Little Peach

  I reach down, touch, and someone’s crying.

  Reek’s lips in my ear.

  You did good, girl.

  Rest now.

  Sleep.

  Sleep.

  Morning.

  Blood on my sheets. Fire between my legs.

  I don’t have any clothes on.

  Baby’s awake, playing a game on her iPad. “Hey,” she says, but she doesn’t look up, just kind of buries her face in the screen like she’s embarrassed.

  I can’t remember anything. The party. Sitting on the couch with Reek. I kissed him. I did. But I didn’t do more than that. I’ve never been with a boy before.

  I’m not like that. Am I?

  Grandpa’s T-shirt is crumpled on the floor. I pull it on under the covers so Baby won’t see me naked. I stand up.

  Devon on the couch with a huge smile. “Morning, girl. How you feeling?”

  Reek behind me. His hand on my bottom. Squeezing.

  “Juicy,” he says. “Like a peach.”

  A guy I don’t know in the chair, younger than Reek, short, stocky, and loud. “Hell yeah. That’s what you should call her, D. Little Peach.”

  Laughter. Hands slap.

  Reek in my ear again. “You loved that shit, didn’t you?”

  Devon strolls over, gathers my face in his hands like he did at Pink Houses. “You did good, girl. Now you one of us. Last night you did that shit for fun. From here on out, you sell it. That’s how we get by. Understand?”

  “Little Peach.” The guy in the chair laughs again. “Come get a taste.”

  Fire between my legs. Baby in the doorway, watching me.

  I turn and fall to the ground.

  10

  CONEY ISLAND HOSPITAL

  Coney Island, New York

  You ask me how I’m feeling, but when I try to speak my mouth won’t work, so instead I just look at you through my puffy eyes, hoping you can read my mind like you did the first time we met.

  “I remember you,” you say. And I smile.

  It must be morning, the way the light streams through the window. Everything’s white. You lean forward and hold a plastic cup with a straw to my mouth. I take a sip. The cold water seeps into my cracked lips, across my tongue that feels like the size of my head.

  “I remember your friend too,” you say. “That day in the emergency room. Where is she?”

  I shrug and look out the window, the light pouring in like scorching water. I don’t want to think about her. I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to care.

  A doctor and a nurse walk in. “Ah, our mystery girl’s awake,” the doctor says in a thick accent. His face is brown like burned toast, with a thin gray-and-black beard. “That’s good. How are you feeling?”

  I lick my lips, feeling the jagged edges of my broken teeth. The nurse checks the plastic bag hanging from a tall pole next to me. She stares at me with her tired face and steps away.

  “The good news is, your leg’s not as bad as it looks,” the doctor continues. “You’ll have a scar, and we’ll need to keep those stitches clean, but otherwise, you should be fine. You’re a lucky young lady. The bad news is, we can’t do much else for you until you decide to give us more information. We need an adult, understand? There are forms we need them to sign. Otherwise, there’s a limit to what we can do. Your teeth, for example. And the pain. I’m sure you’re uncomfortable. And we all want to make that better for you. So. Maybe you’re ready to talk?”

  You clear your throat. “Can we speak outside for a moment?” And you step into the hall with the doctor.

  The nurse stomps around the room, fiddling with the IV in my hand, moving your chair into the corner. I want you to come back. I don’t like the way the nurse looks at me.

  “My leg hurts,” I murmur.

  “I’m sure it does. Maybe you’ll remember that next time.”

  My face gets hot, and I pull up the blanket to my chin.

  “I see girls like you all the time. Comin’ in here all hours of the night, all busted up. We put you back together, give you a free meal, free everything, and what do you do? Go right back out there, back on the street. We got real patients to take care of, you know. People who really need help.”

  She turns to leave, then glances back at me. “You work the corners?”

  I don’t answer her.

  She sighs. “You’re no mystery. Not to me at least.”

  Suddenly the door opens. You walk in, look at the nurse, then at me. She rolls her eyes and brushes past you. “Good luck,” she snaps.

  Your eyes lock with hers. “What did you say to her?” you demand. But the nurse doesn’t answer, letting the heavy door slap behind her as she walks away. Boom.

  You pull the chair back to my bed and sit down. “Don’t worry about her. She’s just overworked and tired. Let’s worry about you, okay? You’re here. You’re alive. So let’s figure out what we’re gonna do. We have a day, max.”

  I turn away from you, the nurse’s words blaring in my head. And then I hear another voice, her breath in my ear, her eyes so hard and pretty.

  You better start thinkin’ for yourself.

  “C’mon, Michelle.” You toss your hands up, a hint of frustration in your voice. “You don’t have time to fuck around here.”

  “Keisha,” I say. “Her name’s Keisha.”

  “Who?”

  “My friend. From the morning we met you. They call her Kat, but her real name’s Keisha.” I look right at you, a gush of anger and sorrow filling me up till I choke.

  “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who is she?”

  “My sister,” I say. “She’s my sister.”

  11

  2700 SURF AVENUE, APARTMENT 6B

  Coney Island, New York

  “Hold still. Damn.”

  I’m sitting on a hard wood chair in Devon’s living room, a bag of fake black hair in my lap. Kat’s behind me, pulling so hard on my head that my eyes sting. It’s eight o’clock at night. I’ve been sitting here for three hours, staring at the floor, my body shivering.

  “Gimme another one.”

  I hand her a thin bunch of hair from the bag. She pulls again. I wince. Devon sits on the couch, smoking a cigarette, talking at me. Baby lies next to him in her red pajamas, munching on a huge bag of potato chips. On TV an orange fish is yelling like crazy. “I need to find my son! Nemo! Please!” Baby giggles and chomps another chip.

  “You did your thing last night, girl,” Devon says. “Good for you.”

  I shift in the seat. There’s a towel underneath me and a dark purple bruise on my right thigh; another on my arm, shaped like fingers.

  I had sex with Reek. I must have. But I can’t remember it. How can I not remember it?

  I thought my first time would be different. That I’d feel, I don’t know. Good. Or at least kind of happy. Erica slept with Dez from 23rd Street last summer, and she said it was all right. He really liked her. He’d bring her gummies from the corner store and get all nervous around her. Erica was cool like that. She knew how to act around boys. Not like me.

  Maybe it don’t count if you can’t remember.

  I fell asleep, I think. I don’t know. The fruit punch that Kat gave me, it made me all happy. Not sloppy drunk like Little John used to get outside Boo’s. I was laughing on the couch, all filled up and warm next to him, the music pouring into me and the smoke that looked like clouds floating in the room, beautiful clouds like this apartment has its own sky.

  But I don’t feel happy now. I don’t know what to feel except that something’s gone inside me. Like someone stole my insides and I’m empty.

  Devon keeps talking. “You’ll be with Kat tonight at the Litehouse. She’ll show you how it works. Just do what she says and you’ll be fine. Remember, it ain’t nothin’ you didn’t do last night.”

  My head is pounding, slamming in my skull, and I’m sweating hard and shivering, burning cold. My teeth chatter, knocking to
gether like tiny running feet.

  I don’t know if I should be scared.

  I don’t know if I should be thankful.

  I have nowhere else to go.

  On the TV, the orange fish keeps getting lost. Baby laughs and takes big gulps from a bottle of Coke. Her soft belly spills out from the bottom of her shirt.

  Kat pulls and pulls, twisting and braiding and yanking my hair. Finally she stops, pulls a chair in front of me, and looks me over.

  “You sweatin’ like a pig,” she says. I shake in my chair and look up at her. “You gonna be sick?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I don’t know. I don’t feel right.”

  “Hang on a sec,” she whispers. Moments later she returns with a glass of fruit punch and a wet washcloth. I drink and she wipes my face, the cold cloth against my hot skin.

  “Close your eyes.”

  I flinch as something brushes my eyelids.

  “Open. Look up.”

  A brush on my eyelashes. I blink.

  “Hold your head still. Damn.” Kat wipes hard beneath my eyes. “Look up.”

  “You gonna throw up?” She glances at Devon, then looks at the floor. “C’mon, girl,” she whispers. “Almost done.”

  A brush on my cheeks, sticky goop on my lips. Kat steps back and smiles. “Come see,” she says, and takes my hand.

  I look into the mirror in the bathroom. Long, thin black braids fall across my shoulders. Light-blue eye shadow. Pink lipstick. Rose-colored blush on my cheeks. She’s a pretty girl. Almost beautiful.

  Is that me?

  Devon comes in and stands behind me, his hands on my shoulders.

  “Look at you,” he says, his eyes sparkling with pride. “My Little Peach.”

  I keep my head down and cross my arms.

  “You mad at me?”

  I shrug and look away. Am I?

  “I don’t know why. You should be thanking me.”

  “For what?” I say, pulling away from him.

  “For giving you a way to live, Peach. A way to take care of yourself. You not stupid, so I’m not gonna talk to you like you are. You’re a hood rat runaway. You’re broke. You’re what, fifteen?”

  “Fourteen,” I snap.

  Devon nods like he understands. “I don’t know what you runnin’ from, but it must’ve been pretty bad for you to get on that bus with half an address and a pillow. So here you are. And from now on, someone’s always gonna try to grab you. The cops wanna lock you up, or they’ll just send you back to wherever it is you came from. Or there’s always a group home, right? You’re too old for a foster family. Not that you want one of those, either. Some old-ass man collectin’ that paycheck so he can sneak into your room at night. . . .”

  His words burrow into me. I flinch, Calvin’s face flashing in my aching head.

  “You know what’s out there,” he continues. “Waitin’ for you to come home. Waitin’ in the dark.”

  I turn and look him in the eye. “Shut up.”

  He looks right back. “No. Because you gotta understand. You safe here, girl. As safe as you ever gonna be. Look at Kat. Look at Baby. They’re happy, right? Healthy. Fed, clean, they got new clothes and a place to live. It don’t get much better. Not out here. Not for girls like you.”

  “I didn’t want to be with that guy last night,” I murmur. “I can’t even remember. Why can’t I remember?”

  Devon lifts my chin with his finger. “Look at me,” he says. “Best thing to do is forget about it and get on with what we gotta do to survive.”

  Devon turns me to face the mirror again. “Look at you. Look at how beautiful you are. Can’t you see yourself? We gonna make money, Peach. You’re gonna make money—you and me and Kat and Baby Girl. We gonna save up, buy a house, get up outta here and onto somethin’ better. We gonna have a good life. That’s what you want, right?”

  It is. It is what I want. A good life with food and people who like me. But I can’t do what he’s asking. Sleep with men for money. It’s disgusting.

  “I’m not like that,” I say. “I ain’t never been with a boy before.”

  “Before last night, you mean.” Devon leans in, his mouth on my ear. “You loved it, ’Chelle. You was all like, ‘Yeah, baby . . .’”

  “Shut up!” I scream, pushing him away. “You’re lying! I didn’t say that! I didn’t want to!”

  Devon grabs my wrist and smiles. “But you did, didn’t you? You did that shit for hours. Maybe you ain’t what you think, Peach. Maybe you mad right now, but you did me proud. I’m proud of you. Hear me? You ain’t what you think you are. You’re strong. You’re tough. I knew it from the moment I saw you at Port Authority. You smart too. Smart enough to run away from whatever mother-fuckers you lived with before. And lucky enough to meet me.”

  I look at myself in the mirror again, this girl I don’t know. She is beautiful—her hair perfect, her face clean and painted like someone on TV. She’s a girl who had sex. And survived. Devon wraps his arms around me. I can hear the orange fish shouting on the TV in the living room. “Nemo! I found you!”

  My mother. That house.

  Calvin.

  Grandpa. Dead.

  Maybe I am lucky to be here, with him and Baby and Kat, in our own place, with food in the kitchen and a TV that works. I will make it clean here. Fold the laundry. Make my bed. Fill the air with the smell of something cooked.

  “My girls call me Daddy,” Devon says. “You should, too, ’cause that’s what I am. I can take care of you. I protect you. Understand? Me, my girls, my boys, we all been where you are—and we’re surviving. One more thing: I didn’t touch you last night. You hear? I wouldn’t do that. Not to you.”

  Devon’s eyes flame, like a match in the night. “You want a family? You got it, girl. We right here. And we got a place for you. Just for you.”

  In my room, my bed is neat, the comforter tucked in, red bear blanket folded in a square on my pillow. Grandpa’s shirt is still on the floor in a ball. Baby’s getting dressed, yanking a pink cotton dress over her head. There’s a kitten on the front. It might be a nightgown. Her hair is in pigtails, twisted and fastened with old-school plastic barrettes like the ones I used to wear when I was young. She looks like a little girl.

  “I washed ’em.” She grins, pointing to my bed. “Your sheets.”

  “Thanks,” I say, but I don’t look.

  “You gonna stay, right?”

  “What?”

  “You gonna stay with us?” Baby fiddles with the edge of her dress. “The last girl, she left. I didn’t like her anyway. She wasn’t nice. Not like you. She got a different daddy now. We see her on the track sometimes, all busted up and skinny.

  “It’s scary down there,” she whispers. “But we don’t work the track. We better than that.”

  I shiver and pull on the dark-blue jeans that are laid out on the bed. They are brand-new. The shirt is purple and shiny, but not too tight. The satiny fabric drifts across my stomach in soft waves. It’s not a kid’s shirt, not like the simple black top I got at the store with Devon. I look in the mirror and for a moment I flush with pride. Who is that girl? I turn and try on a smile. Then I see the bruise on my arm.

  “Here,” Baby says, putting a black jacket over my shoulders. “It’ll go away soon. You should stay with us. It’s better here.”

  I search her face. Does she know what I did last night? Did she see it?

  Baby smiles again. Her cheeks are chubby, and there’s a gap between her yellowish front teeth, with bits of potato chips stuck in between. Her eyes are dark brown and wide open, looking up at me like a puppy. “You look so different. Pretty. When I grow up, I’m gonna be pretty like you.”

  “You’re already pretty,” I say. Her face lights up. She bounces over to me and throws her arms around my neck.

  “How old are you?” I ask.

  “Twelve,” she says. She seems younger to me, but I don’t want her to feel bad, so I just smile back.

  “Promise you’ll stay,” sh
e whispers, and suddenly I can feel Grandpa. Like it’s his big arms around me, holding me tight to his chest, making me feel like there was nothing that could hurt us, so long as we were tucked in tight together in our warm, dark cave. I hug Baby back, gathering her as close as I can stand. I don’t want her to be scared.

  “I dunno,” I say. “I dunno if I can stay.”

  She buries her face into me like she’s known me her whole life. “It’s not so bad here. You got somewhere else to go?”

  “No,” I say, tightening my grip on her. I have nowhere else to go.

  “Then stay. Please?”

  My own mama don’t want me. But here’s this girl. And Devon. They want me. Maybe we could be something. Maybe we can get up outta here, like Devon said. Get a house and giant beds. Get happy.

  Maybe I should try.

  “For a little while,” I say to her. “Okay?”

  Baby hugs me tighter, my long braids trickle down my back. I stand up straight and gather her up.

  You see me, Mama? I’m not your kid anymore.

  At 9:00 p.m. Kat appears in the doorway in a short, white pleated skirt with black and red plaid, flat black leather boots, and a white shirt that falls from one shoulder. Her braids are pulled back into a high ponytail.

  She looks rich. Her shoulders are pulled back proudly, her sharp chin pointed out.

  She scans us quickly and turns on her heels. “Let’s go,” she says.

  I don’t know where we’re going. I want to ask. I want someone to explain what’s about to happen. I glance at Baby, then at Kat, who looks annoyed. “You good?” she asks.

  I swallow and nod.

  We descend the stairs with Devon, through the same moist air I remember from the night I came here, when I was half-asleep and hungry, and out into the dark night. Two guys, both in red shirts, open the heavy doors for us. Devon nods at them, Kat flashes a smile. We cross the parking lot, the apartment building behind me like a finger reaching out from the ground. In the distance there’s the roller coaster and Ferris wheel with colorful lights turning slowly in the night like a fake moon.