Page 39 of Ready or Not
The sun was starting to dip low, painting the sidewalks in gold as my stomach growled its protest for the last thing I ate was some coffee and a baconegg&cheese. People buzzed around me, wrapped in their own lives. Tony still hadn’t answered mycalls—probably ‘cause he was either high or trying to sleep off last night’s festivities.
I checked my watch, frustrated that I spent four hours wandering a part of Brooklyn I barely knew for a clue that probably didn’t exist.
Four hours chasing fantasmas.
I should quit and go home.
Pack it up and admit that Solène—for now—was a phantom I wasn’t catching.
I was operating on fumes and needed more than blind hope to get anywhere.
Cursing under my breath, I opened my phone to call for a ride home. I was ready to give up, but my screen lit up with a call, Tony’s name flashing across it like some cruel cosmic joke.
Gracias, Madre Mía.
Remind me to light a candle for you later,I swiped to answer faster than a broke man catching a dollar in the wind. "Took you long enough, perra."
"Fuck you too," came Tony's scratchy voice on the other end, clearly still half-asleep. I could hear faint music in the background—some reggaeton track echoing through wherever he was. “The fuck you call me so many times for? You in trouble or something?”
“You got Naomi’s number?” I asked, cutting straight to the point. “I need it.”
He paused for a second, maybe longer, giving me that telltale silence that meant he was either thinking too hard or about to give me shit. “You calling me like it’s life or death just for Naomi’s number? You serious right now? On top of that… no hi or hello?”
“Don’t piss me off. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you all day, pendejo.”
“Fine, fine,” He groaned, the sound strained and heavy, like I’d just asked him to move a mountain. “But why Naomi? Why the hell you looking for her number—wait… is this about her friend, Solène? Cause I seen that Naomi texted me a couple of hours ago asking for yours. Something about her friend. Y’all looked cute together last night.”
Wait… Naomi wanted my number for Solène?
Was she trying to reach out to me, too?
My stomach flipped, hope sparking like a faulty lighter. For a moment, I stood frozen in the middle of the crowded Brooklyn sidewalk, my mind racing as I processed my best friend’s words.
Could this finally be the break I was looking for?
“Yo, Des. You still there?”
“Yeah… She texted you?”
“Maaaan,” he said, his voice still groggy. “She was all like,Oh, can you send me his number?She didn’t give me much more detail than that, but I could tell she was serious ‘cause she usually ghosts me for days before texting back about anything. This was the first time I've seen her hit me up that many times in an hour.”
“Please tell me you sent it to her." I was going to lose my mind if he hadn’t followed through.
"Nah, I figured I'd check with you first," he said, dragging the words in that lazy drawl of his. "Didn't wanna just hand it out like that, y’know?"
"Jesús," I hissed. The heat slapped me again like a disapproving abuelita’s chancla, but I barely felt it over the tight coil of frustration winding in my chest. "You could’ve solved this hours ago??"
“Vato, slow down,” He yawned loudly, the sound crackling through the phone like static. “I just woke up. Besides, how was I supposed to know it was urgent? Not like you sent me a heads-up or anything."
I pinched the bridge of my nose, crossing the street to dodge a group of teens on skateboards. “I’m gonna smack the shit out you. I called like six times!”
“Aight, main, Aight. Calmate,” he muttered, sounding more amused than concerned. “I’m on it. Hold your damn horses.”
I heard faint clicks as he typed—agonizingly slow.
"You sent it yet?" I snapped, already mentally chewing through the seconds he was wasting.
"Patience is a virtue, hermano," he drawled lazily, finishing with a loud tap of his screen. "And... done. Naomi’s got your number now. Happy?"
