The Con, Page 2

  As I'm approaching the end of the lot, I spot a group of kids over by the blue donation bins our town leaves out for its citizens to donate old clothes. Two boys I don't recognize stand across from Lola, a girl a grade ahead of me, who's fully developed and loves to show it off. Next to Lola is Jagger.

  My heart flutters when I spot him. His long brown hair is tucked behind his ears so I get a perfect view of his face, and the sly grin he's giving Lola as he wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her to him. She smiles up at him and slips her arm around his back as her other arm moves across his stomach and she rests the palm of her hand on his chest.

  What a slut.

  At twelve years old, Lola already has a reputation at our school. I'm sure most of it is made up, but watching her with Jagger makes me wonder if some of it is true. I see her all the time around the trailer park. She likes to wear next to nothing and with her long blond hair, and fully developed chest, she has even old dirty men looking at her, which is sick. She's jailbait.

  Today she's in a pair of cut-off shorts and a bikini top. That's it.

  I look down at my eleven-year-old body and realize I can't compete. I'm wearing shorts that almost reach my knees, a pink blouse that's too big on me, but since I only get to wear Pearl's hand me downs it's the best I can do. My hair is pulled back in a braid, my nails are painted perfectly, and I'm wearing a friendship bracelet Monique gave me. I haven't started developing yet so I look every bit my age.

  Jagger's thirteen. He'd never want me, and that's apparent by the way he's hanging on Lola right now. He's dressed in a black wife-beater, denim jeans, and black boots. I watch as his hand starts to move up and over Lola's shoulder and down the front of her body. I'm dreading where I might see his hand land so I look away and adjust the paper bags in my hands, getting them in a better position before starting to walk again.

  As I make it to the road in front of the convenience store, an old beat-up dirty Mustang pulls up to the group and Jagger notices. He nods his head toward the car before letting go of Lola and walking around the front of the Mustang to approach the driver's side window.

  I shouldn’t be paying so much attention, but it's hard not to watch the exchange. Jagger digs his hand in the front of his pocket and pulls something out to show the person in the car. The next thing I see is a hand reach out of the vehicle and hand something to Jagger.

  Oh my God.

  Is he giving Jagger money?

  I don't get a good look because Jagger's sticking whatever was given to him in his front pocket and shaking hands with the man. As quick as the Mustang pulled up, it leaves.

  Putting my head down, I reach the end of the parking lot and my feet hit the white gravel on the side of the road. I start humming my ballet solo again so it will help me pass time, but as soon as the first few notes come through my head I'm distracted by the boy I've been crushing on the past two years.

  "Twinkle toes!" Jagger shouts from behind me. At least, I think it's Jagger.

  Why is he yelling twinkle toes?

  I stay facing forward and continue to walk when he yells again. "Twinkle toes, wait up!"

  Okay... he's definitely referring to me. I stop walking and turn around, tripping on my flip-flop in the process. One of the paper bags slips from my arms and falls to the gravel ground with food spilling out of the top of the bag.

  My cheeks flush red, matching the color of my hair, as I blush from embarrassment at being so clumsy.

  "You've got to keep steady hands, twinkle toes," Jagger mutters as he squats down in front of me. He collects the peanut butter, bread, and apples that have tumbled out of the brown paper bag. I stand completely still, not even attempting to pick up my mess. I notice a cigarette tucked behind his left ear, which only adds to his bad boy looks and reputation. When Jagger finishes collecting the food he stands back up, my grocery bag in one of his arms.

  "Thanks." It's all I can think of saying as I reach out to take the bag from him so I can continue my walk home and replay the mortification of tripping in front of him, but Jagger shakes his head and adjusts the bag in his arm. He reaches out to me and grabs the remaining bag from my other arm.

  Now he's carrying all of my groceries.

  "I've got these. I was headed back home anyway. I'll carry the bags and you can keep me company. It's an even trade," he says nonchalantly before walking in the direction of our trailer park.

  It's been two years since I've spoken a word to Jagger. I've actually only ever spoken to him that one time when he gave me twenty bucks to buy ballet slippers. I'm so busy with school and dance that I don’t have much free time to hang with the kids in the neighborhood and Jagger doesn't go to my school. I found out through a few conversations with Pearl, as I was fishing for information, that Jagger is home schooled. I've been able to see him a few times when I'm sitting on the steps of our trailer or when I'm walking into the trailer park and he's with his friends near the entrance. He never acknowledges me, so I don't say anything to him.

  For the time being it works for me. He ignores me and I'm able to play the fantasy in my head that when we're old enough he'll ask me out, we'll be high school sweethearts, and eventually we'll get married. We'll have two kids–a boy and a girl–and Jagger will treat me special and love me until the day he dies.

  But I can't live in my fantasy world today because right now he's paying attention to me and that doesn't fit into my lifelong plan.

  He's several yards ahead of me now so I jog behind him to catch up, the gravel under my feet crunching with every step. When I reach him, I slow down and walk in stride with his pace.

  "You don't have to carry my bags for me. I can handle them."

  Jagger gives me a sideways glance. "Sure you can, twinkle toes. That's why you could barely make it ten steps before adjusting the bags in your arms."

  One second I'm fawning over his chivalry and the next second I have an outburst. "I have a name, Jagger!"

  I don't know why his nickname for me is bothering me, but it is. I'm Ronnie and he's Jagger and he should know the name of his future girlfriend and mother of his children.

  "I know you do, ginger." He's somehow able to loosen his hand from one of the bags as he tugs on my braid. "But I like nicknames and you're twinkle toes to me. Think of it as a term of endearment."

  I tilt my head to get my hair out of his grip and we continue to walk home. The heat is beating down on us, damaging my porcelain skin. Redheads should not be in the sun for too long. I can feel my exposed skin burning, but I ignore it because I have more important things to focus on.

  Like the fact that I'm twinkle toes to Jagger. Like the fact that he's taken the time to give me a nickname, which must mean he's thought about me at some point.

  "What made you buy so much at the store? You had to have known it would be a pain in the ass carrying these home."

  The word ass rolls off his tongue like a part of his regular vocabulary. None of the kids my age cuss and when I try to cuss it sounds forced.

  Shrugging my shoulders I answer, "I was hungry. My stomach was doing all the thinking back there."

  "You've got no food in the house?"

  "Nope."

  "I know how that is. Lived most of my life that way, but lately things have turned around and I'm able to give my sister enough money to keep our pantry and cabinets full. If it ever happens again just swing by my trailer and I'll feed you."

  Great. Now I'm another person's charity case. There are a lot of people that I'd be willing to get help from, but I don't want to take the help from Jagger because it might make him look at me differently. I know Jagger can't possibly have a lot of money, but he lives in a doublewide and I'm in a single. That's a division of class in our neighborhood.

  I'm the poor folk.

  "Thanks, but we're doing okay. My sister works enough so that we don't starve."

  "What about your parents?" Jagger asks, but my parents are surprisingly an easy topic to talk about. Everyone in our trailer pa
rk comes from some kind of broken family. There's Betty, a single mother of five that works three jobs and is still forced to be on public aid. Then there's Roy, who was injured years ago at a factory job and can barely get out of bed so he's forced to stay on disability. We have hard working people in our trailer park but it never brings in enough income to give them a better life.

  The small town I live in is an hour south of Phoenix and has a population of a little more than a thousand. We all come from hard working families and broken families. My family story won't be a surprise to Jagger.

  "I never met my father and my sister never met her father. My mom died three years ago from cancer so now it's just my sister, Pearl, and me. There's a ten year age gap between us, so she's been raising me since she was eighteen."

  I turn to look at him, but he's squinting his eyes. His eyebrows are scrunched together and the fingers on his right hand are moving. "That makes you... eleven?" It comes out as more of a question than a statement.

  He's right about my age, but his math skills obviously suck.

  "Yep. And you're thirteen."

  "Hey! How do you know how old I am?"

  The answer to this is a lot more complicated than he could ever know. I've been harboring a secret love for him these past two years and in those two years I've tried to find out as much about him as I possibly can, which isn't much since no one in our community really talks to me and his family is something people don't really speak about. What I do know is Jagger is thirteen, he's homeschooled, his father was a drunk before he died several years back, and Jagger makes money by swindling it away from others.

  Instead of giving him this long answer, I tell a little white lie instead. "You told me how old you were when you gave me money two years ago."

  He tilts his head and smirks at me as we walk, his eyes dancing with curiosity. It's almost as if he knows I'm lying, but instead of calling me out on it he just says, "Oh, okay."

  We continue to walk, neither of us speaking anymore. As the silence between us grows I'm itching to fill it, but I can't think of anything to talk about other than the one thing I want to ask him.

  Is he dating Lola?

  His arm was on her and they were definitely flirting. They looked very comfortable with each other.

  I hate her. I don't really know her, but I hate her.

  Sweat starts to trickle down the spine of my back as the heat becomes unbearable. As we approach the entrance to our trailer park, I wonder if I should grab the bags from him and say goodbye.

  "What street are you on, twinkle toes?"

  "I live on Cedar."

  "I'm on Juniper."

  I know. Juniper is one street over from mine. He lives in the bright green doublewide trailer with a carport, big porch and sunroom. It's rundown on the outside, but still a lot nicer than mine.

  "Cool," I respond as we walk past the wooden sign welcoming us to our subdivision. We walk down Evergreen Road and pass Juniper right before hitting my street and making a left.

  "So is Lola your girlfriend?" I blurt out. I never planned on asking him, but I can't control my mouth. It seems to have a mind of its own.

  He glares at me, clearly disgusted. "God, no. Why?"

  "You seemed... like maybe you were together when I saw you in the parking lot at the convenience store."

  "You checking up on me, twinkle toes?"

  "No." I blush, my right hand meeting my left wrist to play with the pink and purple threaded friendship bracelet Monique gave me.

  "I don't do the girlfriend thing. Lola's... fun. We've fooled around a little, but she'll make out with anyone."

  "Oh," I mumble. I don't want to picture the two of them making out, especially since I've never even kissed a boy before.

  We reach my trailer and I'm suddenly aware of just how plain it is. The white siding is dirty, the windows are clean but old, and the seals that keep out the heat and cool air are broken. The small patch of grass surrounded by desert dirt is brown from not being watered, and the single slab of concrete where Pearl parks the car is filled with cracks. The only thing that makes our trailer stand out is the teal and silver wind chime that my mom's nurse gave us. It's an angel surrounded by different size teal chimes, and the teal represents ovarian cancer.

  It's beautiful but Pearl and I didn't really need a reminder of the devil that took our mom away from us.

  We walk up the concrete to the three wooden steps that lead to the screen door of my trailer. I open the screen and then unlock the main door before swinging it open and gesturing for Jagger to come in.

  "Naw, I'm good," he says as he places the paper bags down on the landing in front of the door. "I should get going."

  He starts to leave and I shout, "Wait!"

  Jagger turns to face me. His eyes grow wide and his eyebrows lift in question. I'm startled by just how beautiful he is. His face is perfectly symmetric, his long hair giving him just the right amount of bad boy edge, and his different colored eyes make him unique. I don't know if I like his blue eye or brown eye more.

  "Did you need something, twinkle toes?" He takes the cigarette out from behind his ear and then reaches into his front pocket, pulling out a lighter. He places the filter between his lips and then lifts the lighter to the other end, lighting the cigarette while his other hand comes up to cup the flame. I watch as he inhales deeply before blowing out a cloud of white smoke.

  I know smoking is bad for you and causes cancer, and I should care about that, I really should, but I can't help thinking how hot he looks right now.

  He grins at me before chuckling under his breath. "You shouldn't stare."

  His words snap me out of my trance. "Yeah, um, I just thought maybe you were hungry. I'm going to make myself a grilled cheese and I can make you one, too, if you want."

  He takes another drag before answering. "You don't have to. I have plenty to eat at home and I've got somewhere to be."

  "It'll only take me a few minutes. You can take it to go if you want."

  I can see him debating it before he answers. "Okay. But I'm going to stay out here to finish my smoke."

  I smile widely at him, unable to contain the giddiness inside me that he's staying for a few more minutes. "I'll be back out with your sandwich."

  I rush inside and place the bags on the countertop before digging through them to find the bread, cheese and butter.

  I grab the one and only frying pan we have from the cabinet next to the stove and place it on the burner, lighting up the stove and thanking the heavens above that our gas wasn't shut off by the heating company.

  It happens more often than you would think.

  The butter softened during the walk home so I'm able to spread it on four slices of bread easily before placing two pieces of the bread on the frying pan with the butter side facing down. I grab four slices of cheese and the other two slices of bread and finish making the sandwich on the frying pan. A minute or two later, one side of each sandwich is ready so I flip both sandwiches over to brown the other side. When the grilled cheese is complete, I turn the burner off before grabbing each sandwich and wrapping them in a paper towel.

  Pearl would kill me if she knew I was giving our food away, but she's not here and I know Jagger will never see her to tell her.

  I walk through the kitchen and using my shoulder I open the screen door that leads to the outside. Jagger's just flicked the filter to his cigarette onto the street. He sees me and grins before walking over my way.

  "Here you go." I reach out to hand him his grilled cheese and then sit down on the top step that leads to my door. Jagger surprises me by sitting down next to me and opening the paper towel. His hands play with the sandwich as his eyes appraise it and then he brings it to his mouth to take a bite.

  I'm suddenly not hungry anymore. I'm too worried about what Jagger thinks about my cooking. I turn to face him, bending my knee and resting my left leg on the step as my right leg hangs down and my foot lands flat on the concrete. His jaw is solid and
strong as he chews the bite and then swallows. He looks over at me from the corner of his eye and grins again.

  "This is really good, twinkle toes." He takes one bite after another. Before I've even tasted my sandwich he's done with his and stands up on the steps. "Thanks for the meal. I'll have to feed you one day so we're even."

  "Oh, no. You don't have to feed me. I'm not keeping tabs."

  Jagger's face hardens as his next words spill out of his mouth. "Nothing in life is free. You'll learn that soon enough, twinkle toes."

  I stand up. My baggy shorts falling down my waist but he doesn't seem to notice since my blouse is so big it covers my hips. I step down onto the concrete and ask, "So does that mean I owe you twenty bucks?"

  He digs his hands in the front pockets of his jeans as his face softens. "No, twinkle toes. That was a gift. One day when you're a rich and famous dancer I'll be able to say I bought you a pair of ballet shoes once."

  "I'm not good enough to be a professional dancer."

  He takes a few steps closer until he is standing right in front of me. I'm looking solemnly down at my feet as his right hand leaves his pocket. His thumb and index finger touch my chin, lifting my face until my eyes are level with his.

  "Maybe you're not good enough yet, but you will be. I see you. I know you spend almost every day at that fancy dance academy. I know you love dance and it's obviously an escape for you. Keep it up. Don't let anyone stop you, and one day you'll be good enough to go pro. You're so much better than this trailer park. Don't let anything stop you from getting out of here."

  My lips part as I take his words in and before I can respond he's gone. His hand leaves my face and he turns away from me, walking away without even a backwards glance. I watch him until he makes a right onto Evergreen and disappears from my view.

  He knows more about me than I thought he did. He's seen me coming home from dance every night and he made the correct assumption. Dance is an escape for me.

  I want him to be right. I want to be better than this trailer park, better than this small town. I want to see my name in lights. I want to be one of the best dancers this world has ever seen, but I also want Jagger.