Jump The Line (Toein' The Line Book 1) Read Free Page A

behin d — “ Hurry ,” he yell s— I recall my mo m’ s rule.  Do n’ t bring home no damn LEOs.  What am I doing lusting after that cop?  Everyone in my family hates cops.  “ I ca n’ t go meet those two ,” I say, getting a dizzying whiff of Oma r’ s bleachy bar rag over my shoulder.  “ I just . . . ca n’ t . ”
    “ You want to keep your job ? ” 
    Stupid question.  “ O.J., what do the LEOs want with me ? ”
    “ Get moving.  Go find out . ”
    “ Keep that bar rag to yourself ,” I growl.
    I like to speculate about what brings O.J. from Punjab to the U.S.  H e’ s secretive, does n’ t like people prying.  Fortunately, h e’ s got a warped sense of humor, which Ang and I love.  H e’ s always lecturing us ,“ You girls dress like in a harem, please.  Men love . ”   Being able to dance barefoo t— as O.J. imagines harem girls d o— is the reason I took this job, that and the money.  Dancing barefoot helps protect my foot.  One misstep and my ankle will g o— pop!  Just like that, and ther e’ ll go my dream.  Instead of entering the Rockette s ’ jump-the-line competition, I’ ll be back in surgery. 
    “ I must apologize, but please wear no tops when you dance ,” O.J. drills, when Angie and I show up bleary-eyed for his stupid team meetings to protest dancing topless.  “ Not even pastries ,” he says, misusing the ter m“ pastries ,” but remaining firm, the deep gray sockets beneath his eyes like papery elephant skin.  I think he hides a secret gangsta life, but Ang is n’ t afraid of him, or anyone.  Every time she sees him, she teases ,“ O.J., would you like coffee with you r— pasties ? ” 
    With O.J. clamoring on my heels, I jerk to a stop at the step s ’ bottom.  “ I ca n’t —”
    “ Hurry ,” he says, giving me another nudge. 
    “ Al right ,” I say, stalling in the icy strobe light s ’ blinding glare.  This is n’ t like resting my whiney foot and hanging on the banana.  I ca n’ t stand around guessing why the LEOs are here.  I know .  My heart flip-flops.  Robin .  Has he started using again ?  My brothe r’ s a recovering meth addict and ex-dealer.  Any parole violations and h e’ s back in prison.  He called me this morning.  “ Lainey ,” he said ,“I’ m gonna be gone for a little while.  Do n’ t tell anyone . ”
    “ But Rob, you got an appointment with your P O —”
    “ Do n’ t worry so fucki n ’ much.  I’ ll talk to her . ”
    “ Yo u’ re in trouble ,”I’ d whined.  “ I can help.  Please tell me where you are . ”
    Punkass.  He never responds when I plead.  I’ d closed my eyes and imagined explaining Robi n’ s absence to Sam Duggins, his parole officer, the PO I cal l“ Hellgirl . ” 
    You seen Robin Colby? 
    Nope. 
    H e’ s in parole violation.  Cough him up, Miss Colby, or I’ ll bust you, too.
    Yeah, right, Hellgirl.  I’ ll roll over on my brother when pigs freaki n ’ fly.
    “ Trust me ,‘ Lainey ,” Robin had begged.  “ You gotta trust me . ”
    Last time I saw him was Monday, before I left for class.  Since he wo n’ t tell me where he is, I’ ve been worried h e’ s using, or worse, that h e’ s dealing again.  I do n’ t want him going back to prison.  It would kill me.
    “ Ouch ! ”   A splinter from the dance floor jabs the sole of my bare foot, jolting my mind back from Robi n’ s problem to my own.  Recalling the LEO, I touch my face and worry stupidly about my makeup, about what a zombie I must appear.  The LEOs give me a joint visual frisk, the female gawking like sh e’ s never seen an exotic dancer, the hot Viking leader signaling me with a commanding nod toward the D J’ s table.  Across the room, our gazes lock.  Putting on my most sullen face, I glare back.  You want I should trot over to you, all nice and sweet like, and rat out my brother?  Is that what you want?
    I’ m used to men gawking, but when his challenging