“And you’re fucking drunk.” I mutter, scraping my nails against the bruise on her ass. “Fuck.”
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Ace
The stall door’s lock clinks again and when it swings open, I realize a walk of shame in a girls’ bathroom means something different now. Back in LA, me and Javier used to keep a running tally of our embarrassing stumbles out of girls’ bathroom stalls. I had the lead before shit happened.
“You a’ight, girl?” a different girl asks Phat as I pull her toward the entrance.
The line for an open toilet is a lot shorter and the primping girls from the mirror left. It’s just me, Phat, and five girls narrowing their eyes at me.
Phat wrinkles her eyebrows. “Ye—yeah... I’m good.”
She looks between me and the girl like she doesn’t know if she should thank her for her nosy concern or tell her that just five minutes before we stumbled out of the stall; she was sucking on my bottom lip.
The girl looks us up and down.
“C’mon, let’s go.” I pull her hand and drop it because I know what life is like outside that stall and that drunk rant she went on tells me she doesn’t.
The rest of the population doesn’t live on Planet Ace like Phat. Most of them don’t question anything that’s fed to them—not even about a kid like me.
“We going home?” she asks, tilting her head.
“Yeah. I’m takingyouhome to Mom.”
“No...no.” She tugs my shirt while I try to step forward.
Their eyes are like ten pairs of lasers zeroing in on my mouth when Phat slurs her words.
“Yeah...c’mon.” I stare back at the one who asked Phat if she was a’ight. “Brandy’s in the car waiting for us.”
I need to leave a name, a breadcrumb, an alibi—anything. It’s the aftermath of the carnage from LA.
“You brought her here with you?” Phat asks.
“Yeah. What else was I supposed to do? Leave her on the side of the road?”
“Why the fuck would you do that?”
The girls whisper.
So, it’s like ten pairs of accusatory eyes wanting to know if Brandy is “a white girl” and if I’m brave enough to “touch a bitch” while they’re watching. Phat’s too drunk to understand though.
“Aye...” I breathe out, darting my eyes between her and them. “Let’s go.”
“No—”
“I saidlet’s go.”
There’s a chorus of “ohhhs” when I push out of the bathroom with Phat on my heels. When we pass the security guard, he smirks at her twisted sarong and scarf dangling from my fingers.
“Have a good night,Hollywood.” He chuckles. “Stay outta trouble.”
“Yeah... whatever, nigga.” I toss my hand back, swiping Phat’s to pull her into the muddy field I waded through to get to the entrance.
“Get on my back.” I crouch, yanking her arm.
“I don’t wan—”
