Calling My Name by Liara Tamani

Author:Liara Tamani
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2017-08-17T04:00:00+00:00

A Dirty Job

Lisa is a ho. Well, at least everybody at school says so. She’s leaning her left elbow on top of Damon’s black Maxima with her booty hanging out of black daisy dukes, yapping her loud, red mouth to Paula about what she wants to do to Damon on Valentine’s Day. I wish she’d shut up. I can’t stand thinking about him doing all of that nastiness.

I’m sitting on the passenger side of his car, waiting for him. He gave me the keys because his baseball practice always runs longer than my track practice. Lisa and Paula don’t play sports, don’t dance, don’t cheer, don’t play instruments, don’t act, and don’t sing. They have no business still being here.

“He’s taking forever and a day to wash his ass,” Lisa says to Paula, her voice muffled through the window. Had to take my arm out of the warm February sun to roll up the window when I saw them coming. “Maybe I should go give him a hand.” They laugh and Lisa’s big breasts, pressed against the glass of the passenger window, bounce in my face like Mom’s used to when I’d lie on the kitchen counter with my head in the sink and she’d stand over me washing my hair. At least the window blocks Lisa’s breasts. They probably smell—not sweet like Mom’s, not like the cocoa butter on her skin or the incense that used to burn next to me on the windowsill—like sweat or cheap perfume.

“Maybe he already left,” Paula says, smacking her gum, with her right sneaker hiked up on Damon’s front bumper. She’s always smacking. People say it’s to bring attention to her mouth. I don’t know why she would want to do that with those crowded, overlapping teeth.

“Hello! This is his car and his little sister is in it. You think he just left her here?” Lisa says.

Oh, so she does see me. I was beginning to think she was blind.

Lisa pushes away from the car, leaving a small V-shaped sweat patch from her breasts on the window. Gross. I wonder how much longer she’s going to wait.

“I’m just saying—”

“You ain’t saying nothing.” Lisa walks around the car and stops in front of Paula’s bony, outstretched leg. She looks at Paula, at Paula’s leg, at Paula’s dirty Puma resting on the bumper, and then back at Paula. Paula lifts her leg in the air like a gate arm at a railroad crossing, Lisa passes under, and Paula lowers her foot back onto the bumper.

Lisa walks to the driver’s side and digs in her baby blue, vinyl Prada backpack purse, triangle upside down. So fake. Then she takes out a sheet of paper and holds a pen to her heart-shaped chin while gazing at the sky. After a few moments, she writes a note, folds it, kisses it, and slides it under the windshield wiper. Red wax spirals up from a small tube, glides onto her lips. Another kiss, this time for the windshield. As her lips touch the glass, she looks at me and winks.

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