Lev: a Shot Callers novel - Belle Aurora Page 0,19

haven’t seen before, kulka.” At my clear panic, she rolled her eyes. “Relax, Max. I just wanted to see how the clothes fit.”

“Turn around,” I ordered.

She watched me closely. “Jesus.” She finally turned. “Prude much?”

Reaching for the closest dress, I threw it over my head. “You can turn around now.” I looked at myself in the mirror. The dress was black, tight, and undeniably sexy, but… “This isn’t me.”

Nas stepped closer, pulling at the garment, her brow furrowed. “I think that’s kind of the point, right?” She stepped back, assessing the dress on me. She shook her head. “No, no. Not good. Try another.”

She turned before I could ask her to and I was grateful. I took off the black dress and tried on the white one. In very much the same style, tight and tailored, but this one had a pencil styled bottom. I liked it.

From the way Nas smiled, she liked it too. “Yes. Put it in the yes pile.” After trying on all the other clothes, it was clear that nothing else looked good on me. Nas cracked under the pressure, growling, “You’re so fucking thin. You look sick.”

It was said in anger, and I knew I shouldn’t have taken it to heart, but I did. Turning my back to her, I hid my shining eyes, blinking away tears of shame. I knew what I looked like. I didn’t need reminders. The way I looked made me sick. I know I looked ill. I felt ill. Did she think I had a choice?

“Hey,” she uttered softly then awkwardly added, “sorry.” I nodded, still facing away from her. She sighed. “I’ll have this wrung up and we’ll try somewhere else, okay?”

The latch of the door closed gently behind her, and I quickly changed into my too-big jeans, scruffy white tee, and Lev’s oversized sweater, slipping on my flip-flops. From outside the door, I heard Nas talk to the clerk. “We’ll take this one. The rest we’ll think about.”

“Very good,” the clerk stated. “That will be $849.00. How will you be paying today, miss?”

Before Nas could respond, I flew out of the changing room in a rage. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

The clerk sniffed with derision while Nas glared openly at me. “The hell is your problem?”

“No!” I shouted. Looking directly at the clerk, I spat, “That dress is not worth that much money. Do you know how many starving kids you could feed with $800.00? Do you?” My voice shaking, I muttered, “Shame on you.”

Without waiting for a response, I made my way out of the uptight boutique, my feet rushing to get somewhere—anywhere away from there. I made it a short distance away before Nas came running after me.

“Yo! Wait up, you little fucktard.”

“Piss off,” I turned my head, hissing.

She caught up to me thanks to her ridiculously long legs. “So the kitten has claws.” She grinned. “We might get along after all.”

We walked side-by-side, and patiently, she let me walk off the anger. She chuckled and I side-eyed her. “What?”

Stopping, she laughed harder, clutching her stomach and wiping away tears of mirth. When she got herself under control, she snickered, “You should’ve seen the face on that stuck-up bitch after you walked out.” She straightened herself, placing a hand to her chest, and imitated the store clerk, “‘Well, I never!’”

I couldn’t help it. I snorted. I laughed softly, then harder, until I was hooting in hilarity. “At least I gave her something to talk about with her stuck-up friends.”

We came across a bench and I sat, Nas taking the place beside me. “So,” she began, “what are we going to do about the clothes situation?” I opened my mouth, but she held her palm up to stop me. “Before you come out swinging, we’re going to have to compromise.”

I bit the inside of my lip, chewing on it while I thought up a suitable solution. With a sigh, I swung my arm out in the direction of the boutique. “I don’t need stuff like that. I wouldn’t spend that much on principle alone. You know how long I could’ve lived on the streets with $800.00?”

Her face softened, as did her tone. “How long have you lived on the streets?”

“Since I was seventeen.” I quickly calculated. “I’m twenty-four now, so around seven years.”

She nodded slowly. “You never applied for help or housing?”

I shook my head.

“Why?” she enquired.

I glanced at her. “Honest answer?”

“Nothing but.”

“Takes about eighteen months to two years to get placement. It got real