around to see if my favorite van had arrived, or if a crazed man in cleats was running toward me with a mallet in his hands. Such was my state of mind since last night.
Roxy threw her bag in behind her and climbed in the car. She held what looked like a plate covered by a paper bag in her hands. The delicious smell of fried potatoes and onions hit me. I didn’t wait for her to put her seat belt on. Instead I slammed the car into first and took off.
“Hey,” Roxy said, her head snapping back from the torque. “What the . . .” She whipped her seat belt across her shoulder and snapped it in place. “I need to be back in an hour but you’re taking that way too seriously.”
I took off down Wethersfield Avenue and veered right onto Brown Street. The tires screeched. Roxy gripped the overhead handle. “What’s going on? Am I missing something?”
“Yeah.” I hammered the throttle. The engine sang and the car flew. “This morning when I called you. I didn’t tell you everything.”
I had told Roxy I was coming back to Hartford and that I needed to meet her. I hadn’t given her any details because I didn’t want to listen to her try to stop me. I also didn’t like the idea of speaking to anyone on the phone about what had happened to me or about my godfather’s death. If I were asking any questions about either subject, I wanted to be able to shine a flashlight in the other person’s eyes so I could see what was going on behind them.
I gave her an abbreviated version of the previous night’s events. She interrupted with a series of mild exclamations but otherwise listened until I was done.
“And that’s it?” Roxy said. “That’s everything?”
She asked the question in a tone that suggested I’d failed to mention something obvious. I quickly replayed what I’d told her in my mind.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s everything.”
“No. It’s not everything. What you haven’t told me yet is that you called the cops. If not last night then this morning. Tell me you called the cops, Diana.”
Diana was an anagram for Nadia. Roxy had figured it out during PLAST camp and decided it would be my nickname. I secretly loved it at the time. It made me feel popular and glamorous. It made me feel that I was more assimilated and American, which I wanted above everything else.
Now I had mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, it was a sweet reminder of the times Roxy had been nice to me when we were kids. On the other hand, I felt hopelessly unworthy of sharing the name of an immortal princess. The thing with nicknames, though, is that once they stick, there’s nothing you can do about them.
“No,” I said. “I did not go to the cops.”
“Why not?’
“That would be the wrong thing to do. Come on, Rox. You know that.”
“If you report it, they’ll arrest Donnie. They’ll get him off the street. Otherwise, that sick bastard is coming after you. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know that. I also know that it’s not only Donnie I need to worry about. I doubt he’s in this alone.”
“Have you talked to your mother or brother about this?”
“No.”
“Did you at least call them?”
I tried to look cool, but I swallowed before I could form a single word. “Of course I called. The question isn’t whether I called them, the question is whether they picked up or called back.”
“And did they?”
It was my turn to fire Roxy a disapproving glare for even asking. Of course they hadn’t called back. They both hated me.
Roxy shook her head. “You’ve got to go to the police. You’ve got to go now.”
“The number one rule is to stay inside the community,” I said. “You know that. The minute I go outside the community for help all bets are off.”
“But what if all bets are off already?”
“If Donnie wanted to kill me, he would have done it in the van. All he was doing was scaring me.”
“Yeah. By breaking your leg. Except now you broke his. And what exactly do you think
Roxy threw her bag in behind her and climbed in the car. She held what looked like a plate covered by a paper bag in her hands. The delicious smell of fried potatoes and onions hit me. I didn’t wait for her to put her seat belt on. Instead I slammed the car into first and took off.
“Hey,” Roxy said, her head snapping back from the torque. “What the . . .” She whipped her seat belt across her shoulder and snapped it in place. “I need to be back in an hour but you’re taking that way too seriously.”
I took off down Wethersfield Avenue and veered right onto Brown Street. The tires screeched. Roxy gripped the overhead handle. “What’s going on? Am I missing something?”
“Yeah.” I hammered the throttle. The engine sang and the car flew. “This morning when I called you. I didn’t tell you everything.”
I had told Roxy I was coming back to Hartford and that I needed to meet her. I hadn’t given her any details because I didn’t want to listen to her try to stop me. I also didn’t like the idea of speaking to anyone on the phone about what had happened to me or about my godfather’s death. If I were asking any questions about either subject, I wanted to be able to shine a flashlight in the other person’s eyes so I could see what was going on behind them.
I gave her an abbreviated version of the previous night’s events. She interrupted with a series of mild exclamations but otherwise listened until I was done.
“And that’s it?” Roxy said. “That’s everything?”
She asked the question in a tone that suggested I’d failed to mention something obvious. I quickly replayed what I’d told her in my mind.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s everything.”
“No. It’s not everything. What you haven’t told me yet is that you called the cops. If not last night then this morning. Tell me you called the cops, Diana.”
Diana was an anagram for Nadia. Roxy had figured it out during PLAST camp and decided it would be my nickname. I secretly loved it at the time. It made me feel popular and glamorous. It made me feel that I was more assimilated and American, which I wanted above everything else.
Now I had mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, it was a sweet reminder of the times Roxy had been nice to me when we were kids. On the other hand, I felt hopelessly unworthy of sharing the name of an immortal princess. The thing with nicknames, though, is that once they stick, there’s nothing you can do about them.
“No,” I said. “I did not go to the cops.”
“Why not?’
“That would be the wrong thing to do. Come on, Rox. You know that.”
“If you report it, they’ll arrest Donnie. They’ll get him off the street. Otherwise, that sick bastard is coming after you. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know that. I also know that it’s not only Donnie I need to worry about. I doubt he’s in this alone.”
“Have you talked to your mother or brother about this?”
“No.”
“Did you at least call them?”
I tried to look cool, but I swallowed before I could form a single word. “Of course I called. The question isn’t whether I called them, the question is whether they picked up or called back.”
“And did they?”
It was my turn to fire Roxy a disapproving glare for even asking. Of course they hadn’t called back. They both hated me.
Roxy shook her head. “You’ve got to go to the police. You’ve got to go now.”
“The number one rule is to stay inside the community,” I said. “You know that. The minute I go outside the community for help all bets are off.”
“But what if all bets are off already?”
“If Donnie wanted to kill me, he would have done it in the van. All he was doing was scaring me.”
“Yeah. By breaking your leg. Except now you broke his. And what exactly do you think
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