that Kevin Singleton or anyone except Liberty hurt Liberty Baker.”
She says Michael has been saying the same thing—with great conviction. Until this afternoon.
“What changed?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Can I ask you a question? What do you think is in it for this guy Decastro? What does he care about Liberty Baker or Gracie or Tory or you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we all have some debts to pay the gods?”
“Maybe he has a thing for dead girls.”
13
“THIS better be good.”
She sees him squinting at her across the steel table, a bunch of
lo mein
noodles pinched between the chopsticks in his right hand.
Her gaze drifts away, off to her right, toward a vendor’s counter as if she’s looking to see if her plate of spring rolls is up yet. But what she’s really doing is giving him permission to look at her.
See me, Michael. See the strength in my jaw. See my observant eyes. See the way my breasts swell beneath the V-neck sweater, too. Ninja Girl.
She wonders if he sees anything, feels anything. Wonders if he knows she dressed for him tonight. That no matter what he thinks, she’s not a kid anymore. That she’s got to find Lib’s killer. That she’s scared. That she’s heading way out on a limb here. That she can’t do this without him.
And now she’s got something to show him that could change everything. Maybe even the way he thinks of her. Maybe make him see her as something more than some crazy chick with a conspiracy theory.
He’s playing with his noodles with the chopsticks, not eating.
“What’s the matter, you don’t like Chinese food? Want to try some of this soup?”
She pushes her bowl of
won ton
toward him, offers her spoon. Looks into his dark eyes, surveys those high Latin cheeks, the shadow of his heavy beard, the cords of his neck. Smiles. Smells the ginger, the hot pepper, steamed onions. Basil. Lots of sweet basil. Music’s rising in her head. One of Lib’s favorites. Beyonce Knowles’ “Green Light.”
She tries to imagine herself as one of Charlie’s Angels. As Lucy Liu. Tough, no-nonsense ninja. But the picture in her head keeps morphing. She can’t help it. She’s seeing the inside of a dark Hong Kong bar in the Wanchai district. A girl in a thong working a pole dance to the rhythm. Her.
OMG, if he only knew how much I want him to really see me. To be a ninja knight.
“Hey, Michael! You with me here?”
He blinks, coming out of a secret place of his own, maybe. Seems to see for the first time the bright lights of this busy food court tucked above a fortune cookie bakery in Boston’s Chinatown. Seems to see her, too. This girl full of yearning opposite him at the table. Her nose stud a tiny ruby today, winking at him.
“I was just thinking … What was I saying?”
“This better be good.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s what YOU said. I think you were talking about the
lo mein
I ordered for you.”
He shakes his head no. “I was talking about what you want to tell me. I’m not in the habit of having secret rendezvous in backroom restaurants with high school girls.”
Ouch.
“Come on. Admit this is a cool place.”
He looks around. Takes in a dozen different vendors stirring their woks, ladling out soup, blending shakes of durian and strange red beans. Street people, a few suits, lovers waiting in line for their food. Inhales the smells again.
Can he smell the tamarind, my Tommy Girl perfume?
She gives him an urgent smile, feels her hair frizzing in the steamy air.
“Definitely funky!”
“See, I knew you’d like it. A great date place, don’t you think?”
He sighs. “We’re not having a date, Gracie. You said to meet you here because you had something you wanted to show me. Please, can we get on with this?”
Put a knife in my heart.
“If somebody you know sees us here, they might get the wrong idea. What? What was so urgent that you had to sneak off campus tonight?”
“You mean that you had to drive the whole way up
She says Michael has been saying the same thing—with great conviction. Until this afternoon.
“What changed?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Can I ask you a question? What do you think is in it for this guy Decastro? What does he care about Liberty Baker or Gracie or Tory or you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we all have some debts to pay the gods?”
“Maybe he has a thing for dead girls.”
13
“THIS better be good.”
She sees him squinting at her across the steel table, a bunch of
lo mein
noodles pinched between the chopsticks in his right hand.
Her gaze drifts away, off to her right, toward a vendor’s counter as if she’s looking to see if her plate of spring rolls is up yet. But what she’s really doing is giving him permission to look at her.
See me, Michael. See the strength in my jaw. See my observant eyes. See the way my breasts swell beneath the V-neck sweater, too. Ninja Girl.
She wonders if he sees anything, feels anything. Wonders if he knows she dressed for him tonight. That no matter what he thinks, she’s not a kid anymore. That she’s got to find Lib’s killer. That she’s scared. That she’s heading way out on a limb here. That she can’t do this without him.
And now she’s got something to show him that could change everything. Maybe even the way he thinks of her. Maybe make him see her as something more than some crazy chick with a conspiracy theory.
He’s playing with his noodles with the chopsticks, not eating.
“What’s the matter, you don’t like Chinese food? Want to try some of this soup?”
She pushes her bowl of
won ton
toward him, offers her spoon. Looks into his dark eyes, surveys those high Latin cheeks, the shadow of his heavy beard, the cords of his neck. Smiles. Smells the ginger, the hot pepper, steamed onions. Basil. Lots of sweet basil. Music’s rising in her head. One of Lib’s favorites. Beyonce Knowles’ “Green Light.”
She tries to imagine herself as one of Charlie’s Angels. As Lucy Liu. Tough, no-nonsense ninja. But the picture in her head keeps morphing. She can’t help it. She’s seeing the inside of a dark Hong Kong bar in the Wanchai district. A girl in a thong working a pole dance to the rhythm. Her.
OMG, if he only knew how much I want him to really see me. To be a ninja knight.
“Hey, Michael! You with me here?”
He blinks, coming out of a secret place of his own, maybe. Seems to see for the first time the bright lights of this busy food court tucked above a fortune cookie bakery in Boston’s Chinatown. Seems to see her, too. This girl full of yearning opposite him at the table. Her nose stud a tiny ruby today, winking at him.
“I was just thinking … What was I saying?”
“This better be good.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s what YOU said. I think you were talking about the
lo mein
I ordered for you.”
He shakes his head no. “I was talking about what you want to tell me. I’m not in the habit of having secret rendezvous in backroom restaurants with high school girls.”
Ouch.
“Come on. Admit this is a cool place.”
He looks around. Takes in a dozen different vendors stirring their woks, ladling out soup, blending shakes of durian and strange red beans. Street people, a few suits, lovers waiting in line for their food. Inhales the smells again.
Can he smell the tamarind, my Tommy Girl perfume?
She gives him an urgent smile, feels her hair frizzing in the steamy air.
“Definitely funky!”
“See, I knew you’d like it. A great date place, don’t you think?”
He sighs. “We’re not having a date, Gracie. You said to meet you here because you had something you wanted to show me. Please, can we get on with this?”
Put a knife in my heart.
“If somebody you know sees us here, they might get the wrong idea. What? What was so urgent that you had to sneak off campus tonight?”
“You mean that you had to drive the whole way up
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