The Con (5 page)

Jagger pulls away slightly. One of his hands
comes up to my face and he places a finger on my lower lip. "Loosen
up, twinkle toes. Part your lips and just go with it. I want to see
what you taste like."

His finger slides away from my mouth and
then his lips meet mine again. This time we move together, our lips
fitting perfectly with each other. His kiss is soft and I feel his
tongue graze my bottom lip before tracing my top lip. I open my
mouth allowing his tongue to tangle with mine, and it's everything
I imagined it would be.

He doesn't take it any further. The only
parts of our bodies that touch are our mouths and when the kiss is
over I know I'll never be the same.

Jagger's sparked something inside me that
can only be tamed by him.

It was the best first kiss in the history of
all first kisses and I know I'm going to crave more.

Two years later

I run down to the mailbox to greet the
mailman at his vehicle. I've been doing this for the last three
weeks, but so far it hasn't come.

"Got anything for me today, Henry?"

He doesn't answer and hands me two small
pieces of mail. One's the water bill and the other is Pearl's cell
phone bill. I'm disappointed that I still haven’t heard anything
yet, but I smile at Henry. "Thanks anyway. See you tomorrow."

I start to walk away when Henry says, "Oh, I
forgot this."

In his hand is a legal size manila envelope.
He smiles and hands it over. It's addressed to me and the return
address is the Performing Arts school I applied to. It's the same
high school Monique goes to and Felicity gave me a terrific letter
of recommendation. I performed for them a month ago and have been
waiting for this letter from them ever since.

What's in this envelope will either lead to
the start of my dancing future, or crush my dreams of ever making
it in this industry.

Henry wishes me luck and then drives to the
next house, but I stay standing at the end of my small driveway,
staring at the envelope.

I've been dying for this to come the past
several weeks, needing an answer, but now that it's in my hands I'm
afraid to open it.

I don't know how long I stand there like a
statue, but when the envelope is ripped out of my hands I look up
and am assaulted by the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. Eyes I
haven't seen in a long time.

His hair is long again, but pulled back in a
man bun. He has a cigarette behind his ear and he's wearing an Al's
Mechanics t-shirt, jeans, and black boots. His lips are pink and
parted and I instantly think of those few minutes we spent together
in his bedroom.

I got to kiss those lips once.

After our brief make-out session two years
ago, I bolted out of his house faster than a cop drives to a donut
shop.

Was running away immature? Yes, but I was
only twelve so of course a part of me was immature. I've wanted to
speak to Jagger so many times since then, but I've never had the
chance. We've never crossed paths.

Now he's in front of me, holding the
envelope that will tell me what my future has in store, and all I
can think about is how badly I want to kiss him again.

"What's in the envelope, twinkle toes?" He's
watching me. His eyes drag down my body and then slowly trail back
up. I know he's seeing the difference two years can make.

I'm taller now. Not too tall but a decent
size of five-eight. I'm slim, and my body is toned from all of the
dancing, but I have just the right amount of curves. I'm wearing my
sister's old clothing that finally fits–short denim shorts that
show off my long, toned legs and a fitted black tank that lets him
see the swell of my chest. I'm a full B-cup now but for a few days
every month my boobs are big enough to wear a C-cup.

When his eyes finally meet mine I answer,
"That envelope contains my future."

He looks back down at it, playing with the
thin paper. "This holds your future?"

"Yes," I say a little less confidently.

His hands trace over the return address
before he looks back at me and hands me the envelope. "Well, open
it. Let's see what your future looks like."

I play with the seal. "I'm not sure I can.
I'm nervous, you know?"

"There's nothing to be nervous about,
twinkle toes. The answer is going to be the same whether you open
that letter now, or a week from now. Hell. You don't ever have to
open that letter, because that letter doesn't dictate your future.
Only you can do that, and if it turns out not to be the news you
wanted to hear, then you'll just work harder and get in somewhere
else."

He's wrong on so many levels. I want to go
to college. I want to dance for the best dance company in New York
City. I want to make a career on stage and get the best education
while doing it. This envelope does dictate my future, but his words
also comfort me and give me the courage to rip the seal and pull
out the papers inside. I take a deep breath and start to read,
mumbling the words under my breath.

"Dear Miss Greenwood... We're excited to
inform you..." My eyes follow the words as I finish reading the
letter. I look up at Jagger and he watches me with
anticipation.

"I got in," I say quietly, not quite
believing what I've just read. Not only did I get in, but they are
also offering me a full scholarship as long as I stay in the dance
program. They see real potential in me.

I look back down at the letter before
looking at Jagger again. He has a wide grin plastered across his
face and I can’t help but smile with him. "I got in!" I shout this
time.

Without thinking I jump into him, his arms
coming out to wrap around my body in a hug. We embrace, me jumping
up and down while Jagger holds on to me.

I can’t believe I got in.

Once I've calmed down I realize I’ve just
attacked him, but my body seems to only notice his proximity to me.
My breathing becomes shallow as my nipples harden, so I pull away
and take a step back, tucking my long hair behind my ears. "Sorry.
I didn't mean to jump on you like that."

"Nothing to be sorry about. You were excited
about getting in and I'll never complain about being groped by a
pretty girl." He winks.

Jagger takes the cigarette out from behind
his ear and lights it up, taking a slow drag as he watches me. My
eyes wander over his body again and then my eyes focus on his
shirt

"Do you work at Al's?"

He lifts the cigarette to his lips, taking
another drag before exhaling his answer. "Just for today."

"And where do you work tomorrow?"

"You're cute, you know that?"

"And you're evading my question." Crossing
my arms over my chest, I tilt my hip out and wait for his
response.

"I'm working on a job. The shirt is all a
part of... the story."

"So you're working a con." I may not be a
big part of the gossip in this community, but I've heard the
rumors. Jagger is the sole breadwinner in his house. After his dad
died he was left alone with his pregnant sister, and now Jagger
provides for him, his sister, and his nephew.

"I consider myself more of an opportunist,"
he replies.

"Yeah? How much is this... opportunity...
going to make you?"

He watches me skeptically before answering.
"Four figures, and that's the last I'm going to say about this. I
shouldn't be corrupting your innocent mind. You need to forget all
about this conversation and focus on your good news. You're going
to go far, twinkle toes."

"How can you be so sure? You've never even
seen me dance."

"It's like I've told you before, you were
made for better things than this dump of a town. Don't let anything
hold you back."

As he finishes talking, a truck pulls up
with an Al's Mechanics decal on the side. The passenger side window
rolls down and a guy I've seen around is sitting in the driver's
seat, but I don’t know his name.

"You ready to go, Ace?"

Jagger takes one last drag of his cigarette
before tossing it on the ground.

"One sec, Angelo." He takes two steps over
to me and surprises me by wrapping his arms around me and giving me
a hug. His lips brush against the top of my head and I close my
eyes. I want to remember how good it feels to be in his arms, but
almost immediately the comfort of his arms is gone and I feel
empty.

"See ya later, twinkle toes."

He opens the passenger door and hops in the
truck, and then they drive away, the tires squealing as Jagger
disappears down the road.

Chapter Five

One year later

My eyes are swollen and puffy, and burn from
crying the entire drive home. When Monique pulls into my driveway I
quickly open the passenger door, grabbing my school bag filled with
broken dreams, and I hop out.

"Thanks for the ride."

"Ronnie, do you want me to stay? We can buy
some ice cream and rent cheesy movies. I want to be here for
you."

I know she means well and I know that she
wants to help. Monique has been my best friend ever since I started
dancing six years ago at her mother's studio. She's a little older
than me and up until today our futures mirrored each other.

But now we're no longer on the same
path.

Six months ago, halfway into my freshman
year at the best Performing Arts high school in Arizona, I suffered
a career ending injury; I just didn't know that at the time. I was
working on a piece with my male dance partner. Things were going
great and I knew we had come up with a great dance together, but
then he dropped me. I landed hard on my ankle right before he fell
on top of it, making the damage worse.

It completely shattered.

I had to have surgery–pins placed in my
ankle. I've been going to physical therapy ever since and forced to
watch the dancers in my class from the sidelines. I knew the road
to recovery would be long and grueling, but I was willing to do
it–to fight my way back to the top.

But the last six months of hard and grueling
work has been for nothing.

Today I met with my team of doctors, which
my school graciously paid for since the injury happened there. Then
I had a meeting with the board at my school.

The first string of bad news came from my
team of doctors. I can't put any extra weight or strain on my
ankle, and I especially can't go up on my pointe shoes. My ankle's
too weak. I need to continue with physical therapy, but I'll most
likely never be able to dance ballet again.

Then came the rest of the bad news. The news
that had me bawling like a baby the entire ride home. When I met
with the board at my school of the Performing Arts, I was informed
I lost my scholarship. Even if I persevered through these injuries
and was able to dance again, I would no longer be able to dance on
scholarship there. They were apologetic but firm. They need to open
my scholarship up to someone who has a bright future ahead of them
in the dance world, and I no longer did.

"I'm good, Monique. I need to be by myself
right now, but I'll call you tomorrow."

I shut the door to her Saab, a sweet sixteen
present from her parents, and walk around the front of her car and
up the three steps that lead to my front door. In the dusk light I
wave to her before opening the front door to my trailer and walking
in.

Leah is waiting for me, sprawled out against
the sofa in my living room.

"It's about time. You texted me over an hour
ago."

"It's an hour drive from Phoenix to here. I
couldn't get home any faster." I drop my bag down in the doorway
and walk over to where Leah is laying on my couch. She sits up,
while I walk over to her with a slight hobble. It's hard to notice
my limp unless you're looking for it.

Leah's bleach blond hair is pulled back in a
high ponytail, her dark roots peeking out the front. She has in big
gold hoop earrings and her face is all done up in heavily perfected
make-up. She's wearing a black mini skirt and a tight tube top that
barely covers her breasts. She's short, curvy, and sassy so her
outfit matches her personality.

Although I had seen Leah from time to time
over the years, we didn't become friends until after my ballet
injury. The last six months I've spent a lot of time at home and
Leah has become a fast and convenient friend. She's lived in the
Evergreen's since she was born and attends the local high school.
The high school I'll be attending in the fall now that I lost my
scholarship.

I plop down next to her on the sofa,
prepared to spend the night going over where my life went wrong
when Leah asks, "Want to go to a party?"

I hate admitting this since it's a right of
passage for most kids when they enter high school, but I've never
been to a party before. I've never had the time, but suddenly the
thought of ignoring the real world and having some fun for a night
sounds really good. Like, really good. I'm fifteen years old. It's
about time I go to a party.

"Where?"

"Angelo's place. It's going to be huge–kegs,
music, deejay, food. He even paid Old Man Griff to turn his hearing
aid off for the night."

I don't know who Old Man Griff is, but
that's not all that surprising.

"What's the occasion?"

"He just made a shit load of money thanks to
Jagger. That's all I know."

Heat crawls up the skin of my neck just at
the sound of his name.

Jagger.

Everything always seems to circle back to
Jagger.

Maybe he'll be at the party. Angelo's the
guy who drove him away from me after I opened my acceptance letter
last year. The two of them were off to make some money then, and
they're obviously still doing very well for themselves now.

"All right," I agree and stand up from the
sofa. "I just need a second to get ready. I plan on drinking my
problems away tonight."