Tricks (8 page)

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Well, duh. But I'm not about to say so. Friends

don't tell friends they look

fat. Or even curvy. "Nah."

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Cool. So what are you waiting

for? Try some on. Check it out:

Thirty percent off.
She stands, hands punctuating well-defined hips.

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Debate is useless. I slip into a pair and have to admit they

look pretty good. Oh, why not?

What's a trip to the mall for?

126

Shopping with Paige

Reminds me of that TV show:

TLC's
What Not to Wear.

Paige has spent big bucks, and what does she have to show for it?

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A couple of pairs of too-tight

jeans, three blouses guaranteed to show too much tummy and/or

cleavage, and a pair of hot pink

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sneakers with soles as thick as six hundred-page novels.

Now we're leaving Claire's, where I'm pretty sure Paige

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took advantage of a five-finger

discount. Not that she can't afford a cheap pair of earrings. But ripping

them off gives her a total rush.

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Hurry up,
she urges, glancing

nervously over her shoulder as we hustle toward the food

court. Talk about obvious!

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Still, by the time yummy scents of fat-laden foods entice our noses, we see no sign of security on our

tail. Way to "borrow," Paige.

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What do you want to eat?
asks

Paige, sniffing the air.
Subway?

Pizza? Hey you know what sounds

delish? A hot dog on a stick.

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The built-in joke is just too good to pass up! "Damn, girl. You really
do

need a boyfriend, you know?" We both

snort into gut-busting, pee-your-pants

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laughter. "Oh... my... God!"

I stutter. "I have so got to pee."

I turn, ready to run. And who's

sitting at a table nearby, grinning

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like an orangutan--a very hot

orangutan? The guy. The cute

not-my-brother weirdo. And he's checking

me out again. Is he, like, stalking me?

128

I Still Have to Pee

But before I do, I have to say

something to the hot monkey.

Ooh. That was a very bad thought.

Wonder how hot his monkey is.

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Okay. Way worse thought.

What's up with me? "That guy is over there, staring," I tell

Paige. "Let's go talk to him."

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She pulls her eyes away from the Hot Dog on a Stick sign.

What? Hey. No. That's stupid.

He might get the wrong idea.

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Or exactly the right idea. "Yeah, maybe. But don't you want to know where he's coming from?"

I don't wait for her to answer.

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I pull myself up very tall, take

dead aim at my stalker. Behind

me comes the sound of Paige, scrambling to catch up.
Wait.

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Almost to his table, my courage

dissolves and I think seriously about turning around, grabbing

Paige, and hauling buns out of there.

129

Too Late

The guy looks up, and the warmth of his smile melts all thoughts of running.
Hello.
One word out of his killer mouth, I think I'm lost.

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"Oh. Hey." Now what do I say?

"I... uh... just wondered if you were looking at anything special."

Totally brilliant. Set myself up.

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But he knows just what to say.

Well, actually, yes. was looking at
you,
wasn't I? You're quite

special. But then, you know that.

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Is he saying I'm stuck-up?

Beside me, Paige chokes on a half laugh. Guess that's what she thinks he was saying.

*

He studies my face with amazing

eyes, the blue of robin eggs.
You are, in fact, the most special young

woman I've seen in a long time.

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He so
is
a stalker. But a stalker who knows how to make a girl feel...

uh... special. "I'm sorry, but

I don't get it. What do you want?"

130

His grin widens.
Now that's a loaded question. I
want
more than you'll probably give me.

But I'll settle for your name.

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Paige elbows me and clears her throat, like I don't have

enough sense not to give my name to a stranger. A totally luscious,

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completely random, too-old-

for-me-to-even-consider-him, somehow hypnotic stranger.

I find myself saying, "Whitney."

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Whitney,
he repeats, nodding.

The name fits you. Well, Whitney, pleased to meet you. I'm Bryn.

Care to sit down for a few?

131

This Is Insane

For some stupid reason,

I really, really do want to sit down with him for a few.

What is the big attraction?

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It's not like a guy has never

put the moves on me before.

And I'm pretty sure that's what

this is, even though he's smooth.

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But Paige isn't taking the bait.

We were going to get something to eat, remember? And I thought

you had to go--
She catches herself.

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Fact is, I do have to go. Now.

"I'd like to sit, Bryn, but Pai--

uh... my friend is hungry.

Maybe another time?"

*

His smile slips a little. But he says,
Of course.
Then he reaches into his pocket.
Here's

my card. Call me sometime.

132

A Poem by Ginger Cordell
Reach

They say you should

reach for the stars, and I'd like to, but my arms are much too short.

They say to reach

out for hope, but I

don't

understand what hope

is. They say to reach for goals, but I don't

know

how to define mine, and so I won't listen.

But if you only tell me

how to love you, I'll reach into the depth of me and find a way to hold you.

133

Ginger School Sucks

Don't even know why I try.

We've moved around so much, I've always been behind.

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I'm not going to graduate without a hella lot of summer school or something. And I don't plan to

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spend summer vacation locked up in Barstow High, trying to figure

out algebra. Who needs it, anyway?

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Not like I'm going to college. I'll be

happy waitressing. Minimum

wage and tips isn't such a bad life.

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Would be nice to settle into a town.

(Not that Barstow's the one--it's

not!) Have a nice, steady job. A friend

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or two. Maybe even fall in love, if there is such a thing, and if

I can ever get past... Anyway,

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we've never stayed in one place

long enough for me to make friends.

All I've had to hang with are sisters.

134

Actually, I've Kind of Connected

To one girl, Alex. She's in my

creative writing class, and she's totally goth. Black clothes,

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black fingernails. Heavy black

eyeliner, which somehow

makes her seem innocent,

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like a little girl, trying too hard to look all grown up. There's

something about that--something

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about her--that is really

attractive to me. More than once since I've gotten to know

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her, I have thought about what it might be like to hold

her. I've even fantasized about

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kissing her. It's major weird and kind of messed up, I guess.

I've never kissed anyone,

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guy or girl. Been kissed, but it was never my idea, and I hated it. Hated them.

135

I want to know what a real

kiss is like. But why I keep

thinking about doing it with

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Alex is a mystery. She has

never even halfway come on to me. That's cool. Who needs

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complications? It's good

enough to have a friend.

And anyway, I'm guessing

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it isn't easy for her to get

close to people. She has

had a tough life, maybe

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tougher than mine. Her mom's

doing hard time for armed

robbery, and she lives with her

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loser stepdad, who's a bartender at some sleazy club out on

Old Highway 58. Wonder if

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I should try to set him up with Iris. A pair of low-life

druggies. The perfect couple.

136

Alex and I

Are hanging out downtown, scoping out people, scoping

us out. I take a deep drag off

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a bummed Kool, cough like a dweeb on the exhale. "Does

our stepdad have a girlfriend?"

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Alex keeps watching people

walk by. She rarely looks you in the eye.
Nah. No one special,

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not since Lydia boogied on
down the road. Guess he has

fuck buddies, though. Why?

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"I dunno. It just came to me

that maybe he and my mom

should hook up or something."

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She doesn't miss a beat.

You kidding? You don't like your mom or what?

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I laugh. "Not much, actually.

But she's easier to deal with when she's got a man in her life."

137

Really? Seems to me life is a lot

easier without getting attached to someone. Too complicated.

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"God, do you know my mom?

But she thinks having a guy around makes her important."

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Alex snorts.
How old is she, anyway? Sounds like she still plays with Barbies.

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"I doubt she ever played with

Barbies. Just a shitload of

Kens." And Sams. And Bills,

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But, as much as I think Alex is pretty okay, I'm not about to share too much information

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about Iris and how she brings in cash. Besides, maybe Iris would

stop tricking for the right guy.

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Maybe if the right guy came along, we could live a nice, normal

life. However that's defined.

138

I Guess Nothing Says

Moms have to be good

people, though. I mean, look at Britney Spears. She

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might not be a complete

whore, but she's not

exactly a shining example

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of motherhood. And, just down the block, a woman in baggy sweats yanks her

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little girl along, yelling,

Hurry the hell up, would

you?
The kid's bawling.

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And then there's Alex's

mom. Busted for robbing a liquor store with a gun.

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All for another fix. A few

hours of finding a way to forget everything. Alex included.

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I hope I'm never a mom. But

if I am, I'll make damn

sure my kids look up to me.

139

Speaking of Kids

I really ought to get home.

Gram has a hair appointment

this afternoon, so unless Iris

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suddenly figured out motherhood,

Mary Ann is the only one there to take care of the little kids until I get

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home. "Better go," I tell Alex.

"Time to play mom. How

'bout a smoke for the road?"

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She grimaces.
At least my winner

mother had the sense to get fixed.

You're gonna pay me back, right?

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Pay her... oh, for the cigs.

"Yeah, sure. I can 'borrow'

some from Iri--uh, my mom."

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Not sure why I don't want

Alex to know I call her Iris.

Yeah, it makes her seem like

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less of a mom, but Alex knows

she's not much of a mom anyway.

Anyone with eyes could guess it.

140

I Walk Up the Street

Slowly, sucking nicotine into my lungs. Tastes like crap, and I know if I don't stop it will

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kill me. But it satisfies some

deep call. And what the hell?

I don't want to live too damn long.

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Suddenly an ambulance screams

by. Fear punches my gut. Without a doubt, I know exactly where

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it's headed. I throw the lit Kool into the gutter, start to run, choking on yellowish smoke.

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round the corner and sure as day, the square red truck is in front of Gram's, warning lights spinning.

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Beside it, a police cruiser blocks

most of the street, and another is parked farther up the road, routing

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traffic away. Shit, shit, shit! I run

faster, barely able to breathe.

Fricking cigarettes! I skid to a stop,

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try to take in what I see. Two

paramedics kneel next to Sandy.

His little body lies in the street,

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unmoving. "Is he okay?" I scream, trying to push closer, only to be