The Right and the Real by Joelle Anthony Page A

up!” he shouted.
    “Go away,” I finally forced myself to say loud enough for him to hear me. “You’ve got the wrong room.”
    He stopped knocking. “What? What’d you say?”
    “I said go away. You’ve got the wrong room.”
    “Man, don’t tell your bitch to talk for you. Open the door. I need some shit.”
    He began to rattle the knob with one hand and batter with the other. With every thump, my heart pounded like it would burst open. Sweat dripped down inside my sweater. I was glad now I hadn’t changed into pajamas.
    Would my cell still call 911 even though it was disconnected? I grabbed my purse, but then remembered I’d been so angry, I’d thrown the phone into the backseat and left it there. Besides, I doubted thepolice cared about people who lived in rooms you had to rent by the week.
    The man was kicking at the door now, and I swear I heard wood splinter. I got out of bed and put on my shoes, in case I had to make a run for it. Then I grabbed the lamp to bash against his head if I had to and stood by the door, ready. Why hadn’t Stub come up to see what was going on? You’d think someone would’ve complained by now.
    Other tenants had to have cell phones, didn’t they? Maybe one of them would call the cops. Although the residents I’d seen in the lobby—the filthy woman with long brown hair and the rail-thin man passing her a plastic baggie of pot—didn’t exactly look like the kind of people who would ever call the police voluntarily.
    “If you don’t open up, man,” he threatened, “I’m gonna bust this door down and kick your ass.”
    I didn’t have any doubt he could do it. I held the lamp in one hand, and my purse and keys in the other. I’d have to sleep in the Beast again if he got inside. Assuming I managed to escape. Then I heard a door bang and heavy footsteps on the creaky floor.
    “What the fuck is goin’ on?” yelled a deep, menacing voice. Clearly not Stub’s.
    “Dude, mind yourself,” the guy outside my door said. “I need John, and his ho is in there sayin’ he ain’t here.”
    “The cops picked him up this afternoon. Now get the hell outta here and don’t come back. I need my beauty rest.”
    “Are you shittin’ me, man?”
    “Do I have to tell you twice?” asked the growly voice.
    “No, dude. Chill. I’m goin’. I’m goin’.”
    He gave the door one last kick and then I heard him moving away,swearing. The door down the hall slammed shut, and I put the lamp down, my hands shaking. What was I doing here? This was crazy. It was only my first night, and a man had already tried to break into my room. I’d end up dead, living in this sleazy motel.
    The empty dresser was made of thin, cracked plywood and probably wouldn’t stop anyone, but I tried to shove it in front of the door anyway. It wouldn’t move, though, because it was nailed to the floor. Then I got a better idea. With shaking hands, I shifted all of the cardboard boxes, containing everything I owned, in front of the door, making a five-foot-high barricade. If the place burned down in the night, I’d go up with it, unable to get out, but at this point, I wasn’t sure I cared anymore.

chapter 10
    KRISTA HAD STAYED SUNDAY NIGHT AT HER DAD’S, and he was driving her to school, so she didn’t need me to pick her up, but I still timed my arrival to match the late bell so I wouldn’t have to explain to my friends why my hair was so gross. I’d been way too scared to take a shower.
    In our locker, I’d found three of my favorite dark chocolate bars and a love note from Josh. I couldn’t wait to see him at lunch, but it was only third period English, so I had to content myself with doodling his name on my notebook while Mr. Lazby grumbled about the standardized testing coming up.
    I tried not to think about Krista’s reaction to the candy bars. “What?” she’d said. “Chocolate is supposed to make up for him humiliating you in the caf?”
    “You know it was an accident,” I