Wishing Pearl Page 32

  Silence.

  What could he say to her, after all? Carmen knew he loved her. They’d been together since Nate’s junior year and her freshman year. Her move must have hurt him, too—but obviously not like it had destroyed her. He still lived in luxury and kept the same elite zip code they’d both enjoyed all their lives. And he clearly wasn’t hurting enough to fight for her. But really, what did she expect him to do? Marry her? Yeah right. Like his parents would go for that. They barely tolerated Nate’s dating Carmen because of her Mexican heritage—though they didn’t know their disdain was so obvious.

  Carmen wondered if his mom lay in bed at night and whispered, “Well, at least she’s half white,” as she tucked her silk sheets around her feet. Then Nate’s dad would turn out the light and mumble, “Yes, thank the Lord for small favors.”

  Finally, Nate cleared his throat. “So where’s everyone else?”

  “You mean you can’t hear the construction racket? I can barely think over the hammering and drilling. Mom and Kimberley are in my—er, our—room setting up … get this: bunk beds. Bunk beds? You’ve got to be kidding. I get to play Rock, Paper, Scissors with my little sister over who gets the top bunk. After never having shared a room for a day in my life.”

  “Yeah. That must be a pain. I wouldn’t like sharing with Charlie.”

  “At least your little brother is cute and you can kind of overlook his immaturity because he’s only three. Kimberley, well, she’s a spoiled brat. I’d almost rather share with Harper. She’s only ten, so she falls asleep early and is still kind of cute.” Carmen peered around the cracks to peek in the window. “Speaking of Kim, there she goes now. Towel across her shoulder, off to take a bath in the claw-foot tub. Would you believe she sees that as an adventure?”

  “She’s only thirteen. Give her a break maybe?” Nate’s words sounded clipped.

  Carmen gritted her teeth against her turbulent emotions. Bet he’s glad he called. “I’m sorry. I’m being horrible company. I can let you go and talk to you later.”

  “Okay. You know I love ya, babe. But if you want to go, that’s fine.” The lilt in his voice gave away his relief. “Give me a call when you feel like it.”

  It wasn’t at all what she wanted. What Carmen really wanted was a genie in a bottle to grant her three wishes. She’d even take just one wish. Or some ruby slippers. There’s no place like home. But if she couldn’t have that, she’d take time with her boyfriend. Was that too much to ask the universe? Carmen stared at the lifeless phone in her hand. Apparently.

  How would she see Nate anymore? Maybe she could talk her parents into letting her live with Dad. Ugh. No matter how bad Hackensack was, it couldn’t be as bad as being around Dad’s girlfriend, Tiffany, and her pom-poms. Tiffany, who turned simple, everyday tasks into a cheer. “The coffee’s … ready? Okay!” Rah, rah. Gag. But Tiffany wouldn’t be around forever. No way. At least not if Carmen could help it.

  Not ready to go back inside, Carmen closed her eyes. Maybe if she could imagine hard enough, she’d think she was back home taking a dip in the pool or soaking in the hot tub. She breathed air deep into her lungs, expecting the familiar smell of the cedar planks in the sauna. Instead, exhaust fumes from the buses and grease from the diner across the street attacked her senses.

  No use.

  Carmen slipped her phone into the pocket of her jeans and pried herself from the stucco wall she’d been leaning against. Crumbling plaster pelted the metal grid of the fire escape and then rained onto the street below.

  A whistle pierced the din of street traffic.

  Shielding her eyes against the sun, Carmen squinted up the street. Nothing there but two old men on a bus stop bench outside the drugstore. Down the street, little kids played on the uneven sidewalk. Where had that whistle come from? Finally, her gaze settled on four menacing teens leaning on the lamppost across the street. One dark pair of eyes drew hers like magnets. He cocked his head and stared holes into Carmen’s flaming cheeks.

  Shirtless, he touched the black and gold bandanna tied around his bulging bicep. Then he shifted position, and Carmen saw the largest tattoo she’d ever seen in person. A huge lion head with a five-pointed crown on its head was inked on his right side, starting at his ribs and winding around to the middle of his back.

  Carmen’s eyes roved to take in the dress of the others. All black and gold. The tattoos among them too numerous to count. Latin Kings.

  Did that mean …? Oh, yep. There it was. A polished handle stuck out of the waistband of the tallest of the group. How many of the others had guns?

  Great. Now she was alone on a narrow fire escape, in a place God had forgotten about, being leered at by a gang. Carmen wanted to be safe inside huddled on her bunk bed, but she had frozen under their glares. Too scared to move—too afraid to appear nervous or show any sign of weakness. What were they doing there outside her apartment? More importantly, why were they watching her?

  The leader snapped his fingers, and a cigarette appeared at his lips. Another pair of hands flicked a lighter, and it sparked to life. He took a long drag and blew out the smoke in slow motion. Then he winked one dark eye at her and ran his tongue along his lips.

  Carmen shivered as goose bumps speckled her body from head to toe. She flung the sliding door to the side and scurried back through the opening. She slid it shut, latched the lock, and lowered the bar until it clicked into place.

  Don’t look. Don’t even turn around. Keep moving, and don’t look back.

  She could feel their laser-sharp gazes burning holes between her shoulder blades as she moved though the family room. A quick right and she was in the hallway. Three more steps to her room. Was she safe there? Were any of them?

  Those jerks were going to be trouble. Carmen could feel it in her bones.

  Main Street, Hackensack, New Jersey. Now there was a place to take a sightseeing tour. Carmen scuffed along the sidewalk, careful to avoid the side of the street where those guys had been standing and ogling her the day before. “Find a market,” Mom had said. Should have been easy enough.

  Carmen walked past a run-down library that probably survived on nothing but castaway books from other libraries—like the one in Briarcliff. The grease smell from several hole-in-the-wall restaurants seemed to follow her down the street. And the gym boasted a life-size mural of a steroid junkie punching a bag.

  There was no shortage of nail salons, barbershops, pawnshops, and lawyers’ offices. But a market? Maybe she could ask someone for directions. She lifted her eyes just enough to peek around for a friendly-looking pedestrian, but from the looks of things, she’d better explore on her own. She reached in her pocket and gripped her cell phone … just in case.

  Ah. There, across the street, Giant Farmers’ Market. That should do it. Carmen waited for a car to pass and then jogged to the other side. Her head down, she pulled the glass door open and stepped inside. As her eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lighting, she glanced around the store. Now, this place had some merit. Fresh. Bright. Almost happy.

  Piles of colorful produce. Artichokes, chutney, guava, pomegranate. Some things even she didn’t recognize. Wow. The Latin aisle alone boasted rows and rows of bottles Carmen had never seen. Ethnic oddities, rare herbs, and … um … pig ears? Those might have to wait for another time. This was supposed to be a “milk, eggs, bread” kind of shopping trip. Maybe, since there was nothing else to do around here, she’d be able to practice for culinary school.

  Thirty minutes later, Carmen hurried back to the apartment with plastic bags dangling from her wrists, cutting off her circulation. She’d had enough culture for one day. Odd, though—no one glanced her way as she shuffled along. Didn’t she stand out at all? Couldn’t they tell she didn’t belong here—that it wasn’t her home? Probably a good thing she blended in. Not like Kimberley, who was blond like their dad. Wonder how it would be for her?

  Dead bolt. Lock. Second lock. The door swung open three inches then jerked. She shoved her face into the
opening to see into the room. “Hey. Can someone come take the chain off the door so I can get in? These bags are getting heavy.”

  Little Harper cartwheeled across the room, her tongue poking through the space where her tooth had once been. “Coming.” She closed the door and slid the chain off before skipping toward the kitchen.

  Did that girl ever walk?

  Carmen rushed through the door, reached her foot back to nudge it shut, then hurried to the galley kitchen. She heaved her packages onto the gold-flecked countertop and freed her wrists from the bags. Red rings remained where they’d cut into her skin. “Phew. I thought I was going to drop something.

  Where’s Mom?”

  “In your room.” Harper flashed a dimpled smile and bounded down the short hallway.

  Carmen took a deep breath before entering her room. She’d been a real grump lately. Maybe surprising Mom would help make up for some of her bad attitude. “Hey, Mom. I’m back.” She stepped over the tools and packing material strewn across the stained and tattered carpet of her bedroom. After all, it wasn’t Mom’s fault they’d had to move into the dingy apartment. Which was probably rat infested. And should be condemned.

  Well … not entirely Mom’s fault anyway. There had to have been a place across the river they could have rented. Yeah, yeah. This was close to Mom’s new job. Affordable. Carmen had heard it all. But did she buy it? She just hoped they hadn’t been dragged out to never-never land to make Dad feel guilty.

  “You’re still at it, huh?” Carmen sank to the floor and picked up the instructions. “Want some help?”

  “I think I’m almost done. Finally. How was the shopping?”

  “I found this neat market—they have lots of fun cooking stuff. I’m going to make a surprise dinner tonight.”

  “Okay, but remember, God’s sure been faithful to us, but we don’t have extra money for you to buy all kinds of exotic foods to play chef with.”

  Carmen took a deep breath. The God stuff again. “I know, Mom. Just trying to do something nice.” Change the subject. “But hey. Since the bunk beds aren’t finished, how about we just separate them and put one on each side of the room? Or better yet, put Kimberley’s in the living room.”

  The hammer clanged as Mom dropped it on the drill. “We’ve been over this. We have no choice, Carmen. You’ve got to share a room with Kimberley, and trying to squeeze two separate beds in here is silly. It would take up way too much room. That’s all there is to it.” She sat back on her heels. “You know, it’s not like I’m thrilled to share with Harper. At my age, I didn’t expect to be roommates with a ten-year-old.”

  “But …” Oh, what was the point in arguing? She had to stop thinking about her big bedroom at home … er … at Dad’s. That wasn’t her life anymore—at least it stood waiting for her to visit two weekends a month. Carmen looked around the tiny space and up at the water spots on the ceiling—one of them reminded her of an elephant with its trunk raised. This was her new home—whether she liked it or not. “Why can’t I at least go to my old school? I mean, I could take the bus. Nate and I Googled it.”

  Mom pressed her fingers into her temples until her knuckles turned white. “You Googled what exactly?” She uttered each word with what seemed a huge effort.

  Oh no. Mom appeared done in. Why hadn’t Carmen waited to bring this up after dinner? Too late though. “Um, the bus schedule. All I’d have to do is catch the one-sixty-five a block away at State Street. Then hop on the number seven subway at Times Square. A quick ride to Grand Central, and then I’d get on the Metro-North’s Hudson Line to Ossining, and then I’m basically there.”

  “Right. And what time is that first bus at State Street—4:00 a.m.?” Mom shook her head. “You’re talking to a native New Yorker. I know full well that what you just described is at least two hours’ traveling time each way.”

  Two and a half, actually. But telling Mom that wouldn’t help Carmen’s cause. “I don’t mind that. Really. I can do homework, read, or even nap.”

  “No way, Carmen. It’s just not safe to have you traipsing all over two states twice a day.”

  It had to be safer than going to school in Hackensack. Not that Mom would appreciate that comment.

  “And walking around outside this apartment while it’s still dark? I don’t think so. Plus, what about your sisters—how are they supposed to get to school? But I have an idea. If you and Nate want to be together so much, why doesn’t he do the daily bus pilgrimage and transfer to college in New Jersey to be with you? That would be the chivalrous thing to do, rather than expecting you to do it.”

  “Right, like his parents are going to let Nate McConnell, heir to the throne of their political empire, slum it in Hackensack, New Jersey.” Carmen wrinkled her nose and gazed out the tiny window at the billboards and barred store windows below. He wouldn’t do it anyway. No way. “Just forget about it. Besides, it’s a lot harder to transfer colleges than high schools, and I’d have already started the year in Briarcliff a month ago.”

  Mom ignored her. She grunted and leaned back at her hips, rotating her upper body. “I’m getting too old for this,” she muttered.

  “You’re thirty-five. That’s not old.” They’d certainly had that discussion before. Mom was still young and pretty. She could lose a few pounds, sure, but who couldn’t, really? Maybe if she did, maybe if she bought some new clothes and got a trendy haircut, then maybe Dad would want her back and they could all go home.

  And makeup. Hopefully Mom’s new Mary Kay venture would add a little color to her own face. Maybe they’d teach her to get rid of those dark circles and bags under her eyes. She’d never be as young and, um, perky as Tiffany … but she could be a better version of herself.

  “Hey guys, what’s up?” A tiny blur of flowing black hair bounded across the room and rolled onto the bottom bunk. Harper rested her elbows on the bare mattress and propped her chin in her hands.

  “Get off my bed.” Carmen swatted her little sister down and fitted the bottom sheet onto the bed.

  “Um. You might want to know, Kim says she gets the bottom bunk.” Harper shrugged. “Just giving you a fair warning.”

  “Hah. I don’t think so. Kimberley’s in for a rude awakening if she thinks I’m climbing to the top bunk every day. That ain’t happening.”

  “Well, I’m going to leave you two to battle that one.” Mom rose from the floor, her knee popping on the way up. Yeah. Not going to be a battle.

  “I have a facial party tonight. So you’ll be in charge of course.” She nodded at Carmen.

  Thanks for asking. Not like she had a life anyway. “Okay. But for now, Harper, you’re going to have to go. I’ve, um, got to change clothes.”

  “Okeydoke.” Harper scurried out of the room behind their mother, pulling the door shut behind her.

  Finally. Carmen ran to her dresser and rummaged through the drawers; then she turned to the closet and dug through the three unpacked boxes. Not there. She pulled her purple nylon duffel bag from under her bed and plowed through the contents. Not there either. Where were they? She’d missed two of her birth control pills already in the hustle of the move, and now they were nowhere to be found. In an entire year of taking them, these were the first she’d missed. If she could find them, she’d just double up for two days—that should do it.

  Carmen rubbed her chin and turned in a circle, looking at everything in her room. Had she said something to Nate about where she put them? But she couldn’t ask him—then he’d know she’d missed some, and they were supposed to get together after tennis practice tomorrow. He had a special evening all planned while his parents were away, and then he planned to stay over with her at Dad’s. Carmen sure didn’t want to mess that up. Where were those pills? Think. Think….

  Nicole O’Dell and her husband, Wil, have six children ranging from nineteen down to the most recent additions: triplets, born in August 2008. Nicole writes fiction and nonfiction focused on helping teens make good choices and bridging the gap in
parent/teen communication. Nicole is also the host of Teen Talk Radio at www.choicesradio.com, where she talks with teens and special guests about the real issues young people face today, and she loves getting out among teens and parents when speaking at youth groups and conferences. Over the years, Nicole has worked as a youth director, a Bible study leader for women and teens, and a counselor at a crisis pregnancy center. Her writing also includes devotionals and Bible studies for women of all ages. Visit www.nicoleodell.com to follow Nicole’s blog and participate in the active Choices! Community.