Tigers, Not Daughters - Samantha Mabry Page 0,29
dogs in the neighborhood—both inside houses and out in yards—took up yipping and howling. The rain started to fall, leaving circles the size of checkers on the concrete sidewalk. The drops were so big, they felt like pennies when they hit the top of Rosa’s head.
When Rosa rounded the corner, she saw Jessica’s car a little ways down, parked in front of their house. Wednesdays were her days off from the pharmacy. Despite the rain, Jessica’s arm was hanging out her driver’s-side window, and her middle finger was tapping against the door.
Rosa got closer, approaching the car from the back. There was a jolt of movement, and it took her a split second to process what she’d seen: John had reached over and taken hold of Jessica by the neck. Jessica’s hand, the one that was extended out the window, tensed and then smacked the outside of her car door. Jessica’s head jerked to the side, like she was trying to pull it away.
Rosa gasped, froze briefly, and then started running. When she reached the car, she could see John gripping Jessica’s chin. Her sister’s neck looked painfully twisted, and she shouted something—stop or off—at which point Rosa whacked her palm against the closed passenger-side window. John immediately released Jessica and spun around.
“What’s going on?” Rosa demanded through the glass.
“Nothing.” John’s voice was muffled. “We were just talking.”
“Yeah.” Rosa glanced at her sister, who was staring straight through the windshield, her jaw clenched. “Looks like it.”
John opened his door so quickly that Rosa nearly tripped over her own feet as she backed away.
“I’m walking home,” he said. “See you later, Jess. Later, Rosa.”
Neither sister responded. Rosa watched John make his way down the sidewalk, slouched forward against the rain and with his hands in his pockets. She looked at the street, then over to Hector’s house. The front door was open, and just the storm door was closed. A single lamp was glowing in the depths of the darkened living room. She looked up to the second-floor window and what she knew was Hector Garcia’s room. A light was on in there, too. A shadow passed behind the curtain. Hector and his friends were there, watching. They thought they were protectors, which was a silly thing all boys thought.
Jessica kept sitting in her car, staring through the rain-blurred windshield. Only after John had turned down a side street a block away did she finally get out and head toward the house. She passed right by Rosa as if she wasn’t there.
“I don’t like him,” Rosa called after her. “Has he done this before? Why haven’t you told any—”
“Don’t start,” Jessica snapped. “He’s just in a bad mood.”
“He’s always in a bad mood, Jessie.”
They stopped together at the front door, under the shelter of the awning. Rosa could see the pink marks on Jessica’s skin from where John’s fingertips had dug in. This wasn’t the first time Rosa had told her sister how she felt about John, and it wasn’t the first time Jessica had gotten defensive about it. If Rosa pushed, Jessica would tell her that she had no idea what it was like to be in a relationship, that Rosa shouldn’t dare act like she knew what went on between a girl and a guy in love because Rosa hadn’t even been kissed yet or had anyone touch her. That last part, about the kissing and the touching, wasn’t true, but Rosa never said anything about it. She had the right to her own secrets.
Still, though. This was different. Rosa had always known that John was mean and that Jessica always jumped when he said jump, but this was the first time she’d seen evidence of him touching her sister in an aggressive way. Had there been signs? Had she missed them?
“Don’t tell Dad,” Jessica said, as she unlocked the front door.
“Alright.” Rosa’s heart broke a little. “Of course. If that’s what you want.”
“I’ve been telling him I want to leave,” Jessica said. “That’s why he’s in a bad mood.”
“Leave him?” Rosa asked, startled. “Like, break up with him?”
“No.” Jessica paused. “Like, leave San Antonio.”
“Oh.” Rosa