Love Edy (33 page)

~~~

Wyatt stood in an upstairs window, shrouded
in shadows, eyes on the pair gathered at the trunk of a perfectly
polished Mustang that had magically acquired rims since he’d last
seen it.

All day.

Gone
all day.

Wyatt and Edy didn’t talk like they used to.
They spent even less time together. A handful of conversations at
school, a few more passed notes, a phone call when it was killing
him.

Wyatt was tired of it.

He was no closer to Edy, no better for his
restraint, for his harboring hope that she would see him, miss him,
yearn for him eventually.

All he’d earned for his troubles was a front
row ticket to the Hassan show, tongue kissing included.

Heads gathered, the couple huddle together,
close. Wyatt watched as Hassan placed a hand at the small of her
back and leaned in. His lips moved, holding a smirk despite
speaking. Edy threw her head back and laughed. Joyous, tumbling
gusts of laughter wafted up to Wyatt’s bedroom, warm and melodious,
searing him with envy.

For once in his life, he wanted to have the
advantage. He was poor. His parents were uneducated. His father
drank too much; his mother was just nuts. They stepped out on each
other, had fist fights, and screamed until Wyatt peeled them
apart.

He had no risk of being mistaken for
handsome, of discovering coordination, of stumbling on money. He
worked hard and earned his grades through sweat. He had few
clothes, fewer friends, and no one who would miss his absence. Even
Edy Phelps was slipping through his fingers.

As he watched his only friend, the girl he
loved, toss something up and over Hassan’s head, Wyatt leaned in,
far too morbid to look away.

She waved a scarf over her head, leaning so
that her backside pressed the trunk of his car. Hassan reached for
it, body cinched to hers so that they were chest to chest, hard to
soft, and stealing Wyatt’s breaths.

He’d give anything to be the thing in
Hassan’s pants.

But just like that, they parted, scarf
dropped and forgotten as the Pradhan door opened. And they were
odd, natural, just friends and awkward in appearance.

Of course. The truth found Wyatt in a sea of
stupidity, snatching him up like a lifeboat with arms. As plain as
the decorations that flickered from every house.

Edy was Christian, Hassan Hindu.

The two could never be.

Their families would never accept the two of
them together. Never.

And like that, Wyatt Green jumped back in
the game.

Twenty-Three

Football season rounded out with a second
state championship. Edy’s parents, the Dysons, and a few others
went straight to a fundraiser in Bellmont Hill following the game.
Edy had Hassan, the Dysons, and Kyle in tow for the shindig at
Chloe’s place.

When they arrived at Chloe’s house, it was
Lawrence who shoved open the door without knocking. The twins and
Kyle followed next, with Hassan and Edy bringing up the rear,
fingers laced loosely. She couldn’t remember if he’d grabbed her
hand or she’d grabbed his, or even whether it was important. But in
the face of a packed crowd with dancing girls at the center, she
resisted the urge to hold on to him a little tighter.

Chloe slipped between them. The jerk of
surprise Edy gave was mirrored on Hassan’s face. They’d known each
other their entire lives, Edy and Chloe, and the demise to their
old friendship had a name: Sandra Jacobs. But this sudden
connection they’d conjured, Hassan and Lawrence, was supposed to
make them more again. Edy didn’t know how to take it, how to trust
it.

“He’s mad at me,” Chloe said. “But he can’t
stay mad. I know what he likes and how to give it to him.”

“I’ll, uh, leave you girls,” Hassan said. He
kissed Edy’s cheek, let her hand fall, and disappeared with a look
of disgust.

Chloe grinned. “There isn’t a girl here that
didn’t see that.”

“See what?”

“Hassan Pradhan not wanting to let you go.”
She winked and melted into the crowd.

Rap music pierced loud, eviscerating through
a speaker to Edy’s left, while to the right, a double barrel of
kegs earned considerable attention. A second look in that direction
revealed faces that Edy didn’t know. On squinting, she placed them
as Blue Hill Ave football players, officially their rivals.

Hassan and the Dyson twins never took more
than a step or three before a clap on the back or a shout stopped
them. There were intricate handshakes that differed from group to
group, spontaneous bursts of laughter, and an ease that never
wavered. This was their scene. Their crowd. In contrast, Lawrence
hung back with Kyle, content with a beer, a corner, and a few
teammates.

Briefly, Edy considered joining them. After
all, both were her friends. But she didn’t want them to feel like
they were babysitting. Nor did she want to lose progress on the
march to adulthood. She didn’t want sympathy, or awkwardness,
or—

A hand closed around her wrist.

“I love this song!” Chloe shouted. “Dance
with me!”

Girls charged the floor with jockeying boys
on their heels and clowning Dyson twins among them. But Edy had
never danced at a party full of teens, didn’t know the latest dance
moves. She’d only been instructed in ballet and only managed to
mimic Bean’s b-boying in her bedroom.

Chloe snatched her to the floor, but
hesitated when Edy drew back.

“Can’t you dance?” she said with a
laugh.

Edy recoiled. Was that how she looked?
Awkward? Uncoordinated? Talentless?

Please.
She yanked Chloe to the
center.

The music shot fast, a wild flow of bass
that required more than the lazy hip rocks most were giving it. Edy
stepped out with Chloe, imitating her simple lilt, while her body
raged at the blasphemy of minimal motion. She didn’t know what part
of her rebelled first—arms, legs, feet—but she knew it felt right
and free, like justice, when it happened.

First, a nuanced pendulum swing of the hips.
She rocked through it, surging till it exploded in a complicated
pairing of arms, mimicking the motions of braggadocios New York
boys in battle. She found a little hop-skip to polish it off at the
end; using it to switch directions with an abruptness so sharp she
likened it to hitting walls.

It poured in bursts of anger, fueled by what
she couldn’t tolerate. Of all the things she got wrong: steering
away from her mother’s wishes, drifting toward Hassan so slow,
so slow
, dance was the one she got right every single
time.

“Edy!” Chloe cried. “Remind me not to ask if
you can fight.”

Edy brushed it off with a grin.

For the next song, something fast and
ferocious, Matt shoved through the crowd to join her. Once there
his pelvis ricocheted, his fists thrusted, and there was little
room for her to respond to his wildness. When that song ended, twin
replaced twin, and took up the same hip tossing lunacy.

Done with the forced subjection to their
hips, Edy headed for the punch table, where she found a crystal
bowl brimming with red liquid. Immediately, her father’s words came
to her.

“
Never take drinks from a stranger,
drinks from people you don’t trust, or drinks with an origin you
can’t ascertain.”

She scowled. Dancing was thirsty business.
And she was having fun. Leave it to her father to muck that up from
inside her head. Obviously, Chloe made the punch, though it was
possible for a boy to come along and drop something in it. But to
what end? He’d be drugging boys and girls alike. Would someone find
that fun? Sounded like a really expensive sort of fun.
Impractical.

Fingers laced through Edy’s, and a body
warmed her backside.

“Show off,” Hassan said in her ear.

“She said I couldn’t dance!”

He played out a little rhythm in her
palm.

“Right. Except now everyone’s going to want
to dance with the girl with gyrating hips.
My
girl, mind
you. My love.”

He kissed the space behind her ear and
vanished.

But his words stayed. His girl. His
love.

Edy looked up to spot the twins sandwiching
Jessica in that same little horrible hip jerk. Her gaze kept
moving, past a cluster of Blue Hill Ave players, a mix of guys and
girls, a guy she knew from history, and—

Wait.

The Blue Hill Ave guys were looking at her
weirdly. Not even trying to shield it, just staring,
unapologetic.

Her eyes widened.
Creeps.

Edy went for Lawrence and Kyle, her closest,
safest bet. When she moved to grab a beer bottle from the table
nearest them, however, Lawrence swatted her hand away.

“Chill out,” he said, oblivious to the fact
that they were the exact same age and that he held one in his own
hand.

But Edy was through with the double
standard, so she marched around to the opposite side of the table
and made a show of assessing the various brands. Budweiser.
Michelob. Heineken. Coronas. At the last moment, she decided to
join the keg line.

“Hey. Edy, right?”

She turned in surprise. Reggie Knight.
Linebacker for Blue Hill Ave.

He stuck out a hand. “Reggie,” he said
simply.

“I know.”

But how did he know her?

“I haven’t really seen you around this crowd
before,” he said. “You must not do the party scene.”

It was an odd statement, one that required
her to delve into more than she would’ve liked. She shrugged
instead.

“You’re not one of the dance girls, or I
would have noticed you before.” He shook his head. “But I’ll tell
you this. You should be one.”

His dark lips spread into a smile.

“Listen, Reginald—”

“Reggie.”

The line moved. They stepped forward
together.

“Like I was saying. I saw you. Watched you.
Definitely want to know you a little better.”

“Well, you’ve misunderstood.” Edy jammed one
hand into the other, squirming in some semblance of a disappearing
act she’d yet to learn. “I’m sorry, but I’m here with Hassan.
Hassan Pradhan.”

Reggie held up his hands in a show of
defenselessness. “I figured you were with one of them. So, sure. No
problem. I understand.”

Edy looked around, suddenly wondering where
her constant bodyguard service was. She spotted Hassan on the
opposite side of the room. Lawrence and Kyle were still near but in
a heated discussion about something. Meanwhile, the twins were
absent altogether.

Edy turned away. The line moved, she moved,
and Reginald moved with it. She couldn’t even tell if he wanted
beer or not, since he stood adjacent to and not behind her at
all.

The twins came in from outside, arms
overloading with cases of Budweiser. They dumped them on the table
and disappeared. Lawrence and Kyle turned to cracking the boxes
open and transferring the beer to coolers of ice.

“Like I was saying, I’m at Blue Hill Ave. A
linebacker.” Reginald turned as if remembering something. “These
are my boys, Will and Jesus. They play, too.”

He placed a hand on the back of one guy who
appeared to be a seamless part of the crowd, then another. Both
turned.

“Oh hey, what’s up, baby?” said the taller
of the two, Jesus. He had thick, leathery skin and limp black hair
pulled tight into a ponytail.

“Nothing,” Edy said. She lowered her gaze,
put off by the “baby” and torn by the need to show the boys’
constant protection of her was unnecessary. She could kill this
scene by going to them or she could handle this one by herself.

The line moved again. All three boys went
with it.

“Yeah, baby girl was just telling me that
she’s here with Pradhan,” Reggie said.

“Well, that’s what’s up,” Will said
enthusiastically, confusing Edy even further.

“So, Edy, how about you and me get together
a little later?” Reggie said, gaze dropping to her body.

Edy sputtered, mouth flailing at the
audacity of it all. “Did you not just hear me?” she cried. “I’m
with Hassan!”

What a stupid, impotent response, like
yelling “quit it” when someone pointed a gun at your face. Still,
her fists balled.

Reggie touched Edy’s arm, just so. “That’s
what I’m saying, sexy. When you get bored with him, come find me
after.”

“After what?” Edy cried.

He released her, as if she had somehow
offended him. “After you two get done pounding each other. After
that, let me get a turn.”

Edy swung without knowing she would, fist
like a hammer to his eyeball.

Reggie reeled, righted himself, and spat an
eclectic selection of profane names as he clutched at his face.

“What did you say to her?” Hassan appeared
at Reggie’s side.

Lawrence and Kyle looked up.

“Look, your bowwow here—”

Hassan slapped him.

She never knew a man could be slapped that
way, with an open-palm of thunder, spittle flying, gleaning a cry
of startled pain. The boy plowed into the refreshment table,
splashing punch, upturning cups, ice, and beer bottles in the
assault. Edy cringed.

“Get up and fight me,” Hassan said.

He yanked Reggie to his feet as Lawrence
cursed and chucked a beer bottle at Jesus’ head, cutting short the
fist that swung for Hassan. Glass pounded one side of Jesus’ face
and sending him reeling with a grunt. Edy jumped back when Kyle and
Lawrence lunged in some silent agreement, with the first bringing
down a wounded Jesus, and the second sweeping low enough to scoop
Will preemptively.

Reggie swung and Hassan ducked, coming up
with a crashing fist to the abdomen. He grunted, bent just so, and
got an elbow slam to the jaw. Reggie stumbled, and threw a wild
fist that Hassan yanked, overextended, and twisted behind his back.
He used it to pitch Reggie headfirst into the kegs, where he
stomped his back with gusto.