Yaqui Delgado Wants to Kick Your Ass (15 page)

After work, I’m still shaken up about Vanesa’s visit. I tell Lila my feet are too tired for walking and she agrees. She washed eighty heads today, a record. We pick up Korean food and head home on the bus.

“So, you gonna tell me about those girls?” she asks me on the ride.

I keep my eyes on the world going by us outside. “They’re just girls from school. They wanted me to meet them someplace, but I don’t like them. They’re jerks.”

“No kidding,” she says. “Stay away from them.”

“I’m trying.”

When we get to her door, we find that an Avon shipment has arrived. It’s the merchandise to fill the orders from her party. The box is enormous, and she’ll need my help breaking it up.

I watch the clock as we work to check each item against the forms and fill the plastic bags for each customer. Five o’clock: lipsticks and mascara for Amada Lopez down the street. Five ten: one body splash and earrings for Beba. Five twenty: skin-firming mask for Maria Estela. And on like that. The whole time, I keep wondering who is waiting for me at Bowne Park. What will they do when they realize I’m really not going to show for our appointment?

We work all the way until nine o’clock. Finally, Lila stretches her back and stares at the mess of bags and receipts all over the floor. Then she looks over at me.

“You better go home and get some sleep,
chica
. You’re too young to look so tired,” she says. I glance out the window. It’s just a few stops up the road to our new place, but I’ve been worrying that Yaqui will be waiting for me.

Lila joins me.

“You know what?” she says quietly. “I need some fresh air, too. How about if I ride a few stops on the bus with you?”

Relief washes through me as she kisses my shoulder and slips some new lipstick samples in my pocket.

“If you want,” I whisper. “Thanks.”

The living-room light is still on when I get home. Ma is upstairs, having nodded off in front of the TV. She’s braless in her housecoat, her lips hanging open. A plate of what’s left of fried eggs and white rice is sitting on a box nearby.

I don’t wake her up. I put her dish in the sink and cover her up. Then I slip inside the bathroom and lock the door to think. It feels like anchors are weighing down on me. What am I going to do? It’s only a matter of time before I have to face Yaqui and her cronies.

I run the water hot and strip off my clothes. Then I stare at myself long and hard in the mirror. I hate the slopes and curves; they’ve caused nothing but trouble. If having a body is so great, why has it made such a mess for me?

I pull back my hair to put on the shower cap and stop. It suddenly occurs to me that this is not so different from how Yaqui wears her hair. I fish through Ma’s drawer for hairpins and finish fastening it in place. I don’t step into the shower. Instead, I search my pants pockets and find one of Lila’s lipstick samples. It’s a dark burgundy that Ma would never let me wear. Slowly I draw in my lips. Then I dig under the sink for Ma’s ancient makeup bag and find her tweezers. I work carefully, painfully. My eyebrows grow thinner and thinner until I’m teary and my skin is red and swollen, until there is only the barest line remaining. When I’m done, I stand back and inspect myself again. I look expressionless and strangely vicious. If Ma walked by me, she might never recognize me at all.
That’s not my daughter
, she’d think.

And she’d be right.

Maybe this is the new me I need to find. A girl tough enough to face Yaqui. But if that’s true, why do I still feel afraid?

I don’t tell Mitzi I’m coming. It will be a surprise. We were supposed to get together this weekend — a rain check for my birthday. I’ll sit in her room and tell her everything. She’ll know what I should do.

Ma didn’t try to stop me when I told her I was going. She calls Mitzi a
good influence
. Maybe she thought that’s what I needed right now, considering my recent cosmetic handiwork.

“What have you done?” she asked when she saw me this morning. She put down her cup of coffee and shook her head. “What’s happening to you?”

“I don’t know,” I told her honestly.

The bus hums along Northern Boulevard for a long while, but eventually the wooded neighborhoods after Great Neck take over, each one blending into the next. There are fewer people on the streets out here, fewer kinds of people, too. Everything looks clean. I sit by myself in the back, staring out the window as the world outside gets more peaceful with each passing mile. I ride by Italian delis and bakeries, by cobblers and candy stores. I can’t help but wonder if Mitzi remembers what it’s like back in Queens. Sometimes I wonder if she’s starting to forget me, too.

It takes longer than I thought to get there — almost two hours, including waiting for the bus transfer — but I find the address okay. It’s a small house, a few blocks off the main avenue. It’s one of those doll-size things with a pointy roof, like something out of “Hansel and Gretel.”

For a second, Mrs. Ortega doesn’t recognize me when she opens the door. She frowns a little, but then her eyes go wide.

“Piedad! Is that you?” She holds the door wide. Mrs. Ortega is a small woman with jet-black hair and sparkly eyes. She’s a plump, old version of Mitzi. She crushes me in a hug.

“Come in, come in! Did Mitzi forget you were coming?”

I shake my head and pull down my hood. The house feels warm compared to outside. It smells of garlic and roasting meat; the Ortegas have a Sunday-afternoon dinner every week, so I knew Mitzi would be home.

“No. It’s a surprise.”

“
¿Sí?
Well, that’s perfect. You’ll stay to eat, then. But why don’t you go find her? She’s at the basketball court with Sophia and some other girls.”

“Who’s Sophia?”

“Mitzi’s new friend,” she boasts. “They’re practicing for basketball. Tryouts are coming up.”

My heart squeezes a little, even though Mrs. Ortega looks so happy at the prospect, I think she might burst.

“Mitzi doesn’t play basketball,” I point out. She’s always hated to run on account of her chest and the endless jokes.

“She does now. Can you imagine it? She might be part of the team!”

She walks me out to the stoop and points up the street. “It’s three blocks that way and then a left. You can’t miss it — Saint Ana’s. You’ll see the girls on the court.”

My feet feel heavy as I go.

I hear the girls playing before I actually see them. They’re grunting and laughing, trash-talking a little. I hang back near the bushes to watch. Saint Ana’s is a pretty church with a few school buildings attached. Beside them is a carpet of soccer fields surrounded by a track. There are five girls on the basketball courts besides Mitzi. From the looks of it, Mitzi is playing point guard — badly.

“Arms up, Ortega!” one of them shouts, slipping around Mitzi for the shot. It’s all net. The other girls cheer.

“Ugh,” Mitzi says. “I am never going to make it.”

“Don’t say that!” a bushy-haired girl says. “We have two weeks to get you ready. That’s plenty of time.” She’s plain-faced but pretty. Her curly hair is in a ponytail, and she’s wearing track pants and Under Armour, like someone in an ad for health food or yoga.

Just as they’re about to set up again, I step out.

“Hi.”

Mitzi looks at me blankly for a second, like she can’t recognize me at all. I pull down my hood and smile.

“Piddy?” she says.

“Surprise!”

Mitzi drops the ball and comes running over.

“Hi! Oh, my God, what are you doing here?”

I shift my weight uncomfortably as the other girls turn to watch us. She’s forgotten we were supposed to get together, but at least she looks happy that I’m here.

“Nothing. Just thought we were going to hang out this weekend.”

Mitzi smiles brightly and gives me a hug. Then she turns to the others.

“Come meet everybody. This is Heather, Miranda, Chloe, Olive, and Sophia. Everybody, this is Piddy.”

“Hi,” I manage. I’ve never seen Mitzi talk to so many people at once. It makes her seem like a stranger to me. “Basketball, huh?” I say.

Mitzi blushes. “Yeah.” She lowers her voice a little. “We’re almost done here, I think. A few minutes more. We’re getting ready for —”

“Tryouts. Yeah. Your mom told me.”

It sounds like an accusation, even though I don’t mean it that way. I glance around at the girls. They’re all nice enough, but I can feel them trying to make sense of me, my clothes. Mitzi is studying my face, maybe even noticing my new brows. I’m noticing things about her, too. Her sneakers are blindingly white and new, for one thing.

I look out at the fields.

“It’s like a country club out here, huh? Peaceful.”

Mitzi looks embarrassed. “I guess.”

Sophia, who’s been listening, comes to stand closer.

“We’re going to get something to eat. You can come, too, Patty,” she says politely.

“Piddy,” I say. My rudeness surprises even me, but I don’t know the first thing about Sophia or any of these girls, and that alone makes me uncomfortable. “No, thanks.”

“Piddy —” Mitzi begins, frowning a little.

“It’s just that your mom invited me to dinner,” I add quickly to soften things.

Mitzi turns to Sophia and offers a pained smile. “I’m sorry, guys. I have to be home for dinner. Do you mind if I cut out early?”

I can feel their stares on our backs all the way down the block. It’s as though I’ve walked off with their prize.

The rest of the night is hard for Mitzi and me. I know it’s my fault. I pick at my dinner as Mrs. Ortega chatters away about Mitzi’s this-club and that-club. When she asks me how school is, all I can offer is a lame “Fine.” What am I supposed to say?

Later, when we’re eating ice cream in her room, I can’t bring myself to tell Mitzi what’s been going on. It makes me feel like a loser to tell her about Yaqui when her own life is going so great out here.

When it’s time to leave, she walks me to the bus stop, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. It’s almost dark out, and I can hardly see her face. Still, I know the look she’s wearing. The corners of her lips are down.

“You’re acting really different,” she says.

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re hardly talking. You looked at all the stuff in my room like you’re a crime detective.”

“Actually, you’re the one who’s different. I’m still in Queens, remember, Mitzi? Same as always.” It comes out harsher than I want.

Mitzi stops walking. “But you’re not the same.”

“The same as what?
You’re
the one who moved out here and got all new snooty friends, not me. I’ve been calling you for, like, two weeks.”

“They’re
not
snooty. And what’s wrong with making new friends, Piddy? You want me to sulk about a new school and be all alone?”

I give her an ugly look.

“Are you saying I’m sulking? Is that what you think?”

“I’m saying that if you’d give Sophia and them a chance, you’d see they’re smart and nice. Which is more than I can say for you right now. What’s with you, anyway? Look at you!” She points at my hair, my face. “You even
look
mean.”

In all my life, I’ve never wanted to hurt Mitzi, but if I could clock her right now, I would. Thankfully, my bus rounds the corner. I wave my hand to flag it down, taking off at a jog.

“Nothing’s wrong, Mitzi. Nothing at all.” I’m practically shouting. “Everything is just perfect. Why don’t you just forget me and enjoy your new life.”

And with that, I’m on my way home.

I should have noticed them waiting at the corner, but the girls are tucked far inside the doorway of the apartment building, and I don’t see them until I go by. They’ve been smart; I’ll give them that. It’s Friday. All week, no one messed with me. I should have known it was too good to believe.

When I pass by, they slip out and follow me down the block like a wolf pack organizing their hunt.

I walk faster, trying to get home as soon as I can, but somewhere deep inside I already know it’s too late. They’re giggling behind me. Someone tosses a rock. A voice whispers, “Bitch.”

Nearly jogging now, I’m close enough to my front yard that I can see the dying edges of Mrs. Boika’s rosebushes. But it’s no use. All at once, Yaqui rushes up from behind and grabs a fistful of my hair. She yanks my head back until my feet tangle. Vanesa holds up her phone, recording my face.
Click, click, click
. Someone yanks my jacket right off my back.