Fiona and Jane(25)

If any of what Johnny was doing to him had any effect, Viet didn’t show it. His eyes were pinned to the TV screen, where two naked bodies, a man on top of a woman, writhed on a bed with red satin sheets. As if he suddenly remembered I was still standing there, Viet turned his head in my direction. He looked at me through half-closed eyes.

“I’m not gay,” he said. “Just so you know.” His eyes drifted back to the TV. “Cut the lights, Koala. Too bright in this bitch.”

Then the room was dark, except for the glow of the TV. I couldn’t look at it. I turned around and caught Koala staring at me from his chair, bathed in a weird green light. He opened his mouth, dragged the tip of his tongue over his chapped lips.

“You get down like this, College?” He slid his eyes over the empty bed and back to me. “I know your type. You act mean at first, but once you get a couple drinks in, you’re down to party.” He stood and took a step toward me, a crooked grin painted on his face. The hoops in his ears shook and glinted. Before he could get any closer I crossed to the door. I slid the chain off, and then I was outside.



* * *



? ? ?

I ran down to Shamu—luckily, Fiona had left the doors unlocked. I sat in the passenger seat, shivering. Room 201 was only a few doors down from where I’d just escaped. Five minutes, I told myself. If Fiona didn’t come out, I’d go knock on the door.

Five minutes turned into ten, then fifteen.

On the ground level, I spotted a pay phone box stuck to the wall. There was only one person to call. I punched in Won’s pager, left the pay phone’s number, my code, and 9-1-1.

He rang back almost immediately.

“I need help,” I said. “I don’t know what to do— Fiona disappeared and I’m waiting out here by myself—”

“You have to go get her,” Won said after I told him what happened. “Then come over here. Can you drive?”

I said I didn’t know where we were or how to get home. Then I remembered we were by the airport. He gave me directions and made me repeat them back, twice.

“Go slow,” Won said before we hung up. “You’ll make it, Jane.”

“Won,” I said. “I’m scared—”

“You can do it,” he said. “I’ll be here waiting.”



* * *



? ? ?

I pounded on the door marked 201. Sung answered—I pushed him out of the way.

“Fiona?” The room was decorated the same as the other one, except with a king-size bed. There was a lump under the comforter. I sat down and pulled back the blanket. Fiona’s eyes fluttered open.

“We were just talking.” Sung’s voice behind me. I glanced back and saw that he was holding up the waist of his jeans with one hand. A braided leather belt hung loose off the loops.

“Are you okay?” I asked Fiona. Her hair lay fanned out underneath her head on the white pillow. Her top was still on.

“I barfed.” When she said it, I smelled the rancid odor in the air.

“You can’t stay here,” I said. “We have to go.”

“I don’t feel so good,” she moaned. She screwed her eyes shut against the light.

Sung stepped next to me. “She just needs to sleep,” he said. “I’ll take care of her—”

“We’re in high school,” I blurted out. “We don’t go to UCLA. We’re sixteen.”

“Oh fuck. What?” Sung threw a hand up and backed away slowly, the other hand still clutching the waistband of his jeans. “I never touched her,” he said. “I swear I didn’t. Nothing happened.” He stroked nervously at the scar on his face.

“Help me—”

“Her shoes are here somewhere . . .” Sung got down on his hands and knees to search under the dust ruffle.

After he found Fiona’s black wedges—one kicked under the bed, the other in the shower, somehow—Sung helped carry her down the stairs to Shamu.

“I knew you were lying,” he said. “I thought you were hoodrats pretending to be college girls, but damn. You’re sixteen?”



* * *



? ? ?

Although it would’ve been faster on the freeway, I drove Shamu along the side streets all the way to Won’s. The last time I took my driving test, I forgot to turn and look over my shoulder while trying to merge onto the freeway. There was no one cruising in my blind spot, but still, it was a critical mistake. An automatic fail.

When I finally pulled up to his complex almost an hour later, Won was standing outside, waiting. Fiona woke up, disoriented, groaning, when Won threw her over his shoulder. He carried her like that up the stairs to his apartment. I followed, afraid he might lose his grip and drop her.

Won laid her down in his bed. His room was dark. We’d been here, the three of us, a million times before.

“Jane,” she murmured.

“I’m here.” I sank to my knees on the floor beside the bed. “We’re at Won’s house.”

“Won?” she said softly. “What happened . . .”

“You’re drunk,” I said. “You’re safe now.”

“Me?” she said. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Jane—don’t tell Won what happened— I don’t want him to know—”