Music, dancing, good food.
Southside block parties never disappoint.
Peeking around Scar and Shane’s baked goods booth from a lawn chair, I take in the glittering lights that zigzag from one side of the street to the other. They burn bright against the dark sky. A neighborhood committee had carefully hung them just this afternoon, having taken on the challenge of making this year’s celebration a little more festive than in the past.
The lights, the hired clowns and face painters, a professional DJ posted at the end of the street. Mostly, he played hip-hop from the 90s and early 2000s, which has the neighbors dancing beneath the lights. Young and old. All races.
A lot of work went into pulling this off, and it shows.
“Get those away from me,” I cringe, turning my face when Jules bounces to the table with the last batch of peanut butter cookies from her oven. She volunteered to bake them for Scar, since preparing them in the house could end badly for me.
“Oh, relax,” she teases. “I even wiped down the outside of the container and washed my hands before coming over here, so—”
She takes my face and plants a big kiss on my forehead.
“Cut it out! I know the many, many places those lips have been!” I joke.
She shoves me playfully and I do the same to her once she takes the seat next to me.
“Hopefully, we made enough,” Scar huffs, surveying the several dozen cookies and brownies she slaved over last night, as well as most of this morning and afternoon.
“We’ve got way more stuff than last year,” Shane assures her. “You’re gonna make a ton of cash.” I glance up at the sound of his deepening voice. He’s not much of a kid anymore, which feels strange, seeing as how I’ve known him his whole life.
Year after year, he looks more like his big brother—jet black hair, killer gray eyes, and dimples that make me fear for my sister’s chastity. Lord knows I happily let his brother decimate mine. Shane’s gotten tall, too, towering over Scar by a few inches already. They laugh together like innocent friends, but I’d been down that road once with a Ruiz brother, and we all know how that ended.
“Everything turned out perfect,” Jules beams, surveying the party. “Mr. Huang even sprang for a bouncy house.” I follow her gaze when she points to the long line of kids waiting to jump on the large, inflated castle a few doors down.
“The amount of germs in that thing makes me want to bathe in a vat of bleach,” I joke, which earns me an eye roll. “Seriously, that’s a ringworm outbreak waiting to happen.”
“Pessimist.
“Realist,” I counter.
Her phone chimes and I no longer have her attention.
“Things are about to get real interesting,” she says with a smile. “A bunch of kids from the north side are headed this way. Pandora’s been posting about the block party all day.”
I hadn’t missed her updates, nor that my moniker had been stated in most of them. While some might argue she’s only trying to bring unity between their side and ours, I feel differently about it. Almost like we southside dwellers are some kind of sideshow, an exhibit for the rich to come gawk at for a few hours, and then return home to their mansions.
Needless to say, I hope to blend into the crowd tonight, flying under the radar of anyone from Cypress Prep.
“This seat taken?”
I peer up to find Ricky peering down on me, that same killer smile his brother likes to hit my sister with.
“Free country,” I reply, which draws a laugh out of him as he gets comfortable in the seat beside me.
“Take you all day to come up with that one?” he teases.
It’s been a solid week since we’ve spoken, and it didn’t end on a good note, but he is the reason our electricity is on. I smile a little when he nudges me with his knee, although I don’t mean to.
Behind us, the screen door of my house creaks open and I don’t even turn to see who’s staggering outside.
Freakin’ Mike—Daddy Dearest.
“Maybe if we don’t stare it right in the eyes it’ll go away,” Jules jokes under her breath, which makes me choke out a laugh.
“I’ve been trying that for years. Doesn’t work,” I whisper back.
“If you’re gonna talk shit, do it in front of someone else’s house,” Mike gripes, the words partially muffled by the cigarette dangling from his lips. His lighter clicks a few times and I can’t help but to wish we had set up in front of a different house.
When I finally turn, a tall, slender frame steps into my peripheral, wearing the same jeans and wifebeater he’s had on the past four days. His fingers slip through his stringy, shoulder-length hair while he scans the street, scowling.
“Damn music’s so loud it’s rattling my windows,” he manages to get out before an ugly cough chokes him out.
He steps toward Scar’s booth and I’m immediately on high alert. Sure enough, he reaches his filthy hand toward a stack of snickerdoodles and I’m not having it.
“Got a dollar?” I ask, getting to my feet as I stare him down. “Because that’s the only way you’re taking anything off that table.”
His hateful glare lands on me and I give it right back to him.
“Where the hell do you think this shit came from? My damn kitchen,” he declares, making my blood boil.
“Mike, you haven’t spent a dime on groceries in years and you and I both know it,” I seethe. “So, if you don’t cough up the cash, you get nothing.”
And I mean that with everything in me. All he’s ever done is take, and I refuse to let him belittle what Scar’s doing here tonight. To help out with bills, no less.
A long, intense silence passes between us and I’m fully committed to sucker punching him if he touches a single chocolate chip.
His gaze slips back toward Scar’s merchandise, and then to me.
“You’re just like your mother, you know that?” he asks. “A world-class bitch.”
He turns to walk away and, without even thinking about my actions, I lunge at him. Had it not been for the arm that catches my waist, I would’ve knocked Mike right on his drunk ass.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Ricky says in my ear, holding my back flush against his chest until Mike’s made it inside again. “You know he’s always talking out the side of his neck. He’ll forget everything he said when he sobers up.”
But the problem is I never forget. I carry every hateful thing he’s ever done or said with me like an old suitcase weighing me down.
“I’m fine,” I snap, snatching out of Ricky’s grasp. But he knows I’m only pissed at my dad, not at him.
Scar’s trying to pretend our father’s antics don’t affect her, but I know better. I realize Shane’s aware of it too when my gaze lowers, to where his hand is linked with my sister’s.
“Why don’t we walk until you cool off?”
Ricky barely has the suggestion out of his mouth when Jules agrees. “Yep, go. I’ll keep an eye on the kiddos.”
“We’re not kids,” Scar sing-songs.
“You’re whatever I say you are,” Jules teases in the same tone.
I feel hot all over, brimming with anger as I glare at the house. Knowing he’s inside makes me want to burn the damn thing right to the ground.
“Know what’s better than walking?” Ricky asks. “Dancing.”
I throw my head back. “Absolutely not.”
Even as I’m protesting, he’s dragging me out toward the street, closer to the gigantic speaker set up by the DJ. Since I refuse to move, Ricky takes my hands and makes me sway awkwardly to the beat. It’s only a matter of time before I can’t take it and a laugh slips out.
I meet his gaze and the negative energy starts to burn off. He tends to have that effect on me often. It seems he notices when my mood lightens and drops my hands, placing his own on my waist.
Too much. Way too much.
“We should go back.” I sound casual, but I’m anything but that at the moment.
He smirks and draws me even closer to speak over the music. “Why? Because your boyfriend’s watching us?”
At first, I don’t know what to make of that, but then, as I scan our surroundings, I put two and two together.
The Golden boys.
They’re posted on the other side of the street, but Dane and Sterling are focused on their own conversation with Joss and a couple players from the team. However, there’s no question who has West’s attention.
Lucky me.
