The Con (3 page)

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 park 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.

He might not believe it yet, but he's better
than this trailer park, too, and when I'm old enough to leave it
I'm taking him with me.

One year later

It's another roasting summer in Arizona. I'm
a year older, wiser, and my curves have started to fill out since I
"became a woman" six months ago. A part of me is happy that I
finally have small boobs and some hips to compete with the other
girls at my school, but another part of me wishes I stayed flat
chested and bony. It's the perfect ballet body.

This past year my time has been filled with
school and dance. Every free moment I have I'm at the studio
perfecting my craft. At night before bed is the only time I allow
myself to spend pining after Jagger. I've only seen him in passing
twice since he walked me home from the convenience store last
summer, and each time I studied him like I was studying for an
exam, wanting to remember every detailed inch of him, but I made
sure he never saw me.

Today I'm hoping that will be different.

My dance studio has been shut down for the
past four days and won't re-open for another week. Felicity, my
dance teacher and owner of the studio, took Monique and the rest of
her family on a ten-day cruise of the Caribbean. While they're
sitting on the beach having fruity drinks and swimming in the
ocean, I'm stuck here and trying to find ways for the time to pass
quickly.

After pouring a glass of tap water, I grab
my copy of Forever by Judy Blume and walk through the screen door
of my trailer, sitting down on the wood steps and looking out at
the other homes in the trailer park. The street is quiet with not
much going on. Most people don't like to be out during the day in
the summer heat.

I'm barefoot, wearing my sister's old white
sundress that's cut low and highlights my pale skin. I've lathered
my skin in SPF 50, like I do every day so my creamy white skin
won't burn and more freckles won't appear. Whenever the sun hits my
skin and it's unprotected, I swear ten new brown freckled spots
appear.

Setting my glass of water down, my hands
glide across my paperback and I open it to one of my favorite parts
of the book. It's a dirty part, something I'm sure my mother would
never let me read if she were still around, but I love the explicit
parts of the books. It's why Forever is my favorite book and Judy
Blume is my favorite author.

Sex and love are still relatively new topics
for me, and I'm nowhere near ready to experience sex myself, but
it's fun to read about what lies ahead for me.