Love & Justice

By Gail O. Dellslee

For ages 13+.

What do an eight-year-old, a martial artist, a suicidal punk goth, a nerd, a lonely Internet newbie, a teacher, an anorexic snob, and the most beautiful girl in school have in common?  They were each raped by the same man: Luis. Based on true events, this is the story of each of these very different girls and how they get involved with him.  Caught in the middle are David and his friends, Sada and Monica.  What should they do about Luis?  Should they tell the police, or should they take justice into their own hands?

• Language: English
• Publisher: GAIL O. DELLSLEE
• Release date: Jul 11, 2009
• ISBN: 9798201807344

Gail O. Dellslee

Gail O. Dellslee is a multi-racial author who grew up on the west coast of the United States. She started writing novels when she was 10 years old. Gail gets her inspiration from her cats and life experiences, and she enjoys incorporating real situations and people into her fiction.

Book preview

Chapter #1:  David (5/9/97, Friday)

Today I was going to ask her.  Because May 9 th was a special day. And it was finally that special time of day when school was over.  While my classmates ran to the parking lot to get driven home by their parents or the bus, I walked the opposite direction—behind the big kids’ playground and into the portable building that was St. Mary’s daycare center.

Inside, I put my Princess Zelda lunchbox in a wooden cubby and hung my pink backpack on a hook beneath it.  As usual, two large tables were laid out with napkins in front of each plastic seat.  I sat down with my back to all the things I tried before—the stack of board games, the books on the shelf, the buckets of Barbie dolls, cars, and My Little Ponies—and faced the one thing I hadn’t—the kitchen play area.

Hello, David, Mrs. Henderson greeted, dumping a grown-up size handful of cheese crackers onto the napkin in front of me.

She always said hi to me because I was always the first one at the daycare.  My classroom was right next to it, so it didn’t take me long to walk there.  I stared at the salt crystals on each square cracker, waiting for her wrinkled hand in its latex glove to go away.  As soon as it did, I gobbled up one cracker after another. 

And one after another, the little kids came bounding into the room.  I watched them put their backpacks and lunchboxes in the cubbies and sit at the other table.  They looked at me in acknowledgment as they sat down.  I didn’t look away because they were too young to be scary.  Little kids were annoying, but at least they weren’t mean like kids my age who teased me for liking girly things.  Or maybe the little kids didn’t tease me because they were scared of me, afraid I’d beat them up or something.  They obviously didn’t know me at all, did they?  It was a good thing, too.

Just then, Monica walked through the doorway.  The sunlight flooding around her was as bright as her smile.  She waved at everyone, even Mrs. Henderson.  After she put her stuff in her cubby, she walked straight toward me, her long black pigtails bouncing at the same rhythm of my heart. 

Happy birthday, David, she said, sitting next to me and eating one of the crackers Mrs. Henderson put on her napkin.

She remembered!  Today I was 12 years old, the oldest kid in fifth grade.  I had started school a year late because I had been too scared to go.  Mom thought postponing school another year would help me, but it didn’t.

Thank you, I replied, almost choking on a cracker that I was hurrying to swallow.

Monica giggled.  I loved it when she giggled.  She had the sweet innocence of a five year old but the maturity of a 10 year old, which was her true age.  She was in fifth grade too, but she wasn’t in my class.  The two of us were the oldest kids in the daycare.

I finished the last of my snack and watched her eat hers.  The hours between when school let out and when Mom picked me up were my favorite, because I got to come here and play with Monica.  She was my first and only friend.  None of the boys my age would play with me because I liked girly things.  And none of the girls my age would play with me because I was a boy.  But Monica didn’t mind playing with me—as long as the others didn’t know.  Once we tried playing together at recess when we were in second grade, but then every kid who saw us started singing, David and Monica sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.  First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage!  I had been so happy to have a friend that I didn’t care.  But she did.  She never played with me at recess again.  Here at daycare was another story.  None of our classmates were here, so it was okay. 

Do you wanna play Ponies again? Monica asked, standing and taking her empty napkin to the trash can.

I did the same.  No.

"No?’ she repeated, her eyebrows raised with surprise.

Monica and I usually played Phantom of the Opera with Ponies.  We had watched the play on TV in Music, which each class attended in the cafeteria for an hour a week.  I’d be the Phantom, a rusty chrome horse; she’d be Christine, a cute pink pony.  We’d act it out just as if we were the real actors in the play, except for the ending; instead of Christine choosing her old boyfriend over the Phantom, Monica chose me.  I loved that part best.

I took a deep breath and spoke the words I had practiced in my head all day:  How about we play House today?

House? Monica asked, glancing over at the kitchen area which was now occupied by some younger girls.  There’re already kids in the kitchen.

That was a problem.  Darn those hooligans for finishing their snack faster than us.  Their napkins were still on the table; they didn’t even bother to clean up.  I tried to think as fast as my heart was beating.

They’ll leave if I tell them to.  I’m 12 now, remember?

Monica stared at me for a minute that seemed to last forever.  Was she going to turn me down?  Oh, God, please no.

She shrugged.  Okay.

Relief swept over me.  I took another deep breath and walked over to the kids.  They were putting plastic pots on their heads and laughing.  So immature.

Hey, I said.  Can Monica and I use the kitchen today?

They stopped laughing and looked up at me with wide eyes.  I bet they were tempted to sing the K-I-S-S song, but they wouldn’t dare with me towering over them like I was.  Slowly they put the pots on the floor and left.  I smiled over my shoulder at Monica.  She returned the smile, but hers looked forced and uncertain. 

I don’t remember if I ever played House before, she said, walking in as slow as the little girls walked out.

It’s easy, I assured.  All you do is pretend to be grown-up.  Just act like your parents.

You’ve played it before?

No.  I knew how to play just by watching other kids do it.

Then why do you want—

I just wanted to try something new.

Oh.

That was a lie, I knew.  Forgive me, Lord.  I hated lying to Monica, but I couldn’t just tell her the real reason I wanted to play House.  Not unless I was protected under the guise of a pretend role.

Monica tied a red and white apron around her waist and put a pot on the wooden stove.  I knocked on the nearby snack table.  She shuffled to the imaginary door and opened it.

Welcome home, dear, she greeted with a smile.  I was just making dinner.

She went back to the stove and pretended to pour something from a measuring cup into the pot.  I stepped into the kitchen and sat at a short square table.

Oh! she said, turning around.  Here’s the newspaper.

She handed the invisible paper to me.  I pretending to take it, and then I put my hands in my lap.  I watched her turn a knob to high temperature and plunk plastic apples and tomatoes into the pot. 

You’re not saying anything, Monica said in her sing-song voice.

I realized that, but I didn’t know what to say.  My own mother would be watching One Life to Live when Dad came home from working at the casino.  And they didn’t say much to each other.  Dad would read the paper at the table, but I didn’t want to be like him.

Monica turned around, armed with plastic plates and utensils like a waitress.  She noticed my hands in my lap as she set the table for two.

You’re not reading the paper either?!  Is something wrong?

No, dear, I said.  I just like looking at you more than I like looking at the paper.

Aw, how sweet!  I love you!

She pursed her lips and smacked them together like the Welch’s Grape Juice girl.  Only Monica was way cuter. 

I did the same at her.  I love you too!

That was the moment I’d been waiting for, the phrase I daydreamed about, the reason I wanted to play House.  I wished that we could rewind it and play it over and over again.  It was the happiest moment of my life.  But I knew it was also the beginning of the end for us.  In one month, our fifth grade year would be over.  One year after that, I’d be leaving Monica and St. Mary’s Elementary to go to WMS, the public middle school.  St. Mary’s went up to eighth grade, but my parents were forcing me to go to WMS for seventh and eighth grade because it was closer to our house.  I tried persuading, begging, and crying to get my parents to let me keep going to St. Mary’s.  But all my mom said was, Honor our decision, and all my dad said was, It’s time you make some guy friends.  Instead, I tried persuading and begging Monica to come with me to WMS.  But she said she wouldn’t leave St. Mary’s because that would mean leaving all her friends.  I guess she didn’t mind leaving me.

Chapter #2:  Angela (6/14/97, Saturday)

Second grade was gone , and summer vacation was on .  My best friend Lucy had called me and invited me to her house for a slumber party.  I accepted that invite, duh!  So Mom was driving me there at this very moment.  I watched outside my backseat window as the suburban houses of our neighborhood grew farther and farther apart.  A stop at a stop sign, a turn at a corner, and we were magically in the country.  Endless farmland stretched out for miles, and there were more pretty horses around than houses.  The sun was setting on the horizon, but it was still plenty hot out there.  Goosebumps were all over my skin because Mom refused to turn down the AC.

I could hardly stand my excitement.  I was wearing my brand new pink string bikini that Dad gave me for my eighth birthday in April.  It showed off my Spice Girl-like figure; I looked just like Baby Spice, minus the boobs of course.  But those would grow in due time.  Let’s be honest: I looked down right sexy—way better than my friends would ever look, for sure—especially since all my ugly bruises finally disappeared.

The sound of our tires rolling over gravel interrupted my thoughts.  Finally, we were at Lucy’s house!  I clicked my seat belt off of me and opened the car door. 

Don’t forget your sleeping bag and— Mom began.

I know! I said.

I grabbed the rolled up pink sleeping bag and my overnight bag from the seat next to me and hopped out into the nice hot air that melted my goose bumps.

Bye Mom! I yelled as I ran up to Lucy’s front door.

Mom honked goodbye.  I was just about to knock on the salmon door when it opened!  And who was it but Lucy, dressed in her bathing suit too.  It was an unremarkable one piece with a little wavy skirt built in to hide her chubby thighs. 

Hey Angela! she greeted.  I saw you come up.

Oh!

She moved out of the way so I could enter into her living room.  It smelled like pistachio nuts.  I lead the way downstairs to the underground level and went into the first room I came to—the one with pink walls and white furniture.  All of the bedrooms were on this level except for the master, which was on the third level.  The other two bedrooms belonged to Lucy’s older brothers, all but one who were grown-ups and not living there anymore.  I knew all this from when I first came to Lucy’s house at the beginning of second grade; she had given me a tour.  I was almost jealous of her for having such a mansion.  I said almost because I’d never want to live out in the boonies like her, away from the mall and stuff.

So where’s Jessica? I asked, setting my bags down next to Lucy’s daybed.

She said she couldn’t come ‘cause she had karate practice.

Oh.  I should’ve known.

I rolled my eyes and followed Lucy back upstairs.  Jessica was more her friend than mine.  She was a tomboy like Sporty Spice (looked like her too), and I didn’t like tomboys.  Why did girls ever try to act like boys when they quite simply were not boys and never would be?  Knowing Jessica, she probably would’ve come wearing trunks.  I was glad this party would be just Lucy and me.  This would be my first time going in her hot tub and spending the night.  The times I had come over before, it was too cold to swim and Dad wouldn’t let me spend the night for one reason or another.

We went through the silent living room and out the screen door to the backyard.  Her parents must’ve not been home.  I took my flip-flops off on the wooden deck, and then jogged a little to catch up with Lucy.  We had to walk around a line of tall Italian cypresses to get to the in-ground spa and pool. 

When I saw the wide bare back of a man in the hot tub, I suddenly stopped in my tracks.  Lucy stepped in, then turned around and looked at me quizzically.

What’s wrong? she asked.

The man’s buzz cut head turned toward me.  His brown eyes surveyed me from head to toe.  And then I recognized him.

It’s just Luis, she told me.  He’s babysitting us while our parents are out.  You’re not scared of boys, are you?

I forced a laugh and plopped into the steaming water next to her with a splash.  Of course not!  Duh!

Luis was the youngest brother who was still living with Lucy’s family.  I saw him at St. Mary’s a lot and at Lucy’s house too, but he and I never exchanged words.  I found him a bit weird.  He looked like a man