Chapter 3

Ashley makes a new friend.

The building is tall, six stories, with the first being entirely commercial. There are stores and restaurants made of gray stone while the apartments above are painted blue that fades to white the higher they go. Franky lives on the 5th floor and the thought of being that high makes me nervous. My mom drove me here and she puts her hand on mine before I get out. “Only do this if you want to,” she tells me. “I know this is a difficult situation and you can take more time to think about it if you need to.”

I do think about it. Well, mostly I think about that night we left Praxton Hills. That was just the third floor and my mom hasn’t been the same ever since. Her memory isn’t what it used to be. She walks with a limp and can barely raise her right arm. It makes it hard for her to do her job even though she loves it. Even who she is changed all because of that night. She’s still my mom and I love her, but sometimes I can’t even recognize her. That’s why I think spending some time away could be good for the both of us. Plus Franky said I can have my own room and decorate it however I want so I’m excited about that. I put my other hand on top of hers and smile. “I’ll be okay,” I assure her. 

“Do you want me to walk up with you?” 

“I can handle it.” 

She leans in to give me a kiss on the forehead and I grab my backpack from the backseat before getting out. She waves at me before driving off and I wave back then make my way into Oakland Lofts. There’s an elevator in the lobby and nothing else beside a hanging mirror and a potted plant in the corner. I hesitate before pressing the button. The fifth floor. Roughly fifty four feet, and below is pure concrete.

Someone else steps in the elevator with me and presses the button for the third floor. “Where you headed?” they ask me.

“Fifth,” I reply and they reach over and press the button. When you can’t make the jump, sometimes you have to be pushed. 

It lights up gold and the elevator lifts from the ground. Second floor, not so bad. Third floor, a risk, but nothing I haven’t done before. There’s a ding and the doors open. The person nods at me before leaving and the doors shut again. I swallow. Fourth floor, my head starts to spin. 

Fifth floor. It dings again and the doors open. I swear I can smell smoke; feel the heat. It’s suffocating and grabbing a hold of me. My eyes water and my mom is crying. People scream for their lives, for their families. And eventually they grow silent. But when I look down the corridor, it’s just a normal apartment complex. The past can’t hurt me anymore, but my hands still shake and my legs are weak as I walk. It’s not about the past or even the future, but where you are right now.

It’s calm, it’s quiet, and there’s nothing wrong. I don’t see a single person or ghost as I make my way down the hall, and the only sound is that of my footsteps as I follow the signs. The carpet is black and made of thin wire with some kind of block design while the walls are painted a calming shade of gray. There are no pictures on the walls and doors are spread far apart from each other so the rooms must be pretty big, which will be nice.

517, 519, 521. Here it is, but there’s a piece of paper taped to the door: 

Ashley, 

I’m sorry for not being here. Got called into work. Be back tonight. There is a key under the mat. Make yourself at home. 

Love, 

Papito

Disappointed, but not surprised. I swipe the note off the door and crumple it up before stuffing it in the pouch of my hoodie. I check under the mat and there is a lone key that fits into the door knob like a glove. 

There’s little light aside from what’s leaking in from the windows so I flip the switch on the wall and the entire apartment comes to life. The walls are painted a white so clean it’s almost blinding and the dark wood floors glow like they’ve never been walked on. There’s a white rug in the center of the living room that must be brand new and the couches look like they’ve spent eternity wrapped in plastic. There’s a large flat screen TV mounted on the wall but no sign of a remote anywhere as the coffee table is spotless aside from a few housekeeping magazines, no surprise. 

Off to the side is an open concept kitchen with an island holding fake fruit and black marble that shines like a diamond while all the appliances seem to be the newest model of everything. Make yourself at home, yeah right. I’m the dirtiest thing in here. 

It’s weird being in here alone. I feel like some kind of criminal so I step out and lock the door behind me. I’m sure I can kill a few hours at the shops down stairs and it’ll give me a chance to look around the place. Franky doesn’t carry a cellphone but I’ll just come back to check in every once in a while. 

The door from across the hall opens and a guy steps out. He looks my age or maybe a few years older but definitely taller. He has Black skin and curly hair with rounded features like large puppy dog eyes. “I didn’t know anyone actually lived there,” he says to me. 

“I didn’t even know he existed until a couple days ago,” I reply. 

“Who is he?”

“My dad, apparently.” 

“Cool, so I’ll be seeing you around, I’m Q. I live here with my grandma and older brother.” 

“I’m LMNO.” 

He snickers and points finger guns at me. “You’re funny. I’m somewhat of an alphabet person myself. I’ll see you around, QRS... wait, I’m Q. Crap. I ruined the joke.”

“That’s okay. I’m sure we’ll see each other enough to learn the entire alphabet together.”

“Oh goodie. I could use a refresher. Have fun with your imaginary dad.” 

“Thanks, you too.” 

He laughs and disappears down the hall towards the elevators. That’s where I’m going too, but it’d be awkward to follow now that we’ve already parted ways. It’s okay though. I don’t know how long Franky will be gone anyway and he’d probably be upset if I wasn’t here. It would kind of serve him right though. 

I don’t want to go back into the apartment so I slide down the wall and sit on the carpet. The wire pierces through my jeans and tickles at my legs a little but I ignore it and pull my cell phone from my back pocket. There’s a text message from my mom: “Be careful and have fun. I love you. Call me if you need anything.” 

“Thanks Mom <3” I reply and barely a second later she sends a heart message of her own. She must have been sitting at her phone this entire time and that makes me feel bad. Maybe agreeing to come here wasn’t a good idea after all.

I pull some video games from my backpack and start to play. I’ve played this game before, but it’s a lot of fun and there’s a lot to collect so it keeps me busy. It’s like every time I play there’s something new to discover and that’s my favorite part of a video game. It’s like there’s no end and it can go on as long as you want it to. At least, until the battery dies. 

I have one ear bud in and can hear someone coming down the hall. I pause the game and look up, expecting to see a tall handsome Mexican man, but instead it’s some pale skinny guy with a letter in his hand wearing the heaviest boots to ever exist. He could stomp through the floor with those things if he wanted and shakes the ground as he walks and enters one of the nearby units. 

My phone vibrates in my back pocket and I hope it’s my mom. Part of me wants to text her asking to pick me up, but another part of me wants to wait a little bit longer. Like I said, I think this time will be good for the both of us even though I know she’s worried. I mean, my parents broke up for a reason and that reason is most likely me. But I check the message and it’s not my mom, but Bradly. “What are you doing this weekend?” he asks. 

“I’m at my dad’s,” I reply.

“I didn’t know you had a dad.”

“Neither did I.” 

“That’s cool.” 

“Are you okay? Do you need anything?” 

“No, don’t worry about me. Just have fun with your dad.” 

“My dad’s kinda ghosting me right now. I can come by if something’s wrong.” 

“I said don’t worry about me.” 

“Alright, fine. But call me if there’s a crisis.” He doesn’t reply and someone else comes down the hall. His shadow is taller than the last guy’s but his footsteps are not as rough. He comes around the corner and it’s Q holding a package and several letters. 

“Yo, are you sure someone actually lives there?” he asks. I pull the note from my hoodie and hand it to him. He uncrumples it and reads. “So your name is actually A-S-H-L-E-Y?” 

“Yeah, sorry I lied to you before.” 

“I think I can forgive you this once. So hey, do you want to come in? You’re been sitting there for like, two hours.” 

“Yeah, sure.” He offers me his hand and I take it to stand. 

The door is unlocked so we go right inside and he drops the mail onto a nearby coffee table. In front of us is a Black family portrait of an older woman and four boys, all at least a foot taller than she is with lighter mixed skin. Inside the layout is almost exactly like Franky’s apartment, but the decor could not be any more different. First of all, it seems like Q’s grandma actually loves her grandchildren. There’s pictures of them all over the walls and virtually on every surface along with a few photos of an older man who is a spitting image of all the younger boys only with darker skin. The living room and kitchen are a mess, honestly, but it’s more relieving. Like human beings live here instead of some robot. There’s dishes in the sink, a box of pizza on the counter, and every cup looks like they were made in some elementary pottery class. 

“Hey Grandma, can you come out here?” Q calls out down the hall and the same gray, short, plump woman from all the photos turns the corner. “This is Ashley. He’s staying in 521.” 

“Oh with Mr. Diaz,” she exclaims and I was not expecting the thick Australian accent. 

“Yeah, he’s my dad,” I tell her. 

“I haven’t seen that man in ages. Keeps himself busy. I didn’t even know he had such a lovely young daughter.” 

“Neither did he,” I say and she laughs heavily enough to shake the frames on the wall before stretching out her hand. 

“I’m Stella Quinn,” she introduces as we shake. “At home feel free to call me whatever you like but at work please refer to me as Miss Quinn. I teach English at the high school. Maybe I’ll even have you in my class in a couple of years when you’re older.” 

“I’m a sophomore. I’m just short.” 

“Oh really? Hate to say I’ve never seen you around, love.” 

“Yeah, I live with my mom in Southbank so I go to Canyon View. I’m just here for visitation.” 

“Oh, Canyon View. That’s not far at all. If you ever feel like transferring we’d love to have you at Oak Hills. Well, I’d love to stay and chat but I have to get back to grading quizzes. You kids have fun now.” 

“It was nice meeting you.” 

“Thanks Grandma,” says Q. 

Miss Quinn heads back down the hall but before disappearing, she pokes her head around the corner and says, “Keep your door open.”

Q scratches the back of his head. “Sorry about that, man. She’s not mean. She’s just clueless.” 

I shrug. “It’s not a big deal to me.” 

“I mean, your voice is deep so she’ll have to catch on eventually.” 

“Even the ultrasound person thought I was going to be a girl. But no, I’m just small.”

Q snorts. “Well, making jokes like that already makes you bigger than half of the guys I know. Well, hey, want to play some video games in my room?” 

“Sure.”

We go down the hall and inside the room beside what is either his grandma’s room or some kind of office and inside is more of a mess than the living room. The walls are so covered with band posters that I can’t see the paint, but it’s cool because I like a lot of these bands too. There’s a bunk bed in the corner and a small TV across from it on a dresser. There’s clothes all over the floor and overflowing from a nearby hamper. 

“Ink9 is my favorite band,” I say. 

“They’re absolutely amazing,” says Q. “One of my friends has been obsessed with them for like ever and she finally convinced me to get their newest album. Man, I’m such an idiot for sleeping on them.” 

“Yeah you are,” I agree. “But their last album was really good. It’s what’s finally getting them the attention they deserve.” 

“No kidding. I want to see one of their shows.”

“They’re really good live.”

“You’ve seen them?”

“Yeah, a few times. I love concerts. I go with my mom.” 

Q snickers. “That’s so cool. My grandma would probably go if I asked her, but I don’t want her getting beaten up in the pit.”

“My mom does the beating up in the pit.”

Q laughs even harder. “I like you man. If your dad ever locks you out again feel free to stop by whenever.” 

“Well so far I’ve been locked out 100% of the times I’ve come here.” 

His eyes widened. “It’s your first time coming over and he already bailed?”

“If you think that’s bad you should have seen the first time he bailed.”

“When was that?” 

“I don’t know I wasn’t born yet.”

Q snorts and quickly covers his mouth. “Sorry I shouldn’t laugh at that. That sucks.” 

“Yeah but it’s--”

The doorbell rings through the apartment. “Who is it?” Miss Quinn yells from the hall.

“It’s me, Franky Diaz,” I hear him yell back. 

“Come in, love.”

Q and I shut up and go back out to the living room where Franky is there looking just as put together as the first time I saw him. Actually, now that I think about it, he’s wearing the exact same shirt and pants. 

“Oh it’s so great to see you,” says Miss Quinn. “I feel like it’s been ages.” 

“Yeah, keeping busy. Just work, work, work. You know how it is.” 

“That I do.” 

Franky leans down to my level and there’s something about it I really don’t like. He puts his hands on my shoulders and it sends a shiver down my spine. I think I’d rather him look down on me; literally. “Ashley I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. There was something I really had to take care of back at the office but I’m back now.” 

“Okay,” is all I say. 

He stands up straight and he’s even taller than Q. “Thank you so much for having him, Stella, Gregory.” 

I look up to Q. “Your name is Gregory?” I tease, as if I have any room to talk about bad names.

“Shut up,” he whispers back and nudges me on the side. 

“It was our pleasure,” says Miss Quinn. “She wasn’t here long at all.

“He,” Q corrects. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, my love. You’re just so pretty.” 

“It’s okay you can call me whatever,” I tell her.

Q nudges my side. “Okay Whatever,” he says and we both snicker.

“Thank you, again,” Franky says and puts his hand on my back. After saying our goodbyes we empty out into the hall. “I’m really sorry,” he says again. “I don’t want to make any promises that I can’t keep but I will say that I will never stop trying, okay?”

“Okay.” I say and with that we go into 521 and the door shuts behind us.