Page 20 of Jessica, Not Her Real Name
After a few seconds of struggling, a hand behind came to her rescue. Her sister helped peel it off her, then scooped up the gown. “Try not to let her get to you,” she said quietly. “She’s just impossible to please sometimes.”
Julia paused in pulling her top over her head. For a moment she thought she’d misheard, because Natalie never spoke of their mother. Neither of them did. Not of endless early morning starts or untold number of hours they’d committed to ballet since they could walk. Or the sacrifices, the pain, the diets, the injuries. They’d never commiserated together because neither wanted the other to think was weaker. Their mother had raised them as rivals and not sisters.
She hesitated, half-tempted to say something. Instead, she forced a smile. “The dress is perfect. Everyone’s going to be looking at you, anyway.”
Their mother clapped her hands once, briskly. “Colette, we’ll finish the hem tomorrow. Natalie, come with me, we’ll check your fittings in my room.”
Natalie rolled her eyes but obeyed, gathering her phone as she slid off the bed. A moment later the door clicked shut behind them, leaving Julia alone. The muffled rise and fall of their voices drifted down the hall, then faded.
Julia seized her chance. She grabbed her bag and bolted.
By the time she reached the front door, her heart was hammering. She half-expected Daniel to be waiting on the doorstep, but he hadn’t ventured up the drive. The engine was still idling, its low growl vibrating through the night. Like he wasn’t sure he should be here. Like he, too, had wondered if he’d be stood up.
She quickened her pace, and the car came into view.
It was sleek and aggressive. Six angry-looking grilles glared from between the headlights. Angled shark gills cut into the fenders. A massive hood scoop sat like an open mouth, ready to swallow the road whole. The thing had the subtlety of a sucker punch.
Daniel got out and rounded the car to open the passenger door for her.
Julia wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt and climbed in.
The interior was all gleaming black vinyl and polished wood grain. A crucifix dangled from the rearview mirror, swaying with the engine’s vibrations.
Daniel slid back behind the wheel, shutting the door behind him.
“So,” he said, watching her reaction. “What do you think?”
She stared at the car. Then at him.
“It’s hideous,” she said at last.
Daniel grinned. “I knew you’d like her.”
* * *
They left behind the pristine estates and tree-lined streets ofLake Forest, heading south. The transition was stark—one moment, the world was manicured golf courses and gated driveways, the next, it was the steady hum of theEdens Expressway, stretching like a vein into the heart of Chicago.
Julia sat back in the seat, watching as the landscape shifted from suburban affluence to urban sprawl. The rhythmic clatter of 'L' trains overhead blended with the distant bass of car speakers from the traffic around them.
She glanced at Daniel, his hands steady on the wheel, his profile illuminated by the passing streetlights.
He took an exit just past Chinatown, weaving through the narrow streets ofBack of the Yards. Aged brick buildings, some with boarded-up windows, stood side by side with vibrant murals and lively taquerias. Streetlights flickered, barely illuminating the figures lingering near shuttered businesses. This was a city within a city, a place where the undocumented, the unseen, and the forgotten carved out a life.
Julia shifted in her seat. "So, what exactly are we doing tonight?"
Daniel glanced at her, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Ever been to a mercado?"
She frowned slightly. "Like a market?"
"Sort of," he said, cryptic. "But maybe not the kind you're thinking of."
After turning onto47th Street, he navigated a series of alleys until they pulled up beside an unmarked warehouse, its entrance illuminated by a single bulb. Somewhere in the distance, the wail of a siren echoed.
He killed the engine and turned to Julia, his expression unreadable. "Ready?"
* * *
Daniel knocked twice, then three more times. A metal slot in the door slid open, revealing shadowed eyes. A hushed exchange in rapid Spanish followed, too quick for her to catch more than a word or two.
