For the first time today, Marcus looks right at me, stares, and finally his eyes are familiar. This time when he speaks, his voice shakes.
“You know when we were younger and Uncle Ty took us to that skate park and we’d go down and run at the wall, tryna climb back out? And you were smaller so you kept on tryin’ but you couldn’t reach the rim of the slope and you kept sliding back down and then you’d sit in the middle, all these skaters whipping in and out, flying around you, and you’d cry.”
He doesn’t say it like a question, but I know it is one. He’s asking if I remember the burn on my palms or the fear throbbing behind my forehead.
“I remember.”
Marcus hesitates, licking his lips, and continues. “I didn’t help you get up and it ain’t because I didn’t care or I wanted to win, nah, it wasn’t like that. I was just waiting for Uncle Ty to show me some tricks and if I helped you, waited for you, I woulda missed my shot. You get that, right?”
The air between us is thick. He is asking for my permission.
“I guess.”
My mouth is dry, searching in the drought between us for something solid and full, before I look up at him and breathe in his crumpling face.
“It’s okay, Mars.” There’s something about the way his eyes cave inward that makes me want to erase all of it, simply let it go. “I want you to shoot your shot or whatever. It’s just…” I glance toward the other side of the glass where Tony is staring straight at us. “Never mind,” I say. “Really.” I look away from Marcus.
He waves the tension out of the recording booth. “Now can I get a beer or you gonna stand here sulkin’n shit?” His body straightens, the hurt disappearing and leaving only a tilted smirk. I nod, following him out of the booth to join the circle around the soundboard, where Marcus opens a can and chugs. I sit in between Marcus and Tony, across from Cole, trying to figure out if Cole’s got a problem with his ears or something, why he don’t respond to Shauna’s bellows.
Cole is lengthy, his entire body appearing like it could stretch all the way to the ceiling if you pulled hard enough. His cheeks dip into his face and I know he’s sucking them in, making them touch his grill. Cole is cocky in that way that might just be endearing because, in our crew, he has made it, can support his baby mama and afford a car, even if he’s still living in his mama’s house. He says it’s by choice and the way his mama hugs him makes me believe it.
I catch Marcus staring at me, watching me sip the beer Tony gave me, and making sure I don’t grab another can. He doesn’t like when I drink. The minute I lock eyes with him, he looks away.
Marcus returns to the recording booth after he finishes his beer and we all watch his head nod, saliva flying out his lips, chest a bulk of muscle he worked harder for than anything else he’s got. I’m alone with the boys and Tony’s left arm hangs at his side. He reaches up to lift it around me a couple times and then retreats before patting my leg twice. His hand is heavy. When Tony speaks, his voice comes out with a hint of a growl, like a lion’s been hiding deep inside his throat, attempting to claw its way out.
“You busy tonight?”
Tony makes the move, pulls his arm around my shoulders so I’m scrunched against his chest and my mouth is muffled by his denim jacket, his body heat suffocating. Tony taps my shoulder to the beat of the track and I feel like I can’t escape, Marcus’s verses sneaking up my spine. I shift my eyes toward Tony’s and he’s looking at me, always staring.
“You think you could talk to Marcus? Try to get him to look for a job?” I ask, acutely aware of Tony’s hand slipping down my arm.
“You ain’t even answered my question.”
He smells like eggnog even though it’s past Christmas and I’m not sure if I like it or not. Tony’s had a thing for me for months, ever since he and Marcus became friends, and he’s the only guy who has ever asked me a question and wanted to hear my answer. I let him try to hold my hand when he comes over, but I still don’t understand him, why he can’t seem to let me go when I’ve never given him a reason to hold on.
“I don’t know if I’m busy, Tony, I got other shit to worry about.”
I gaze into my lap, stare at my hands. Even with Marcus’s belts gaining volume and Tony’s stare carving into my face, his fingers tracing my arm, I can’t seem to think about anything but my fingers. I used to keep my nails real long, pointed. I’d gnaw on them to make sure the tip was just right, like talons.