Page 10 of Severed Heart

When they weren’t kissing, he would tell her stories of our government and the corrupt people inside of it. Of a group he was in—Pardi Radical—and of the changes being made in leadership. He would often tell stories of his friend, Alain, whose papa was killed in a bombing, as well as their plans to change things together.

I would listen because it reminded me of Papa’s stories as Abijah reminded me of the soldier my papa was.

Celine hung onto his every word and got arrested with him weekly for protesting after she left home. Up until she got pregnant with Ezekiel, Celine was living more of a soldier’s life than I was. To my aunt and uncle,Ihad suddenly become thegood daughter.

Even though I think most boys are imbeciles, I can understand why Celine fell so madly in love with Abijah. He’s not only a true street soldier but very, very handsome. With dark black hair, eyes that glow like fire, and a smooth, silky voice. He always speaks so excitedly about his plans that I sometimes believe him like Celine does.

“I told you I’m done helping him for now, for a much better purpose,” she says fondly, speaking of the other love of her life, her son, as she takes a turn I don’t recognize.

“Celine, this is not the way home,” I point out, glancing her way.

“It is for me.” She looks back at me, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “You always ask me to take you to my apartment to meet our friends.”

I turn fully toward her in my seat, finally excited about something. “Today? We’re going right now?”

“Yes, but you have to promise to behave. Don’t backtalk Abijah this time with your politics. Just listen.”

“I promise,” I agree easily, anticipation thrumming through me at the idea of talking about more than shades of lipstick.

“Don’t make me regret this.” She rolls her eyes as Prince starts to sing “When Doves Cry.”

“I promise,” I tell her before I turn it up.

* * *

Standing just inside the tiny kitchen, I study the map Abijah marked as Celine’s laughter reaches me from their bedroom. Rolling my eyes, I walk along a table full of guns—most of them dropped on the tabletop as their friends came in. Celine’s giggles quiet when someone turns the record player up, as even more smoke fills the small apartment. Most of the nicotine cloud rapidly filling the room exhaled from the half dozen of their friends crowding their second-story balcony. Shivering due to the crisp fall breeze sweeping through the room, I scour the mostly unimpressive inventory of firearms before pausing on a gun that looks similar to one of Papa’s. Just next to it sits a large box of tools and tubs that have powder inside them. When I reach out to open one of them, someone whispers a “BOOM!” in my ear.

Jumping, I turn and see a man, or ... boy. He’s somewhere in between, his eyes light brown, his hair as dark as Abijah’s. Studying him closer, I decide he is almost as handsome as Abijah—though his teeth are a little crooked when he smiles at me. “I wouldn’t play with that. It’s not a toy.”

“I wasn’tplaying.I’m not a little girl.”

“You are Celine’s sister? Non?” he says in English.

“Oui, but—” I pause to think of the word. “I ... curious.”

“Curiosity kills the cat,” he laughs, taking a sip of his beer. He is dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, but his shoes look new and expensive.

“Do I look like cat? You look like imbecile,” I utter, humiliated by my English again as I am most days. I’ve spent every year since Marine enrolled me trying to catch up with my fluent classmates because Matis never once put me in school when I came of age after Maman left.

The boy flashes me a full smile as if he knows something I don’t. “No ... you, you’re a spirit-filled little girl.”

“I’m no moregirlthan you areboy,” I counter in French.

“Hmm. I see. Please, take no offense, little sister.” He might not be laughing at me now, but his eyes are, and I scowl at him before picking up a rifle I’m familiar with.

“This is old,” I say, “MAS 49/56, ten-round magazine. Standard-issue French army in thesixties. This is a relic that requiresgasto shoot and needs to beburied.”

His brows shoot up in confusion. “How do you know this?”

“That’s my business. Who are you?”

“I guess you’ll have to stay curious, but I’ve got my eyes on you, little sister.”

“You can keep those eyes to yourself,” I snap, unsure why my heart is pounding so fast as he glances over my shoulder. I follow his stare to see a girl waving him over to her.

He lifts his chin toward her before he slowly brings his eyes back to me. My chest aches a little as he watches me for a few long seconds. “It was nice to meet you, Delphine.”

“I will not say it’s nice to meet you,” I tell him. “You better go to her, that is, if you like being told what to do.”