for girls like you.”
“I didn’t want to be with that guy last night,” I murmur. “I can’t even remember. Why can’t I remember?”
Devon lifts my chin with his finger. “Look at me,” he says. “Best thing to do is forget about it and get on with what we gotta do to survive.”
Devon turns me to face the mirror again. “Look at you. Look at how beautiful you are. Can’t you see yourself? We gonna make money, Peach. You’re gonna make money—you and me and Kat and Baby Girl. We gonnasave up, buy a house, get up outta here and onto somethin’ better. We gonna have a good life. That’s what you want, right?”
It is. It is what I want. A good life with food and people who like me. But I can’t do what he’s asking. Sleep with men for money. It’s disgusting.
“I’m not like that,” I say. “I ain’t never been with a boy before.”
“Before last night, you mean.” Devon leans in, his mouth on my ear. “You loved it, ’Chelle. You was all like, ‘Yeah, baby . . .’”
“Shut up!” I scream, pushing him away. “You’re lying! I didn’t say that! I didn’t want to!”
Devon grabs my wrist and smiles. “But you did, didn’t you? You did that shit for hours. Maybe you ain’t what you think, Peach. Maybe you mad right now, but you did me proud. I’m proud of you. Hear me? You ain’t what you think you are. You’re strong. You’re tough. I knew it from the moment I saw you at Port Authority. You smart too. Smart enough to run away from whatever mother-fuckers you lived with before. And lucky enough to meet me.”
I look at myself in the mirror again, this girl I don’tknow. She is beautiful—her hair perfect, her face clean and painted like someone on TV. She’s a girl who had sex. And survived. Devon wraps his arms around me. I can hear the orange fish shouting on the TV in the living room. “Nemo! I found you!”
My mother. That house.
Calvin.
Grandpa. Dead.
Maybe I am lucky to be here, with him and Baby and Kat, in our own place, with food in the kitchen and a TV that works. I will make it clean here. Fold the laundry. Make my bed. Fill the air with the smell of something cooked.
“My girls call me Daddy,” Devon says. “You should, too, ’cause that’s what I am. I can take care of you. I protect you. Understand? Me, my girls, my boys, we all been where you are—and we’re surviving. One more thing: I didn’t touch you last night. You hear? I wouldn’t do that. Not to you.”
Devon’s eyes flame, like a match in the night. “You want a family? You got it, girl. We right here. And we got a place for you. Just for you.”
In my room, my bed is neat, the comforter tucked in, red bear blanket folded in a square on my pillow. Grandpa’s shirt is still on the floor in a ball. Baby’s getting dressed, yanking a pink cotton dress over her head. There’s a kitten on the front. It might be a nightgown. Her hair is in pigtails, twisted and fastened with old-school plastic barrettes like the ones I used to wear when I was young. She looks like a little girl.
“I washed ’em.” She grins, pointing to my bed. “Your sheets.”
“Thanks,” I say, but I don’t look.
“You gonna stay, right?”
“What?”
“You gonna stay with us?” Baby fiddles with the edge of her dress. “The last girl, she left. I didn’t like her anyway. She wasn’t nice. Not like you. She got a different daddy now. We see her on the track sometimes, all busted up and skinny.
“It’s scary down there,” she whispers. “But we don’t work the track. We better than that.”
I shiver and pull on the dark-blue jeans that are laid out on the bed. They are brand-new. The shirt is purple and shiny, but not too tight. The satiny fabric driftsacross my stomach in soft waves. It’s not a kid’s shirt, not like the simple black top I got at the store with Devon. I look in the mirror and for a moment I flush with pride. Who is that girl? I turn and try on a smile. Then I see the
“I didn’t want to be with that guy last night,” I murmur. “I can’t even remember. Why can’t I remember?”
Devon lifts my chin with his finger. “Look at me,” he says. “Best thing to do is forget about it and get on with what we gotta do to survive.”
Devon turns me to face the mirror again. “Look at you. Look at how beautiful you are. Can’t you see yourself? We gonna make money, Peach. You’re gonna make money—you and me and Kat and Baby Girl. We gonnasave up, buy a house, get up outta here and onto somethin’ better. We gonna have a good life. That’s what you want, right?”
It is. It is what I want. A good life with food and people who like me. But I can’t do what he’s asking. Sleep with men for money. It’s disgusting.
“I’m not like that,” I say. “I ain’t never been with a boy before.”
“Before last night, you mean.” Devon leans in, his mouth on my ear. “You loved it, ’Chelle. You was all like, ‘Yeah, baby . . .’”
“Shut up!” I scream, pushing him away. “You’re lying! I didn’t say that! I didn’t want to!”
Devon grabs my wrist and smiles. “But you did, didn’t you? You did that shit for hours. Maybe you ain’t what you think, Peach. Maybe you mad right now, but you did me proud. I’m proud of you. Hear me? You ain’t what you think you are. You’re strong. You’re tough. I knew it from the moment I saw you at Port Authority. You smart too. Smart enough to run away from whatever mother-fuckers you lived with before. And lucky enough to meet me.”
I look at myself in the mirror again, this girl I don’tknow. She is beautiful—her hair perfect, her face clean and painted like someone on TV. She’s a girl who had sex. And survived. Devon wraps his arms around me. I can hear the orange fish shouting on the TV in the living room. “Nemo! I found you!”
My mother. That house.
Calvin.
Grandpa. Dead.
Maybe I am lucky to be here, with him and Baby and Kat, in our own place, with food in the kitchen and a TV that works. I will make it clean here. Fold the laundry. Make my bed. Fill the air with the smell of something cooked.
“My girls call me Daddy,” Devon says. “You should, too, ’cause that’s what I am. I can take care of you. I protect you. Understand? Me, my girls, my boys, we all been where you are—and we’re surviving. One more thing: I didn’t touch you last night. You hear? I wouldn’t do that. Not to you.”
Devon’s eyes flame, like a match in the night. “You want a family? You got it, girl. We right here. And we got a place for you. Just for you.”
In my room, my bed is neat, the comforter tucked in, red bear blanket folded in a square on my pillow. Grandpa’s shirt is still on the floor in a ball. Baby’s getting dressed, yanking a pink cotton dress over her head. There’s a kitten on the front. It might be a nightgown. Her hair is in pigtails, twisted and fastened with old-school plastic barrettes like the ones I used to wear when I was young. She looks like a little girl.
“I washed ’em.” She grins, pointing to my bed. “Your sheets.”
“Thanks,” I say, but I don’t look.
“You gonna stay, right?”
“What?”
“You gonna stay with us?” Baby fiddles with the edge of her dress. “The last girl, she left. I didn’t like her anyway. She wasn’t nice. Not like you. She got a different daddy now. We see her on the track sometimes, all busted up and skinny.
“It’s scary down there,” she whispers. “But we don’t work the track. We better than that.”
I shiver and pull on the dark-blue jeans that are laid out on the bed. They are brand-new. The shirt is purple and shiny, but not too tight. The satiny fabric driftsacross my stomach in soft waves. It’s not a kid’s shirt, not like the simple black top I got at the store with Devon. I look in the mirror and for a moment I flush with pride. Who is that girl? I turn and try on a smile. Then I see the
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