Revenge of a Not-So-Pretty Girl by Carolita Blythe Read Free Book Online

hasn’t blown out his eardrums. Or maybe he has, which would explain why the way too loud, way too distorted sound of the Soulsonic Force’s “Planet Rock” doesn’t seem to bother him one bit. A couple minutes after passing him, I can still hear the music.
    It’s not until I get to Parkside Avenue that I finally stop to breathe and to watch as the number 16 bus passes me by. Right at the entrance to the park, there’s this guy sporting a Run-DMC-looking red tracksuit and fat gold chain under his puffy black parka. He’s standing behind a garbage can that has a thick piece of cardboard laid out across it. And on top of the cardboard are these three playing cards. A small group of people, mostly kids my age or a little older, are gathered around. He picks up one card and holds it out so everyone can see what it is—a three of clubs. Then he shows the other two cards. They are not threes of clubs. He turns them back over, puts them down, and shows the three of clubs again. As he turns it back over, he tells everyone to keep their eyes on that card. Then he moves the three cards around, lightning fast. He stops and tells this one little kid to point to which card he thinks is the three of clubs. The kid picks the right card, and everybody else gasps and claps.
    “Damn, shorty. You lucky. You need to put some of thatluck to work and double your money. Inflation too high in ’eighty-four, wages too low. All of you need to put some green down. What you got?”
    I’m figuring these people know how much of a scam this is. I’m figuring they’re just going to turn and walk away. But they don’t. Of the seven or so people gathered, at least five put their money down. And all five of them lose their cash.
    “Damn, guess luck’s gotta run out eventually,” the guy says. “But the great thing about luck is, ya never know when it’s gonna come back. And y’all look like some lucky people. You think ya got what it takes to make back your money?”
    I shake my head and move away from those stupid people. But the farther I move along Parkside, the crazier I begin to feel. I suddenly start sweating. This bad feeling comes over me the closer I get to the familiar beige brick building near the corner of Parkside and Parade Place. I climb the few stairs that lead to the outer door of the lobby, but I don’t go inside the vestibule at first. I just peep through it. I can see down the first-floor hallway. The old lady’s door is far enough away that I can’t really tell whether it’s open or closed from where I stand. And I most definitely can’t tell whether it’s locked or unlocked. I can’t tell whether she’s still in there, lying dead on the floor. Or whether she woke up and made it to the phone to call a doctor. Or whether somebody from her family came over and found her there and called the cops. Or whether the cops are in there right now.
    I have to step away and stand to the side of the doors. I lean against the bricks and take a few deep breaths. Then I close my eyes. Even though it’s overcast, a bit of sun sneaksthrough the clouds and warms my face a little. I decide that I’m just going to have to do this quick. Before I lose my courage. Before I lose my mind. So I enter through the first set of lobby doors and stand there in front of the intercom, waiting for someone to enter or exit; waiting for someone to let me through the second, locked set of doors. Only, the universe is just not cooperating with me, and I have to wait twenty more minutes for someone to leave the building.
    Once I’m inside, I walk through the large lobby and past the elevator, but my feet seem to stop moving. I guess they don’t want to get me any closer to apartment 1H. It’s like I’m in one of those scary movies and my feet are trying to warn me to stay away. So I’m just standing there in the hall, looking like I don’t belong, and I have to use every ounce of what little willpower I have to move myself along.
    Once I get