Page 25 of Thief of my Heart

EIGHT

LITTLE PINK DRESS, WHOLE LOTTA TROUBLE

Lea

“I cannot believe I let you talk me into this dress, Ang.”

For the tenth time since getting off the bus, I tugged the hem of the magenta pink dress—if you could even call it that—down so it would actually cover my butt. I wouldn’t have ever called myself a prude (even if my friends would), but this dress was testing my limits.

“Will you shut up about the freaking dress, Le?” Angie replied while Linda rolled her eyes. “You talked yourself into it. You said yourself you wanted to look like sex on wheels. I just provided the gas.”

I’d never been much of a partier, had never even tried to sneak into the clubs downtown like my friends sometimes did. There was too much to do at home. When Angie had been invited when we were all walking out of sixth period Calculus together, I had originally passed, like I normally did.

But the feeling that everyone—my friends, my family, even my little sisters—was leaving me behind kept bugging me through the week, like a cold I couldn’t shake. And the second Michael Scarrone looked at me that way—like I was a priceless heirloom, untouched and unspoiled, a perfect little virgin he couldn’t even think of messing up—my mind changed completely.

I’d left the garage and called Angie to let her know I was coming over. She and Linda had jumped at the opportunity to dress me up in something miles from the parade of jeans and T-shirts I typically wore. Now, I was paying the price while I followed my friends under an actual freeway, hoping we wouldn’t get murdered on our way to one of Morris Carrera’s legendary underground parties.

“I might look hot, but I am fuh-reezing,” I told her. “How many more blocks do we have? This neighborhood is freaking me out.”

We’d been walking since getting off the bus. Mott Haven wasn’t exactly the Ritz, but on the other side of the 278 was Port Morris, a district made up mostly of warehouses. For the last few blocks, we’d ignored a few harmless vagrants, but mostly, we were on the lookout for people who were waiting for idiots like us to stumble in their paths.

Everyone who grows up in New York knows one thing: a silent block is always more dangerous than a lively one. It’s the quiet places that are the scariest. And this place was completely dead.

“I think it’s another block this way,” Angie said.

“You didn’t print out the directions?” Linda demanded.

“Bish, I don’t have a printer. And I was too busy making over this one to run down to the library, you know?”

We all chuckled.

“You’re gonna thank me when we get to the party and every guy is drooling over you,” Angie added, looking over me again like she was appraising her work.

“Lord knows enough of them wanted it on the bus,” I returned. “Why do they all think calling ‘hey ma’ is going to turn me on?”

“Or whistling from across the street?” Angie added.

“It’s like dogs needing to piss on things,” Linda replied as we turned around yet another seemingly abandoned corner. “They can’t help it. It’s the first step to marking their territory.”

“Speaking of dogs, is your brother going to be here tonight?” Angie wondered slyly.

I sent her a narrow-eyed look. Angie had been trying for years to catch Matthew’s eye, to no avail.

“No. He has a test. And you have got to stop barking up that tree, Ange. Sherry Alvarez won’t be letting him go any time soon.”

It was no secret that I didn’t like my brother’s girlfriend, but he’d made it clear that he didn’t care about my opinion or anyone else’s in the family long ago.

“Ugh, gross. She is such a skank!” Angie whined. “Why would he want that when he could have big-mouthed perfection right here?”

“She is pretty, though,” Linda remarked, always the fair one. “I like what she did to her hair.”

“Pretty is as pretty does,” I said.

“You sound like my mom, Le,” Angie joked.

A thump of bass reverberated through the air. Followed by another. And another.

We all swung toward it like dogs at a whistle.

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