's pretty and fashionable and ...cheap. But it's all I could manage on my "no-string" budget.

By the time we reach Danes, we're a little warm in the toes. As we pull up at the entrance to the club, I see Trojan standing at the entrance with two girls, deep in conversation. When he sees us, he rushes over to open the door for me.

"You look great," he whispers in my ears. I get a whiff of his aftershave. Nice.

"Thank you. You look good too," I say a little shyly. "Where's ...?"

"She's abroad, so don't worry."

"Good. I didn't feel like having a punch-on tonight. Unless I get paid for it."

"Ha ha!"

I introduce everyone to him, before he leads us in. He takes my hand in his as we walk. From the corner of my eye, I see my girls nudging each other at the sight of him holding my hand. I feel awkward and think about shrugging off his hand, but I don't 'cause Trojan seems a little nervous; like he's trying to make a good impression. He needn't worry; he had me at the "Islimoo!"

He leads me over to a group of guys and girls and introduces everyone to me. Compared to the women he introduces me to, I look like I'm going to Mass. They're dressed in the skimpiest of clothes, lots of make-up, false eyelashes, glitter on their faces and body and they look amazing. Very _Jersey Shore,_ but not so Guido.

When I look at my friends and the way we're dressed; sadly, Prom Night minus the corsages comes to mind.

Trojan wears a silver-grey tight-fitting Tee and charcoal-grey jeans. He looks nice, approachable. By that I mean, he's not wearing dark glasses and twenty chains around his neck like his friends are.

We hang around his friends for a little while, and I feel really uncomfortable as everyone here is so much older and so worldly. Maybe my discomfort shows, because Trojan holds my hand tighter as people stream over to us to wish Trojan happy birthday.

As I stand with him, I get the feeling I'm Trojan's date for the night. I don't see any other girls around.

"Too hood?" he whispers. My ear tingles at his warm breath.

"No, no, no, no," I lie. They're all bloody hood. And they're probably wondering what Trojan is doing with such a hillbilly.

"Hey, baby!' a woman says and plants a kiss on Dread's cheek.

'Hey!' Trojan says.

At the sight of her linking her arm to his, I shift in Daisy's tight shoes.

"Burn, meet Tia," he says. "She's my P.A. Tia meet Burn."

My eyebrows dart up. P.A?! Wow! What the fuck's a P.A?

"Well, hello there," Tia says, her almond-shaped eyes sweeping slowly over me.

"Hi, nice to meet you," I say.

Like me, she's obviously mixed. I'd say Chinese/African-American. Her skin is tanned and her hair is long and wavy. She's slim, tall and she looks older than Trojan.

She oozes confidence. She has to be – she's wearing a _white_ dress that clings to her curves. White! Her stilettos are higher than I ever dare wear and she carries a _Coach_ bag. I'm assuming it's expensive because she looks expensive. If she was on _Fashion_ _Police_ , she'd be "starlet", not "streetwalker".

Everything about her makes me look fat. Everything. She stands next to Trojan for a while, arm linked with his and talks to everyone that he talks to. Like a wife or a partner. People hug her hello and she seems to be very popular and even important. Nobody notices me. Feeling insignificant and out of place, I stand slightly behind Trojan and scan the place for my friends.

After a while, Trojan swivels to look at me. "Would you like another drink?"

"Eh, no thanks. I'm okay. You having fun?"

"Yeah. Are you?"

"Yeah. This place is awesome!"

When someone grabs his attention, Tia hones in on me. "Hey Burn, where you from?"

I tell her.

"How did the two of you meet?" she asks.

"Eh ..." I'm not sure what to say. "At my work."

She asks a lot of questions even though the music is loud and I can hardly hear her. As she does, her eyes flit all over my face, my clothes, my shoes.

"Coke?"

"Coke? Sure," I say. With all those questions, my throat feels dry.

She jerks her head for me to follow her.

"Okay," I say and turn to tell Trojan who's deep in conversation with a guy.

"Oh, don't worry," she says. "He won't miss you. He's too busy to miss all his girls."

_All his girls_. Wow! He must have a lot of girls. She takes my hand and negotiates our way through the sea of bodies. A lot of effort just for a Coke. As she moves, she greets and is greeted by everyone and I'm impressed at how popular she is. Some of the girls she talks to follow us and soon I find myself in the ladies bathroom with four of her size zero friends.

In the bathroom, we freshen our make-up and fuss over our hair. Then she pulls out a packet of white powder from her bag. I watch her whip out a mirror, tip some powder on it and chop it up into a line.

Cocaine! I've never seen someone do it and I'm both fascinated and uncomfortable.

She rolls up a bank note, blocks a nostril and inhales through the note. After she finishes, she sniffs hard and holds out the note to me.

I look at the bank note as if it's gonna sting me. "Oh, no ... no ... no thanks. No thank you."

Weed is one thing, but hard stuff is a no-no for me.

All the girls look at me with big eyes.

"You don't want it?" Tia asks, sniffing and wiping her nose with her palm.

I give a dismissive wave.

"I thought you said you wanted some."

"Yes, but I ..." Suddenly, I'm embarrassed. How could I have been so dumb?

After exchanging surprised looks between themselves, one of her friends, a Kiera Knightly look-alike (size zero too) but with an orange face, rolls her eyes, snatches the note and inhales.

I stand on the sides and shift in Daisy's tight shoes as they get high.

Finally, we leave and they all dance their way out of there. Dance, twirl, shout out and become very confident and happy.

Tia links her arm in mine. "I must take you shopping," she says, her eyes flitting over my cheap clothes.

Shopping with her? Not a chance. "Oh no, I have no ... I'm a student and ..."

"It's all on me. Or should I say, Trojan?"

"Oh, really? Wow, thanks." She's nice.

"So, are you and Trojan an item?"

"Eh, no ...no ..."

"Really?" she frowns. "And he invited you here? To meet all his friends? It don't make no sense, girl."

"We're eh, just friends. I'm seventeen ..."

"You're _seventeen_! Do you know how old Trojan is ...?"

"Yeah, he's old – I think twenty-two ...?"

"That's old?" she laughs and looks at all her friends. They all laugh.

"Come dance with us." Tia says.

I dance for a while, but they are so confident and so happy and so outgoing, that I feel uncomfortable with them. When they start to kiss each other with tongue, I hightail it out of there. Not my scene.

After a while, Trojan finds me and leads me to a booth where we sit and try to talk. He scans my face as if he's looking for something.

"What?"

He doesn't answer.

"I didn't do _stuff_ ," I say.

"You didn't?"

I shake my head. "I'm not into that."

He exhales. "Really?" He seems relieved.

"Do you?"

It's a while before he answers. "Sometimes."

His answer disappoints me. I'm not into druggies. Yeah, I know what you're thinking – I'm a pothead. I am, I am. Yet, I have double standards. I suck, I know. "Tonight?"

He smiles and shakes his head. "Relax," is all he says.

"Ok ...ay."

We smile at each other.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," he says.

"Anything going on between you and Tia?"

"Nope. Nothing at all."

I run my lip over my bottom lip. "Nothing?"

"Not a single thing."

"Not even in the past?"

He shakes his head. "We work together. I try not to mix business with pleasure."

I believe him. I mean, I have to – I don't know how to tell if someone is lying. His face scans mine. "Any _other_ questions?"

"Nah. Hey, I have a present for you!"

'You do?" His eyes light up.

"Yeah," I say, fishing into my purse. "Just a little something. _Really_ little." I remove the gift-wrapped box and hand it to him.

With a smile, he tears off the wrapper. "Ah, this is cool!" he says. "Put it on for me."

"Okay." I move closer to him, reach up and remove his diamond stud from his ear and replace it with my cheap earring. We're in each other's personal space and I'm feeling very shy suddenly. Am I glad I stole Lanie's perfume – at least I smell nice.

"Done," I say and bring out my compact mirror. "Take a look."

He admires it for a moment (or pretends to admire it) then says, "I like it."

I reach over, adjust it and then, out of habit, gently rub the ear. "That's better," I whisper.

We smile at each other.

"There you are!" Tia's voice booms.

Trojan and I jerk apart from each other.

She and her four coke-heads join us and become loud.

"What the hell is that on your ear?" Tia asks, squinting at his earlobe.

"Burn bought me a present," Trojan says in a voice full of pride.

Tia's jaw drops. "And you took out your diamond earring for ... _that_?"

Diamond? Shit, I feel so bad! "Hey, you don't have to wear it," I quickly say. "I mean, like, it's ..." With a groan, I reach over to take out my crappy earring.

He grabs my arm. "Don't you dare," he says. "I like it. A lot."

Tia laughs loudly. "Aaaawww! So polite, Trojan."

He keeps my arm longer than necessary. I smile and hang my head.

"Check this out," Tia says straddling a chair, unconcerned that we can see her crotch. "Burn says you're too old for her." She throws her head back and laughs. Everyone laughs with her. Except Trojan and I.

Shit!

Trojan peers at me. "I'm too old?"

"No, no, I ...!" More groaning on my part. "What I meant is ..." I run my hand slowly over my face and look at him through the slit in my fingers.

"Relax!" Tia says. "You're way too uptight, Miss _seventeen_."

Again, everyone finds everything really funny and laughs out loud. My face burns and I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole. At the same time, I feel like throwing my drink in her face.

As if he's reading my mind, Trojan puts his hand on my hand that has my drink. "Ignore them," he whispers. Probably remembering me throwing my drink at Overdone Barbie.

I put my head close to his. "Do you wanna dance, Trojan? Lose the coke-heads?"

"I don't dance," he says.

"You don't – not even breakdance? Dougie? Pop, lock and drop? Line dancing?"

He shakes his head and smiles.

"Not even after five drinks?"

He shakes his head.

"Do you sing, rap?"

He hesitates, then shakes his head again.

I look at him with eyebrows raised. "Not even karaoke?"

He chuckles. "Nope."

"What kind of a black dude are you? You're a disgrace to all black men."

He takes me into a playful headlock. Although he's touching me, I don't mind.

I laugh and he releases me. When I look around me, all five of the coke-heads are staring silently at us. Tia's lips are a thin line.

I stand up. "Have to go check on my girlfriends."

He nods, an amused look on his face.

I rush over to my normal, sane, equally hillbilly friends.

"This place is awesome," Sultana says, shaking her booty. "The guys are hoooot!"

"I've got so many numbers," Tina says, waving her phone at me.

I look at Laura. "How 'bout you?"

She shakes her head. "No, I'm too shy." She hunches further.

"Where's Fung and Harjoon?" I ask.

"There!" They point to the dance floor where Harjoon is grinding with some drunk chick, while Fung is doing it Gangnam Style for about four drunk chicks. Their grins are the biggest I've ever seen.

"Let's join them!" I shout. We get on the floor and dance seven songs in a row.

Nick's words about BJs and roofies ring in my ears, so I don't drink alcohol, just Coke (cola, not caine) and I watch over my girlfriends. Luckily, we have no incidents.

Trojan is a gentleman, and at the end of the evening, he and a few friends ride back with us in the islimoo.

He lifts my hair and whispers in my ears, "Saturday, 7:30."

I turn my neck to look at him. "What?"

"Dinner."

"Ah. Okay."

When they drop us off, I give Trojan a kiss on the cheek. He seems amused which makes me think I shouldn't have.

Since the girls, Fung, and Harjoon are staying over, we pull an all-nighter and have fun on Twitter, Facebook and even post videos on YouTube.

What a fun evening.

"So, what's with you and Trojan?" Laura asks, removing her eye-make up. "You falling for him or something?"

"What? No!"

"Well, you two sure were cozy tonight – you putting earrings on for him and giving him a kiss ..."

"On the cheek, Laura. I kissed him on the cheek. No big deal."

"You sure?" Sultana says. "You too were like, smiling and looking deep into each other's eyes and it was like you're one step away from hooking up with him. "

"Absolutely not!" I cry.

"How could you guys even think like that? Me and Trojan ...it's crazy."

"Just remember who he is and who you are," Laura warns.

"Yeah, he's a thug," Sultana says.

"Who got us into _Danes_ ," Tina says.

"Mm." I fall silent, then kill the room lights.

In the recesses of my mind, I feel a little mad at them for running him down like that. I think of the hundred dollar tip, the way he's changed his style of dressing to please me, how he lost his thuggish friends so as not to scare me off, the way he got us into _Danes_ , the fact that he hasn't touched me or been in any way forward, and I think to myself that they don't realize just how he's changed since he met me.

Then I think about his indecent proposal and I have to admit – he is after all a thug. The girls may be right about him.

The girls _are_ right about him. I should do my best to stay away from him.

"Although, I must admit, he's starting to look hotter every time I see him," Tina says in a sleepy voice.

"True," Sultana says. "I was thinking the same thing tonight when we pulled up outside the club."

Mff.

After our bragging on Facebook by means of evidential photos, we become minor celebrities at school and we get a lot of attention. Best of all, we get invited to some parties we never thought we'd be invited to.

Life is cool!

Chapter Twenty-Five

We gather in Fung's apartment, our eyes bulging with wonder, respect and utter amazement.

There are weed plants under lights everywhere! Along the walls on top of cupboards, on the sink. Fung is a genius.

"Have we died and gone to weed heaven?" Laura whispers.

"Four different kinds, fucking," Fung boasts. "I grow it quickly under lights. Use science. Keep turning it auntyclockwise, every week. Then auntyclockwise again. LED – means Light Emitting Diode. Light produced by passing a current through semi-conductor ..."

"Never mind all that, Fung, let's just spark up!" I say. Don't ever get Fung started.

And spark up we do.

As usual, Fung asks the all-important question at the end of each "party" – "Do you want to have relations with me, fucking?"

And as usual, we all respectfully decline even though we ate up his crisps and drank up his Coke. But we didn't touch his octopus as we didn't like what the octopus did to Steve Irwin.

Thereafter, Fung rises to cult status among all of us and to others, and he's invited to a lot of parties. Providing he provides the weed, of course, which he's happy to do.

He always takes his "crew", which thankfully includes my girls and me. So again we attend parties we wouldn't normally get invited to, which is pretty cool.

At one of these parties, I run into Brody and Alicia.

"Hi," he says, appearing equally taken aback to see me.

Alicia smiles.

"Hi," I say, shocked to see him, to see them. The porcupines in my chest nestle deep into my heart.

For a few moments we all stand in awkward silence.

Then Kate and Nick show up.

"Isn't there a restraining order in place here?" Kate says.

None of us answer.

"One of you has to leave," she continues, her voice dripping with glee.

Since my mood is already ruined at the sight of the two of them, I decide it will be me. Without a word, I turn and walk out of the house. I'll text my friends later that I've left.

As I walk to the gate, Brody runs after me. "Burn!"

I walk faster, not in any mood to talk to him.

"Don't try to outrun me," he says, falling into step with me. "That would be a futile attempt." His voice is light. "Impossible, actually."

I'm now on the street and walking briskly towards my house.

He races in front of me and blocks my path. "Don't you know I'm the fastest runner in Emhart County?"

With a small smile, I move to the left; he moves to the left.

I move to the right; he moves to the right.

"Brody, please!"

"I'll drive you home."

"No need. I'll walk. It's just around the corner. Go back inside and have fun with your blue-eyed, blonde, socially acceptable girlfriend, Brody." Brushing past him, I stride on.

He ignores my bitterness and falls back in step with me. "I miss you."

With my eyes on the ground, I continue walking.

He steps in front of me again and I collide into him. He puts both hands on my shoulders. "Let's elope. You and me, tonight. Let's just go, Burn." His voice is pleading. "I miss you."

"This is hard for me too, Brody," I say, choking on my words. "I miss you too."

With a sad smile, he takes me in his arms and holds me tight. I let him. To be in his arms again, to bask in his scent, to hear him say my name, I want to stay here and never let go of him.

When he kisses me, I'm ashamed to say, I don't stop him. But when his kisses intensify, I wriggle out of his embrace.

He grabs my arm and jerks me back to him. I try to shrug off his arm, but he holds on.

At that moment, two cop cars pull up. Thinking that we're in a fight they take us aside, check both our IDs, then cuff Brody.

"No!" I cry, "Why you doing that?"

"He's violated the restraining order," the cop says.

"No, he didn't!"

Suddenly hoards of people from the party run up to us.

"He didn't!" I plead. "Please, it was my fault. All of it. Please don't do this to him."

"Stand back!" the officer snaps. "He has no right to put his hands on you."

"He didn't!"

Alicia runs up to me and grabs my arm. "What have you done?"

I shrug off her arm and turn to the cop. "Please don't do this to him. I'm at fault."

"You stand back or I'll arrest you too," the cranky cop warns.

With tears running down my face, I watch helplessly as the cop throws Brody into the back of the cop car.

My friends surround me and try to comfort me.

"Brody, I'm sorry!" I yell. "Brody, I didn't ..."

"Not your fault, Burn," Brody mouths and smiles at me.

"Let's get you out of here," Harjoon says and leads me home.

As I stumble home, a feeling of utter desolateness overcomes me.

How could this have happened? Brody is going to jail. How can I blame him for hating me after this?

The next day I find out that because of what I said to the cops, they didn't charge Brody with anything and he was released hours later.

I'm relieved. Totally.

But the rest of the week is like Monday.

****

I'm dressing for my dinner date with Trojan. Maybe this is what I need – guys in my life to stop me thinking about Brody. Ever since his arrest I've been morose.

"Tonight, I'm going to have fun," I tell the girl in the mirror. Carlene's home, so she's watching Angel and Bobby's leaving pretty soon. No reason for me not to have a good time and rid myself of all Brody McGraw thoughts.

As I step out of my room, I gasp at what I see. Angel sits on Bobby's lap while he attempts to braid her hair, cigarette in mouth.

Horror like I've never felt before torrents over me. "Angel! What you DOING?" I'm unable to fight the hysteria in my voice.

Angel shrinks back from me, confusion and fear in her eyes. "Bobby says he's gonna make me a fish braid, Burn. That's all."

Shaking, I walk up to them, grab her arm, jerk her out of his lap and march her off to my room.

"Aw c'mon, sweetpea," Bobby says. "I was really enjoying that." His voice is so meaningful and so revolting, that I whirl around and glare at him.

"What? I like braiding hair. It's relaxing. Like knitting. I can braid your hair too. Come sit on my lap." He taps his crotch and wriggles his eyebrows.

"Go fuck yourself!" I hiss.

"Okay. You'll come with me when I do it, sweetpea?"

"You dirty old man!"

"Dirty? Then you should wash me, sweetpea."

I groan and storm off.

In our room, I sit Angel down on my bed and wave my finger at her. "Angel, listen ... listen carefully now ..." Shit! How do I say this to a nine-year-old? "He's ... Bobby – Angel, he's not a good man and I don't want you _anywhere_ near him."

"No, Burn, you're wrong," she says, "He's nice to me. He lets me play with his lighter and he tells me funny stories and ..."

"Angel!" I grab her arm so hard, she looks at me with frightened eyes.

I fight to regain my composure and say, "Look, Angel, he's not nice and I worry about you so you have to listen to me when I tell you that you are not to ..."

To my chagrin, she puts her hands over her ears.

For a few moments, I just stare at Angel, not knowing what to do. I mean, Bobby's pretty drunk right now and doesn't appear to be going anywhere. How can I possibly leave Angel here and go off?

Even though I'm fully dressed, I have no choice but to cancel my date with Trojan. Yes, it's gonna piss him off but ...

I text him. _Gonna have 2 take a raincheck sorry really sorry._

He doesn't respond.

I sit with my head in my hands, helplessness washing over me. The situation with Bobby is getting from bad to worse and I can do jack about it. Myself I can handle, but Angel? She's so vulnerable and innocent.

At 7:30 PM Trojan rocks up at my door, looking, as you may have guessed, pissed. I meet him at the entrance, but I don't invite him in.

"Oh, so you're all dressed, then?" His voice accusing.

I nod solemnly.

"You blowing me off for white boy?" His anger is unmistakable.

"No, Trojan, I'm not!"

"We had a deal. Now the deal's off." He turns and strides off. _Fuck you for fucking with me._

"Trojan! Wait!" I run after him, grab his arm. "Okay, I'm gonna come clean with you, okay?"

He looks pointedly at his arm. I drop it.

"Look, my aunt, she was supposed to watch Angel, my li'l sister, but now... her boyfriend's here and like, he's drunk and probably high and I don't feel comfortable leaving my nine-year-old-sister with him in the house and ..." My shoulders slump. "I don't know what to do. He hits on me all the time and like, I worry he'll do the same to her when I'm not here and I'm sorry, I really am, but I have no choice. I mean, I'm all dressed and stuff as you can see, but ..."

"I don't know if I believe you," he says, his narrow eyes scanning my flushed face.

I flex my fingers at him and walk back into my house. He follows me in.

"Carlene!" I call. "Come meet my date."

She's at my side faster than Hawk appears. "Well, hello there!" she coos as her eyes sweep over him.

I make introductions and call Angel in as well.

Then as predicted, Bobby appears, shirtless, flushed-face, with a beer bottle in one hand and cigarette in the other.

"Meet my _Uncle_ Bobby," I say with great gusto. After that I fold my arms across my chest and give Trojan a now-do-you-believe-me? look.

After greeting everyone, he looks at me with what I think is concern in his eyes. He drops his voice and leans towards me. "Okay, I get. So, bring Angel with."

"What? On a date?"

"Not a date date. We'll change things around. Hey, I don't feel comfortable leaving you and Angel here with him anyway."

My mind races. If I take Angel, I keep the date with him so he's not pissed off. If I say "no" he might not like it.

"Okay." I run off to get Angel to take her on my first date with Trojan. She's excited, I'm relieved, Trojan's anger has vanished – paradise.

We climb into his Escalade. "Nice wheels," I say.

Can your white boy match this?

I smile to myself. "Does it come in pink?"

"Thanks," he says in a casual voice. "I doubt it."

He drives us to a stately home in Breiton, an upscale neighborhood in California, a few miles from where we live. The house we walk into is nothing like I expected.

I expected a den of a house, with a recording studio and a stripper's pole in the center of the lounge where about fifty dancers in gold bikinis lie around sipping on Cristal and bobbing to T.I and Tupac.

What I see is a modern home with a massive, marbled entrance-hall where a huge water fountain dominates.

We walk down three stairs to a living room that looks like it's straight out of a décor magazine – plush, off-white leather couches and black and silver blingy cushions. A black and silver rug in the center of the room matches a painting on the wall. It has beautiful green plants and tasteful décor pieces throughout. It's like Brody's house, but a lot flashier and definitely more expensive, I'm sure. In fact, now that I have seen this house, I plan to have something just like this for Angel and me one day.

Angel nudges me. "I love this place, Burn."

I nod and put my finger over my lips. Gotta play it cool – can't let him know how impressed we are.

No rap music, no bongs, no semi-nude girls, no stripper's pole. To date it's the most homely house I've ever been to.

Brody's house was more a showpiece, but this house is a home, especially since I notice children's toys strewn around and the smell of food wafting from the kitchen. I love the warmth of it already.

"You married or something?"

He rolls his eyes.

"Yeah," he whispers. "I'm adding you to my harem."

"Wow, a black sheik. Will wonders never cease?"

We walk into the kitchen where he introduces us to Sofia, a beautiful Puerto Rican with long, dark hair and a soft friendly voice. Then we're introduced to Riann, his ten-year-old niece. Of course within minutes Riann and Angel are friends.

"You must stay for dinner," Sofia says. "Grover is on his way and I have so much food cooked." She and I look at Trojan.

He shrugs at me, eyebrows raised.

"Only if you do the cooking," I say.

"Yeah, right," Sofia says. "Trojan will cook. Right."

We all laugh.

"I can if it's a matter of life and death," he says.

"Eh, it will be a matter of life and death if you cook," Sofia says. "Burn, I am making chiiiili. You like chiiiili?"

"Sure, I love chili and I would love to stay for dinner," I say. It's been a while since I had my taste buds scorched.

"Okay, great. While I finish up here, show her around – the recording studio – all the stuff Grover showed me when he was trying to impress me." She shoos us off.

Trojan takes my hand. "Come, let me show off."

"A recording studio, huh? Do you have a disco ball there?"

"Of course."

I am already impressed so there is no need for him to show off. The walls of the studio are adorned with photos of Grover with celebrities -- Michael Jackson, Puffy, Obama, LA Reid, Jay-Z, Mother Theresa, Princess Diana and many other famous people in and out of the music industry.

"Wow!" I say, impressed like hell.

Bet white boy can't match this.

God! Trojan has such a massive chip on his shoulder!

There's also a huge bookshelf with a ton of books. "Sofia," Trojan explains. "She used to be a preschool teacher and she likes to read."

"Ah." A preschool teacher. Not a backup dancer or something.

We come across a water fountain where we sit across each other and talk.

"What's the deal with you and white boy?" he asks.

I tell him briefly, then say, "Can we not talk about him?"

"Okay. So Carlene ...?"

I explain who she is and who Bobby is.

"You shouldn't be living there," he says.

"I know. Can't wait till I'm eighteen," I say. "Then I'm outta there."

"A lot of things are going to happen when you turn eighteen, huh?" His eyes dance as he looks at me.

I blush and look away. "Shouldn't we help Sofia?"

He nods and takes my hand again.

Grover is an older, more mature version of Trojan. Thirtyish, he's calmer, intelligent and very observant. I catch him sizing me up from the corner of his eyes but I don't mind – I really have nothing to hide. He's really loving towards Sofia and I dig that.

We have a great time talking and laughing and I feel really comfortable with him and Sofia.

"You are the first girl Trojan has ever brought to my house," Sofia says.

Surprised, I look at Trojan.

He shrugs. _So what? So what? It's no biggie._

I think it is a biggie.

After dinner, I help Sofia with the dishes. Thereafter she shows me some family photos.

"Where's a baby photo of Trojan?" I ask. "Quick, show me!"

"He doesn't have any."

"What do you mean?" How can anyone not have any baby pictures of themselves?

She pauses with her photo flipping and looks at me. "Burn, when you grow up on the streets, all you have is the clothes you wear and, usually, a knife or a gun."

I cock my head and look at her. "Trojan grew up on the streets?"

She nods. "Him _and_ Grover."

"Wow! Can't believe it. They're both so well put together. I mean, look at this house – it's amazing. And Trojan's car ... you sure about their ...?"

She nods, her full lips turning downwards. "They're a sad story. Maybe one day he will tell you about it."

Trojan re-enters the room and she falls silent.

When it's time to leave, I give them all hugs and thank them for the lovely evening. "I really had a great time," I say, meaning it.

"You come anytime," Sofia says. "Come without Trojan too."

On the way back home, I can't help comparing Trojan with Brody. They are so very different in every way, yet I feel comfortable with Trojan and his family. With Brody, I feel really close to him and I trust him, but I really dislike his family.

I turn to look at Trojan. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

I smile at him and touch his arm. "You're not that hood, after all."

His turn to smile.

He walks Angel and me to the door. Inside, Carlene's asleep, while Bobby's in the living room watching TV by himself. He's still shirtless.

The moment Angel's out of sight, Trojan walks up to Bobby, lifts him to his feet and slams his fist into his stomach. So hard, Bobby falls on his face and gulps at the cigarette-smoke-filled air in the room.

I gasp. "Trojan!"

"Get up, Eric," Trojan says.

"I'm ...not ...Er ...ic," Bobby splutters, still on the floor.

"What?" Trojan hoists him to his feet and punches him again.

This time Bobby falls to the ground and doesn't move.

"Trojan, what the fuck?" I whisper.

He ignores me. "C'mon, Eric," he says to Bobby.

"I'm ...not ...Er ...ic," Bobby whispers after a while.

"Oh, you're not?" Trojan reaches down and hoists Bobby to his feet. "Sorry, mistaken identity. Sorry."

I watch with both hands pasted over my mouth, my eyes the size of the ashtray on the table.

Trojan sits Bobby on a chair and pats his head. "Sorry, I mistook you for someone who was fucking around with my gal here. Know what I'm saying?"

"Not ... me," Bobby whispers, both hands on his stomach.

"Okay," Trojan says. "Sorry then." He sounds anything but sorry.

Realizing that he's probably not going to be punched again, Bobby slowly straightens up. "Your gal?"

"Yeah, both of them. Watch over them, will ya?"

Bobby nods, fear in his eyes.

Trojan reaches for his wallet, pulls out a couple of bills and throws them at Bobby. "For the mistaken identity bit. Buy yourself a bottle of whisky, okay?"

Bobby's fear vanishes like magic – he gathers the money, counts it and then breaks into a massive smile. "Hey, sure, no problem, man, I mean dwaaaag."

I'm too flabbergasted to say anything.

Trojan starts to leave. I follow him outside. We look at each other.

"What the fuck, Trojan?"

"Relax, it's my way of dealing with things."

"But, Trojan ..."

He stabs me on the shoulder with his index finger. "Nothing's gonna happen after this. Count on it, okay?"

I just stare at him.

"If ever you need help, call me. Doesn't matter what time it is."

Again, all I can manage is a stare.

He takes my face in his hands, plants a brief, but firm kiss on my lips without asking if he can, then hurries away.

At his car, he turns, looks at me, then winks.

I manage a smile.

He smiles, then gets into the car.

As I stand and watch his four-wheel-drive disappear around the corner, I think how nice it is to have someone to help Angel and me. It's actually a nice feeling to be able to share the problem I had with someone capable and strong. Someone who can do something about it. Someone who isn't afraid to do something about it.

It's all very seductive and I feel ... seduced.

Pity he's only doing all this to get back at Brody.

I touch my lips with my fingers. I can still feel the imprint of his firm kiss on my lips.

I smile to myself.

When I walk back inside, Bobby does not look at me. In fact, he leaves me alone after that. What a relief. It's like I can breathe again.

Thank you, thug Trojan!

****

Word about my date with Trojan Catrell gets round pretty quickly.

In class everyone looks at me, some horrified, some intrigued, some fascinated, Miss Moss walks in. "What is going on?" she asks. Poor Miss Moss, nobody bothers to answer her.

The reactions to my date with Trojan are as follows:

"You took your sister to a drug dealer's house? Are you crazy?"

Miss Moss puts both her hands over her mouth as the questions fly.

"Did she witness any selling of drugs?"

"Did he offer you any drugs?"

"Did he offer your sister any drugs?"

"Was there a stripper's pole around?"

"Did you see his gun collection?"

"Were there a whole lot of girls lying around drugged out of their minds?"

Did he suggest a threesome?

What the hell? I scan the room looking for the voice that dares utters those words.

"Did he demand sex?"

"How many stolen vehicles were there?"

"Have you called Crimestoppers for the reward?"

Miss Moss rests one butt cheek on the desk and listens in, her eyes as big as saucers.

"Guys, guys, guys! There were no drugs, he didn't sell any in front of me. (Don't want to disappoint them completely by saying it didn't seem like he's a drug dealer.) He was nice to Angel, a gentleman to me, and no question of a threesome; he scared the shit out of Bobby and no, I'm not calling Crimestoppers anytime soon."

"Threesome?" Bud stands to attention. "Who said anything about a threesome?" He grins at me. "Kinky, huh?"

I ignore Bud. "And, I'm going out again with him on Saturday."

"But why?" Miss Moss asks, her hands now on her hips.

"He's okay," I say.

Around me, looks of concern are exchanged before voices-of-reason are voiced in surround sound:

"He's used to women doing whatever he wants and he's gonna expect that of you too – use and abuse you."

"Overdone Barbie is gonna come after you with her posse and kick your fat ass."

"Fat ass?" I glare at the person uttering those words.

"Eh, I meant your great booty. JLO booty."

"Mff!"

"His friends are her friends and they will never accept you in their circles and whenever you go out, they're gonna spike your drink. Roofie you and sell you to child traffickers."

"Child traffickers? I'm almost eighteen."

"Haven't you seen, 'Taken' with Liam Neeson? That's gonna be yo ass in Dubai or whereva."

"If you're caught with a stolen car, you're going to jail too. Didn't you ever watch _Cops_?"

"You're gonna be used as a mule for his drugs and land in some prison in Bangladesh."

"Not Bangladesh, Bangkok, you dumbass."

"Oh, ok, Bangkok, then."

"Or Bali."

"Yeah, or Bali. All the countries with the letter B."

"Except Bombay."

"Yeah, except Bombay. Hey, is Bombay a country?"

"Ye ...nah, it's a ...the fuck I know."

Laura saves the day. "It's Mumbai now, I'll have you know, and it's the capital of India. A city."

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it isn't."

"Yes it iiiiiis!"

As I leave class, Nick blocks my way. "What?" I ask.

"My parents are sending Brody to Bel Air for a while."

My heart sinks. "W...why?"

"They worry he's gonna break the restraining order and get thrown in jail. Just thought I'd let you know."

"Really?" I don't know what to think. "Like, when's he leaving?"

"This evening at six."

" _This_ evening? Today?" My hands fly to my mouth. That means I will never see him again, hear his voice or be able to spy on him like I do sometimes. "W ... where's he now?"

"At home."

I nod. "Thanks for telling me, Nick."

I can't function. Guess I'm distracted by Brody's leaving. Then a couple hours later, unable to stand it, I throw caution to the wind and go to Brody's house.

I'm greeted by Dawn. "What the hell are you doing here?" Her voice is cold and hard.

"Can I see Brody, please?"

"No! Leave right now or I'll call the cops."

"Please, please!" I beg. "I just wanna say goodbye."

Alicia appears behind her. "Burn, you can't be here."

"Alicia, I just wanna say goodbye to Brody, please?"

"Um, he's not ... _available_." She holds up his cell phone, indicating that if I call, she will answer anyway.

Behind her, Dawn stands, arms folded, eyes narrow.

"I'll just be a few moments, that's all."

"I'll tell him you said goodbye," she says after a glance at Dawn's stony face. "Goodbye."

Her voice is so soft, like she doesn't want Brody to hear our conversation. That makes me believe he's there.

Suddenly, I push past her and rush up to Brody's room. Dawn tries to grab me, but I jerk out of her reach and race up the stairs. I throw open Brody's door and look into Brody's surprised face.

"Burn!"

"Brody!"

Alicia and Dawn fly up the stairs. I shut the door and lock it on both of them.

"Burn, what are you doing...?"

"Brody," I say moving towards him. "You're leaving. How ...?" I run to him and throw my arms around him. "Don't go!"

"Burn, oh, man ..." He hugs me to him.

"Brody, I love you so much and this hurts so badly..."

"I love you too, Burn. I'm sorry about everything. I'm struggling, man and my parents – they think I need to put some distance between us."

"Do you wanna leave?"

His eyes fill with tears. "No."

I hold him to me. "This is so unfair, Brody."

"Listen, Burn," He holds my face in his hands and runs his thumbs across my cheeks, "Wait for me. I'll be twenty-one soon and I can do whatever the fuck I like. Right now I'm suffocating under duty, but one day, I will break free, I promise you. Will you wait for me?"

"Yes!"

"Promise?"

"I promise!"

I reach up and pull his mouth down to mine and kiss him. "I will always love you," I say between kisses, ignoring the banging on the door.

Our kisses are fierce and hungry, and for once I don't complain when his hands travel all over my body. He pushes me onto the bed and climbs over me. It's wonderful being in his arms and this is where I want to stay forever.

"I'm calling the cops!" Dawn shouts through the door.

Both of us freeze.

I'm the first one to move – I wriggle out from under him. "I gotta go, baby," I whisper.

"I will always love you, Burn," Brody says, kissing me again. "Always. Always."

"Me too," I say as I walk backwards towards the door. He rushes up to me and we kiss one last time before I open the door and rush past Dawn and Alicia. I run all the way home and collapse crying in my bed, the pain of losing Brody like a knife through my heart.

I'm too young to handle this pain, this heartache. He's too young too. What a disaster.

All because of my color.

All because of Dawn McGraw.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Its three months since Brody has left town and life drags on. Slowly. I miss him so much and Emhart County seems empty. I no longer get the blocked calls where nobody speaks. I miss that too.

It doesn't help that Lanie has a wonderful boyfriend and that they are so much in love. How she snagged a guy like Matt, I will never know. He's good-looking – blue eyes, dark brown hair, tall, muscular, a full set of white teeth that is always on display.

Even better than that – he's really nice to everyone. He's polite and respectful and eager to help everyone with ... _anything_!

Even better than that – he's extremely loving, affectionate and very attentive to Lanie. Ever heard that term "worship the ground she walks on"? Yeah, well, that's Matt. He worships the ground Lanie walks on. And ...he's not too macho to do it in public.

Even better than that – he sends her flowers, teddy bears, and spoils her with romantic weekends away. Texts her several times a day that he loves her.

That's it. There's no more "even betters". Lanie's got more than she should. More than she deserves.

I'm jealous. No trying to hide it – I tell Lanie straight out, "Lanie, I'm jealous. Wish I had a guy like Matt. He's lovely. You should keep this one."

"Isn't he just?" Lanie gushes. "Everyone is so jealous of me. You should see the envy on my friends' faces. Priceless." She beams as she offers me that bit of information. Like Dawn McGraw, she thrives on their jealousy it seems. Ah, well, I would too if I was her.

As for Daisy, she is seething. Furious that Lanie could get someone so perfect. Especially since her boyfriend just dumped her for one of her friends.

"Well, let me know if he's got a younger brother," I say.

About two months after she meets Matt, Lanie bursts into the house one Saturday night, hits the off button on Carlene's boom box and silences Creedence Clearwater Revival's _Heard It Through The Grapevine._ She holds up her hand and wriggles her fingers. "Matt's asked me to marry him!" she screeches.

I look at the bling on her ring finger. "It's beeeeautiful!" I say, breathless with envy.

"And .... and..." Lanie's eyes are bright with excitement, "he drew a heart on the beach, made us step into it, then went on bended knee and said, 'Lanie, will you marry me?' Can you believe it?"

"Wow! Congratulations! You sure are a lucky bitch!"

Yeah, you fucking bitch!

"Who turned off my music?" Carlene yells as she charges into the lounge.

"Hey, hey, hey!" I say. "Lanie's got news."

Lanie does the Beyonce things where she lifts up her left hand and jerks it around.

"Awww, that's so nice," Carlene says, forgetting all about Creedence and their grapevine.

I turn around to look at Matt, Lanie's boyfriend of just two months. "You did good, Matt." I lunge at him and give him a brief hug. "Wish someday some boy gets on his knees and proposes to me."

_Fucking skank! Show off._ "It's nice, Lanie," Daisy says. I sneak a glance at Daisy. She looks like she swallowed sand.

Carlene gives Lanie a hug, then Matt. "Burn is right, you did very good," she says.

Matt shifts around, a grin on his face. _Aw shucks!_

"We want to get married before the end of the year," Lanie says.

Lanie's twenty, Matt's around the same age. Way too young to get hitched in my opinion, but ...

"That's in six months," I remind her. "It'll fly."

"We can do it. I'm taking a second job so I can save up money for the wedding. We already discussed cake and flowers and stuff." Her eyes shine as she talks.

"Really?" Carlene says. "Then I gotta get me a dress sometime soon."

Maybe I can get Lanie's bedroom? Yeah, I could really clean it up and put up my posters and wow! That would be awesome. "Eh, where you guys gonna stay?"

Lanie shrugs. "Not sure..."

"You guys can stay here," Carlene says. "Lanie's room."

_No! No! No! Carlene, shut the fuck up, Aunt Carlene. How could you do this to me? I want their_ goddamn bedroom!

"Really?" Matt asks.

"Sure," Carlene says. "Till you save enough money to move on your own and everything."

Lanie frowns. "No, I don't think ..."

"One less thing to worry 'bout, right Matt?" Carlene says.

"For sure," Matt says and looks at Lanie. "Till we save some money, baby?"

What the fuck? He's actually considering living here? Is he blind? Hello!

Lanie scratches her head. _I want to get out of here, Matt. Don't you get it?_

"Whaddyasay, Lanie?" Matt asks. _Yes? Yes? Say yes._

"I guess ..." Lanie finally says, appearing weary.

Matt smiles and gives her a thirty minute kiss while we all look on. Then he turns to Carlene. "Thanks, Carlene." (Well, it felt like thirty minutes.)

"You're welcome, Matt." Carlene says. _You sexy thing, you._

I watch this, unable to believe how my personal Titanic went down. Fuuuuck!

****

Afraid of detention, I sneak out of school and hurry home during the middle of the day to fetch my History assignment. As I walk towards my house, I see Matt's car parked a few blocks away from my house. Wonder what's he doing here? Lanie must have skipped work today. I enter and make my way to my room. As I do, I hear sounds emanating from Carlene's room. Moans and groans – like she's in pain. I pause outside her closed door and call softly. "Carlene?"

No answer. I open the door and gasp at the sight of Matt's ass. Underneath him is Carlene, buck naked, her legs wrapped around his waist. Stunned, I stand and stare. Lanie and Matt are getting married!

It's a while before Carlene notices me. "What the fuck, Burn?!" she cries and tries to untangle herself from him.

"Oh shit!" Matt hops off the bed and scrambles for his pants.

"Sorry!" I say. "Sorry, I ...I knocked ... you didn't answer. Sorry. Sorry!" I quickly shut the door on his erection, his white ass, and run into my room. Shit! Shit! Shit!

This cannot be happening. Lanie's mother and boyfriend? No way. This is so fucking Springer!

In my room, I sit on my bed and try to get my bearings. I'm dreaming for sure. Damn!

I hear the front door open and close. Shortly thereafter, Carlene stands at the entrance of my room in a short dressing gown and eyes me. In one hand is a cigarette and the other is a beer. After a couple of long drags, she speaks. "It's just sex. It meant nothing."

I nod, my eyes on the ground.

"Lanie doesn't have to know."

More nodding on my part.

She takes another drag, then blows smoke rings slowly into the air. "We don't wanna upset the wedding plans now, do we?" Her voice is cool, but unmistakably threatening. "She's paid for the cake, the florist ..."

"Sure," is all I say. What I really want to say: Are you fucking kidding me, you cock-sucking ho?

You should be worried about how much Lanie, your daughter, will hurt if she found out, more than the fucking florist and the CAKE! And you're her mother - how the hell can you do something like this to her? She's getting married in just three months, for crying out loud. She's working two fucking jobs to make her dreams come true, and you're her mother and this is what you do to her? Your own daughter? Did I repeat myself here? I did? Well, I'll say it again, 'cause you need to be reminded, you lousy ho! And who the fuck is 'we', you nasty dream crusher?"

With a nod, she goes into the bathroom. Furious with her for destroying my dreams of snagging a guy like Matt, a perfect man, I take the opportunity to nip into her bedroom, help myself to a couple of Marlboros and pinch a twenty from her purse.

Feeling a little better, I grab my books and head back to school.

Poor Lanie. She thinks all her friends are envious over her and she revels in it. How wrong is she!

****

"Hurry up!" we say as Tina struggles with the lock.

"Okay," she says and continues picking. Finally, she's got Fung's door opened.

Once inside, we sit on the floor in Fung's apartment and pass around a joint.

"You should tell Lanie," Laura says. "She deserves to know."

"Yeah, but, what if it's just a once-off thing?" Tina says.

"Then you've ruined her wedding, her plans, all because of one fleeting indiscretion? One?"

"What's a fleeting indiscretion?" Sultana asks. "And do you have to use such big words when we're stoning?"

"How do you know that it is? A fleeting indiscretion?" Tina asks, ignoring Sultana's justified outburst.

"Fuck knows if it is. It's the first time I caught them together."

"She may whip the messenger?" Laura says.

"Everybody will end up whipping the messenger," I say. "Unless I do it anonymously?"

"Great idea!" they chorus.

"But Carlene will know it was you."

"That's true," I say.

"But she can't help it if she's a kleptomaniac," Sultana says.

We all squint at her.

"You mean nymphomaniac?" Laura asks.

"What's the difference?" Sultana asks.

"Well, Sultana, kleptomaniacs steal, nymphos need sex all the ..."

"Well," says Sultana, "she's both for sure, then. She _stole_ her daughter's boyfriend and ..."

My phone beeps. I whip it out and look at the screen. "Trojan," I mutter to their expectant faces.

"What does he want?"

"Wants to know if I can do a movie this Saturday."

"And?" Sultana asks.

I shrug. "Let's keep him waiting." I put my phone back into my pocket.

"Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen, eh?' Tina says.

"For sure," I say. "He's got tons of dough and he splurges so why not hang around, eh?" I don't mean it, but I feel pressured to be bitchy about him.

"Yeah, true," Laura says. "How much is your virginity worth?"

"It's priceless," I say. "He can take my vijajay, but I will just imagine it's Brody on top of me the whole time. But I will say, ooooh Trojan, I just love your manhood, oooh!"

"Can you pleeeeease insert one of your dreads into my love canal?" Tina says.

We all laugh our weeded heads off.

Stoned, we help ourselves to noodles, clean up behind us so that he doesn't realize we broke into his apartment, and leave Fung's apartment quietly.

****

I understand that I have a lot to lose and that she has a lot to lose, so I say nothing to Lanie about her cheating ass husband-to-be. After all, it may have been, as Laura called it, a fleeting indiscretion.

Anyways, these days Lanie's turning into one of those Godzilla Brides –you know where they go nuts and disinvite everybody to their weddings and everyone hates them just before the wedding, including the groom, and minutes after the ceremony, they become their old loving self again, but it's too late – they've lost all their friends and family and the groom feels like one of his nuts have been cut off? That one.

"Why can't the fucking bridesmaids understand that avocado-fucking-green and green are two different FUCKING colors?! I ask for fucking bandage dresses, they get fucking flare. I ask for fucking pewter, they get fucking silver. FUCKING idiots! I am changing my fucking bridesmaids. NOW!"

The bandage obsession is going to lead to her downfall one of these days, I tell you.

Quickly, I usher Angel into our bedroom and shut the door. Don't want her to come Lanie's way. Any moment now, I expect her to combust and burn down our trailer.

"I said, 'marble' not 'fruitcake' you fruitcake!" she yells into the phone. "I want my money back. I'm going to another bakery for my wedding cake, you dumb ASSHOLES!"

It could also be the no-carb diet she's on. Wonder what will happen if I toss her some pasta? Or a slice of white, over-processed, over-refined, but incredibly tasty bread roll? The kind I like with pure butter on it.

Maybe Polly just needs a cracker.

Then Daisy makes the cardinal mistake by asking her to relax.

"Relax? RelAAAAAAAX?! Nobody's asked you to marry them, and you don't have a wedding to plan, so I don't expect your ass to understand shit!"

"Don't you fucking yell at me!" Daisy says.

"That's it! You're not invited to my wedding anymore. I'm taking your name off the list." She fumbles into her bag, grabs a piece of paper and a pen and makes a striking motion. "Done!"

"Yeah, well fuck you! I don't need to attend your broke-ass, trailer-trash wedding anyway."

"What ... did ... you ... say?"

Cheating-ass Matt steps in. "Lanie, Lanie, Lanie, baby," he says in a gentle voice. "Calm down, honey." He puts his hands on either side of her face and looks deep into her eyes. "What is it, baby? Tell me? I'll fix it. Tell me, baby. Tell Matt."

If I hadn't seen his firm, pasty ass next to Carlene's flabby naked ass, I would have continued believing that he is the sweetest, most loving uncircumcised dick in the world. Eh, _guy_ in the world.

Lanie deflates like the soufflé I once attempted. "God, Matt, you're what keeps me sane, baby," Lanie says as Matt hugs her to him and showers her with kisses.

Mental note to my disgusted self: Nice guys don't exist.

If ever you find a nice guy that is just perfect in every way and you're sure your family will adore him; just walk up to him and kick him in the nuts. Hard. Make sure you're wearing hooker-heels 'cause they wear those shoes for a reason.

And when he's curled up in a ball on the floor in pain and says, "Why did you do that, baby?" You say, "Darling, that's for fucking my mother/sister/cousin/teacher/cleaner/friend. An advance baby boy. Nothing personal."

Cos he will. Trust me. I have seventeen years' experience here.

The funny thing is that when Matt looks at me, there is absolutely no remorse on his face. Zilch. Even his thoughts aren't remorseful or afraid. It's like he's detached from his cheating. I have no idea what to make of a character like that. I think maybe I should talk to Erro about it.

When Matt leaves, Lanie gets ready for her second job. She looks overworked and exhausted and right now, even though she's a bitch, I can't help but feel really sorry for her.

Even though I'm only seventeen, I worry what's gonna happen to her when she finds out about her mother sleeping with her soon-to-be husband. "Hey, Lanie," I ask, "do you like ... you wanna a cup of coffee or something?"

"Coffee?" She swivels around to glare at me. "Coffee?! What the fuck, Burn?! Don't you know that caffeine slows down your metabolic rate? HUH?!"

I shrink back at the flame she threw at me.

"What the hell's wrong with you, Burn?" _Fucking fat, stupid black bitch!_

I sigh and back away slowly. As Judge Judy always says, "No good deed goes unpunished."

****

It's hard to be happy and cheerful when I miss Brody so much. But I try because I have no choice. Today is the much awaited wedding. I help Angel into a lovely, cream lacy dress, one of Daisy's hand-me-downs. I then slip a headband with a white rose on it, over her lovely blonde curls.

"You look like a princess," I say.

She smiles. "Can I wear lip gloss?"

I hesitate for a moment. "Okay, just gloss. Don't you grow up too fast now."

When she's done, I take her hand in mine and flit from room to room.

Daisy looks great as a bridesmaid. Her dress is a bandage avocado (not green) and pewter (not silver), which is an amazing combination. (Got to hand it to Lanie – she has style.) Her hair has been spiralled into tight curls and her make-up has been professionally done. Her pewter shoes match the pewter detail on her dress.

"You look nice," I say.

"Do I?" _I hate this dress. I hate it! Hate it! Hate it! It makes me look like a fucking defrosted string bean. Lanie just wanted me to wear this dress so she could torture me. Anyway, what do you know, you country bumpkin?_

Suddenly, she no longer looks pretty. She looks hard and even harsh.

We move to Carlene. She's wearing a strapless, short dress in ....white! Lanie's gonna blow a gasket now.

Speak of the Bridezilla – here she comes. Be afraid.

She gawks at the sight of her mother. "You are not wearing ...THAT dress!" Told you so.

"Why? What do you mean?" Carlene looks genuinely surprised.

Lanie bristles with anger. "You want to upstage me, mother?"

"What? No, I don't, Lanie."

"Then where's the Aubergine one you bought?"

Talk about Aubergine makes me think of Brody. Damn, can't they watch their words around me?

"Time to go, Lanie," someone shouts, saving Carlene's ass.

"Let's get out of here," I whisper to Angel and lead her outside to the waiting cars.

The wedding is beautiful. Lanie looks breathtakingly beautiful, Matt looks dashing, and the flowers, the cake – beautiful.

Even Carlene looks beautiful and thankfully, she stays away from Matt and all the young boys.

The wedding vows bring tears to my eyes.

Especially cheating-ass Matt's. He looks into Lanie's eyes and promises to love and cherish her in sickness and in health and then he adds his own shit about making her banana smoothies and some other random but cheesy promises.

Then he lifts her off the ground as they kiss with tongue for an hour. (Well, that's how long it felt. The hour, not the tongue.)

It's so moving and so touching that I wonder if maybe, just maybe, I hallucinated the whole Carlene-Matt thing after all. I mean, he sounds so sincere that his eyes get glassy and his Adam's apple bobs up and down?

Trouble is, I saw what I saw and I wasn't high when I did.

But as I said, wear hooker heels when you kick him in the balls.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I'm stunned to see Carlene gloved up with a mop in her hand. It's such a rare sight, I wonder if I'm dreaming.

"What's going on?" I ask.

"Social Services – they're here in two hours."

"Oh shit!" I dump my school bag and start furiously cleaning the kitchen. I throw out trash, wash dishes, vacuum floors and carpets and clear out all the alcohol from the fridge. After hiding the alcohol in among the unwashed laundry, I get Angel dressed and plonk her at the dining table with her school books. "Look busy with homework," I instruct.

"You've got to get him out of here, Carlene," I say and point to Bobby who's sitting in the lounge, shirtless, watching TV with a beer in his hand.

"Bobby!" Carlene yells. "Get out of here now!"

"Why?" he yells back.

' _Cause I'm gonna lose two grand a month, and you're not that good in the sack and that's why you idiot!_ "Just do it, Bobby."

"Okay, okay," he mutters and disappears.

"Carlene, look like you're busy cooking," I say. I look in the fridge but I can find nothing to pretend to cook or to chop.

I dive into the cupboards and fish out some noodles. "Boil these," I say.

"Why?"

"The house will smell of food."

"Okay," she says and turns to look at the stove. "How the hell do you turn ...?"

"Here!" I turn up the stove for her.

By the time Social Services arrive, I'm dressed in simple jeans and Tee and am also sitting with Angel at the dining table doing my homework.

As for Carlene, she's at the stove stirring the noodles that have been cooking for at least an hour and now resemble porridge.

Ms Glenda Washington is a pleasant African American lady in her thirties. She chats individually to Angel, me and Carlene. After that, she looks around and pokes her head into different rooms and even into cupboards.

Seems okay. The outside of the house needs tidying up though. Insufficient food in the refrigerator.

"We have to go shopping," I say.

She looks at me.

"For groceries. Our fridge – somebody unplugged it and all the food spoiled." I chuckle. "We had to throw out everything."

"Ahhh. Is that what it is?"

After an hour she seems happy and leaves. But she does mention that Social Services may perform an impromptu visit at any time.

"Sure," Carlene says. "Anytime." _Oh for fuck's sake, why?_

"Sure," I say and give a casual shrug.

The moment she drives off, we all breathe a sigh of relief. I turn off the noodles, while Carlene brings out the beer. "Bobby, you can come out from under the bed!"

"Why?"

"'Cause the black bitch is gone!" she says.

"Oh, okay then."

He crawls out, beer bottle in each hand. "I didn't spill a drop," he says. "Can you believe it? I crawled under the bed, and out of it again, and not a drop spilled."

Carlene eyes widen. "Not a drop? Wow!"

Another day in a place I call home.

****

Trojan takes me to a swanky restaurant for our second date which brings back fresh memories of my date with Brody.

We sit across from each other and I take in his black leather jacket, his crisp white shirt, and think how cool he looks.

Pretty.

I glance behind me before I own the compliment. I'm wearing Sultana's short denim, zip-front dress. It looks good and I wish it was mine.

"So tell me 'bout Trojan," I say. "What makes you?" He's a bit of a closed book so I gotta "pull teeth."

"Why you cagey?"

"Cagey"? He jerks back. "I'm not _cagey_. How am I cagey?"

"You won't tell me much, so I will have to assume." I smile. "You don't want me to do that."

He sits forwards and looks me in the eye. "Assume out loud."

I sigh. "You asked for it." "You're single 'cause you wasted your last girlfriend when you found out that she couldn't rap."

"What?"

"You sell drugs to teenagers, teachers, Whitney Houston and Courtney Love."

"What?!"

"You said that already. You're driving a stolen veh...i...cle and you're planning to steal one for me. A pretty pink, soft top with a kick-ass sound system."

He laughs out loud. "You're crazy."

"I warned you."

He shakes his head from side-to-side.

"I have a question."

He opens out his palms. "Go for it."

"You're single. How come?"

"I'm fussy, I guess."

"Not that fussy, if you're with me."

"True."

"Whaaaat? I'm gutted. Really I am."

"Why did you break up with white boy?"

I look away. Then look at him and shrug. "I wasn't white enough for his family."

"Really? You? That's too bad, man."

I nod. "My turn – why me? You came to see me before I came to see you?"

He appears to think about it.

"And don't tell me it's because of my striking good looks, my magnetic personality and my ability to solve math problems."

He smiles, then shrugs.

"Why me?" I persist.

"I dunno. I asked myself that same question over and over again, but..."

I allow myself a small internal smirk. Okay, a big internal smirk.

"So, you guys got stiffed with the fake ID things?"

"Yeah, Luther is a sonovabitch! But hey, we got into _Danes_ , thanks to you."

He gives a slight bow.

"So how old are you?"

"Twenty-two."

"That's like ancient."

He smiles. "Not that ancient."

Our food arrives and I tuck into it. To ensure I fit into Sultana's denim dress, I didn't eat all day. Now I'm ravenous, so I eat up.

"So, what do you plan to be when you grow up?" I ask.

"Big."

"Oh, okay. Anything else?"

"I wanna be a famous music producer. One of the best in the field. I wanna win awards – album of the year which I produced. I wanna mix current music and ..." His eyes shine and his face lights up when he talks about music. Never seen him so animated before.

"Do you sing?"

"Yeah, but not in public."

"Can you sing for me?"

He shakes his head. "Not a chance."

"Not even if I give you my half of my pepper sauce?"

He chuckles and shakes his head.

"What about if ...?"

"Can you sing?" he asks.

I think about his question. "Can I sing ...? Well, let's put it this way: when I have my headphones on and I'm belting out a song I'm listening to, I think to myself – what a great voice you have Burn, and I wonder why I don't have a recording contract. Then I take off my headphones, and I know why."

He laughs. "What do you wanna do when you finish school?"

"Become a FBI profiler, like my mom was."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I like a chick with ambition."

"Me too. Well, not chicks. I mean, like, I don't like _girls_ ... I like guys ...I mean... ah, forget it!"

He laughs.

"So what was it like living on the street?"

His eyes become as large as the onion rings on my plate. "Who told you that?"

"I had you checked out."

He snorts. "Yeah, right."

"Tell me."

"Tough. I wouldn't want any kid to experience that. That's why I want to adopt kids one day, give them shit I never had."

"That's good. I would like to do that too. How long did you live on the street?"

"Five till fourteen."

"What about your mom?"

"Heroin overdose when I was two. Lived with my grandma till she died when I was five. Then it was just Grover and me and we took to the street for ..." He waves dismissively. "I won't go into reasons."

I stare at him, feeling sympathy for him. How many times have I thought about hitting the street?

"Now you gonna look at me like that all night? With pity?"

Our eyes lock. "We have a lot in common, Trojan," I say in a quiet voice.

"We do, Burn."

Right then and there, I feel a connection to Trojan. A deep one. I can't explain it, but I feel close to him. Really close.

When we leave the restaurant, he takes my hand in his and I seriously don't mind. He holds it tight and clasps his fingers tightly to mine. As I said, I seriously don't mind. Not one bit.

The night flies and it's soon time to say goodbye. Again, he grabs my face with both hands and just takes his kiss. Firm but determined.

No tongue. Why? Haven't the faintest.

Before he leaves, his hands drop to my waist. He squeezes me hard before he leaves.

Long after he's gone, I feel the imprint of his hands on my waist. I think that was the plan.

That night, I find myself thinking of him as I lie in bed. I smile when I think about our conversation and all the laughs we had. It's easy chatting to him.

Wonder where he's taking me the next time?

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I stare at my invitation to Brittany's eighteenth birthday with disbelief. Never did I think the day would come where I was worthy enough to get an invite to her birthday. I rush out to my girls. "Can you believe it? We're going to Maxim's for Brittany's birthday! _Going Metal's_ gonna be there!" I raise my hand to high-five them. They don't raise their hands.

I peer at them. "What?"

"We didn't get invited," they say. "Just you."

I frown. That can't be right. "Just ... me?"

They nod.

I stare at them, unable to make sense of it. Why me and not them?

As if reading my mind, Tina says, "You're now considered cool, Burn. With you going out with Trojan and getting into _Danes_. We're not, I guess."

Shit, I really wanted to see _Going_ _Metal_! "Then I won't go," I say with a heavy heart.

"No, you should go," Laura says. "After all, you're a 'popular' girl now. No use hanging around us anymore."

"Shut the fuck up, Laura!" I say. "I had nothing to do with this."

"No, you shut the fuck up, Burn!" Laura says. "You always envied them, now you're in. You're an 'It Girl' now, Burn."

"Hey, that's not true. Not true at all. And FYI, I'm not dating Trojan. I'm forced to. You know that. I told you guys about it."

When they don't answer, I storm off.

The more I think about it, the more I realize I don't want to go to Brittany's party. Although it would be awesome to see _Going Metal_.

I sit and sulk for the rest of the day, until I finally walk up to Brittany. "I'm sorry, Brittany, but I can't make it for your party. I'm really sorry."

"Why?" she asks, looking shocked.

"I ...eh... look, my friends, I kinda feel bad that they're not invited and ..."

"Ah, so that's it. That okay, Burn," she says. When I look at her, I think of Kate and Bud and the unwanted pregnancy and I feel a little sorry for her. She has no idea her best friend was fucking her boyfriend.

The next day, I avoid my friends because I'm still pissed with them for their lousy attitude.

"So," HarLo says, "heard you guys are going to Brittany's party. Cool. _Going_ _Metal's_ gonna be there, you know."

I shake my head quickly. "I'm not going. I cancelled."

"Oh, okay. Didn't realize you're not going. But all your friends are."

I cock my head and look at him. "Friends?"

"Brittany's invited them all this morning."

"What?!"

"They're RSVPing right now."

"Whaaaat?!" I crane my neck to look around and see Tina, Laura, and Sultana laughing and chatting with Brittany and Kate.

Brittany looks at me and waves over their heads, an I-showed-you smirk on her face. Kate's smile is equally smug.

This is what I got for daring to turn down Brittany's invitation? Fuuuuuck!

"Oh, really now? Isn't that something? They were mad at me and had such a go at me yesterday, but now they're all going? Fucking hypocrites!"

I say nothing to my friends, I just sulk. But word gets around that I'm not going. As the day progresses, I see Tina, Sultana and Laura with their heads together. They look guilty. Good – they should be. They should be as miserable as I am. Fucking sellouts.

That Saturday I think about the party and how my friends will be getting ready together and I seethe with anger for being left out. I'm angry with Brittany and Kate for making me pay, but I'm furious with my friends for going.

Then I get a text from Sultana: _Wanna hang out with Tina and I tonight?_

Confused, I stare at the text. Does that mean they're not going? I call her. "'Sup?"

"Nothing much. Just Tina and I hanging out. Wanna join us? I got a Katy Perry DVD, a Nicky Minaj ...?"

I learn that Tina and Sultana decided not to go because I wasn't going. But Laura wanted to go.

It's a great feeling to know that my friends didn't sell me out after all. Well, two of my friends, at least. Laura doesn't appear to care. She's just so thrilled to be invited by a popular girl that she couldn't be bothered with what her friends think of her.

I'm pretty mad at her. Where's the loyalty?

Tina, Sultana and I hang out, while Laura parties with the popular girls.

The Sunday after Brittany's party, I get a call from Fallon, one of the girls in my class. She's got goss and spills it without me asking. She tells me that Brittany's party was pretty wild and that Laura and Bud hooked up behind the shed at Brittany's party when Brittany was not looking. She says that Bud drove Laura home and returned to the party _hours_ later.

"Wow!" I say. "Laura and Bud?" At first I'm shocked, then I'm worried. Bud is a dickhead and he shouldn't be anywhere near Laura.

Apparently Brittany and Kate were mean to Laura and made fun of her during the party. Well, can't say she didn't deserve that. But still, I get pissed off at them for doing that to my friend.

But after that, the change in Laura is staggering. She's ditched the glasses, shortened her skirt, highlighted her hair to make it blonder, wears make-up and even heels. All along she denied, and even shunned the white in her because of her father abandoning them. Now, it seems like she wants to be white and is denying the Mexican in her. Confusing to me. Annoying too.

She ignores us and sits with Kate Spelling and Brittany, even though she hooked up with Brittany's boyfriend at her party. I can't understand why Brittany is being friends with Laura. I try really hard to read their thoughts but nothing, unfortunately.

In class, I observe them all. Laura keeps looking at Bud, while Brittany keeps looking at Laura _and_ Bud. Bud on the other hand appears to give a fuck as to who's looking. His smile is smug, which tells me he's enjoying the female attention. A complete dickhead.

I hear her thoughts as she texts under her desk. _My parents are away till seven tonight. Wanna come over?_

I watch Bud pick up his phone when it vibrates. He texts away but I cannot hear his thoughts.

I decide enough is enough; I need to talk to Laura and stop her getting involved with Bud.

At lunchtime, I approach Laura. "Hey, can we talk?"

"About what?"

"You and Bud."

"It's none of your ..."

"Laura, I'm your friend. I'm concerned about you. He's bad news."

"You don't know that!"

"Yes, I do. He's using you till he gets what he wants and then ..."

"Oh, I get it – you're jealous, Burn. Brody dumped you and now you're jealous because Bud is good-looking and all the girls would love a date with him but he's interested in _me_."

"So, he's broken up with Brittany, then?" I ask, ignoring her nasty comments.

"N ... well, he's trying to but it's not easy for him."

"Why not? He's a fucking player Laura."

She glares at me. "I've never had a boyfriend before. Nobody wants to go out with a geek like me. I'm too tall and I'm not pretty enough and it hurts, so don't you ruin something good that's come my way, you hear?"

"Laura, calm down. I'm concerned about you, that's all."

"Don't be. I'm a big girl now. It's great to get attention from a popular guy. You should know that. What's better than having a good-looking guy pay you attention? Hanging out with all his good-looking friends. The McGraw clan. It makes all the girls so envious of you."

"Look, just don't ..." I take a deep breath. "Laura, seeing him today is not a good idea."

She stares at me with huge eyes. "How do you know?" She gnashes her teeth at me. "You are spying on me! Stop!" She snatches her bag and storms off.

"Erro!"

She appears immediately, smoking a cigarette.

"Shall I tell her about Kate Spelling? And put that cigarette out! Since when do you smoke?"

She giggles. "I don't know. What do you think? Should you tell her?"

"Erro, stop acting like a therapist – answering my question with a question. Give me an answer! He's going to use her, then dump her, then what? She'll be crushed. Maybe even knocked up?"

"You feeling stressed about it?" She throws down her cigarette and squashes it with her sensible shoe.

I sit on a bench and put my hand to my eyes. "Yes." I wipe away a tear. "I've seen what he can do to girls and I'm worried. She's my friend, Erro and I feel like vomiting at the thought of her in Bud's clutches."

"Burn," she says in a gentle voice, "you're the same age as her. Stop trying to be a mother to her and be a friend. And if she ever needs you, be there to catch her."

"What if I tell her about Kate and Bud?"

"You could. But would she believe you?"

My shoulders drop. I shake my head slowly. "She's never had male attention before, you know."

"Just be ready to hold out your arms, that's all."

I nod slowly as I wipe away tears of fear and helplessness.

****

It's been six weeks since Brittany's party and it's clear that Bud has dumped Laura as he is back with Brittany in a big way – holding her, kissing her, feeling her up in front of everyone. Laura's visibly distressed. Her clenched fists, her twisted lips, her blazing blue eyes – tells me she's history with Bud.

As the weeks pass by, I see changes in Laura's personality. She's become withdrawn and somber and her eyes are always red. I put that down to heartbreak.

She's snappy and irritable with everyone. When she starts wearing baggy clothes, I just know that she's pregnant. I feel absolutely devastated by the thought of my worst fears being realized. She's also irritable and snappy with everyone.

I observe her texting and her thoughts are clear. I close my eyes and zero in on them.

I asked u to wear a condom n u refused 2 now u want 2 leave me 2 handle this all by myself I need ur help here or Im gon tell.

Unfortunately, I can't read Bud's thoughts.

Thats a lie!!!! Ive only been with u I was a fucking virgin.

Well Im gonna tell ur parents today if u dont take responsibility n I am gon tell Brittany 2.

Yes Im threatening you!

That afternoon, I go over to Laura's. When I ring the doorbell, I hear approaching footsteps then silence. Okay, so she doesn't want to talk to me. That doesn't stop me. I walk around the back, pry open a window and slip into the house. I walk up to her bedroom, throw open the door and see her sitting on the bed staring into space.

"What the...? You broke into my house? Are you nuts?"

"You're pregnant," I say. "I'm here to help."

Shock registers on her face. "N ... no, I'm not. You're ... you're nuts to say that."

"Oh yeah?" I drop my bag and sit on the bed. "Laura, don't be stupid. You need help right now. And if you don't let me help you, I'm telling your mom."

Slowly her shoulders sag. For a while we sit in silence.

She looks at me with eyes brimming with tears, her bottom lip trembling. "I thought he l...loved me. He told me he did."

I nod and like I discussed with Erro, I hold out my arms.

"He told me I was beautiful and that ... that ... he's always fancied me. Now he's threatening to release the video he took of both of us. It's in his phone. I'm terrified of that happening. "

"Okay, don't worry. It's not gonna happen, okay? We're gonna steal the phone and you're gonna delete the video. Then we're gonna steal his laptop and do the same, just in case he's backed it up."

"How? There's no way we can get to them."

"I'll think of something. But first we need to make some decisions." I point to her stomach.

She nods as fat tears course down her cheeks.

****

I'm with Laura when she goes into the clinic and I'm there when she comes out of it.

When she cries, I cry with her. I can't help it. Much as I try to be strong, I feel her pain. Seeing her so broken and sad makes me furious. I want revenge. In a big way. But how? How the hell does one get back at Bud?

After about a week, she's back at school, and together with Tina and Sultana, we scheme – our revenge over Bud has to be huge.

"He's recorded us on his phone," she says. "I'm terrified that he'll show it to everyone."

"Shit!" they chorus.

Bastard! That's his insurance against her talking about them.

"I'm sorry," she says. "He persuaded me. At first I said no, but then he said he'd erase it after we ...you know, like finished, then after that, he said he wanted to watch it later to remind him how great we were and ..."

"Okay, forget revenge – let's get that goddamn phone first and delete all those videos," I say.

We spend most of our time plotting and planning to steal his phone, which is difficult as his phone is always with him.

"We'll need his laptop too," Laura says in a grim voice.

"Now that's gonna be a huge problem," Tina says.

Laura's face falls.

"Yeah, but don't worry," I say in a reassuring voice, "I have an idea."

Since, his phone is always with him, the only way we can get to Bud's phone and laptop is while they're out playing sports or something. Since his locker is always locked, we have a huge problem.

"There's no way we're gonna pull this off," Laura says.

"Yes, there is," I say. "I'm gonna find Nick. He owes me."

Nick is horrified. "What? You expect me to steal his phone and ...?"

"I helped protect Brody, remember? And Bud is such an asshole, Nick. I see how he looks at Kate."

The look he gives me tells me he's noticed it too. If only he knew the whole truth.

"Why do you hang out with him?" I ask. "He's not good for your rep."

"I grew up with him. But that doesn't mean I agree with everything he does."

Nick is way too sweet to be involved with Bud or Kate. I wish I could hook him up with one of my friends.

After much arguing and a whole lot of convincing, I manage to get him to say yes.

Four days later, Nick hands me a bag. "Never mention my name," he warns his eyes darting around nervously.

My heart leaps with excitement as I accept the bag. "Cross my heart," I say. "Even if they torture me, I won't. But I just hope they don't give me tequila 'cause it's like truth serum and I start blabbing like ..."

"What?!"

"Kidding!" I smile. "Thank you, Nick." I start to leave.

"Burn!"

I stop and turn around. Please don't let him have changed his mind, cos I ain't giving him this bag.

"Make it good," he says in a voice that tells me he may know more about Nick and Kate than I think he does.

I nod.

"Go hard."

"You bet," I say, almost quivering with excitement.

****

My friends are thrilled at my achievements.

"Kiddy porn!" Tina says. "Let's load it onto his laptop and hand it to the police with a note attached to it. You know, like this dude's been viewing shit that deserves an inves..."

"Geez, that's heavy," I say.

"Heavy is what he deserves!" Laura snarls, her eyes bulging, her nostrils flaring. We all stare at her, shocked. Is this our gentle friend Laura?

"Keep going," I say as we comb through his laptop files. After five minutes of searching, we find the video of her and Bud and she kills it right away. Even empties out his recycle bin and tries to erase it from his hard-drive as well.

Then we find a video of him and Kate doing the dirty. Kate's such an idiot – she seems pleased to be recording, unlike Laura who looked nervous and afraid.

"Delete it?" Laura asks.

"Yes, but first, email it to me. I want some insurance of my own. One day it will come in handy, I'm sure."

Laura emails it to me.

Then we stumble onto a video of Bud and his mates mocking loudmouth Curtis, Trojan's friend. In the video, Bud has a cap and a hundred chains around his neck and calls Curtis a fag and a whole lot of names that would make Curtis hunt him down and, as Harjoon puts it, "bust a cap in his ass."

"That's it!" I cry.

Everyone gives me confused looks.

"Imagine if Curtis got wind of this video. Say we upload it on YouTube, then get Curtis's mates to see it first and bring it to Curtis's attention?"

One by one, they start to nod.

"Then, we provide Curtis with valuable info, like addresses, sporting venues that Bud attends, etc, etc. and voila – Curtis tears Bud a new asshole!"

"Let's do it!" Laura says. "But first," her eyes become hard, "I got me some editing to do that will _guarantee_ him a new asshole."

While Laura works feverishly to slander and diss badass Curtis, we dance around to Carly Rae Jepson's _Call Me Maybe_ and celebrate in advance.

When we view the edited video, it's one hundred times more racial and more disrespectful than Bud's original sedate video. Bud cusses Curtis, calls him the 'n' word, calls him a fag, and finally calls Curtis for a punch-on.

"Ouch, Laura! Hell really hath no fury like a woman fucked around, huh?"

"You bet yo black ass, Burn," she says with an evil smile

In fact, compared to Laura's vindictive version, Bud's original one is like a sermon for Sunday school.

After a few minor alterations and a few more vodkas, we upload the file on YouTube. Then we email links of the video to Luther and all his friends.

Finally, we high-five each other and drink more.

"I gotta run," I say.

They bitch about me leaving.

"Angel. I gotta take care of her," I explain as I leg it out of there.

****

We all struggle to get to school on time, but today, we're there almost an hour early to enjoy the drama that's sure to unfold.

We see Bud, walking in, hunched and morose. Behind him is his mother and father, looking worried and on the way to the school principal's office.

Great! We follow at a safe distance and eavesdrop.

"We don't have an appointment," Bud's mother says to the receptionist. "But the matter is urgent as my son's life might be in danger. There's a video going around ..."

I put my hand out behind me. One by one, my girls low-five me.

We scoot when the police arrive.

Bud looks like a fucking girl now – scared and nervous, his eyes darting around. At lunch time, he keeps close to the admin office, doesn't venture into the grounds.

"Hey, Nick," I say. "Wassup?!"

"Like you don't know," he mouths.

"What?!" I give him a what-the-hell-you-talking-about? look.

"Word is Curtis is going to kick Bud's ass."

"What?!" I put my hand to my mouth. "Whatever shall we do, Nick? That is simply dreadful!"

He rolls his eyes and walks away.

The school buzzes with the Bud-Curtis story. Nothing happens that day, to our disappointment. But we take immense delight and absolute joy in Bud's changing personality. He becomes quiet, sullen and morose. Unrecognizable.

Then a week later, we get a delightful phone call from Nick.

I listen with my jaw hanging, then smile, then hang up.

"What? What?" my fellow Mixicans demand.

"Bud has a new asshole. Courtesy of Curtis."

They jump around and let out whoops of delight.

"Okay, so he's in Emhart County Medical Centre," I say. "Now in stable condition."

"Let's go visit him," Laura says.

"No!" I'm horrified she'd even suggest that. "What the hell for, Laura?"

"Because," she explains, "I want to look into his eyes and say, 'I did it.' Then I will smile, turn around and leave." Her eyes flit between us. "Coming?"

"Fuck yeah!" Tina says. "After all we've done, we have to witness this."

We scramble to our feet and grab our bags.

****

No visitors," male Registered Nurse Tioby Smyth says. That's Tioby, with an "i."

"Oh please!" Laura cries clasping her hands under her chin and putting on what Angel calls a pound-puppy look. "He's our friend and we are so upset by everything he's been through and we will only be a minutes. Please! Please! Please!"

I guess the pound-puppy look works – Nurse Smyth says, "Okay, one minute only. Just one!"

Alive with excitement, we walk-run to Bud's ward and barge into it. And gasp. He face is swollen, some of his front teeth are missing, he's on an intravenous drip and oxygen.

"God, Bud, you look like shit," I say.

"This I gotta record," Sultana says and whips out her Smartfone.

He tries to talk but all he manages is a gurgle.

"Heard he tore you a new asshole, Bud, dear," Laura says. "You poor thing." She leans closer and whispers in his ears. "I did it, fuckface. I fucked you over."

Bud eyes turn hard.

"Fucked ... you ... over! It was _me_! I did it." Laura suddenly presses on his intravenous line so hard, he screams in pain.

I grab her arm. "Laura, stop!"

Ignoring me, she shoves the oxygen mask deep into his nose, making him squeal like a pig. "You need oxygen? Huh? Huh?"

"Laura, what the fuck?!" I pull her away.

She jerks away and she punches him several times in the balls. "How's this for a hand job, huh? You like it? Huh? Huh?" More punching till his body curls.

"That's it!" I say, bear-hugging her to prevent her killing the fucker. "We're leaving."

Bud's sheet gets wet.

"He's pissed himself," Sultana says. "Eeeewww!"

"Oh shit! That's disgusting," Tina says. "At your age, Bud?"

"Eeeewww!" I cry. "Let's just get out of here," I say and usher everyone out of the ward.

Laura does one last thing – she grabs his buzzer and throws it out of reach. "No nursie, nursie for you, fuckface Bud! You lie in your piss. Marinate in it." She whips out her phone and clicks away. "YouTube, here I cooooome!"

I grab her and almost push her out of the door.

"Laura, you fucking psycho!" Tina laughs.

"Yeah, Laura, what the fuck?!"

She shrugs. "He got what he deserved."

As we pass Nurse Smyth, Laura says, "Thank you so much. He says no disturbance for a while 'cause he just wants to rest."

"Oh sure," Nurse Smyth says. "We can do that."

As we walk out of Emhart County Medical Centre we burst out laughing and continue laughing for the rest of the day.

Every now and then we take turns to say, "Laura, you fucking psycho!"

"That's me," she says with the brightest of smiles.

### Chapter Twenty-Nine

We're at the school cafeteria having lunch when Luther walks over to us, removes his dark glasses and hands us money.

Luther handing us money? Something's wrong here. We look at the money as if it's a pipe-bomb.

"Like, sorry about the misunderstanding and all," he says in a humble voice, minus the usual Sean Kingston accent. "Here's your money for the fakies and stuff."

I quickly get over my shock at his unusual behavior, at the fact that he has eyes, snatch the money out of his hands and count it.

"There's ... double the amount here?" I say, clutching the money tight in case he snatches it back.

He nods. "Extra for the delay and shit, man. Know what I mean?"

"Really?" My friends and I look at him, then exchange suspicious looks.

"This is counterfeit, right?" I hold up a note to the light and peer at it. As if I know what the fuck to look for when it comes to play money.

"Nah, nah, nah," he says. "All good, man. It's all good."

Since I know jack about bank notes and feeling under pressure to say something, I choose my words carefully. "You think I was born yesterday?" Notice, after my inspection, I did not say that it _was_ counterfeit. I asked a broad question about the date of my birth.

He shifts about in his Nikes and scratches the back of his head. "Nah, nah, it's all good, it's all good, man. Trust me."

"Mmm, trust you ..." I shake my head.

"We're being Punked, right?" Laura asks.

"Give it here!" Tina snatches the note out of my hand. She holds it up to the light, squints at it and says, "You've got a nerve." Also carefully chosen words.

"Yeah, it's so obvious it's fake." Sultana stabs at the note with her index finger with disdain. "Doesn't look one bit like our president."

Luther frowns. "Our president? What you talking about, man?"

Sultana's sigh is weary. "Every hundred dollar bill is supposed to have our president's picture on it," she says.

"Benjamin Franklin," Laura pipes. "And he wasn't a president. He was just iconic and ..."

All eyes narrow at Laura the Brainiac for ruining our threats by talking sense and trying to enlighten all of us at a time like this.

"Eh ..." Brainiac clams up.

"Anyway, we're going to have to report this to the CIA," Sultana threatens.

"CIA?" Stress lines appear on Luther's face, aging him, making him look old – at least twenty. "Why man?"

"FBI," Laura mutters.

"What?!" Luther pales into a matt cement grey. _Man, these hos are gon get me into big shit._

So, Luther looks stressed and the money appears genuine. Question is – why?

"Just as a matter of interest, why can't we get fake IDs instead of our money back?"

"Cause Trojan, he then gave me strict instructions not to give you the fakies 'cause he don't want you getting up to shit and ..."

"Trojan?" I cock my head and look at him. "Trojan Catrell?"

"Yeah."

I slam back into my seat. Trojan is responsible for us getting our money back -- how cool is that?

"Hey, like, can you tell him that I gave ya the money and extra too?" Luther asks, his eyes almost pleading.

None of us answer him. We're too busy exchanging surprised looks at Trojan's long arm.

"Well, see ya," Luther says and scurries off like the rat he is.

"Wow! Trojan is cool," Tina says.

"Yeah. But ... he stopped us getting our fakies," I point out. "That's not cool."

"Yeah, he wants to control Burn," Sultana chuckles. "Keep her on a leash and stuff. A really tight leash."

Tina chuckles. "Good luck to him. Nobody can control Burn."

"Damn right," I say.

"Let's hit the Liquor Mart and get wasted," Laura says. "We got extra money."

"Right!" we chorus and race to our favorite liquor store.

Comb-over is behind the counter picking his teeth with a paper-clip. He pauses with his tooth-picking to snarl at me. _What the fuck do you want now?_

"Hey, how you doing?" I say and nod to Tina who darts into the vodka section. "I like ... just wanna apologize for... you know ... the ..."

"What?!"

"... shit I did the last time and ..."

From the corner of my eye I notice Tina walk out the store her bag bulging and looking bigger than her.

"...yeah, that's it." I smile and back away as the security alarm goes off. "Bye!" I shout over the screaming alarm and run to join the rest of my friends.

We sit down behind our school block and take stock. "A bottle of vodka, orange juice and six chocolate bars."

"Wow, cool! And we saved our money too!" We high-five each other and drink up. After a few drinks we discuss teenager's topics. Ramble on about stuff we know jack about. Today it's the Morning After pill.

"You take it the morning after ...you know, after you did the dirty."

"Really? I thought it was for hangovers?"

"No, no, no. That's the hair of the ... the ... the ... dog's ..."

"...bread, eh, breaf, er, bed ..."

"Breath!" Laura says. "The hair of the dog's breath."

"That can't be right. A dog's _breath_?" Tina looks really confused.

"Dogs don't have 'breath'." Guess who said that?

"Yes, they do, Sultana. They fucking breathe."

"Yeah, you're right. Hey, maybe it's 'air' of the dog's breath."

"Yeah, yeah, that's it. But what the fuck has that got to do with a hangover?"

"Or birth-control."

After two drinks, I start to leave.

"Why you leaving so soon?" they demand. "You always have to go."

"She's going home to watch _Real Housewives of New Jersey_ , right?"

"Nah, she's going home to watch reruns of _The_ _Notebook_."

"Hey, like, I got responsibilities, you know. I gotta clean the fucking house in case Social Services arrive. Don't want them to take away Angel now."

"Mff."

"Then I gotta make dinner for Angel, then I gotta wash her school uniform ..."

"Man, I'm glad I'm not you," Laura says. "So much responsibility. It ages a person, man."

I nod grimly. "It does. I'm getting lines on my face." I point to one. "See?"

"You're right. You look like shit, Burn."

I frown.

As I walk home, I think about Laura's words. It's true, I wish I was a regular teen sometimes. It must be nice to have a life free of responsibility.

But then I picture Angel's smiling face and the way she burrows into me at night, and I hurry home to my little sister. Wouldn't trade her for anything in the whole world.

Chapter Thirty

It's Saturday afternoon. I'm hanging up washing, while Angel reads in her room. Carlene's drinking with Bobby and two of his friends. They ride Harleys, look like they haven't had a run-in with soap and water for a decade, and they keep offering me a sip of their beer. Yuuuck!

I keep out of their way and ensure Angel locks her room door shut.

After I finish with the clothes, I walk into the living room where _Girls Just Wanna Have Fun_ by Cyndi Lauper is blaring, and balk.

Glenda Washington, the social worker, who I fear more than God, is sitting among Carlene and her loser friends.

"C'mon sweetheart," one of the guys says to Glenda, 'have a beer."

"Eh, no, thank you," Glenda says and smiles. She cranes her neck to look outside as if she's waiting for something.

I'm horrified -- the place is a mess – dirty dishes in the sink, the bathroom is littered with unwashed laundry, the lounge ashtrays are overflowing with cigarette butts, and there's a bong lying on the table.

"Glenda, hi," I say, fighting to control the hysteria in my voice.

She stands up. "Hello, Burn, how are you today?"

I drop the washing basket and shrug. "Okay. Just doing some washing. I wasn't ... did we have an appoint ...?"

"No. But we do impromptu visits."

"I see," I say, my stomach churning at the thought of her report.

She leaves without saying much, adding to my confusion.

Deeply disturbed, Angel and I dress to go out with Trojan. It's our second date and once again, he's asked me to bring Angel along. Is he a cool guy or what?

He arrives on time and walks up to the house. When he sees Bobby's friends, he doesn't look happy.

"I know, I know," I say before he can even voice his objections. "Let's just get out of here."

Just as we are about to leave, Glenda returns, this time with four police officers in tow.

My mouth goes dry at the sight of them.

"Burn, we're here to take Angel," Glenda says in a firm voice.

My heart falls to my ankles. "W...what?"

A female officer takes Angel's hand.

Without thinking, I slap her hand away, grab Angel and shove her behind me. "Why? Why, Glenda, why?"

"Look behind you, Burn," Glenda says. "Look."

I spin around. The cops are handcuffing the two guys Carlene was drinking with.

"They're convicted felons, Burn. One is wanted for rape. This place is totally unsuitable for a child," Glenda says. "They're smoking marijuana when there's children around."

"Glenda, I will fix it, I promise," my voice high and shrill. "I won't allow them here again. Ever. I promise."

Glenda cocks her head at me.

I pull Angel close to me and look at Carlene. "Tell her, Carlene. Tell her we will fix it. Tell her!"

Carlene nods, looking terrified herself.

A cop approaches Trojan, his hand on his weapon. "You got some ID?"

"Why?" Trojan asks.

The cop's hand tightens around his gun.

Trojan hands him his ID. The cop radio's in Trojan's details.

The female cop grabs Angel's arm again.

"No!" Angel cries. "Don't let them take me, Burn!"

I spin around and shove off the policewoman. "Leave her alone!"

The cop staggers back. "Do that again and I will cuff you," she warns.

I hold Angel close to me. "You're not taking her. I will fix ..."

The policewoman grabs Angel and pulls her off me.

"...it. Leave her alone!" I scream and pull Angel back.

"Burn, stop!" Trojan says. "Calm down."

"I will fix it!" I repeat. "Don't take her! Please! Please!" I look at Glenda. "Please, Glenda!"

The female officer suddenly bear hugs me from behind, while Glenda grabs Angel and rushes her into a waiting cop car.

"Burn!" Angel screams. "Burn! Burn! Don't let them take me, Burn! BUUUUUURN!"

"ANGEL!" I scream. I squirm around and wrestle with the policewoman.

"I'm gonna pepper spray you!" she warns.

I don't care if she does – they're not taking Angel. "Angel! Angel! Glenda! Glenda! I will fix it, please! Don't take her please! Please!"

The cop holds tighter.

"I beg you, don't take my sister. She needs me. She gets scared at night. Please! She sleeps with me, Glenda!"

Glenda shuts the car door, locking Angel inside.

"Leave me the fuck alone!" I cry as I manage to turn around and hit the officer on the nose with the heel of my hand – so hard, my hands hurt like hell. She releases me and holds her nose in agony.

I run to Angel. "Erro! Hawk! Help me!"

Trojan grabs me and shoves me against the wall. "Burn, stop!" he says. "We'll get her back. They're gonna arrest you. Stop!"

"NO! They're not taking her, Trojan." I knee him in the groin, and as he bends over in pain, I run towards the car, dodge two more officers, and finally get to the car. Through the window I see Angel crying. I bang on the window.

But the officer driving the car speeds off with my sister inside.

I run after the car with two policewomen in tow. "Stooooop!" I scream. "Stop! Stop!"

As the taillights disappear from sight, I fall to my knees and sob. "No! No! No! Please... please ..."

A cop hoists me up, shoves me against a car and cuffs me. "Assaulting a police officer," they say as they throw me into the back of a police car, "is a serious offense."

As they drive me away, I see the police officer I hit – she's got blood all over her and she's still holding her nose.

At the precinct, another female officer grabs my arm and shoves me so hard into a holding cell that I slam against a wall and hit my head. For a few moments, I lie dazed.

"You think you're tough, huh?" she says, standing over me.

Behind her is another officer with a smug look on her face.

I say nothing as my pain is all emotional. I've just lost my sister – what could possibly hurt more?

"By the time we're done with you, you're gonna wish you had never laid a hand on a police officer."

She grabs my arm, hoists me to my feet and slams me against a bench. I hit the bench then fall to the ground where I lie.

"Now that's what happens when you resist arrest." She smiles and leaves the cell.

Alone in my holding cell, I curl up in a corner and squeeze my eyes shut. I want to just die. Close my eyes and never wake up.

But a tiny voice inside me tells me not to, because even though she's not with me, Angel needs me.

Where did they take her? To an orphanage, where older kids will beat the crap out of her? To a foster home where some pedophile will abuse her? To some horrible family who will starve her and make a slave out of her?

The thought of all that makes me want to vomit.

Erro and Hawk appear, looking distressed, but I say nothing to them. Erro tries to take me in her arms but I shrug her off. I am furious that they weren't able to help me.

When Erro talks to me, I don't answer. I've stopped talking. Right now, my gift means zilch if I have lost the one person that's so precious to me. What's the use of helping others if I couldn't help my own sister?

If I couldn't help myself?

A few more female cops mill around my cell.

"Hey you!" an officer hisses. "Do you know that the officer you hit has to have surgery for a broken nose?"

I don't answer.

"You're in sooo much trouble now." She shakes her head and smiles like she knows something I don't.

I cover my head with my hands and try to sink deeper into the bench I'm sitting on.

Then Farrell appears. "Burn? What the ... _you_? _You_ beat up a police officer? What the hell's wrong with you, Burn?"

I don't answer. I just stare at the ground.

He scrambles to read the police report in front of him.

After he does, his frown lines disappear.

He walks into my cell and hands me a can of Coke. I mutter my thanks as I take it, but I don't open it.

He sits across from me and looks at me. "It's gonna be okay, Burn," he says.

"Do you know where they've taken her?" I ask, my voice hoarse.

"Somewhere safe and you'll be able to see her soon. Right now, we need to sort you out. Just

cooperate, will you?"

I nod.

Just then Lisa Farrell, the lady whose husband I once busted at the pizzeria, rushes in. She's also a cop, remember?

"Burn! Are you okay?"

I just look at her as my vision blurs again.

"Oh, you poor baby," she says and gives me a hug. "This must be terrible for you. I'm really sorry that you have to go through all of this."

"T...thanks."

"Farrell's asked them to go easy on you," she says as she hands me a batch of Kleenex. "Told them how you helped the detectives the last time."

I nod my thanks and dab my swollen eyes.

"Can I get you anything, Burn?"

I shake my head.

She stays with me while they process my arrest, squeezing my hand from time to time. I notice a few female cops giving her dirties, but she doesn't seem to care.

Other officers talk to me and explain stuff like how I'm entitled to a lawyer free of charge as I am underage and stuff. I nod, but I hear nothing – I just zone out. It's easier this way – my way of coping.

After a while, I lie on the bench and stare at the ceiling.

Hours later, Trojan rocks up with Carlene to pick me up. He gives me a hug, wipes my tears with his palms, has a chat with Lisa, then drives me home.

In the car, none of us speak.

Sitting in the living room is Daisy, Matt, Lanie, Carlene and Bobby, all sporting worried looks.

"Come stay with me," Trojan whispers. "I'll take care of you."

I shake my head. "I have to be _here_ for Angel's sake."

"What if you stayed with Sofia, Burn? You'll be comfortable there. I promise."

I shake my head. "I need to be here, Trojan. They're gonna visit again and then maybe..."

He nods, but doesn't look happy.

I walk to my room and crawl under the covers. Trojan follows me in, sits on the bed and stares at the ground.

After a while, he turns and looks at me. "We can fight this, Burn, but ..."

I look at him. Even if we do, it will take months to get Angel back. I nod slowly.

He swivels to look at me. "I need you to be strong, Burn. I need you to be prepared to fight for her. Whatever it takes, you have to do it. Whatever."

I nod as fresh tears scald my cheeks.

He reaches over and wipes away my tears. "I'll walk this with you, okay?" He hugs me to him, messing his shirt with my tears. Right now, he's what I need – safe, capable arms around me.

All the heartbreak I have ever felt when Brody and I split, all the anguish I felt when Dawn cut me, all the pain I felt when my parents died -- nothing compares to what I am feeling right now.

He lies in bed with me and I burrow deep into him. He covers us both with the sheet. We don't talk, we just lie in each other's arms in the dimly lit room until we both fall asleep.

I wake up in the middle of the night and find myself in Trojan's embrace. I stiffen as I try to figure things out. Memories of Angel's removal flood me. I shake my head hard to blot out that horrible scene where I lost my sister.

Trojan opens his eyes a little and peers at me. Then he gets out of bed, goes to the kitchen and fetches me a glass of water.

He sits me up and feeds it to me. My throat is parched and I drink up the entire glass of water. I lie down again. "You want me to get you a coffee or something, baby?"

I shake my head and pull him down to me. Like before, I nestle deep into him again. He holds me close and kisses my hair several times. Before long I hear his soft snoring. But I'm wide-awake.

Angel. I look at her empty bed, picture her smiling face, and steel bands of hurt twist around my broken heart.

How do I live without my sister?

I've got to get her back.

Chapter Thirty-One

"You're gonna wear out the pavement if you don't stop pacing," Trojan says.

I look at him, then at my helium-filled balloons on a stick, the little white teddy bear in my hands and the basket of sweets and chocolates that I'm clutching and nod. "Yeah, you're right," I say with a smile. "What time is it?"

Trojan groans. "Relax. They'll be here anytime now." He pats the seat next to him.

I look at it but I don't take it. It's been fourteen days, four hours and six minutes since I saw my little sister and I've been in a daze until I heard that Glenda had arranged a visit. From the moment I heard, I've been watching the clock.

"Burn! Buuuuurn!"

I whirl around and look at Angel. "Burn! Burn!"

"Angel!" I open my arms and she flies across the parking lot and into them. "Angel." I hold her to me and kiss her hair while she ducks under my arm and stays there, probably not wanting the social worker accompanying her or Trojan to see her crying. "Angel ..."

My heart aches at the sight of her distress. I look over her head at Trojan.

He nods. _Remember what we discussed. Be strong for Angel._

I nod and lift up Angel's face so I can see her. I smile and hand her the stuff I bought her. "All for y...you, Angel."

Like the child she is, she stops crying, wipes her eyes, and tears into the stuff Trojan bought her. She looks at Trojan. "H...hey T...Trojan."

He holds out his arms.

She runs up to him and sobs into them. "Thanks."

He hugs her while I cry. Then he holds out an arm to me. I rush into it and all three of us hug.

When she stops crying, we talk. "How are they treating you, Angel?" I ask.

"Nice," she says. "Emily bought me this." She flashes me a pink and green bracelet with a love-heart on it.

"It's very pretty," I say.

She puts her hands on either side of my face and looks into my eyes. "They're nice to me, Burn. Really, they are. I don't want you to worry, okay?" Typical Angel, trying to comfort me when I should be comforting her. I guess it's what happens when you don't have a mother – you mother each other.

"I have my own room, and Emily and Michael are buying me a cell phone so I can keep in touch with you and them."

"They are?" I look at Trojan with raised eyebrows. "That's nice of them."

"But, when can I come back home, Burn?" She puts her arms around my waist and holds me again. "I miss you."

Unable to answer her, I start to choke up again.

"Hey, ice cream time," Trojan says and ushers us into the ice cream parlor we're standing outside. He buys ice cream for all of us, including the social worker.

"They're really nice people, Burn," Glenda says in a gentle voice. "They lost their child years ago and they just want to look after kids. They seem to have a lot of love to give."

"Really?" That is such a relief.

"You will agree that Angel was in danger in those surroundings, right?"

My nod is reluctant.

"In fact, I worry about you, too."

'I'm okay." I gesture to Trojan. "He watches over me."

She looks at Trojan. "Is he your boyfriend?"

I look at Trojan. I never really kissed him or been intimate with him. Will she believe it?

Trojan's gaze is questioning.

With a smile, I take his hand in mine and hold it close to my heart. "Right now, he's my guardian angel."

_Mff. Clever answer._ He looks away.

"Aww, that's so sweet," Glenda says.

"You'll inspect again soon?" I ask. "'Cause I've cleaned up and Carlene's keeping everyone away." I don't mention anything about the grand a month she's missing out on these days.

"Yes, as I mentioned to Trojan, we will inspect in two months' time."

"Two months!" My heart sinks. Two months away from Angel ...

When it's time to leave, both Angel and I cling to each other. "I don't wanna leave you, Burn. Don't send me away, Burn!"

"Angel, soon, okay, baby. Hang in there, please. Please! I promise I'm doing everything I can to get you back. Just be strong for me, okay?"

Glenda has to tear her out of my arms.

When the car's taillights disappear over the hill, I fall apart. Trojan takes me into his arms and I sob into his chest, wetting his shirt till it's plastered against his chest. It's like losing Angel all over again and helplessness shrouds me.

I go home, slip under the covers and shut my eyes. Don't want to eat, don't want to talk to anyone, just want to be alone in the dark. Trojan hovers around me, bringing me iced coffee, chocolates and trying to cheer me up.

"Trojan, it's Saturday; go out. I'll be okay," I say, dabbing my eyes.

He doesn't – he stays with me and falls asleep in my cramped bed.

****

"Where we going, Trojan?" My blue mood persists. I've lost weight, I've stopped, eating, smiling and I've shut the world out.

"Just relax and sit tight and soon you'll know."

"Mff. You look like you're going to a job interview. What's up?" He wears a long-sleeve, light blue, striped shirt, black formal navy pants and a navy blazer. He looks like a businessman. "You look nice."

"Yeah." He smiles. "Just trying to make a good impression."

We drive to a nearby suburb and pull up outside a row of neat houses. Trojan switches off the engine and opens his door. He walks around to me and opens mine.

"Whose house is ...?"

"You'll see soon. Just relax."

He leads me to a house with a neat garden and enters without knocking. I'm very surprised to see Curtis and a few of Trojan's guys there.

Then I see a white couple, a man and a woman sitting on a chair looking very nervous. They glance at me, then at Curtis, who has a green, checked dishtowel over his arm. They haven't moved from their seats or greeted me.

"Hi ..." I say, my eyes flitting between them all.

Their nods are nervous.

I peer at the dishtowel Curtis is holding. It is then that I spot the gun. "What the hell?" I cry. "What are you doing, Curtis?!"

Curtis eyes shift to Trojan.

I swivel around to look at Trojan. When I see the look in his eyes, realization dawns on me. "Are you ... Trojan, are you kidnapping ...ohmigod!?"

"Kidnapping?" He jerks back. "Nooo!"

"So what the hell, Trojan?" My heart starts to pound, my mouth goes dry.

"This is Emily and Michael, Angel's foster parents."

"Whaaaat?!" My hands fly to my mouth, visions of all of us in prison over kidnapping and ...whatever the fuck they can charge us with. "Are you nuts?" I punch him in the chest. "You can't do this. This is serious shit, Trojan. What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Relax," he says, catching my hand. "I just wanted to do something nice for you. You seemed so down about Angel."

"Doing something _nice_ for me ..." I hold my head with both my hands. "Ohmigod, Trojan, we are all going to prison over this." I sink into a chair and place my head on my knees. Black guys holding a white couple at gunpoint? "Ohmigod! Ohmigod!"

"Nah, it's ain't going down like that, man," Trojan says. He looks at the couple. "Ain't that so?" More telling than asking.

Both Emily and Michael nod slowly.

"Do you wanna see Angel? She's in the next room."

"No!" I whisper. "Don't bring her in. I don't want to expose her to this." I turn around to look at the couple. "Ma'am, sir, I am so, so sorry ..." I put my hand to my chest as I speak.

Just then one of Trojan's guys called Darius arrives. "Your car is fixed," he says to Emily and hands her the keys. "We replaced one of them pipes so the coolant light, it should not never come on again, know what I'm saying? Shouldn't give you no problem no more."

"T...thanks," she says and looks at Michael with uncertainty in her eyes.

"You also had a small oil leak. Fixed it too."

"Thank you," Michael says, as he squeezes Emily's hand reassuringly.

Trojan drops onto his haunches in front of me. "Look," he whispers, "I wanted to see you smile again, so I took matters into my own hands, baby. That's all. I thought you'd be happy."

"Trojan, I am happy, but ..."

"They can't ever go to the cops, 'cause I go to prison, they have to deal with the rest of my friends." He looks at them. "Right?'

Michael nods. "Yes, of course. Sure."

Trojan hops to his feet, removes his wallet from his pocket, peels off a couple of bills and shoves it into Michael's top pocket. "For your inconvenience," he says. "I just want my girl here to be able to see her sister whenever; know what I mean? She's been having a hard time since they took Angel away."

"Yes, yes, sure," Michael says, nodding vigorously.

Emily looks at me. "Now that we've met you, we have no problem with that," she says, her voice small and scared.

"Thank you," I say. "Thank you so much." I lean in and drop my voice. "I don't travel with all of them, just him sometimes." I jerk my thumb to Trojan. "And he's okay, really. A good guy. He's just feeling helpless that he can't stop me from crying ..." Tears course down my cheeks. "It's been so h ...hard on me."

Michael nods, while Emily hands me some Kleenex.

Michael clears his throat and stands up. All the guys jump to attention and four guns, to my horror, appear.

I gasp.

"Look," Michael says in a stern voice, "put away your guns and let's just ...just work things out. No one's calling the police, no one's going to shoot anyone and no one's going to get hurt." He looks at Trojan. "Thanks for the car. We really appreciate it. Em wasn't able to use it for more than a week, so thanks. And you don't have to give me money. We're okay, really." He hands the money to Trojan.

"Keep it," Trojan says. "Or give it to your church or something."

Michael bobs his head and puts away the bills. "Let's bring in Angel." He looks at Emily. "Em, make everyone coffee, please."

Emily stands up. "Everyone for coffee?"

I nod.

Trojan nods.

"I don't drink coffee," Curtis says. "You got hot chocolate? Caffeine makes my hands shake."

Since he's got the gun, we can't have his hand shaking.

"I've got hot chocolate!" Emily blurts.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Michael says. "We've got hot chocolate."

"But hot chocolate also has caffeine," Darius says.

"No, it don't," Curtis says.

"Yeah, it does," Darius says.

Trojan and I exchange amused smiles.

Angel bounds into the room.

"Angel!" I cry and hug her, glaring at Curtis and his gun over her head.

Curtis quickly puts his gun out of sight.

After getting over her surprise at seeing me, Angel jumps up and down. "I wanna show you my room! I wanna show you my room!" She grabs my hand and Emily's and leads us to it.

Angel's room is beautiful – pink and lilac, with pretty pastel animal prints and a shaggy soft lavender carpet. A white desk and a rattan chair in one corner, while a dressing table with a mirror in the other. Sparkly pink, purple and white scatter cushions all around – everything I ever wanted for Angel.

"Look at this, Burn," Angel says and points to a walkie-talkie. If I want Emily at night, I just push this and talk. If I get nightmares and stuff."

Emily's thought of everything.

Angel sounds so happy that I have to be happy for her.

"Why you crying, Burn?" Angel asks peering into my face.

I sink into her chair and cover my eyes with my hands.

"Burn?"

It's a while before I answer. "Because ... because ... because Angel, I'm happy that you have such a nice room and you've got everything I've ever wanted for you and ... and I'm so ... happy for you ... and I feel like I've failed to get you those things and yet ..."

She throws her little arms around me. "It's okay, Burn. We can still get our dream house one day. This is just for now. But one day, you and me – we'll get you _your_ dream room, okay?"

I nod and try hard to stop crying.

With a smile she gently wipes away my tears, then hugs me to her.

When I look up, I see Michael, Emily, Curtis, Trojan and all the guys at the doorway watching us. Emily has tears in her eyes. Quickly, I jerk to my feet, embarrassed that they saw my breakdown.

"Don't mind me," I sniff to Michael and Emily. "I'm just a little emotional about ..." I hurriedly wipe away tears. "I'm ... I'm really happy that Angel has you guys in her life." I smile. "And relieved."

We sit down at a table – Trojan, me, Emily and Michael while Angel skips around all of us. The rest of the guys quietly leave.

Pretty soon, we are all laughing (thankfully) over the "kidnapping" incident. I'm so relieved, I could cry. I really had horrible visions of all of us in prison over this incident.

Emily and Michael are the nicest people I've ever come across. Emily is a registered nurse who now works part time and Michael is an accounts clerk. Their home is clean, neat, warm and welcoming – everything I've ever wanted for Angel. I mean, that's how my mom kept things, but for a while now it's been anything but.

They fuss over me, offering me coffee and hot chocolate and milk and homemade cookies. I'm nervous in case they don't like me or think that I'm not worthy of them, like Dawn thought. But they're genuinely nice people and they seem to like me.

Angel sits on my lap. I wrap my arms around her waist and nuzzle her back.

After a while, Michael takes Trojan to see his piano, leaving Emily and I alone with Angel.

As I talk to Emily about losing Angel, I get emotional again.

Emily puts down her oven mitt and leaps to hug me. "Burn, you've been a mother for too long. You need to be a regular teenager with no responsibilities, really. That's normal, not what you've been forced to do. I mean, shopping, cooking, cleaning, helping with homework, attending PTA meetings – that's too much for you, Burn. Not right for a teenager to be doing."

I nod slowly and indulge in a pity party. It's been so hard for so long and it took so much out of me. I had to give up so much and do without so much.

"You will agree that Angel is safe here and that you never have to worry about her being at risk in any way."

"Y...Yes." There's no Bobby and his loser friends for me to worry about here.

Emily smiles. "I will take good care of her, Burn. Don't look at it like you've lost Angel. Think of us as your reliable and safe baby sitters."

I nod, believing all that she's saying.

Angel runs off, fetches a little toy pony with really long hair, nestles on Emily's lap and starts brushing the pony.

That startles me. I mean, how could she so quickly choose Emily's lap instead of mine?

Michael and Trojan re-enter the room.

Then Angel jumps up and goes over to Michael. "Is its eye colour changing again?"

Michael peers at the pony as if there's a possibility. Finally, with a straight face he says, "Yes, I do believe it is."

Both he and Angel laugh at their silliness. For a while, she and Michael chat quietly about the pony and Michael gives her some ridiculous explanation as to how things work with the pony.

I catch Trojan's eye. It mirrors my thoughts – _Take her away from all of this? To Bobby and his crackhead friends?_

I look away.

"Now that we've met you, Burn, we're happy for you to spend nights here even weekends. If you'd like to, that is."

My head jerks to look at her. "Really?"

"Yes. Angel would like that." She looks at Angel. "What do you think?"

'I'd looooove it!" Angel rushes over and throws her arms around me. "We can sleep in the same bed again, Burn, and you can tell me stories about mommy and how pretty she was, and about the girl with the Golden Gift and how daddy used to listen to music without words and drive you crazy and how he used to carry us both at the same time 'cause he was strong like Hercules."

I squeeze her to me. "Yes. Okay. Sure."

When it's time for us to say goodbye, Michael pumps Trojan's hand and Emily gives him a hug. Somehow, I feel that in spite of their harsh introduction, he has charmed them both. That makes me feel better.

When I leave the house, I'm crying even though I'm also happy for Angel. Angel is also crying which upsets me.

But I know one thing – Angel is safe. That's what's most important to me. And ...I can see her every day if I want to. I plan to, of course.

As we drive home, I turn to look at Trojan. Ever since Angel was taken away, more than twenty-one days ago, he's been at my side taking care of me and trying to find a way for Angel and me to see each other, even though Glenda told him that we had to wait for them to contact us and that we could only see Angel at scheduled visits.

He's been quietly trying to figure out a way to help me, and he probably did the best he could. Could have gotten us all in trouble, but it didn't in the end.

Then he charmed his way into Emily and Michael's hearts and I got an invitation to spend weekends with Angel.

I know that in the beginning, our "relationship" started off as something other than regular, but he's become my keeper these days and I find myself looking out for him when he's not with me.

"What?"

I smile at him. "You did all this for me?"

He shrugs and his shoulders relax.

"You arranged for someone to follow Glenda, found out where Angel was, and planned this whole 'kidnapping' – all this for me?"

He shrugs. "No big deal."

"That's a lot of work for someone you plan on tagging and releasing, months from now."

"Yeah, I'm a dumbass. What can I say?" He grins, revealing a lot of white teeth.

At the next traffic light, I reach over and put my arms around him.

He wraps his arms around me, draws me closer and kisses my hair. When the light changes, I reluctantly break away from him. He takes my hand in his. After a few moments, he raises it to his lips, then holds it to his chest. When our eyes lock, I feel something strange in the pit of my stomach – a feeling similar to ... love.

That can't be! It's Brody I love.

Must be gratitude.

Yeah, it's probably gratitude.

Definitely gratitude.

Right?

Chapter Thirty-Two

I'm a lot happier now that I've seen Angel and I know that she's okay. But I feel so much anger towards Carlene that I actually bristle with it.

It's all her fault for allowing all these losers into our home. I want her to lose the money. I don't care where I live – I just want to hurt her. All along I thought of her as someone who needs my help and I made excuses for her for all her shortcomings. But it cost me dearly and I'm raging.

When I get home, she, Matt and Lanie are sitting around the table, eating and drinking.

Oh no, here comes Miss depressing herself.

Matt sits really close to Lanie and looks deep into her eyes as she speaks. None of them ask about Angel. None of them cares that we are separated.

I mumble a greeting and get into bed, where I lie and listen to music till I fall asleep.

I awake at 4 AM. Since Angel was taken away, I wake up every day at around 4 AM and I don't sleep after that. It's been a couple of weeks so I'm sort of used to it.

At around 8 AM, I think about getting out of bed. I hear Lanie getting ready for work, her heels clattering hurriedly on the wooden floors. The front door opens and shuts. I hear her start the car, wait for it to warm up before she speeds off, obviously late.

Daisy's not home. She spent the night at her new boyfriend's.

Minutes later, I hear footsteps. Then I hear whisperings. I sit upright and listen. Matt's in Carlene's room. I can't believe it!

Before long, I hear moans and sighs and the motion of a moving bed. I grab my iPhone and go outside the house, where I grab a chair, push it up to Carlene's bedroom window and stand on it. Through a slit in the drapes, I manage to take about twenty shots of them. With all their groaning they don't hear me.

Quickly, I lose the chair and get back into bed. A short while later Carlene creeps into my room. I fake a soft snore. She quietly leaves.

I email those photos to Sultana with the words, "You know what to do."

****

For the first time in weeks, I wake up feeling happy. I don't even mind that Erro rustles the pages of a magazine while I'm in bed.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

Her head jerks to look at me. "You talking to me?"

It's the first time I've spoken to her since Angel was removed from my care. "Yes, Erro, I'm talking to you."

"Hallelujah, you're talking to me again! Let's sacrifice a chicken, shall we? Or maybe for convenience sakes, a bucket of KFC? Huh?"

I roll my eyes. "What are you reading?"

"I'm looking for a tattoo."

"You serious about that shit?"

"I sure am."

I smile and dial Trojan.

"Hey, baby," he croaks in a sleepy voice.

A warm sense of well-being fills me when I hear those words. Much as I fight it, I like it when he calls me "baby." It makes me feel good – warm and fuzzy.

"Wanna have breakfast at Porgies? It's on me."

"It's so early," he complains.

"Oh, come on. I will pick you up ..."

"Oh?"

"Well, I'll ask the bus driver to stop at your house so you can get in – my version of "'picking you up'."

I hear him chuckle.

"I'll buy two return tickets so I can drop you off. Or you can meet me there."

"Okay, fine, I'll meet you at 11 not 10, at Porgies."

"See ya," I say. Just as he hangs up, I hear a cough. A woman's cough.

I stare at the phone, stunned.

"What?" Erro asks pausing with her page-turning.

"I heard a woman in the background!"

"Can't be."

"It was. I know that for sure."

"That's impossible. He would never do that to you, Burn. After all, you're his ... his ..." She cocks her head to one side. "What are you to him?"

I lift and drop my shoulders.

"Well, he's a negro, a music producer these days, with tons of fine looking, ambitious women in bathing suits, who believe that by sleeping with him, he will help further their career, he's not committed to anyone at the moment ... not even to you. What do you expect, Burn?"

"But ... but ... why's he with me, then? I don't understand."

"You're needy. Like a pot-plant. Like a puppy. Like a ..."

"I get it!" I say in an icy voice.

"Seriously, you're too young for him, Burn. He's way too experienced for someone like you. You need to let him go."

"But, he's here because he wants to be. I'm not asking him to help. Today is the first day I asked to take him out. And he's only five years older than me."

"Make it easy for him to leave."

"I still owe him something. We have a deal going."

"That's in two months. You can see him then. But you're getting too reliant on him."

She's right – I'm way too reliant on him. "Okay, but ...I'm not sure how to handle it. I mean, I can't confront him about it, 'cause I don't have the right to, but ... "

"Then don't. Just enjoy your breakfast with him."

"Mff."

Feeling that I have some competition, I take great pains with my looks today. I do my hair, apply my make-up, wear a push-up bra and heels. When I look in the mirror, I nod. Not too shabby.

I arrive before him and take a seat at our table. Two hot guys nearby check me out. They take turns to look at me. Since they remind me of Brody and Nick, I eventually smile at them. They smile back but their smiles die on their lips when Trojan arrives, looks at their smiling faces, my smiling face, and plants a territorial kiss on my lips.

"Morning!"

"Morning," I say. "Sleep well?"

"No."

"How come?"

"'Cause someone called me this morning and got me out of bed for breakfast and threatened to bring a bus to my house."

"What a cheapskate! Dump the bitch."

He chuckles.

We enjoy a lovely breakfast then walk along the pier, hand-in-hand. As we walk, he puts his arm around my waist and we soon fall into step. I like it, so I nestle into him. When we stops, he draws me to him and kisses me long and deep.

Our first real kiss.

It's a pleasant, warm kiss and I find myself kissing him back. When we surface for air, he smooths my hair down and smiles. "You look pretty," he whispers and kisses me again.

His kisses become intense and even though I like them, I pull away before things get heated.

"Sorry," he says. "You're hard to resist. Two more months, right?"

I want to say, "Oh yeah? This is after you spent the night with another woman? After you wine me and dine me and buy me ice cream and .... well, maybe not wine me, but still. What's wrong – she didn't satisfy you? Huh? Huh?" But I don't. I just smile.

"Well, I have to go see Angel," I say.

"I'll drop you off."

I protest, but he insists.

After he drops me off, I keep thinking about the woman in the background. I really don't know how to handle it, what to think, but I'm disturbed. Mental note to myself: don't get too close to Trojan.

****

I'm back at Porgies, enjoying a mocha and a blueberry muffin with the sun on my shoulders. Now that I don't have to take care of Angel, I have money to enjoy a few comforts in life, and I do.

I spot a few people I know. One of them is Mrs. Douglas – she campaigns tirelessly to end gangs in our community. Seated with her is Pastor Johannes, who also is heavily involved in the anti-gang campaign.

"You behaving, Burn?" she shouts when she sees me.

"When I remember," I say cheekily. "And I do suffer from amnesia, so remembering to be good is hard."

She laughs, then resumes her conversation with Pastor Johannes.

_An_ _opposition gang? Yeah right! I'm the one you should be looking for, you dumb fucks._

I look around and try to match the thought to the person responsible. All I see is a man of about forty-five with a hideous salt and pepper goatee. He closes the newspaper he was reading and stands up.

Thirteen executions and you still don't have a clue. How fucked up is that?!

I reach over for the newspaper the old man discarded open it and quickly scan the headlines. _Body of teen gang member discovered_ ...

That man! I grab my phone and hurry after the man. I find myself in a parking lot. But it's too late – he's already in his car pulling out.

I whip out my iPhone and photograph the license plate. Then pretending I'm trying to get a signal, I hold my phone up and film him through the windshield. He brakes and rolls down his window. "Get the hell out of the way!"

"Oh, sorry," I say and continue filming as I move out of his way.

He drives off and I hurry back to my blueberry muffin.

Suburban housewife ... no, vigilante housewife ... no, unsuspecting ...

To my surprise the voices continue. I look behind me in case the man returned, but he hasn't.

I scan the room again.

Dumb asses. Barking up the wrong tree.

But that ... that's Mrs. Douglas's voice! My head swivels to look at her. I take in her smug smile, her cocky attitude and I suddenly get it – it wasn't the angry man after all, it was her. She's the fucking killer! Holy cow! What the fuck now?

Who can I tell? Who's gonna believe me? She's a respected member of society, for crying out loud.

Officer Farrell! He believed me the last time; maybe I can talk to him about it.

Ignoring my blueberry muffin and my almost cold mocha, I dial the cops. "I need to speak to Detective Farrell, please."

" _Detective_ Farrell's not available today, how can I help you?" another officer says.

"I need to speak to him and him only. I have information about ...I have some information that I think he will be interested in."

The fucker refuses to connect me.

"Erro!" I call.

She doesn't answer.

"Hawk!"

Hawk appears before me. "Long time no see, Burn."

"Yes, you were noticeably absent in my time of need," I say in an accusing voice.

"Sorry, but I don't remember you calling me."

"I didn't."

"There you go, Burn."

"Mff." I sniff and assume an injured demeanor.

"How can I help you today, Burn?"

"You know how all these gangsters have been dropping like drunk flies around us?"

"Yes, but would you mind losing the word 'drunk'. Just flies will suffice.'

"Fine. Whatever! They won't let me speak to Farrell."

"Okay. And ...?"

"Can you check your little Blackberry for his address and give it to me. Please?" I expect him to kick up a fuss but he doesn't. He gives it to me.

Within half an hour I'm at Farrell's house. "This is highly irregular, Burn. You being here in my house and all," Detective Farrell says.

"Detective Farrell, the info I gave you the last time ..."

"Yeah ...?"

I throw out my palms. "It led to an arrest, so what the hell? I mean, check her out. Please! She's probably doing one tonight."

"Burn ..." he shakes his head. "She's an upstanding member of society. Imagine me accusing her..."

"Okay, fine. I'll stake her out myself."

"Eh, you don't drive. You don't have a car. May I remind you of that?"

"I'll hide in the bushes and watch her."

"And if she moves? Drives off?"

His question frustrates and stumps me. "I, eh ..."

He sighs. "Okay, okay, I'll see what I can do."

"Great."

"Don't you go anywhere near that woman!" he warns as he starts dialing.

"Who me?"

He rolls his eyes.

Within fifteen minutes two police detectives are sitting in front of me. Detective Conan and Detective Fartmoor. And, guess what? Detective Fartmoor, surprisingly, is still twelve months pregnant. The Rogaine hasn't helped either – his hair is down to just a few strands and he ain't no Vin Diesel right now.

As for Detective Conan – his breath can still kill the entire cast of Twilight and every vampire within miles around us.

"Burn Ballantyne, is it?" Fartmoor's voice a sneer.

"Yes, sir."

"And ..." he looks at my file in front of him, then pushes it away from him as if it's contaminated with scabies or something, "...you've been arrested, what ... three times for being under the influence, assault, and assaulting a police officer ... your sister had been removed from your care because ...?"

"Sir, that shouldn't matter,' I snap. 'I just wanna help."

"You're also a druggie – we'd be nuts to believe someone like you." His voice drips contempt.

I pull out the big guns. "What did you have for breakfast this morning?"

"What?" Fartmoor suddenly sucks in his gut. (As if it would help.)

"Don't answer, just think about it," I say.

He folds his arms across his man boobs and leans back. Actually, his stomach is so big that when he folds his arms, it crosses under his chins. All three of them.

Bacon, sausage, hash brown, coffee, antacid, Coke.

I shake my head. _"_ Coffee, antacid _and_ coke?" _You fat, greedy bastard_. "For breakfast? Sir?"

His beady, black eyes dart all over the place. "Hey, it was brunch, I'll have you know and I was hungry. Anyway," He unfolds his arms and sneers, 'lucky guess, that's all."

"Okay ... lunch." I hold up my hand. "Don't answer."

Again he sits back and looks at me, one eyebrow now lost behind the fringe of his comb-over.

"You didn't have lunch as such," I say. "You had ..." My eyes bulge, "Krispy Kreme and Coke! Then another Coke. Sir," I sit forward and look at him with concern in my eyes, 'you really have to cut down on sugar, soft drinks. Diabetes ..."

"Awww shaddup!" he waves. "You sound like my old lady."

Conan giggles like a girl.

"You just want the ten thousand dollar reward, right?"

My ears prick up. "Reward? T... ten thousand d ... dollars? Did you just say ...?"

"Look," Farrell says, "Let's just wrap up and we'll put some detectives on Mrs. Douglas tonight."

They kick me out shortly after that.

As I make my way home, I'm spending the ten thousand – an apartment (to rent, not buy), a luxury car (How much is a car? How much is a _luxury_ car? What exactly is a luxury car?), a fridge full of groceries with all the jelly beans Angel can eat, lots of clothes for Angel, lots of clothes for me, movies ... maybe I'll give some to the poor. You know, charity. I will buy Trojan the biggest gold chain I can find. (How much is a gold chain?) I really need to shop around. I'll check Ebay. Mac make-up, Mac make-up brushes ... Gucci purses like Tia, the bitch. Acrylics ... pedicures ... I'll spring for medical marijuana for all my friends ...Emily and Michael, I'll send them on a cruise...

Wow, ten grand!

My smile is big enough to fit in a coat hanger.

Chapter Thirty-Three

When I get home, it's like I'm in Iraq. Lanie has gone ballistic.

"You fucking whore!" she screams at Carlene. "How could you do this to me? I'm your fucking daughter!"

Then to Matt, "You fucking cocksucker! How could you do this to me? I'm your fucking wife?" With eyes bulging, she holds up her left hand and flips it around like Beyoncé does in that video of her where she wears her swimsuit with heels and tells a guy that if he likes it, he's got to ring it.

The way she curses, I'm glad Angel is not here to hear all these words and see her rage.

Carlene's blue eyes stay fixed to the ground and she mumbles incoherently about a misunderstanding.

Then Matt, the smooth operator steps in and goes into damage control. "Baby, honey, can't you see these photos have been Photoshopped? Look at that? That's not me, baby. I have more hair than that. See?" He touches his scalp.

Lanie looks at him, then at the photo. _Maybe he's right. He has more hair than that_.

"I...eh..." She peers at the photo.

"And I'm bigger than that. That guy in the pic – he ain't got my muscles, baby." He smiles and flexes his arm to show his bicep.

Matt is so smooth – he'd make a great politician.

He takes her in his arms and strokes her hair and soothes her like a parent would soothe their kid who's lost a precious toy.

"Baby, you have to understand that people, they are so jealous because of what we have, that they will do anything to break us up. We have to be strong and our love has to stand the test of time, baby girl."

Okay, that's it – Matt has to get involved in politics – he's a fucking brilliant cocksucker!

"You get it, baby?"

She nods, her anger disappearing like smoke.

He smiles and looks into her blue eyes. "Whose girl are you?"

"Y ...yours."

He smiles and plants three kisses on her lips. They hug.

Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? After all I went through to cause shit between them. I turn around and glare at Carlene.

Whew! Matt's tongue is as smooth as his ass. Wonder if she's working tomorrow? I need to buy more lube. And wax.

Eeeewww!

Disgusted that Matt could so easily ruin my moment, I storm into my room, dress in all black, not just because I'm mourning the loss of not having Carlene's ass kicked, but because I'm getting ready for my stakeout tonight.

With ten thousand bucks up for grabs, I'll be damned if I will leave all of this in Fartface and Conan's hands.

At nine that night, I stand outside Mrs. Douglas's house and concentrate.

Itugger, the son of a bitch! You're gonna pay tonight.

Ohmigod! Itugger, the wankers gonna die tonight? I know him. He's a dope dealer and a mean SOB. Frankly, I wouldn't be too unhappy to see him in a box.

Not too far away I spy a Grey Nissan parked behind some tall trees. In it I spot Fartface and Conan.

I creep up to them and bang the window. Both of them jump like girls.

"Let me in!" I say.

They quickly open the door for me. "What the hell are you ...?"

"Hey listen, I can help. She's going after Itugger. I know him."

"I know him too," Conan says and calls for backup. "You can't be here ..."

"There she is!" I cry and duck into the backseat of the Nissan.

We watch Mrs. Douglas smoking on her patio.

A short while later, dressed in all black, like a rapist would, or at least how I imagine a rapist would, she steps out of her house and into her Jeep.

"Is that her?"

"Yes!" Man, Conan needs glasses for sure.

"Okay, get out of the car!" Fartface says.

I just buckle up. I'm going nowhere. "Drive!" I say.

After both of them glare at me for a moment, they drive after her.

"Hey listen, Itugger's a real piece of work. You sure you guys wanna save him? I mean all this trouble to save someone who probably wasted a couple of his peers himself?"

They look at each other, thoughtful expressions on their faces.

"Think about it – she's cleaning up the streets man. She's never killed anyone who didn't deserve to die."

It takes a while before they answer. "Yeah, but we have to. People don't have the right to become vigilantes."

"Why not?"

"It's the law," Fartmoor says.

"The same law that allows him to sell drugs to twelve-year-olds and get away with it?"

He frowns at me. "Shut your trap, will you?"

After I roll my eyes, I sit back.

While I'm waiting for the bust – to run after Mrs. Douglas, catch her red-handed with a smoking gun in her hand and a shocked look on her face, these guys simply pull up nearby and wait.

"What?" I ask. "Aren't we going after her?"

Fartmoor shakes his head. "Chief's orders – we wait in the car."

"Whaaaaat?"

Half an hour later, we get updated. Turns out that Mrs. Douglas did get in and shot Itugger several times while he was sleeping.

But, and this is a sad "but", it wasn't Itugger in the bed; it was pillows rigged up to look like Itugger was there. So, the wanker didn't die after all and Mrs. Douglas is arrested for attempted murder.

We drive closer to the crime scene and watch Mrs. Douglas wrestling with a police officer. "You pussies can't prove nothing!" she spits. _Unless Diego talks. He'd better not open his trap._

"Talk to Diego," I whisper to Conan. "He'll probably rat on her 'cause he knows stuff."

"How do you know all this?" Conan asks as he strokes a pimple.

"'Cause I'm mental," I say in a matter-of-fact voice, my eyes huge.

"Ah." He thinks I didn't notice him inch away from me. _At least she admits it._

"Well, once again, we got our man," Fartface says and high-fives Conan.

No "Thanks, Burn. Even though you're a druggie and a screw-up, you helped get a killer off the street." I resist the urge to ahem! them.

"Yeah," I say. "Now Itugger is free to continue selling drugs to twelve-year-olds. Ain't that just dandy. " I link my hands behind my head and wriggle my lips.

Both of them glare at me.

I don't care; I'm too busy thinking about my ten grand. Spending it will be so much fun. Man, money can be so energising.

Then Hawk appears with two words that drains the blood from my face. "Forget it."

"What?! F... forget it?" I must be mistaken. I shake my head to clear my mind, then ask, "Did you say, "Forget it?"

He nods.

I sit up really straight. "That is my money. I _will_ not forget ..."

"You cannot get paid for using your gift to ..."

"... it. I worked for it. I dressed in black even though it doesn't suit me, and I stood in the cold reading that bitch's thoughts, and I saved Itugger's life even though he's a jerk off, and now after all that, you tell me I'm not getting PAID?"

"Oh, you're getting paid _but_ ...you have to ask them to make out the check to a charity of your choice."

"Charity? Charity! _I'm_ a charity. I'm a deserving case." I slap my chest. "Look at me – I sleep in a bedroom the size of a bathroom! With my sister in the same room! I shoplift clothes and stuff just to get by. I go to school and I work and that's how I put food on the table. I'm like a single mom at the age of seventeen. At the age of thirteen, actually. I had to grow up fast. And a _check_? I want it in cash. Five dollar bills for easy handling. So you can take your gift and shove it up your ..."

"Choose a charity, Burn," he says with an air of finality.

"No! I want my ten grand and I want it now or heads are gonna roll. I deserve and I will ..."

"If there's nothing else ...?"

I fold my arms across my chest and glare at him. _Go fuck yourself, you robber!_

"Okay then. Goodnight."

He disappears leaving me steaming.

Furious, I slap the seat next to me several times.

"Hey, take it easy!" Conan says. "What's gotten into you?"

Fartmoor smiles. _She's mental, don't you know that?_

****

I'm secretly ashamed that I am so relieved about Angel's new home. It's like I'm happy to be

burden-free and it bothers me that I am laughing and actually carefree these days. But the fact of the matter is – I'm so happy that Angel is happy and safe that for the first time in years, I really am a carefree, selfish, self-centred teenager. A normal teenager. It's wonderful that everything is about me.

Anyway, since I didn't get my ten grand (because of FUCKING HAWK!) I plan to take on another part time job so I can save up money to buy a car.

In the meantime, Mi Mi Mi Lok works me to the bone. Mi Mi Mi Lok as I said, is Carlos's (also known as Tong) wife. She's a wiry little lady, hardworking at that, and like Carlos, she too has chosen an Italian name for herself – Madonna.

I kid you not. But think about it – what name could be more Italian than Madonna, huh?

Madonna (Chinese Madonna, not Ciccone) is an absolute tight-wad.

She parts with zilch. We dare not take a soft drink, not even bottled water without paying for it. If she sees us drinking water, she puts her face in ours and asks, "Tap or bottle?"

You'd better say tap or your pay will be docked.

Of course she allows us pizza at the end of the shift – ones that she would have to dispose of. But other than that, she takes the untouched garnishes of plates we bring back from customers and recycles them.

"Wasong?" she says when we gawk at her. "Is still good. Is still good. Why you lookamee like that?"

Madonna also serves watered-down spirits when the customer orders a _second_ drink. She has no shame and she gives a fuck what we think. According to her, we're all lazy. If you're not working sixteen-hour days and you don't have more than two properties – not only are you a loser, but you're also good-for-nothing-lazy to her.

She likes me, though. Says I have good manners and a maturity about me.

But whenever black people enter the pizzeria, she and Carlos watch me like a hawk. Like I'm going to give them free ribs and Coke, or help them rob the tills.

Chapter Thirty-Four

My eighteenth birthday is a big deal. Trojan goes out of my way to make it special. In fact, he books out a section of _Danes_ and I get to invite whoever I want to. And I do. Everyone is thrilled to be there and once again, I'm elevated to celebrity status in the eyes of my peers.

To my delight, many are envious too. About time someone got envious of me, I say and revel in it.

Nick is a problem. I approach him and try to handle this party thing with diplomacy.

"Hey, Nick."

"Hey," he says, a wary look in his eyes.

"I'd like you to come to my party. After all, we're still friends."

"No, thanks, I want nothing to do with that asshole."

"Nick, it's _my_ party. He's just throwing it for me. C'mon, you're my friend and just think how many racist and politically incorrect jokes you can draw from the party. It'll keep you going till the end of the year."

"No."

"Okay, okay. Why you mad at me, Nick? What have I done to you?"

_Like you don't know!_ "You ruined Brody's life, Burn."

"That's not true! I cared so much about him and I left him when I realized just how much your family stood to lose if he dated me. I thought I did the right thing."

"Well, things haven't been the same because of you. Brody's miserable now. But I can see you're happy these days, very happy, in fact, so I guess all well then, right?"

"But isn't he with Alicia?"

"No, they broke up long before he left."

"But she was at your house the day..."

"They're friends, Burn. That's what friends do, they hang around."

I fall silent.

He glances several times at me. _What?_

I shake my head slowly. "I miss him, you know."

Join the club.

"Does he know about ...you know, Trojan and ..."

"No! Why rub his nose in it?"

I nod slowly. "If you change your mind, I would love you to come to my party. And Trojan – he's not a bad guy, Nick. He's helped me a lot. When Angel was taken away, he was my rock."

"He's a thug, Burn. You just don't see it. Guys like that don't give you anything without expecting something in return. Has he ..?"

"No!"

"He will. Wait and see. You've made a pact with Satan. " He stands up. "Anyway, I gotta go."

****

My birthday is on a Thursday, so my party at _Danes_ is that Saturday. Trojan calls it my Birthday Week.

On the day of my birthday, Trojan takes us all to a restaurant -- Emily, Michael, Grover, Sofia, and of course, Angel and Riann.

I get on very well with Grover. He's a cool, mature guy who is very different from Trojan – he's calmer and levelheaded. He's also in the music industry. Our dinner is loud and noisy and fun.

Trojan arranges everything and pays for it all, so I can just kick back and have a great time. He presents me with a beautiful diamond pendant on a white gold chain.

I'm stunned at how beautiful it is. I give him a hug and a kiss. With tongue.

"Now you can throw away this one," he says and removes Brody's thin gold chain from around my neck. I've never told him that it was Brody's chain, but he's probably figured it out.

With a smile, I pocket Brody's chain and then play with the one around my neck.

"You're eighteen now," he whispers.

I grin. "I'm eighteen now," I say.

We giggle and I look at the ground.

He lifts up my chin so he can look into my eyes. "Soon," he says and wriggles his eyebrows.

I nod. He has no idea that I'm already taking contraceptives in anticipation of this big day.

"It's gonna be special."

I nod again and slide my arms around his neck to kiss him again. As I do, I feel a kind of lump behind Trojan's neck.

"What is this?" I ask.

"Nothing," he says and continues kisses me.

"What is it?"

"It's a scar, Burn."

"From what? Gunshot?"

"Knife wound."

I jerk back, my eyes wide with astonishment. "A knife wound from who?"

He sighs and sits back. "It's nothing. Why ya tripping?"

"Tell me."

He sighs and sits back. "On the street – I was thirteen and I wouldn't give up my sleeping spot to some bigger kid. He stabbed me, I stabbed him back and I got a scar."

My hands fly to my mouth. "Ohmigod! What happened to him?"

He runs his hand slowly over his mouth.

"You killed him!" My voice is a whisper. "Ohmigod!"

"That's the way it was, Burn. Kill or be killed. I'm not proud of what I did. I killed a kid."

I look at him with my jaw hanging.

"So what now? You gonna stay away from me?" His eyes scan my face.

My response is to take him in my arms and hold him to me. "It must have been scary being stabbed."

"It was. I was scared. It changed me."

"You've been through so much, Trojan." I hold his face with both my hands. "I wish I was there to help you."

He snakes his arms around me and holds me really close and for a while we don't talk – we just bask in each other.

****

My party at _Danes_ is boozy and fantastic – like nothing I've ever experienced in my life. Everyone is there – all my friends and family – Carlene, fuckface Bobby, Lanie, Matt, Daisy, Foster, Emily and Michael, Lisa and James Farrell and all my school mates. Even Glenda Washington, the social worker is there. We've become friends.

Trojan runs up a tab so all drinks are on him. I get a ton of presents and I get drunk as a skunk with all the shots I take with everyone. We stagger out of the club around four the next morning.

One of Trojan's guys drive us home, so Trojan and I cuddle in the backseat of the car.

"I'm ready to cash in," he whispers and slides his hand up my skirt to grab my ass. "The day has come, baby. Come home with me."

I giggle and grab his arm. 'You want me sober, so not tonight. Tomorrow?"

He thinks about it and slowly removes his hand. "Monday. I'll give you a chance to hangover in peace."

"Date," I say and we make out like crazy before he tears himself away.

I stumble inside and almost crawl into my bed.

Chapter Thirty-Five

I awake around noon on Sunday, shower, wash the cigarette smoke from my hair, then make myself some coffee. Everyone in the house is still in bed. As I do, I think about last night and smile. What a night.

When the doorbell goes, I throw on my silk gown, a present from Tina, wrap a towel around my wet hair and answer it.

Brody is on my doorstep with a bunch of flowers in his hand.

"Brody!" I cry. "Ohmigod! What are you doing here?"

"I came to wish you happy birthday," he says, as he grabs me and swings me around.

"You travelled a million miles to ..."

"Yes! I wanted to see you. I wasn't going to miss this day even if you turned me away. I came over last night, but you weren't here."

"Oh, Brody, I'm so sorry."

"That's okay. Serves me right for trying to surprise you."

"Gosh, I'm so happy to see you," I say. I motion him into my room, where I shut the door.

He hands me a beautifully wrapped gift. I tear open the wrapper and gasp. "It's beautiful," I say as I gently examine the precious silver bracelet. I hand it to him. "Put in on for me."

He fastens it around my wrist, kisses my wrist and smiles at me.

"Oh, Brody, I just love it. Thank you."

"Listen," he says. "My parents don't know I'm here."

"What? Really? So, like, where are you staying?"

"In a hotel till tomorrow. I check out at ten."

"Really?"

"Yeah, didn't want the drama my folks would give me if they found out I was here."

"Really? You did all this for me?"

"Yeah."

I smile and plant a kiss on his lips.

"I love you, Burn," he says.

"I love you, Brody." The words come easily and I absolutely mean it.

We sit and chat for a while and he tells me about Bel Air and his new life. "I miss this place but most of all, I miss you," he says taking me in his arms again.

We cuddle in each other's arms for more than an hour.

"Let's get out of here," he whispers.

"Hold on, I have to dress first."

"Go ahead," he says, and links his hands behind his head.

"You're gonna watch me dress?" I whisper.

"Fuck, yeah!"

I giggle. "No, close your eyes!"

He shakes his head.

"Close your fucking eyes, Brody. I'm not gonna let you see me naked!"

"Why?"

"'Cause ...cos I'm shy, okay?"

"Burn is shy?" He looks at me with one closed eye. "I don't buy it. Will it help if I got naked too?"

I shove him onto the bed and laugh. "Fuck off."

"Okay, I'll try not to look."

I chuckle and grab my body butter. As I apply the body-butter to my arms, he stands up and takes it from me. "That's not how you do it. Let me show you." With his body, he nudges me towards my long mirror and stands behind me.

"Drop your gown."

"What?"

"Drop it."

I drop my gown to just below my shoulders. Slowly, he applies the butter to the back of my neck and shoulders, then plants several kisses on my neck, turning my knees into Jell-O. With a sigh, I sink back against him. He tugs down my gown, exposing my breasts. He scoops more butter and applies it to the front of my neck. Then, with his eyes on mine in the mirror, his hands travel down to my breasts.

Slowly, he massages them, causing my nipples to harden. I suck in my breath, then bite my lower lip. Fuck, this is good. Really sexy and I feel a stirring between my thighs.

I groan and bite my lip as his slippery hands move slowly, but purposefully over my belly and down my thighs, pulling me tighter against him and pressing my ass against his hard-on. The thin fabric of my panty and gown allows me to feel the heat and intensity of it. Another tug and my gown is thrown behind me.

Then, with his eyes still fixed to mine, his fingers slip into my panties.

My body involuntarily jerks at his intrusive and unfamiliar touch, and I have the urge to clamp my thighs around his fingers.

Slowly he moves them around, eliciting moans from me. When it dips into me, a sigh of deep pleasure escapes me. My neck turns towards his face on my shoulder, inviting a kiss. He slides his tongue into my mouth and we kiss long and deep. With one hand on my breast, the other between my thighs and his tongue probing my mouth, I'm unable to think.

Never before had I experienced such pleasure and it makes me scared and delirious at the same time.

"Brody," I murmur. "What are you doing to me?"

His response is to swing me over to the bed and push me onto my stomach.

He jerks off his shirt, fights off his jeans and straddles my ass. He massages more body butter onto my back, the back of my thighs, my feet. His touch leaves my whole body tingling for more.

Then he pulls down my panties just a little and massages my butt. Kneads slowly but firmly. I love it so much, I don't want him to stop at all.

But he does. He rolls me onto my back and slides his tongue into my mouth. I snake my arms around his neck and kiss him back, my body arching to meet his.

He untangles himself from my arms and continues his massaging – my neck, my breasts, my stomach, my thighs.

Then he rolls down my panties and abandons them at my knees. I hold my breath. I don't want him to stop what he's doing. I want to lie back, grab hold of the headboard and just revel in this beautiful abandonment.

With a smile, he kisses my lips, my neck, my breasts, my stomach and his lips disappear between my thighs. I gasp, grab his head and writhe under him. I'm so out of control, I actually feel embarrassed. God, I want him so much right now! "Brody, Brody, Brody!" I gasp. "Oh God!"

He reaches up to put his finger on my lips to silence me.

His tongue moves faster and suddenly, my body shudders. Like someone's turning me topsy-turvy but in slow motion. Never before have I experienced a sensation like this, and I feel weak from it.

Brody beams.

When my body stops shuddering, I look at him. "Where did you learn to do that?"

He shrugs, then plants a kiss on my lips. "There's more."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"But, I want you inside of me," I whisper.

He positions his elbows on either side of my face, his hard-on pressed against my stomach. "Say 'please fuck me.'"

I hold his face. "Brody, fuck me."

"Say 'Pretty please'".

"Pretty please."

"Now say ..."

"Brody, shut the fuck up and fuck me. Now!"

With a chuckle, he removes his underpants and frees his erection. He takes my hand and wraps it around his hard-on. He moans with pleasure as I caress it.

"It's good to finally meet you," I say. "I mean, I felt you against my thighs, against my ass, against my stomach for more than a year, so it's finally good to see you face-to-face."

Brody laughs.

"Fuck me, baby," I say.

He slaps on a condom, then shoves my thighs aside and enters me.

My scream is silenced with a kiss. I clutch onto him as the pain tears through me. He sandwiches my head between his arms and kisses me as he thrusts deeper into me. "I love you," he whispers.

"I love ... you," I groan as the pain subsides and we become one.

We rock together until he explodes inside of me.

Afterwards we lie in each other's arms, smiling like idiots.

"I'm now a woman," I mutter, more to myself than to him.

He nods and runs his hand over my ass. "You're _my_ woman now."

I smile and kiss him again.

When we hear voices, I scramble out of bed and throw on my gown.

"Let's get out of here," he says.

"I have to dry my hair," I say in a breathless voice.

"Don't worry 'bout it. I'll dry it for you later,' he says. "After I shower you and make you cum again." He winks at me.

"Really? You had me at 'cum again."" With a giggle, I quickly throw on a skirt and top and we almost run out of the house.

As we make our way to his hotel, we kiss and fondle each other at every traffic light. By the time we get into Brody's hotel room, he's as hard as a rock again and I'm wet as Niagara.

"Your dick is huge," I say as he rubs up against me.

"I'll just put half in you until you're broken in."

We both giggle at his words.

He tugs off my clothes and resumes his caressing between my legs. I tug off his belt and fight off his jeans, then caress his hard-on. When he moans, it turns me on.

He pushes me towards the bed. I part my thighs and raise my hips to his. He sucks on my earlobes, my neck, my erect nipples as his erection glides into my wetness. It's easier this time – I'm more relaxed and it's twice as amazing. Brody is hell-bent on pleasing me. And I like it. A lot.

We spend just about every moment in each other's arms, loving each other even when we're not fucking. Brody's stamina is amazing and he is ready to go again in no time. We giggle as we dot each other's body with hickeys – creating shapes, patterns and our initials on each other.

Then we shower together and he does what he promised to do – dry my hair.

"I don't wanna go back," he says squeezing me to him. "I want to marry you and live with you forever, baby Burn."

I touch his face. "What about your law degree?"

"I don't care!" he says childishly. Then more adultly, "Maybe we can get married and I can do it part time?"

I nod, knowing that it wouldn't work. "What about your dream to be president one day, baby? What about your father's dreams?"

He thinks about it before he speaks. "Come with me to Bel Air," he says. "We'll live in sin till we can work it out."

"I...what about Angel, baby? How do I take her away?"

He doesn't have an answer for me. It'll have to be like it was for more than six months. I don't look forward to the loneliness. Also, it bothers me that he had condoms in his wallet. It bothers me that he's so skilled in bed. I don't know what to think.

"I can't have this long-distance relationship, Brody," I say.

"What do you mean?"

"Look, I love you and all, but it's too much pressure on you and too much pressure on me to handle a relationship like this." I lean over and give him a kiss. "When we see each other, we'll take it from there."

"So what you're saying – I'm free to see other girls?"

I look at the floor. "I don't want you cheating on me and I don't want to cheat on you."

"Listen, if I work really hard, maybe I can transfer here with ease. I want you to wait for me."

"I think I will, Brody, but let's just take things as they come."

"But ...but do you love me?"

I take his face in my hands. "With all my heart, baby. You're my first love." I kiss his lips. "Not to mention my first fuck, my first orgasm, the popper of my cherry ..."

I straddle him and shove my breasts into his face. "I'm gonna suffocate you with them."

He laughs and kisses me back. "What a way to go. I love your tits."

We are interrupted by his ringing cell phone. "My mom," he says.

I get off him and I scout around for my phone. I left it behind. Shit! Anyway, I'll handle my calls when Brody leaves. I don't want anything to ruin my time with him.

We eat, sleep and make love and stay in each other's arms. We're enough for each other. Monday morning comes too quickly for both of us and both of us are in tears over our parting.

After a million kisses and umpteen promises, he finally drops me off. "I love you, baby Burn," he yells as he drives off. "Always!"

As I watch him drive off, a feeling of emptiness washes over me.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Carlene meets me at the door. "Where have you been?" she demands looking unusually stressed. Since Carlene doesn't do stress, it's cause for concern. "Trojan was here looking for you."

Avoiding eye contact with her, I say, "I was ... out."

"Well, he's pissed," she says, sounding pissed with me.

As I walk away from her, I make a decision to come clean with Trojan and tell him that it's over. Whatever it is, whatever it was, it's over.

I understand I owe him something and I will deliver what I promised. But other than that, after what happened with Brody, it's not fair on Trojan. Although, I realize I may have some explaining to do.

I find my phone, look at it and balk – twenty-two calls from Trojan. I squeeze my eyes shut. Shit! So wrapped up was I in Brody that I forgot all about Trojan.

"He's here!" Carlene calls out.

I look out of the window and I see him in the driveway.

Slipping on his necklace, I run to his car, guilt all over my face. "Hey!" I say as I slide into the passenger seat of his car. I kiss his cheek and sit next to him.

"Hey!" he says and drives off with me.

"Where we going?" I ask, in a bright voice, as I buckle up.

"Dinner at Markson's. That okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Where were you?" he asks, his eyes scanning my face.

"With Angel," I say. Luckily, lying comes naturally to me.

He veers to the side of the road and switches off the engine. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I'm a little disconcerted by the way he's looking at me – his eyes are boring into me.

"Then how come Emily says they didn't see you on Sunday?"

I look at him then avert my eyes, racking my brain for an answer.

"Who ... who did you spend the night with, Burn?"

I squirm in silence.

"Tell me ... tell me, Burn, it wasn't him." His voice is cold, empty, low.

I will myself to spew out another lie, but my mind is AWOL. Slowly, I run my hand over my face.

"Burn ..." His eyes narrow. "Is that ...?" His eyes bulge as he stares at my neck. "That's a hickey on your neck!"

Fuck! My hand flies to my neck to cover it. I forgot all about the hickeys all over my body. Brody was trying to tattoo his initials on my body.

He reaches over and slaps me – so hard, I see tiny silver stars. Before I can react, he pulls out a 9 mm and jabs it under my chin, while his other hand fastens around my neck. Terrified, I stare at the gun, mesmerized by it, fighting for breath, fighting to make sense of the situation. He pushes me deep into the passenger's seat and for a moment, I hold my breath, thinking he's going to fire.

"We had a fucking deal!" he hisses, his nostrils large, his eyes popping out of his skull. "I owned it! You had no fucking right to give it AWAY!"

He cocks the gun. This is it – I'm going to die today. Angel ...oh God!

"Where is he?"

Brody! Oh my God! What have I done?

Then he releases me, gets out of the car and runs around to my side. I grab my bag and try to scramble out of the car, but I have to first catch my breath.

Too late. He yanks open my door, jerks me out of the car and hauls me towards the back of the car. He opens the trunk and shoves me into it. I claw at him with my nails and try to fight him off, but I'm no match for him. My voice box is still recovering from his hands around my neck, so I can't even scream. He shuts the trunk on me.

Alone is the dark, I lie shaking. Trojan's going to kill me. What am I gonna do?

I reach for my cell phone in my bag to call _911._ It's not there! Must have fallen out of my bag. The car starts to move. As he speeds away, my terror escalates.

"Erro! Hawk!"

Both appear before me, looking worried.

"He's gonna kill me t ...today," I say in a wavering voice. "Please, help me."

"Burn, we can't," Hawk says. "It's nothing to do with the gift. You know that. You know the rules."

"But ... but ..."

"Why did you do what you did, Burn?" Erro demands in a scolding voice.

"I ... I don't know, Erro. I love Brody and ..."

"What about Trojan, Burn? What about him?"

"I ... I like him too ... he's been so good to me and ... "

"You hurt him."

I nod. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. "I didn't mean ..."

"Try to kick out the light," Hawk says.

I try to but I can't do it.

"Look for a tire iron, Burn," Hawk says.

With shaking hands, I poke around in the dark and come across it. I clutch onto the tire iron and wait.

Trojan slams on the brakes, which causes me to hit my head against the side of the boot.

He opens the trunk. "Get out!"

I lie curled up, pretending to be unconscious.

He reaches down for me.

I whirl around and slam the tire iron into his face. He staggers back, dazed. I scramble out of the boot and hit the gun out of his hand with the tire iron. The gun clatters a few feet away from him. I think about going for the gun, but he beats me to it. While he dives for the gun, I run as fast as I can. We're in a parking lot, fuck knows where. Although there's a lot of cars, there's not a single person around.

"Burn!" I hear him scream. Even though he's hurt, he's not far behind me and ...he has the gun. He's fit probably because of all the hours in the gym and he's gaining on me. Fuck!

Desperate to outrun him, I think about all that Brody had taught me about running and I try my best to remember. It works – pretty soon, I've got some distance between us.

But his footsteps get louder and I even hear his heavy breathing. When I get around a corner, I drop behind an SUV, out of sight.

His footsteps stop. "Where the fuck are you?" He yells. "You think you can get away from me? I will fucking kill you for doing that to me? I will kill _him_ for touching my gal. Nobody betrays me. NOBODY, BURN, NOBODY! Not even someone I love, Burn. Nobody!"

Someone I love?

When he's not talking, I hear his labored breathing – fuck! I've never been so afraid in my life. _Please let somebody come. Please let somebody have heard the shouting and call the cops._

When I spot the exit, I drop to my stomach and crawl towards it.

"I loved you, Burn. I treated you right. We had a fucking deal. I owned it, Burn! I was there for you, every step of the way. I waited six months. Six fucking months. That's not me, but I did it."

I stop and peep under the cars. His black boots are moving in the same spot.

"I never put pressure on you. I respected you, did everything to please you, I lost my thuggish looks, I lost my thuggish friends, I went fucking legit for you. Huh? Changed my entire life to be the man you wanted. What did I ask of you, Burn? Nothing. Except that you don't renege on our deal. And you did. You broke your promise. You disrespected ME!"

I groan at his words. I had no idea that he loved me. He never said that he did.

"Why was I not enough, Burn? Why? Was I a joke? Were you laughing at me when you fucked him? Come on out, NOW BURN! BURRRRRN!"

The moment I get close to the entrance, I hop to my feet and sprint out of the parkade into a crowd of people. I don't stop running till I reach a cab. I jump into it and rattle off Laura's address to the driver.

Unfortunately, the driver has to pass the parkade to get to Laura's.

Shit! I drop out of sight.

As we pass the parkade, I sit up and peep out of the window. I see him sitting on the ground against a wall, knees drawn to his chest, his head bowed. Looks like a little boy right now.

"Get down, Burn!" Erro says. "He's still got the gun."

"But ...but ...he looks so hurt."

"Later. Now, just stay out of sight for now!"

****

Still shaking, I get out of the cab and knock on Laura's door.

"Hey, Burn!" she says. "'Sup?"

My response is to burst into tears.

Quickly, she ushers me upstairs into her room, where between sobs, I tell her everything. "He doesn't know where you live," I say. "That's why I came here."

I cry more, not only because of my close shave with death, but because of all the things Trojan told me during his rant, because I hurt him so much.

She goes around locking all the doors and windows, then returns. "Look," she says, "just stay here for a few days. He'll probably calm down and then maybe you can talk. Right now, don't be so hard on yourself. You didn't mean to hurt him, Burn."

I nod, grateful for her understanding.

I call Carlene. "Trojan was here again," she says.

"Oh. What did he say?"

"Nothing, just looking for you. Where are you?"

"I'm at my friend Maria's," I lie. There is no Maria.

I hang up and call Emily. "Hey, Burn, Trojan was here looking for you. You just missed him."

"What ...what did he say, Emily?"

"Oh, he just wanted to know Angel's birth date."

I gasp. He's got my cell phone and he's trying to break the password!

"Did she give it to him?" Please let her say no.

"Yep, she did. He promised to buy her a great gift on that ... Burn, is everything okay?"

"No, Emily, everything is not okay. But I am." I hang up, promising to keep in touch.

Laura gets calls from Tina and Sultana – Trojan was at both their houses looking for me. Laura does not tell them that I'm with them but warns them not to answer any of his questions.

He's going to contact Brody! In my state of shock, I can't even remember Brody's number to check up on him – to somehow warn him. I call Nick and get Brody's number. Then I call Brody.

"Did you get it?" Brody asks.

"Get what, Brody?"

"My address?"

"Add ...?"

"You wanted it. My answer was a joke, you know."

My heart sinks to my sore ankles. "Brody...oh God, Brody, I lost my phone. What was your answer?" I hold my breath.

"The White House. A joke!"

"Oh."

"You lost your phone, baby? Shit!"

I sigh with relief. "Brody, I think some a-hole who knows me is messing with me, so just ignore all his or her pranks, okay?"

I quickly end the call and race to Laura's laptop. At neck-breaking speed, I log onto my Hotmail account and Facebook, Twitter, YouTube accounts – every account that I can remember and change my passwords before Trojan gets to it. Next, I call my phone service provider and block my sim card so that he can't use my number.

"You have to tell my mom. We'll just say you need a break from your aunt and stuff, and that if anyone calls she's to tell him that you're not here, okay?"

I nod and she hurries off to tell her mom.

Finally, exhausted from all that occurred today, I lie with Laura on her bed and talk in hushed tones. We both are very nervous and jump each time we hear a sound.

When the light goes out, images of him sitting against the wall, looking crushed flits through my mind.

He said that he loved me. But I guessed that already, right? Yet I did what I did with Brody, without a thought about him. How could I have done that to him?

My internal conflict rages.

You cheated on him.

No, I didn't – we didn't have a formal relationship.

But you treated him like a boyfriend and he did all the things for you a boyfriend would do?

But he knew the score – he entered at his own risk. He set the pace, telling me that he wanted what Brody has. What about the woman's cough I heard in the background?

But, you have to admit – you knew how he felt about you and you never took his feelings into consideration? That was leading him on.

I didn't mean to. I'm just eighteen and ...dumb. I guess I messed up big time. But, he had no right putting his hands on me, putting a gun to my head.

Fair enough. What would you have done to him if the roles were reversed?

I would have shot him if I had a gun.

What would you do if Brody cheated on you after you both were seeing each other for a while?

I'd castrate him.

I sit up in bed and stare into the dark. Then I help myself to one of Laura's cigarettes, walk onto her balcony, which luckily is enclosed, and pace as I smoke.

Why am I so affected by his feelings? He shouldn't mean that much to me. I went to him to break up with him in the first place.

And Brody? Suddenly, I don't give a shit about Brody – I'm more bothered with the fact that I hurt Trojan. He didn't deserve it.

How could I have done that to him?

Sure Brody was my Prince Charming, but Trojan – he was the man who took care of me, rescued me, took care of Angel, threw me a birthday bash. Twice. Showered me with gifts...

Trojan was the guy who really cared. Again, my mind drifts back to the image of him sitting on the floor at the parkade, looking at the ground, looking like he lost something precious.

I stub out the cigarette, squeeze my eyes shut and hold my head with both hands.

I broke the heart of a man who cared about me. A man who loved me.

I slide to the floor and curl up into a ball.

What have I done?

What have I done?

What have I done?

END OF

### BURN'S WORLD

A Love Triangle

(Part 1)

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Romantic Crime and Suspense Thrillers by Eve Rabi

(Please note: we are restructuring. Book titles and series names have been changed. For updates, please check out Eve Rabi's website: www.everabi.wordpress.com)

PAYBACK – Sometimes Karma takes so friggin' long, you have to lend a hand (book 1 in the Payback Series FREE book)

ONE WAY OR ANOTHER (book 2 in the Payback Series)

THE OTHER MAN – It was more than an affair; it was a conspiracy of lies and deceit. (Standalone)

THE OTHER WOMAN – An epic and jaw-dropping collision between a betrayed

wife and a cunning seductress (Book 1 – The Other Woman Series)

THE SCORNED WIFE – To win back her husband, the rejected wife must emulate the other woman. Become her if possible. (Book 2 in the Other Woman Series. Previously titled Derailed)

THE GOLD DIGGERS's GUIDE TO SEDUCTION - Unfair, Underhanded and Downright Deceitful Seduction Tips ((Volume 1 in the Seduction series, penned by Scarlett Smyth-Murdoch-Callan from The Other Woman series)

LEAD ME INTO TEMPTATION – He may be a man of God, but he's still just a man. (Book 1 in the Temptation Series)

TEMPTATION'S GRIP – A romantic crime & suspense novel about lust, infidelity and murder (Book 2 in the Temptation Series)

THE WHISPER OF TEMPTATION – The power of Love (Book 3 in the Temptation Series)   
WRATH OF TEMPTATION – Hell Hath no Fury (Book 4 in the Temptation Series)

EMBERS OF TEMPTATION – You forget; lust burns bright, intensely, but extinguishes just as quickly – (Book 5 in the Temptation Series)

FRAGMENTS OF TEMPTATION - Careful where you step, 'cause there all hearts all over the floor. (Book 6 in the Temptation Series)

RUINS OF TEMPTATION – A forbidden touch, a treacherous heart, desires that cannot be denied.

ASHES OF TEMPTATION – What goes around (Book 8 in the Temptation Series) coming soon

THE BEAST (book 1 in Gringa Series free for a limited time)

THE TAMING OF THE BEAST (Book 2 in the Gringa Series – free for a limited time)  
BEAST OF MINE (Books 3 and 4 combined, the final part of the Gringa series.)

BELOVED BEAST (The original ending to the GRINGA series. No longer for sale. However, once you've read Beloved Beast, you will know how to obtain this version free of charge)

DECEPTION - A Palace Full of Liars - Book 1

MORE THAN DECEPTION - A Palace Full of Liars - Book 2

BURN'S WORLD – Part One – Free book (comprises books one and two)

BURN'S WORLD – Part Two (comprises books three and four)

CAPTURED – My Sworn Enemy, My Secret Lover (book 1)

CAPTURED: My Sworn Enemy, My Secret Lover (original book two, no longer in publication)

CAPTURED FOREVER – My Sworn Enemy, My Secret Lover (book 2)

THE CHEAT - A Tale of Lies and Infidelity - Book 1 in a Tale of Lies and Infidelity Series

THE AFTERMATH OF CHEATING - A Tale of Lies and Infidelity - Book 2 in the Tale of Lies and Infidelity Series

OBSESSED WITH ME –Book 1

STILL OBSESSED WITH ME –Book 2 in the Obsessed series

BETRAYED – He'd get his Girl at Any Cost

MY BROTHER, MY RIVAL – All out of love

### MY BROTHER, MY RIVAL- How can I not love you?
