“Keys,” she tells me.
I raise my brows at her, prodding for more of an explanation.
“You know how those damn dryers at the laundromat are always eating my quarters?” She lifts her palms in a what-choice-did-I-have gesture. “The owners don’t give me my money back, so I go in and take it.”
“You break into the laundromat?” I blurt.
She looks at me like I’m crazy. “Of course not. I just let myself into the money part of the machine. I only take what it owes me—nothing more,” she says innocently. “Sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands.”
Mom rolls her eyes, and I can’t help but giggle.
“You practice a bit, and those’ll get you in anywhere,” Gran tells me nonchalantly.
“Okay, I think it’s best if I don’t know any more about your secret life of crime.”
“That’s just life, Danika. I’ve told you that.”
“Yeah, Gran.” I smile. “I suppose I should have listened better.”
“Live and learn.”
I get up and give each of them a kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to take a quick shower before dinner is ready. Is that okay?”
“Take your time,” Mom tells me. “I’m just getting started, so you’ll have at least an hour before it’s ready.”
“Sounds good.”
I go to my room and close the door for a minute alone to process. Considering all that’s happened, I could use a month tofully come to terms with my situation, but I don’t have that kind of time.
One week.
I have one week to secure a place to stay, pack, and disappear.
I sit on my bed and stare at a painting of mine hanging beside my closet door. Two white calla lilies on a black background. Gran’s favorite flower, and ironically, a symbol of death. They’re one of the most popular funeral flowers, and a perfect reminder that I have to run. I can’t let Biba take me.
I get up and start rummaging around my room. I’m not even sure for what. A genie in a lamp? Maybe a fairy godmother. Where can a girl buy a miracle in this city? No miracles, but I should probably get a prepaid phone so I can keep in touch with Mom and Gran.
Excellent thinking! See, you got this.
I find a scrap of paper to start making a list when I hear two sharp knocks on the front door. The apartment is small and not particularly soundproof, so I stand close to the bedroom door and listen. I’m not sure why. I don’t normally care when someone comes by, but this stuff with Biba has me paranoid, and for good reason. When Mom opens the door, I hear a man’s voice.
Please let it be creepy Mr. Wood from downstairs trying to hit up Mom for a date again.
Why I think I have any luck left at this point, I don’t know because I’ve clearly drained that bucket dry. A man’s rumbling voice sounds from the other room with an unmistakable Russian accent. As soon as he speaks, I hear my mother tell him that I’m not home.
I stand frozen with fear and indecision, my heart beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.
What does this guy want with me? I assume Biba sent him, but why? Should I hide in the closet? Maybe I should already be out on the fire escape making my way to ground level. That’s probably best, but when I hear the man shout aggressively, followed by a squeal from my mother, I instinctively charge into the living room.
“I’m here. Leave her alone,” I demand, hands on my hips. “What do you want?”
He snarls, revealing the most cliché gold tooth imaginable. “Time to go.”
“Where? Biba said I had a week to get ready.”
“And you would have, had you not gone crying to the police. Such a disappointment to the Vor. Now, you spend the week at his place to make sure you no do anything stupid.”
My mask of false bravado falls to the floor. “What? I didn’t even say anything. I left before I talked to anyone.”
