Juliet Takes a Breath by Gabby Rivera Read Free Book Online

couldn’t breathe.
    â€œOh my god, I didn’t mean to hit you, lunar cycles excite me and then I get all handsy…” Harlowe searched for the right words.
    â€œNo,” I gasped. “You’re fine. I’ve never done anything like this and I’ve never been this far away from home.” I admitted all of this between wheezing breaths. Harlowe reached across me and rolled down the window. “I literally just came out to my family before I left for the airport and, like, my mom didn’t say goodbye and now you’re telling me that I’m the sun.”
    â€œBreathe, girl,” she said, her palm once again on my shoulder, “New moon means you get a fresh chance.” Harlowe touched my cheek, still puffing on her cigarette.
    We drove under the moonless sky. The quiet between us was soft, no pressure. I let out some of the bits about my mom. Shared words with Harlowe about how maybe I was an emotional runaway and how one of my secret hopes for this trip was to find my real bravery, to feel it when I walk and not just when I send emails to strangers.
    â€œCan we listen to the mix tape I made for my girlfriend?” I asked, digging into my book bag, “Because of what you said about creating a female-centric world in Raging Flower , I only put chicas on it.” I wiped my cheeks and showed Harlowe the mix tape.
    â€œPlay it. Thank goddess, the only singing man I can deal with is Bruce Springsteen and that’s because my dad grew up in Jersey,” she said. Harlowe pushed the CD into the opening and Queen Latifah’s melodic voice swept in on rumbly speakers. Just another day, living in the hood, just another day around the way.
    With the windows rolled down, everything floated away into guitar riffs, beat drops, and her asking me the names of newer female musicians. All the weird self-doubt and wheezy feelings in my lungs smoothed over and I felt calm.
    We pulled up to Harlowe’s house well past the witching hour. The cypress tree in front of her home glowed in the dim light of the street lamp. “ America is an enormous frosted cupcake in the middle of millions of starving people” was written in chalk on her front steps . Her yard swirled with hydrangeas, rose bushes, overgrown sunflowers and grass gone wild.
    Harlowe lifted my bags off my shoulder, led me through the garden and up her chalk-covered steps. She paused in front of her door and put her hand on the frame.
    â€œBlessed house, thank you for shelter,” she said, as she tapped the doorframe three times, and stepped inside the house. Her actions made me wonder if she had spirits in the house. I tapped the doorframe three times, too, just in case.
    It floored me that the doors weren’t even locked. Anyone could have run up into this white lady’s house and stolen everything. There weren’t bars on the windows. Harlowe didn’t even have a big scary dog, like a pitbull or a Rottweiler. I’d never gone to someone’s home and not seen them unlock it. My dad locked the door to the house when we were sitting in front of it getting some fresh air “just in case.”
    It was late and I was tired; I couldn’t even process the extent of her hippieness.
    We walked up a set of narrow steps and into her attic. Wooden beams stretched along the sloped ceiling of the attic. She plopped my bags down on the floor next to a queen-sized mattress with a lamp and a small bookshelf at its side. Harlowe walked towards it.
    â€œThis is your spot, sweet human,” she said. Harlowe turned to me, yawning. “It’s so late that it’s too early for anything else but sleep, right? We’ll talk about all the things in a few hours. Welcome, Juliet.” Harlowe hugged me again and left me there in the attic.
    I sat on the mattress and looked around. I’d made it to Portland and was inside of Harlowe Brisbane’s home. Holy shit.
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4. Clues
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    Soft