Read Online Hot Pink in the City by Medeia Sharif - Free Book Online Page A

the
Umm tape.
    "Hey, I have to go," Tamara says.
    "But I didn't tell you about what happened to
me last night."
    "Oh, Asma, I really gotta go. Write it in a
letter. My toenails are dry and I gotta get to my fingernails
now..."
    She makes a kissy sound on the phone before
the line goes dead -- I'm not sure if I ran out of money or if she
hung up on me. It's as if I were caught with my pants down around
my ankles. I wanted to tell her something important, to get
something off my chest, but I couldn't. I also didn't write about
my problem in my letter because I'm paranoid about Uncle. What if
he saw the letters lying around and decided to read them, the same
way he reads Nasreen's mail?
    I'll call Tamara in a few days and maybe then
we'll have a normal conversation. I also owe Misty a call, although
I'm not eager to talk to her. I love my friends, but there are
things about them that irk me. They seem too busy to listen to me,
and they're full of putdowns they insist are nothing more than
playful teasing -- Because we love you , they say. And Tamara
thinks I'm a goody-goody. New York is pulling me out of that
goody-goody shell, bringing out a side of me I didn't know
existed.

Chapter Nine
     
    I've never liked newspapers. I only look
through them when teachers ask me to do a current events
assignment, but now I'm looking through a stack of them. I bought
several newspapers to look through the ads sections. Nasreen is
helping me. We're looking for moneymaking opportunities. I'm glad
to be with her. Compared to my friends, she listens, is
nonjudgmental, and seems supportive of me. Maybe it's because we're
in a bind, but I've always enjoyed her company, and this summer
we're becoming closer.
    Her regular black-and-white TV -- not the one
hidden in the closet, since she never takes that one out from her
hiding place -- is playing in the background as we sit on the floor
together. Since she's peering down at the newspaper, her eyes look
like two black holes in her face. I myself am wearing frosted
blue-and-purple eye shadow and a pink shirt and shorts. I'm all
about color and positivity. Maybe she needs to add some bright
colors to her wardrobe to spruce up her outlook and future.
    "Have you found anything?" she asks.
    "Not really," I reply.
    I found a few summer jobs for nannies, but I
can't disappear for days to take care of anyone's kids. I also
found waitressing and cashier jobs. Maybe I can call them and see
if it's during the daytime. Uncle won't miss me during the day
since he's at work, but if it's nighttime I can forget it. I eye
the business exec and medical jobs. Dollar signs swim in my head,
but of course I'm not qualified for those positions.
    It's early in the afternoon, so soaps are
playing. I glance up and down to look at The Young and the
Restless . The opening theme of piano and violins sounds
depressing to me now, when that usually signals an hour of
mindless, yet entertaining, melodrama. I'm not dying to know what's
going on with Victor, Nikki, and the Abbots. I need money.
    After circling a few ads that catch my
attention, I put the paper down and give my eyes a rest. I'm tired
of reading the tiny print. It hasn't even been an hour, but it
feels like it's been much longer. Commercials come on, and I switch
the channel, but every channel is playing them. I stop switching
when a radio DJ tells me I need to listen to his evening show for a
chance to win Madonna tickets. Wouldn't that be cool? If only I
were able to listen to the radio in the evening, but I can't since
Uncle is here and he listens to the radio at that time. Then
another commercial comes on. There's a new entertainment show in
town called NYC Dance Off , and they're looking for people to
audition to make it onto their dance floor. I wonder how long that
show is. Maybe I can do that.
    "Nasreen, what do you think about that show?"
I ask.
    Her eyes are on the TV since she's also
taking a break. "No way, Asma. You can't go on those shows. You're
not a