You in Five Acts(81)

“I’m Dante’s cousin,” I said, and he laughed, a quick, sharp exhale through his nose. He dialed his phone while we waited. I wanted desperately to hold on to you but knew it would make me look bad. Your face was calm, expressionless. If you were nervous, you didn’t show it.

“Yo, D,” he said, “You invited some kids?” He smiled and looked us up and down. “Yeah . . . a girl, too.” His face darkened then, and he turned away. “Nah, nothing,” he said. “I called him twice already. You called your guy?” There were a few more tense exchanges before he hung up and acknowledged us again. “Fourth floor,” he said, opening the door, which apparently hadn’t been locked. There was a tiny hole in the glass, right in the center, surrounded by a sunburst of shallow grooves.

The hallway inside stank of mildew and weed. We climbed carefully up the stairs—I realized, too late, that you could barely put weight on your ankle and were clinging to the bannister; I should never have let you come—past three other doors that were scary quiet. One had a big BEWARE OF DOG! sign but no sign of any dog, one was piled high with garbage, and the third didn’t even have a doorknob, just a hole covered with flaking duct tape. Dante was waiting for us on the fourth floor landing, which vibrated with the hip-hop pumping inside the apartment. His face was tense, his eyes even shiftier than usual.

“Sorry about Tino,” he said. “He’s a little on edge because the delivery’s late.”

“We’re just here for Liv,” I said, keeping myself firmly in between you and Dante. “She in there?”

“Unfortunately.” He rolled his eyes and pushed the door open into a huge, teeming mass of people. The living room was a crush of bodies, moving in and out of sync with the bouncing backbeat of the music. The air was thick with smoke, and lighters flicked in the dark like fireflies. Dante nodded us in, saying, “I don’t even know what she’s on tonight. It’s nothing I gave her. She’s actually being a real f*cking downer, so you’re doing me a favor.”

I felt you stiffen behind me, but somehow we both managed to squeeze past Dante without punching him in the face. I instinctively reached back for you, but you didn’t take my hand.

? ? ?


We found her sunken into the corner of a stained, ratty couch on the far side of the room, with her legs folded up under her, bobbing her head and moving her jaw in jerky circles. The street lamps shining through the dusty window shades threw shadows into the hollows of her cheeks. Her hair was plastered to her head with sweat.

“Oh my God,” you whispered when you saw her. She didn’t look as bad as when I’d seen her in the park—she looked much, much worse.

The other people at the party didn’t seem to notice. One girl was on the edge of the couch, basically sitting on Liv’s shoulder, like she wasn’t even there. A burly guy with bright, restless eyes was sitting next to her, looking pissed and mumbling to himself. When we came over, he sprang up.

“I’m done babysitting this tweaked-out bitch!” he yelled, and the circle of people standing around the table laughed and nodded.

“This ‘tweaked-out bitch’ is my friend,” you yelled even louder, and my heart sped up in the long seconds of silence before the angry guy finally just mumbled some curses at you and stalked away.

“Hi, baby girl,” you cooed, kneeling in front of Liv. Her eyes floated down to your face and then immediately crinkled shut. Her lower lip trembled as you took her hand and stroked it, whispering, “It’s OK, it’s OK.” I stepped back against the wall, not sure of my place. All I knew was that you belonged in yours. Liv didn’t need a babysitter, or some wannabe white knight. She needed someone who loved her. She needed you.

“I’m sorry,” Liv sobbed into your shoulder.

“No apologies,” you said, starting to cry, too.

“These bitches,” sighed the girl on the edge of the couch. The music changed. The floor seemed to slant. I felt uneasy. Suddenly I really didn’t want to be at T’s apartment anymore.

We should have left right then. If we had left right then—

But I didn’t want to scare you for no reason. I leaned over the couch and peered out the window. Below, on the street, everything looked normal. A bus droned by. A kid dribbled a ball. Just then, my phone chimed loudly in my pocket and I could feel everyone’s eyes on my back like I was wearing a target.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, and I heard a deep voice ask, “Who the f*ck is that?”

It was a text from Mom: Are you on your way?

“We should go,” I said to you, but you were still deep in whispers with Liv and couldn’t hear me. I reached down and grabbed your arm.

“We should go,” I started to say again, but I’d only gotten out the first two words when the bleep of a police siren drowned me out.

Murmurs like tremors cracked through the room. Someone turned the music down. I got shoved out of the way as a few guys rushed to the window. They moved in unison, like some ungainly corps de ballet.

“Oh shit!” one of them yelled. Then: chaos. People pushing and shouting, tossing full cups and lit cigarettes on the floor in their rush to get out.

My heart thudded helplessly against my ribs as I pulled you to standing. Someone kicked the coffee table into us and you screamed out in pain.