Target on Our Backs
Page 18

I almost do it, because part of me thinks he wants it. I almost bring up moving, the possibility of getting away from New York, like we've talked about before, when Melody shouts my name from somewhere near the foyer.
Now's not the time for this conversation, I realize.
"I'm in here," I yell back as Naz lets go of my arm. It only takes Melody a moment to appear, bounding into the doorway, her hair pinned up.
"How do I look?" she asks, spinning, showing off the getup.
"You're wearing the Moreau," Naz says.
Melody looks down at herself as she stops. "The what?"
"Moreau," he says. "He designed the dress."
She looks at him with surprise. Hell, I do, too.
"How do you know that?" I ask.
He shrugs. "I know the guy. He owed me."
"He owed you."
Okay, now I'm doing the repeating thing, which Naz notices and narrows his eyes at me for. "Yes, he owed me, and that was his repayment."
He motions toward the dress.
"Oh shit," Melody says, swishing the bottom part of the dress. "Should I take it off?"
"No," Naz and I say at the same time. I glance at him as he shrugs, continuing. "Karissa will never wear it, so you might as well. I just made sure he paid. That was all that mattered."
Melody shoots him a questioning look but doesn't ask what making him pay means. We never broach the subject of what Naz does for a living. I'm pretty sure she's got most of it figured out, considering everything that happened last year. His name hit the newspaper when he killed Ray. Even though it had been done in self-defense, it didn't stop the reporters from speculating, dragging up every nitty-gritty detail they could get their hands on to insinuate he wasn't, exactly, the hero in the situation.
She read the article. I know she did.
The girl has probably never bought a newspaper in her life, but she certainly knows how to use Google. She would've sought out information.
"Thanks," Melody says, smiling. "I hope Leo likes it."
Before I can tell her I'm sure he'll love it, Naz chimes in. "Leo?"
"Makes you think of DiCaprio, doesn't it?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "I thought of the lion."
That gets Melody's attention. "You believe in astrology?"
"No."
Her expression falls. Melody's a horoscope-in-the-inbox kind of gal, the one who doesn't do shit when Mercury is in retrograde, whatever that means. She cheered herself up after Paul's disappearance by reminding herself that their signs weren't compatible, anyway, so it never would've worked.
Naz and I?
Total soul mates, she says.
I thought it was all bullshit hocus-pocus until she said that.
"I have some errands to run in the city," Naz says, tucking the book under his arm, his gaze flickering to me before settling on Melody. "Do you need a ride back home?"
Melody shrugs. "Sure."
"Do you, uh… do you want me to ride along?" I ask curiously.
"Nonsense," Naz says, leaning over and kissing my cheek before heading for the door. "I won't be gone long."
Melody grabs her things, waving goodbye. "Coffee in the morning?"
"Sure."
She jets toward the door behind Naz. I just stand there in the den, listening as they head outside.
I don't think the two of them have ever been alone together before.
And I trust them both, of course, but to be a fly on the wall of the car during that drive…
I t's only six miles from the house in Brooklyn to the dorms of NYU where Karissa used to live, but it takes more than a half hour to get there with traffic.
Sometimes it's even an hour.
I know, because I've clocked the drive numerous times.
And traffic, at this hour, is on the heavy side, the Manhattan Bridge packed almost bumper to bumper. For the first time in as far back as I can remember, I actually turn on the radio.
If there's noise to fill the silence, maybe Melody won't feel compelled to try to talk to me.
It's a trick I learned from Karissa.
I've transported plenty of people in this car, but other than Karissa, Melody's the first person to climb into it of her own free will. And I didn't necessarily want to invite her to, but I was heading that way and it would've been wrong of me not to offer.
I'm trying to be better, remember?
Besides, I might not have friends anymore, but Karissa does, and it would probably suit me well to at least be civilized to them. Things at home are much more agreeable when I'm not making a big deal about her having people over.
Still, I don't like it.
I never will.
"This is a nice car," Melody says, slouching in the passenger seat as she tugs on the seatbelt. She's been fidgeting the entire drive so far, staring out the side window. She's nervous. I'm not sure if it's the impending date or me that's getting to her at the moment.
"Thank you," I reply, impatiently drumming my fingers against the steering wheel. I'm not sure what kind of music is playing, some current top 40 nonsense. I just pressed the button on the thing, stopping on the first station that came in. I want to shut it back off, but it might be doing the trick, since we've been in traffic for thirty minutes already and that's the first time she bothered to speak.
"What does one of these run someone, anyway? Sixty, seventy grand?"
I smile at that. "Add a hundred to it."
"A hundred and seventy grand?" She gasps. "Are you serious?"
She turns her head, looking at me like I'm out of my mind.
"That's the starting price," I say. "I paid quite a bit more for mine."
"Why?"
Why? I hate that word.
Karissa never asks it.
"Because it's armored," I say. "It costs to stay safe."
She scoffs. "I could eat for my entire life on what you spent on this car."
Now she sounds like Karissa.
I'm pretty sure she's said that same thing to me before.
"About a dozen lifetimes if you only eat Ramen noodles."
"Ugh, who would do that?"
"Karissa, if I let her."
Melody laughs. "Yeah, she probably would. Wouldn't even complain about it, either. You're good for her that way, you know. Not saying you aren't good in other ways, but definitely that. She never had anything really, I guess. Her mother… hell, I don't even know what to say about Mama Reed. Not to talk ill of the dead, but she was a bit of a whack-a-doodle. Karissa couldn't even breathe without the woman questioning it, and she just… accepted it, you know? Karissa acted like that was normal. So it's good, seeing her be happy and have things and do things."
I could say a lot to that, but I keep my mouth shut, grateful when the traffic starts to loosen and we can go more than ten miles an hour.
"So basically, what I'm saying," Melody continues, "is that Karissa could do worse."
"She could," I agree.
Probably not much worse than the man who killed her parents, but I think the extenuating circumstances count for something to my benefit.
Melody turns back to the window, looking out of it again, still shifting around in the seat like she can't quite get comfortable. The music seems to do the trick again, as she quietly mouths the lyrics to whatever is playing on the radio, as I weave through the streets toward NYU. When we approach her dorm, she lets out a dramatic sigh, glancing back my way, like she's struggling hard to think of something to say.