Grown(36)

“We’re recording the album here,” he says, picking up something that looks like a baby monitor. “So as long as it takes.”

Wow. It’s really happening. We’re going to record my album. The words in my songbook are about to come alive. All I ever wanted.

I wrap my full self around him in a tight hug. Surprised and alarmed by the warmth, he leans away.

“Thank you,” I whisper, kissing his cheek.

Slowly, he thaws, rubbing my back. “Anything for my Bright Eyes.”

Over his shoulder, I have a clear view of a monitor in his hand, a grid of black-and-white video images. He has a camera in almost every corner of the house.

He releases me, a confused look in his eyes, then smiles before clicking a button. Music blasts at deafening levels.

“JESSICA!” he screams.

Jessica? She’s here?

On the first landing, Jessica appears, wearing a loose-fitting black sweat suit, face devoid of emotion.

Korey waves at me. “Show her around.”

I meet Jessica with my bag. She sizes me up, then starts down the hall.

“Korey expects this place to be spotless. No tracking in dirt or dust, and absolutely no shoes in the house. Don’t eat until he tells you. Don’t drink until he tells you. Don’t talk to the other guests, especially the men . . . but I’m sure you’ve learned that lesson by now.”

“What other guests?”

“That’s none of your business,” she says, clipped and cold as ever.

We walk up another flight of stairs to a long hallway. To the left are gold double doors.

“That’s Korey’s room.”

Jessica walks the opposite direction, opening the last door on the right.

“Don’t leave this room until he tells you.”

My room is what you’d call a perfect square. Dull hardwood floors, a tiny desk, a queen-size bed with white sheets, and a closet with a few baggy track suits on hangers, just like Jessica’s. The flat-screen TV on the wall seems dwarfed by the vast plainness. It doesn’t match the opulence of the rest of the home. No cameras . . . or at least not that I can see.

“No skirts or dresses around here, in case any of Korey’s friends stop by. And they will, so stay in your room.”

The window faces a pristine backyard with manicured hedges that look like part of a large maze surrounding a giant swimming pool. A small dose of relief pours into my heart. I live here. I live in a home with a pool. I have my own pool.

As I back away, my leg brushes against something metal. Something I didn’t see, halfway hidden by the cream curtain kissing the floor. It almost seems out of place with the rest of the decor. I push the curtain aside and gasp.

A metal bucket.

My heart stops and starts up again in time for me to turn around and watch Jessica close the door, locking it from the outside.

There’s this scene in Cinderella that always pops in my head.

It’s at the very end of the movie, when she hears the prince is looking for the mystery girl who lost a glass slipper. Cinderella floats upstairs, never noticing her evil stepmother’s realization. She follows Cinderella to her room and locks her in so she’s unable to try on the glass slipper.

Maybe that’s what Jessica is, the stepmother, trying to keep me from Korey. No way all those rules are his idea.

Korey enters with two Styrofoam cups and Flounder under his arm.

“Here, drink this.”

It tastes familiar. Sweet, like a Jolly Rancher. Bubbly, like Sprite. But something else. A slightly bitter medicine taste.

“What is it?”

“Something to help you relax. See, I’m having some too.”

He sets Flounder on the desk, angling him toward the bed. I haven’t touched Flounder much; he reminds me too much of going to Disneyland, and I’d rather forget that day. But in some strange way, seeing him brings me comfort of softer times, when I was a mermaid who sang and played with little fishes. I wonder how the Littles are doing without me.

“Enchanted . . . such a pretty-ass name,” Korey says with a smirk, his words slurring. He flops onto the bed next to me. “What’s the story behind that beautiful name?”

My heart softens, and I feel my defenses loosen. It’s been so long since it was just the two of us and him smiling that I almost forgot how just being near him feels like flying.

“Mom said I was born with the type of eyes that takes your breath away,” I say, taking a sip.

“That’s it?” He chuckles. “All Moms say shit like that.”

Without thinking, I shoot back, “Is that what yours said?”

“No, she . . .” His voice fades, eyes staring off into the void. “She . . . I, um, doubt she saw anything good in me.”

He sits up, grabbing the remote from the nightstand, clicking on Netflix. In an instant, I feel guilty for bringing up his mom, but I also feel loose and wobbly. Korey rubs my knee, his arms like an octopus, the room spinning.

I look inside the cup after one long blink. The drink is purple.

How sweet, I thought before flopping back. He knows purple is my favorite color.





Chapter 47


Jellyfish




I was stung by a jellyfish once.

Back in Far Rockaway, while snorkeling close to the rock bank, I noticed a plastic bag floating nearby. Or . . . at least I thought it was a plastic bag. People are always throwing their trash in the ocean. But when I moved closer, the bag came to life, its tentacles darting, and a three-alarm fire broke out on my arm. I popped up to the surface with a scream. Daddy rushed in and carried me to shore. Mom doused the fire with salt water. Lifeguards brought the first-aid kit. Shooting stars covered the clear blue sky as the intense burning raged on.