Wonder Woman: Warbringer (DC Icons #1)(35)

Diana fiddled with a bag of yogurt pretzels. “I’m not sure I can go home after what I’ve done.”

“I know you guys are all no contact with the outside world, but…” Diana looked up at her with those steady dark-blue eyes, and Alia’s words trailed off as realization struck. “You mean saving me. You might not be able to go back because you saved my life.”

Diana turned her attention to a tin of almonds. “There’s a great deal at stake. Not just for me.”

Alia felt a tide of guilt wash through her. Diana had saved her life not once but twice. As much as she wanted to just find a way home and spend about a week sleeping, watching TV, and forgetting she’d ever met this girl, she owed her. She knew she should say something, but instead she tossed a T-shirt at Diana and headed toward the register.

Diana held it up. “?‘I heart NY’?”

“I love New York.”

“That much is apparent.”

“No, the shirt is for you.”

“It’s a very strong statement. The city is enticing, no doubt, but—”

“It’s so idiots will stop staring at your boobs,” Alia said loudly as a couple of boys who couldn’t be more than thirteen craned their necks over the aisle.

“You wish me to cover myself?”

“I’m not going all puritan on you, but you’re the one who said we should avoid attracting attention. No one seems to be able to resist the magical combination of cleavage, leather, lots of bronze skin, and bed head.”

“Bed head?”

“It means— Oh, never mind. Let’s just say you look like some nerdy wet dream.”

Diana glanced at the boys who hadn’t stopped gawking. “Surely they’ve seen breasts before.”

“On a real live girl? Who knows? But the novelty never seems to wear off.” Alia tossed two pairs of sweats and another T-shirt into the basket. Sweatpants during a New York summer made her skin crawl, but they were low on options.

“More clothes?”

“Trust me, if you really want my help getting us to Greece, I’m going to need better clothes than these.”

“Why?”

“You can get away with…” Alia waved vaguely at Diana’s ensemble. “Whatever this is. But I can’t walk around looking like a tennis-playing hobo.”

“Why?”

Alia bristled. “Because people see different things when they look at me.”

“Because you’re so short?”

“I’m not short! You’re just a giant. And, no, because I’m black.” She tried to keep her voice light. She didn’t want to talk about this stuff. It was bad enough when one of her teachers thought they should have “a forum on race” and she had to deal with a bunch of Bennett kids debating affirmative action, or worse, coming up to her to apologize after class.

Diana frowned as Alia walked them to the register. “I’ve read about the racial conflicts in your country’s history. I was given to understand they’d ended.”

That was what her father had wanted to believe, too. But he’d never had to live in his wife’s skin, or his daughter’s, or his son’s.

“They haven’t. They happen every day. And if you don’t believe me, check the security guard breathing down our necks. When people look at me, they don’t see Alia Keralis. They just see a messed-up brown girl in ratty clothes, so let’s get out of here before he comes by with a ‘How you ladies doing today? Mind opening up that bag for me?’?”

They plunked their items down at the register.

“You doing cosplay or something?” the girl behind the counter asked, cracking her gum. “You a warrior princess?”

Diana flinched. “Is it that obvious?”

“You look good,” said the clerk. “I don’t like that fantasy stuff, though.”

“How about when you can’t tell the difference?” Alia muttered.

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Just been a long day.”

Once they had paid with a few bills from Alia’s giant wad of cash and the security guard had stopped giving them the fisheye, Alia slipped the new flip-flops onto her feet, gratified by their loud slap on the linoleum.

Laden with plastic bags, they headed outside and crossed the little park. Then Alia pointed them toward Alphabet City and the Good Night hotel. She knew there must be hostels or hotels that were closer, but she didn’t have her phone, and she didn’t want to wander the streets asking for directions. That voice inside her telling her to just go home was getting louder and louder.

“You’ve stayed here before?” asked Diana doubtfully when they arrived in front of the hotel’s grubby facade.

“No,” Alia admitted. “But my mom and I used to pass by this place all the time.”

They were some of her happiest memories, sitting with her mother in Ebele’s salon on Avenue C, reading or just listening to the ladies talk, watching hour after hour of true-crime shows. After her parents had died, Alia hadn’t been able to bear the idea of returning to the little salon without her mother, but eventually her hair was in such a state that she’d had to. It was that or go somewhere new, and Alia wasn’t big on “somewhere new.”