“So we need a plan B.”
“We could sneak in,” Henri ventures.
I shake my head. “I don’t think it’ll be easy to sneak in. Not like at Kozlov’s place.”
She gnaws on a knuckle. “Then what?”
We’re quiet for a moment, then I say, “Why don’t we tell them we want to join the club?”
“You’re kidding, right?” she replies derisively. “Look at the way we’re dressed.” She points at my sneakers. “You’re wearing Autry lowtops for god’s sake.”
“Yeah,” I say impatiently. “That’ll work in our favor. These guys all have serious money, so they won’t think we’re street grunge. They’ll think we’re stupid teenagers who can’t stand our parents.”
“What if they beat us up or kill us?”
“They won’t,” I say with more bravado than I feel. “They always want new gang members. And we’re young so they’ll think they can easily push us around.”
“What if they’re like Hell’s Jury and don’t let girls join?”
“They let girls join,” I reply with more assurance than I feel.
“What if?—”
I cut her off. “You got a better idea?”
She takes a long look towards the 311 Clubhouse. “No.”
“Just let me do the talking. My dad’s a Hell’s Jury. I know how to act.”
Henri looks like she’s about to argue, then clamps her lips together and nods tersely.
I take her arm and steer her towards the clubhouse. As we step out of the shadows, I see two of the club members, one guy, one girl, sitting on the steps smoking weed by the smell of it. I almost turn around. Dad hates drugs, all of them.
It’s too late for a retreat as they spot us. “Got a death wish, assholes?” the guy says as he stands. He’s tall, like well over six feet, but pretty skinny. I figure he’s maybe 20. He’s wearing some righteous sneakers and a Gap T-shirt. Nice teeth, good haircut and an attitude that screams ‘I’ve got money’.
The girl stands up too. She looks like a shrimp next to the guy, but she’s taller than me and Henri. Unlike the guy, her clothes look like they’ve been bought from the Salvation Army. Her face is sallow with dark circles under her eyes. Her hair is long and unbrushed, stringing out down her back. She looks like she hasn’t slept in a week. I feel bad for her because she doesn’t belong, even though she’s trying hard to copy the guy’s swagger. I don’t know how the 311 Boys let her into their gang unless she’s someone’s girlfriend or something.
Henri crowds closer to me. “We should run,” she whispers.
“Too late,” I reply as a couple of other gangbangers join the guy and the girl.
I clear my throat then decide I better start acting like dad or we’ll never get through the front door.
I grab Henri’s hand and swagger up to them. “Nope. Heard you were recruiting. We wanna join.” The words, my tone sound right despite my heart trying to fly out of my chest.
The girl, who can’t be older than 16, looks us up and down. “What’s up with you two, hanging around here? Go back to kindergarten.”
I get annoyed and forget to be scared. “They got room in your play school, babyface?” That sounded more like something Rocky or Trigger would say, but whatever.
Henri’s breathing deepens as she tightens her grip on my hand.
“Fuck you,” the girl replies as she curls her fists and takes a step towards us. “Let’s fuck ‘em up, Cam.”
Cam shakes his head. “Leave ‘em alone, Soprano. You weren’t much older when you joined.”
“But I wasn’t so lame,” she replies with hostility.
“Guess, you grew out of it,” I say dryly. “Don’t wanna talk to you guys anyway. Where’s Renfrew?”
