"Where was she s'posed to stay?" the girl with the bluish-black hair asks.
Poppet nods toward the hall. "In Raquel's room."
The girl shakes her head and purses her lips. "I'm so over that girl's mess. I'm in charge now. I swear on my mama's grave if she don't learn her place … "
Her words trail off as she storms from the room and marches down the hall.
Poppet's eyes grow large. Or, as large as they can. Though Poppet wears glasses that magnify, her eyes are so small they're almost nonexistent.
The other girl-petite with freckles across every inch of her skin-walks over. "My name's Michelle, but everyone calls me Candy. You can stay with us, I guess, but you'll have to sleep on the floor. If it were me, though, I'd go back in there and stand my ground. Don't be a baby, or it'll get worse."
I look at the doorway and consider what she said. She might be right. I should stick up for myself. The girls will respect me more if I'm not a pushover, and I've never been one to back down from confrontation. But that was when I had Dizzy to back me up. Without him, I can't help thinking it might be best to let them show their dominance. They'll accept me over time if I'm not a threat.
"I'll sleep on the floor," I announce. "I don't mind."
The Latina girl barrels into the room. "Such bull crap. You take my old bed. I'll be sleeping in Raquel's room now."
Poppet and Candy startle at her announcement, but the girl only smirks as she loads her things into a tattered bag. "Teach that diva to open her fat mouth," she mutters. Within seconds, the girl is pounding down the hallway again. Even from here, I can make out the shrill sound of girls arguing.
Poppet starts to say something, but I'm already leaving the room. I catch up with the girl and tap her on the back. She swings around. "What?"
"Thank you for that," I say.
She runs her eyes over my body. "This wasn't a favor."
"It felt like one." I shove my hands in my jean pockets. "And I'll remember it."
The girl laughs like that's hysterical and walks away. Once she enters Raquel's room, the arguing grows louder and I head back to Poppet and Candy. They've cleared the sheets off the girl's bed and bundled them into a tight ball. Candy shoves them in my arms. "Put these in the hallway." She tops the sheets with a pillow and pats the bundle like one would the back of a van.
"Where do I get new ones?" I ask, assuming putting them in the hall means they'll get laundered. Before either girl can respond, Ms. Karina appears in the doorway.
"Aren't you supposed to be in Raquel's room?" she asks.
My cheeks flush, and Poppet opens her mouth to respond. I step in front of her, refusing to let anyone else rescue me today. "I'd prefer to stay in this room."
Ms. Karina has changed into a green pencil skirt and black elbow-length blouse. Her knees are of the knobby sort, jutting away from her legs like they're eager to strike out on their own. The woman shifts her weight to one side and crosses her arms. A smile lifts her mouth, and I notice one of her lower teeth is brighter than the rest. She sweeps her gaze over the room. "Candy, Poppet, get with Mercy about your chores."
The two girls nod, their backs rigid with respect.
Ms. Karina curls her fingers toward herself, motioning me forward. "Come with me, Domino. Let's chat now before my day begins."
I follow her down the hall and hear the girl who snubbed me earlier, Raquel, yelling. I note the name Ms. Karina used, Mercy, and assume she's the girl who helped me out. I make a point to remember her name. I make another point to repay the favor. If there's one thing my waste-of-a-father taught me, it's to never leave a debt unpaid.
The house speaks in tongues as we make our way down the hall and up two flights of stairs to the third floor. It's like it resents being crossed so thoughtlessly. Even the walls groan from the shifting weight, begging for holy water in its pipes and an exorcism in the foyer.
The home's quirks continue across every inch of the space, mimicking the kitchen. A stuffed monkey vulgarly straddles the staircase banister, a plastic pumpkin sits upon a small stand, wicked grin glowing, and the ceiling inside a room we pass is crisscrossed with purple crepe paper. Twice we step over a stack of things-the first time books, the second, records-and when we stop outside a closed door, I notice violets, one day wilted, strewn across the floor.
"We'll speak in my room." Ms. Karina opens the door and ushers me inside, her palm flat upon my back. My skin tingles beneath her touch as if she's burning my flesh. I like her hand there, and I don't. Even before I landed on the streets of Detroit, physical contact was two-sided. On one hand, it's a promise of safety and kindness. On the other, it's a lie. A false hope. Something to believe in that can be hijacked all too easily.