Page 7 of Riot

From the living room, Ramos yelled again. “Yo.”

Miguel lifted the beer. “Coming.”

He lingered one more second, looking me over in a way that made me want to vomit. Then he headed out.

Oxygen rushed back into the room. I took a deep, cleansing breath, uncaring how stale it tasted.

My appetite had shrunk to almost nothing, but I needed food. I grabbed the plate. Then I thought better of it and opened the fridge one more time. If I stayed in my room all evening, I needed supplies.

I pulled the apple pie dish out and stared at the missing slice.

Actually, two slices.

Animals.

I cut myself a piece, found the whipped topping, and added a scoop, then grabbed a bottle of water from the back of the fridge.

As I passed the living room, Ramos looked over.

“That all for you?” he asked, brows drawn.

“Yes.”

He grinned. “Damn. Attitude got bigger too.”

Oscar said nothing. Just watched the TV.

Miguel sat in Dad’s recliner arm now, a beer between his knees, cigarette back in his fingers. His eyes found me immediately.

I looked past him.

“Don’t eat all the pie,” Ramos called.

“Don’t eat all my food,” I shot back.

He laughed like I was joking.

I wasn’t.

I took my plate and water and got down the hall before anyone said another word. My bedroom door shut behind me. Then I locked it. Twice.

Only after that did I set the plate down and drop onto the edge of my bed.

The music out in the living room grew louder. Muffled voices. Ramos laughing. A cough. Glass clinking.

I stared at the door and ate my sandwich in small bites.

This was going to be hell.

Chapter Two

Calvin

The ball slapped against the pavement, then my palm, then the pavement again. I cut left, saw Trevor step in too late, and took the shot before he could crowd me.

It hit the backboard and dropped through.

“Lucky,” Trevor called, already jogging backward.