Juliet Takes a Breath by Gabby Rivera Read Free Book Online Page B

homework, read all of the books assigned in school and yet, here was a world full of possibly iconic ladies I knew nothing about.
    â€œWhere did all the names come from?” I asked.
    â€œAnytime I read something about a fierce woman I’d never heard of or came across a bold woman I wanted to know more about, I either wrote down her name or ripped out whatever pages mentioned her,” Harlowe answered, “I stuffed all my findings into this box. I knew one day it would come together. I didn’t know how but I knew it would. And here you are.”
    Harlowe stood up. She slid into a warrior pose, hands clasped together over her head, one leg bent, the other extended behind her. “Come to me with questions at any time but right now let this sink into your skin and your intrepid spirit. Get a feel for how you want to start and go with it. I trust you,” Harlowe explained as she exhaled to the heavens.
    Before I could think of anything to say, she left. I looked at the box and reached for my inhaler. Panic always started in my lungs first and then spread to nervous fingers, knuckles that had to be cracked, and a heartbeat that wouldn’t rest. During these moments of panic at home, I’d find Mom’s lap and rest my head in it. She’d run her fingers through my hair and calm down all the internal noise. It was noise that told me I wasn’t good enough or I wouldn’t have enough time to finish whatever I was working on. Here in Harlowe’s attic, the noise was still the same but I was on my own.
    The box full of unorganized notes and the unstructured independent research time were a surprise. The logical part of my brain knew it’d be okay but that wasn’t the part in charge. I was all Virgo and no clarity. I needed some control over my environment or a good head rub. Maybe a file cabinet with items listed in alphabetical order.
    I was laid back on the outside but a nervous, asthmatic, panic-baby on the inside. This wasn’t how I’d imagined our working relationship. I thought that I’d be at her side and we’d fight patriarchal crime together, like some type of intergenerational, interracial Cagney and Lacey. But this busted-up cardboard box full of women-centric raffle tickets and some heartfelt words about having faith in me doing this on my own? That was my internship? How were we going to be the greatest writing and research team the world had ever known?
    Why hadn’t she prepared something solid for me to do? Wasn’t this important to her? My mind raced with questions. Perhaps I could work around this. Witches and warriors and faeries were fun things, right? It’s not like I was hanging out with bourgie young Democrats all summer. I didn’t know how Lainie was able to make that commitment. It seemed like a slow boring death to me. This thing with Harlowe could be great. Maybe. I took a pull off my inhaler and still couldn’t relax. My lungs widened and the wheeze lifted, but my hands twitched. I opened one of the windows and I crawled out of the attic onto a small ledge. The warm gray Portland sunlight washed over my skin.
    I dialed Titi Wepa. Her ringback tone was that Lisa Lisa and the Cult Jam song “Can You Feel the Beat.”
    â€œJuliet,” Titi Wepa answered, coughing and shouting into the phone, “How the fuck are you?” Freestyle music blasted in the background over honks and sirens. Titi Wepa was always driving. The world needed her to be in constant motion, for there was always someone in distress, someone that needed a little “Wepa.”
    â€œI’m good, Titi. Just chillin’ in Harlowe’s attic,” I answered making no attempts to hide my melancholy.
    â€œThat woman has you in her attic? Has it been checked for rats?” Titi Wepa asked with her “Seven on Your Side” wannabe news anchor eye. “I mean, because you know if anything happens to you up there, I swear to