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He hesitates for a second and then nods. He likes winning me things, I can tell. We set our stuff down and the man sets three balls in front of us. I have to throw them and hit some cans to knock them over. Three tries to win. The guy behind the booth is young. He’s teasing me. Or I think so, at first. But I see the way his eyes move over my body. How he’s trying to give me pointers on how to throw the ball. He wants my boobs to shake.
I’m young, but I’m not naive. I stay clear of men like him. He’s being sleazy. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, though. I can feel Lilo next to me. He’s stiff. His jaw is clenched. I remember what he did to the lunch lady.
Before I can grab for a ball, Lilo takes one and hurls it at the guy. It hits him in the temple. The man goes down like a sack of rocks.
“Pick your prize, baby,” he says, like nothing happened.
“Ah…” My heart is hammering because the guy looks…dead. I look around, but no one is close or even looking our way.
“Which one, Lucila?” Lilo says, jumping up on the divider, standing on it.
“That one,” I whisper, pointing at the mouse in the dress.
He unhooks it and gets the stuffed animal down. He jumps back over and hands it to me.
“Thank you,” I say.
He kisses my forehead, hard, and then we grab our things. He sets his arm around my shoulder and we move toward his car. We say nothing. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, if he’s thinking anything at all, but I keep seeing the guy go down. It replays over and over.
Dark.
It’s inked on his hand.
He warned me.
He takes all my loot and puts it in the back seat. After opening my door for me, he slides in on his side and starts the car. We just sit with the windows rolled down.
Laughter drifts on the breeze, along with music and arcade noises. Ding! Ding! Ding! The scents of all the different foods linger. All the neon lights brighten the interior of the car. A red hue coats us like blood.
“If—” I stop, hesitant.
“Talk to me, baby,” he says.
He turns to face me. Our eyes meet.
“If I would have asked you not to do that—to that guy. Would it have stopped you?”
“Possibly,” he says. “In the moment.”
“After?”
“Depends.”
“Talk to me,” I say, throwing his words back at him.
“It depends on what’s been done. If I can live with it or not.”
I nod, looking down at my hands. They’re still a little sticky from all the candy. He bought tons of it for me, and it’s all in the backpack. But they’re not trembling.
He takes my chin and turns my face—we’re eye to eye again.
A breath.
Two.
Three.
Four.
