Hot Pink in the City by Medeia Sharif Read Free Book Online Page B

celebration, and
I ended up kissing a guy in a closet. It was Brad, a boy from math
class. He has dirty-blond hair and a cute face, but his braces were
a turnoff. That five-second kiss, with boys timing us outside and
girls giggling, felt like forever as I worried about swallowing any
food stuck in his braces. He had been eating Doritos minutes
before. Maybe I can have a real kiss this summer. Again, I ponder
the idea of a fling. The Uncle Jesse look-alike, Abe, runs through
my mind. If I weren't so obsessed now with replacing the Umm tape,
I'd be checking out guys... and not just in my head. My libido
isn't the same with this worrying.
    So my closet time with Nasreen was unusual,
but it made me feel closer to her. I used to feel a bit formal
around her, but now I know I'm more than a relative. We're friends.
With no hesitation I shake her awake. "We have to get busy today,"
I tell her.
    She opens her eyes to slits and then puts an
arm up to shield herself from sunlight. She looks different without
the heavy, raccoon eye makeup. She's much prettier, the same way
Ally Sheedy was better-looking after her makeover in The
Breakfast Club .
    "Okay, I'll get ready."
    We need to hit the streets today and visit
stores to get a replacement tape. I imagine once we get this tape,
we'll never have to worry about Uncle searching for Kulthum and
coming up empty-handed, and we won't have to admit to what we had
done.
    An hour later we're showered and dressed.
Auntie straightens my collar and fixes my sleeves, skirting around
my shoulders. She avoids touching people's shoulders, because both
shoulders carry angels, one writing down your good deeds and the
other the bad deeds. I'm hoping my good deeds outweigh the bad, but
that might not be the case with the way my summer is going.
    Before we leave, Auntie blows air on us, as
if she's a rotating fan head. Not only does she do it to Nasreen,
but she also grabs me, puckers up, and blows air around my face.
She whispers prayers in Arabic between breaths.
    "It's for protection," Nasreen says when
we're outside. "I'm sorry my mom blew on you."
    "No, that's sweet of her." Strange, but
sweet. My mom never does that.
    We take the subway to the first store. My
eyes don't waver from the windows as I look for station signs to
see what the next stop is. Nasreen looks bored, but I can imagine
that people take for granted what's right under their nose. In
stations and on the streets I throw change into hats as people
sing, play violins, and dance. People-watching is so much fun in
New York.
    On 14th Street, one store we visit doesn't
have the tape we want, but we buy some lokum, getting white powder
all over ourselves as we eat it under the awning of the store. In a
Canal Street store we rummage through the small selection of
cassettes, but we don't find Umm. On the covers we see heavily
made-up women in elaborate dresses, both modern and traditional,
but they all look like recent releases.
    "Come on, let's go," Nasreen says impatiently
whenever I check out the fares of street vendors. The
street-shopping is amazing, even better than store items because of
the prices. After we buy hot dogs and sit on the rim of a fountain
to eat lunch, I put on a pair of earrings I just bought, feeling
the rhinestone drops graze my shoulders. I know I shouldn't be
spending what little money I have, but I should enjoy Manhattan
right now, since Uncle may soon banish me from his home. From a
park entrance I watch vendors wind toys with kids eagerly looking
on. Businessmen, tourists, beautiful boys, and gorgeous girls walk
past me. I love this city.
    We travel uptown again, and the fourth store
in Manhattan has nothing for us. We see plenty of newspapers,
magazines, and some music... but not Umm. Most of these stores are
for groceries when we need to look through a full music selection.
"Let's try this place in Brooklyn that we wrote down," Nasreen
says, wiping the sweat off her brow.
    Brooklyn sounds like a long trip, but we