The Con (2 page)

"Can't say I understand why you'd want to
wear those things, but if they're ruined I suggest you go buy a new
pair. Problem solved." He smirks at me before dropping his hand
from my back and standing up beside me. I grip my ballet slippers
in my left hand and stand up as well.

"It's not that easy. They were a gift. I
can't afford a new pair."

The strange boy watches me intensely,
squinting his eyebrows together and I notice the fresh scab above
his left eyebrow. He also has a faint bruise on his chin. Was he in
a fight?

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a
wad of cash.

Wow. My eyes grow huge as I look at the
bundle of cash. I've never seen so much money before. What's he
doing with all that money?

He unrolls the cash and pulls a
twenty-dollar bill out of the middle of the stack before rolling
the remaining cash back up and stuffing it down the front pocket of
his jeans.

"Here," he says, handing me the
twenty-dollar bill. I grab it with my free hand and look it over.
"Go to Kenny's Shoes in the strip mall on Pine. Tell him Jagger
sent you and let him know you need ballet shoes. He'll take care of
you."

"I can't take your money." He's being very
sweet and I like him already, but my sister and mother taught me
never to take anything from a man for free. Pearl says boys have
hidden agendas, but I'm not sure what that means.

"Sure you can, twinkle toes." He reaches
over and places his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it softly. His
touch makes my tummy feel funny, like one hundred butterflies were
released in my stomach and are flying around, looking to escape.
"Twenty dollars is a small price to pay to put a smile on your
face. Now go home and tomorrow stop by Kenny's Shoes. I promise
he'll get you what you need."

He doesn't wait for my response as he turns
around and I watch his back as he jogs over to a group of boys who
are sitting on top of one of the picnic benches. They were watching
us. I recognize a few of them from my school, but I don't recognize
Jagger. I've never seen him at school before, but I know I'll be
looking around for him from now on. Most boys tease me and make fun
of my red hair and freckles. Jagger didn't tease me at all. He's
the nicest boy I've ever met.

The biggest smile spreads across my face as
I start walking home before they can notice me staring. I clasp the
twenty tightly in my hand. I've never held this much money before.
It scares me a little. What scares me even more is that Jagger gave
it to me like it was nothing. He must be rich.

After closing the screen door of our
singlewide trailer behind me, I make myself a peanut butter and
jelly sandwich before walking down the narrow hallway of the
trailer and into my small bedroom to go to bed, looking forward to
getting my new pair of ballet slippers tomorrow. Jagger promised me
Kenny would take care of me and I believe him.

I couldn't know it now, but this would be
the first of many promises Jagger would make me.

Chapter Two

Two years later

Walking out the automatic doors of our small
town's convenience store, I'm dreading my mile walk home in this
desert heat. It's the middle of July in Arizona, which means
everyone is looking for a place to cool off, including me. The air
conditioning pumping through the store felt cool against my skin
and I wish I could feel it all the time, but our small trailer
doesn't have AC because Pearl says we can't afford it.

The heat is dreadful. That's why I look
forward to my long drive to dance every day in Ms. Louis's car. She
has working air conditioning.

After dance class last night I came home to
a hot trailer and an empty fridge and cabinets, finding only a can
of tuna and stale crackers to satiate my empty stomach. This
morning was no better but I was too tired from dance, and too hot
from the heat to even think about walking all the way to the store.
By mid-afternoon I changed my mind.

I was growing weak from hunger.

So I took the thirty bucks Pearl left for me
to shop with and hiked the fifteen minute walk to the convenience
store. The walk felt more like an hour in this heat. With trailers
on my left and the open desert on my right, I walked on the gravel
of the single lane road that brings me from my house to the store,
and hummed the music to my new ballet solo in my head. My solo is
to Round Here by The Counting Crows. My dance instructor likes
dancing to contemporary music, just as much as she likes classical
music.

I've been dancing for a few years now and
I've been able to keep my scholarship. The studio owner says I've
been given a natural God-given gift. I dance there almost every day
and I'm even a part of their dance company–the cost of which I
would never be able to pay but the owner, Felicity, covers it all.
I dance with three other girls, one of them being Felicity's
daughter, Monique. Monique has quickly become one of my best
friends, but we never get to see each other outside of dance class
because of the distance. She lives far away in Paradise Valley,
which is a gated community in Arizona. It totally sucks that she
lives so far away because the kids in the trailer park give me such
a hard time, so I don't have any friends here.

They call me RBI, which stands for Rich
Bitch in Training.

I'd correct them and let them know that
technically that's RBT, but that would give them another reason to
tease me so I leave it alone. They obviously know nothing about me
because there's no way in hell I'll ever be rich. I was destined
for the trailer park life; I just get to live a fantasy life every
night from five to eight. Those three hours of dance I can pretend
I'm like all the other girls at the studio whose parents can
actually afford to pay the tuition.

I hold both of the paper bags filled with
groceries tightly to my chest and walk across the mostly deserted
parking lot of the convenience store so I can begin my trek home.
I'm struggling with both bags, but I was so hungry in the store
that I made sure to spend every bit of the thirty dollars Pearl
left me.

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."