Violet Grenade(10)

The woman points to the sheet in my hand. "Just go to bonds if you come up with the money."

My throat tightens. I'm overreacting. I know I am. But I can't leave Dizzy here, confined. I slam my hand against the glass wall, and the woman in uniform strides over. "He can't take being in this place," I yell. "If you just listened. He can't stay here. He'll die."

The officer grabs onto my arm, but I yank out of her reach. She looks angry at first, but then her face softens. "Look, kid. He's fine. He's just hanging out back there, chatting up the other detainees. Save your money, he'll be out before you know it."




       
         
       
        
"He's not fine," I snarl. "I know Dizzy."

I back toward the door I came through.

Do you need me? Wilson asks.

I startle in the doorway, because I'd hoped he'd vanished as I slept. But I know better.

No, never, I say. Go away.

After I leave the jail, I do two things.

I try to swipe a camera from Wal-Mart and fail.

I ask for an application at Electrobuzz.

The application asks for my social security number and says I need two forms of ID. Dizzy was right. Electro-whatever doesn't want a homeless chick greeting their shiny customers. And there's no way I'm giving them a way to probe my background.

Because worse than losing Dizzy, worse than Wilson waking up and staying awake, is someone finding out about my parents.





Chapter Seven

Ring, Ring

It's almost midnight, and I'm standing in front of a pay phone. There are few pay phones left in Detroit, but Dizzy taught me how to find them. This one has a booth, but I'm afraid to go inside. Even though I love pay phones with booths. Even though they remind me of old black-and-white movies where the hero sweeps a well-groomed girl off her feet after one fated call.

Even then.

I'm not sure what this woman wants with me, but I've spent ten months with Dizzy, and before that was an expanse of Nothing. I can't think about the Nothing. I can't let myself remember my life before I lived on the streets. Because remembering will make Wilson happy. And when Wilson is happy, bad things happen.

Correction: I appear when bad things happen. Doesn't mean I cause them. Well, not always.

I shake my head, and an image comes to me as it has several times today. Dizzy screaming inside his cell. Dizzy rocking back and forth, people touching his hair, his face, his stomach. Greg can't help; his store hardly makes enough to stay in business. And there's no way anyone will hire me without transportation and identification and a second set of shoes. So I go inside the booth and salvage the card from my pocket.

I insert fifty cents into the phone and push the buttons.

My heart is in my ears. I can hear it beating louder than ever before, because it's right there in my ears. I pray the phone will ring and ring, give me time to back out. But someone picks up right away.

"Hello?"

It's her. It's Ms. Karina.

I don't speak.

I hear the sound of a lamp being flipped on. She takes a deep breath. I imagine the oxygen leaving her lungs filling me up. "I'm glad you called."

She must know it's me, but I still don't speak.

"I know it's frightening to leave behind the familiar for the unexpected, but you are so very brave. The girls at my home will adore you, and we'll make sure you always have something warm to eat." 

My stomach growls imagining these warm things.

"As I said last night, you'll have to work hard. This isn't charity."

I like that. Does she know I like that? I should say something, but I can't. Even though it's ninety degrees outside, I'm frozen solid.

"You are talented, and it's a shame no one noticed how special you are."

That's not true. My father noticed. I can't think of him, though.

"Come and live with me, okay?" Her voice is honey, and I want to drink it down. "Domino?"

That's what seals the deal. Her saying my name like that. Like she's heard a million names before mine but never spoken one so lovely.

I swallow. "Okay."

"Oh, good. That's wonderful." She sounds truly happy, and I have to stop the twinge of hopefulness working its way inside. "I could pick you up near the same alley we met in yesterday?"

"What about money?" I ask, remembering Dizzy. "How soon would I get paid after I started working?"

Ms. Karina pauses. "That all depends on you. There are plenty of different jobs available. The longer and harder you work, the more you'll earn. We can discuss the details of what will be expected of you when you arrive at my home, but you won't be asked to do anything you're uncomfortable with."