Minder

Chapter 4

LAWSON

“Angel, could you change the detergent you use to wash our clothes?” We are walking through the grocery store—my two toddler brothers fighting over a toy in the shopping cart.

“What smell would you prefer, Lawson?” Angel hums a response, a smile that has been plastered there for years now, never wavering.

She feels every ounce of gratitude for being saved.

“He likes a girl at school and wants to smell like a man.” Crimsyn looks up from the magazine she’s been reading.

“Shut up, Crimsyn!” My little sister is a stuck-up brat!

I’m about to start 8th grade and want a new reputation other than the kid whose dad is in prison.

“Smell like a man? What does that smell like receding hairlines and crusty egos?” Our mother laughs to herself, an inside joke that we try not to discover the hidden meaning of. Probably has something to do with Issy. But we don’t bring up his name, at least I don’t.

“Mom, this girl, her friends said he smelled like a bunch of funeral flowers.” Crimsyn has equal depth to her darkness of skin. Her brown eyes were much more angled. But she rolls her eyes at the comment.

“You do realize if I smell like dead flowers than so do you! You are such an i***t sometimes!” I shove my hands in my pockets, waiting for the ass-chewing I’m going to get for calling my sister names.

“I DO NOT SMELL!” Crimsyn practically screams it at the top of her lungs. Dropping the magazine, she turns her back to me.

Angel looks at me with some anger trying to cover her pity. Her choices resulted in our misfortune. I bet she remembers the first time she went to my father’s house.

Angel couldn’t understand the punishment we were living for the fantasy she picked. Issy back then must have been tempting, and maybe she wanted a ride on the wild side.

Ended up with more than she bargained for when she got pregnant twice by a man who only found himself essential.

Sometimes when I was little, I kept imagining what it might be like to have a Spanish mother. Our skin was caramelized, and hers was powdered porcelain. If she would be as weak to fall for a guy who corrupted her spirits with his own.

If we were all in the same tone, would I actually have the courage to call her mother instead of Angel? Knowing it meant I trusted her, that she would, in fact, protect me? I wouldn’t be searching on school mornings for the hammer to pull nails out of the door, so we could leave the house.

After the trip to the grocery store that day, Angel doesn’t tattle to Patch about the issue. Instead, she does something beneficial for me.

“Here.” She hands me a box of cologne. The package was a smooth navy blue; a gold and silver twisted crest bumped my thumb as I scanned the label.

“What is this for, Angel?”

“Lawson, are you ever going to call me Mom. I am your mother.”

“No, probably not.” I throw the box onto my desk and go back to my video games.

“Lawson, are you even going to open it up?” She waits, like a good southern woman waiting to be thanked.

“Sure, Angel.” I tear open the top, and the scent that hits me makes my senses slow. It’s a mixture of musk and manhood.

The transformation from boy to gentleman. The immediate excitement I feel rushes through my body, but I know too well we can’t afford beautiful things.

Or we couldn’t before.

“Mom, thanks for this. But you should probably take it back.” Careful not to get any smudges on the container.

“You don’t like it?” Worry filters through her face.

“No, it’s amazing. I feel honored, but I know it must have cost something, and we can’t use the money on things like this. It’s too much.” Folding the box and getting the tape to fix the torn edges.

“Lawson.” Her voice is so tender, I pinch my eyes, trying to figure out what happened.

“What?”

“I’m sorry that you are still recovering from what happened with your father. I know we never had much. Those were very dark times in both our lives. But things are so much better. This is something we can do, and you deserve it. Keep it. By the way, we changed the detergent; no need to join a gang, homeboy!” Those light green eyes wink at me as she bustles out the door.

“Angel…” I shake my head at her reference. Relief comes quick, and I can’t wait to try it out. I open the bottle and splash some here and there, not wanting to waste a single drop.

“Thank you!” Yelling out my bedroom door.

“No problem, hombre! We love you!” Angel screeches back, and I cringe, hoping she won’t be shouting that when she picks us up from school tomorrow.

In the next few weeks, I wear it, and I start getting double-takes in my direction. Not ugly glares or turned-up noses. No girls were actually watching me with wide eyes.

“Whoa there, baby cousin, did someone grow some balls over summer? Momma Angel got you looking fly.” Dawson, whose nickname has been Maroon since before I could speak, sits next to the bike rack as the other students file out of the schoolyard.

“Dawson? What are you doing here?” He gripped my bike and started pedaling, so I jogged up beside him.

“Abuela wants to see her precious Lawson.” He pinches my cheek and then gives it a slight slap. “Where’s Syn?” He looks around, trying to pick a familiar face.

“Angel took her to a singing competition in Texas.” I sling both straps over my shoulders as we exit the gate.

“Oh, well then, if that’s the case, shall we go and find some trouble before grandma Zola takes you over?” His eyes are shiny, and I wonder what fresh trouble my older cousin will show me.

So, of course, I agree.

We are in an abandoned garage on the edge of town. Dawson’s friends and a few of my other cousins are hanging around.

“Where are you going? You just got here, Alien. Stay and hang out with my baby cousin Lawson and me. Before we have to go, meet our executioner.” Dawson pouts his lips at Leonie, the Krause twin's older sister.

“I’ve got to go home and study.” Her eyes stay on me; the weight of her gaze is iconic. She remains a curious creature, always investigating new knowledge.

“Baby, I promise, a minute more? Please.” Dawson rarely begs, but even this is a cry for help.

“No, Maroon.” Leonie doesn’t even look back as she starts to walk away.

“I’ve decided to go see him.” He is talking to the footprints she leaves.

“You swore you wouldn’t. Logically this is a bad idea. Is that why you brought your uncle’s son here, to make you feel better?”

“It’s family business; you wouldn’t understand.” Dawson shrugs only one shoulder.

Leonie stiffens, glaring at the opposite shoulder that didn’t rise in unison. “I don’t have to understand your motives. Because we both know they will take you away from here. Maybe that is all you wanted from the beginning, to live next to your uncle in prison.”

“Like I said, Leonie. Family business, I will handle it. No concern to you or anybody else without the last name Arzola. Got that, sweet cheeks, why don’t you skedaddle?”

I can see she isn’t used to being dismissed. And in her defiance, she loses her anger and waits for Dawson to cower.

Hearing stories about Leonie Krause has made me physically nervous that she has telepathy or moves things with her mind. The girl is way too smart for our side of the state.

“Refrain from continuing backward on your path, Maroon. Have a good night, boys.” She’s gone, and I wonder if the nickname earlier is accurate. Maybe she is an alien.

“Why do they call you Maroon?” We sit back in beanbag chairs as Dawson rolls a blunt in front of me.

Oh my goodness, my 12-year-old brain is about to get drugged for the first time. I can’t wait to tell Verse! Also, my mother is going to kill Dawson when she finds out!

Dawson seems agitated with the question, it either is too personal or doesn’t want to reveal the source.

“Light up, pendejo!” He holds the lighter to the paper. Ignoring the question entirely as I inhale and my lungs catch fire while cayenne pepper is sprayed down my throat.

“Good, you’ll survive,” Dawson says like a proud father.

It isn’t until we are at my grandma’s house, do I eat everything she puts on my plate. Then I started to feel like getting high was a bad idea?

I run into her rose bushes and paint the prized possession with puke.