Part 24 (1/2)

It was the last time I ever saw him.

AFTER.

Brandon hasn't told on me; he avoids me. But he doesn't avoid Erin. He hara.s.ses her whenever he can. Erin, who he never looked at twice and didn't give a d.a.m.n about before she ran away. Or after she ran away, for that matter, when we all thought she was dead like Zach.

It's only now that she's back in school and her boyfriend is in jail in Florida that he's giving her lots of quality Brandon attention. Because now she's prey. She twitches, looks around, checks all possible exits. She's always ready to run, to cower, to hide. She exudes the prey scent: fear.

Brandon thinks because she's prey, she's easy. She's someone he can take. He's probably right.

Lucky Erin.

I want to prove him wrong. I don't like to think of Brandon and me having anything in common. I'm the predator, not him. I can teach him that. I will teach him that.

I wish dogs would take Brandon. I think about how I can arrange it. I can make him prey.

Instead I make it a habit to be in Erin's vicinity as much as I can. Brandon doesn't say a word if I'm there. He can't even look me in the eye.

He's scared of me.

He should be.

AFTER.

The week after the funeral I eat lunch with Sarah and Tayshawn most every day. We don't talk about what I want us to talk about. We don't talk about Zach or what happened to him either. I don't tell them anything about the white boy or what I have to do.

On Thursday after school we meet at Sarah's place. Supposedly to study. I am hoping not.

Her dad is working late and her mom's away at some lawyer conference. Turns out Sarah lives a few blocks from my place, but her building is s.h.i.+ny and new. There's a doorman. He sits behind marble and writes down my name and checks my school ID. I've never been in a doorman building before.

He hands back the ID and tells me that Miss Was.h.i.+ngton is expecting me.

”Okay,” I say.

”Eighteenth floor,” he tells me, pointing to the bank of elevators.

”What apartment number?” I ask.

”Eighteenth floor,” he repeats. ”That's the number.”

The elevator opens up to Tayshawn. We're standing in a room that's bigger than my kitchen. It's lined with racks for shoes.

”You have to take your shoes off,” Tayshawn tells me. He points to where his are already resting on a rack. ”Pretty weird, huh?”

”Yeah.” I slip off my sneakers and put them beside his, looking up at him, smiling. I've always liked Tayshawn; he's the only one at the school who's always been nice to me.

Tayshawn holds his hand out to help me up. I take it and feel a jolt of intense longing.

I kiss him lightly, my lips on his. I lean into it, easing onto my toes so our lips stay aligned. My mouth opens a little, so does his. We're kissing for real.

The feel of it is strong. I grab hold of him, grip his biceps to keep from falling.

He pulls away but I don't want to stop. He pushes me off. The heat is still on me, so intense my legs shake. I have to steel every muscle to keep from throwing myself at him again.

”Sorry,” I mumble.

We're here at Sarah's to study together. I'm not sure I can. I thought Tayshawn felt that way, too. He's not shaking.

”Wow, girl,” he says, showing me his palms. ”Slow down.”

I look away. There's sweat on my upper lip. I don't know what to say. Zach would have responded. Zach would have exploded with me.

”This way,” Tayshawn says, opening the door, careful not to touch me.

It's the biggest apartment I've ever seen. We're standing in a living room that's as big as an entire floor of my building. Everything is clean and s.h.i.+ny. The couches are made out of real leather. A television takes up a whole wall.

I walk toward the gla.s.s walls that look down on Astor Place. Beyond I can see both the Chrysler and Empire State buildings. To my right, I can see all the way to Brooklyn.

Tayshawn mock punches me, and even that light touch of knuckles on my bare shoulder is enough . . . I cough. He looks down at his hand, as if he didn't know what he was doing.

”You're staring,” he says at last. ”You never seen a rich person's place before?”

”Nope,” I say. ”I thought Zach's place was big.”

Tayshawn laughs.

He thinks I'm joking.

”Where's Sarah?”

”Here,” she says, from behind us. ”Welcome.”

She sounds like a hostess at a party. Or at least how I imagine one would sound. She looks like one, too, even barefoot. Her pretty black curls spill down her back.

I knew Sarah was better off than me. I didn't realize just how much.

I am looking at her mouth. I am thinking about kissing her.

”You bring your books?” she asks. I tap my backpack. We're there to study bio. It's the only cla.s.s Sarah isn't acing.

She leads the way into her bedroom. The room is huge and has a view of the Woolworth Building. With binoculars you could probably see the Statue of Liberty. There's a teddy bear and a floppy giraffe on the bed. Compared to the acres of stuffed toys I was expecting it's not too bad. The room's painted blue and white, not pink.

The door to the closet is open. It's not a closet so much as another room. Outside of a department store it contains more clothes than I've ever seen before.

She leads us into a room on the other side of the closet. Her study, I guess. There's a desk, a couch, chairs, a stereo, and lots and lots and lots of books. I didn't realize one person could own so many.

Sarah's bedroom is made up of three different rooms. My entire apartment is made up of four.

”I know,” Sarah says. ”It's a bit much, isn't it?”

She sits on the couch and crosses her legs. Her skirt rides up a little so that I can see her knees. They're smooth, not ashy like mine. She probably bathes in milk or something. She makes me feel gangly, awkward, ugly. But I still want to kiss her. I wonder why either of them wanted to kiss me. If they do anymore.