Trailer Park Princess (2 page)

I wipe my sweaty palms down my shorts while I sit and wait for Toby to show up. I’m sitting at the same booth where he left the letter, drinking my employee discounted soda and thinking about how long it took for today to get here. I had the hardest time taking that history test yesterday, but I aced it like always. It just took a little longer than usual. I was distracted. And now, here I am, watching the window like Spider-Man is going to come swinging up. Well, maybe not Spider-Man, but my very own superhero is going to come driving up any minute. It is now
 2:07, and I’m starting to get nervous. What if it was a joke? I hadn’t seen Toby at school, but I never did because his being a grade above me put him in a different hall. I watch the hands on the clock above the register tick by way too slow. The tick…tick…tick is getting louder and louder, and the world around me is drowning out like it tends to do a lot when I space out. When Toby speaks, I about jump right out of my skin.

“Aurora, I’m so sorry. I swear I did not mean to be fifteen minutes late. My mom was being, well…herself. She's so nosey." I give him a shy smile. I can’t be mad at a guy with a face like that.

“It’s no biggie. I’m not done with my root beer yet anyways." I go to shake my cup and stick my straw in my mouth, only to find I’m slurping because actually I was done. My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline, and I burst out laughing. "OK, maybe I am. Where’re we headed?” He pushes me through the door, and I smile when I hear the bell ding. I’m not sure why, but I love the sound. It's a reminder, I think, like time to start over, since when I hear it I start with a new customer.

A
fter about ten minutes in the truck, which included a four-minute wait at crosstown for that stupid, annoying train, we were sitting at a locally owned BBQ place. Elrod’s is famous for its Gator Taters and pulled pork. I hate to admit it, but I have been dying to try this place since Mando told me about it. It’s not something I can afford, so I had silently hoped it was something that would end up as scraps in her grandmother’s fridge at some point, and I could try it then.

Toby is the sweetest thing ever. He is sitting across from me downing his sweet tea, the same thing I ordered. We chat while we wait for our food.

"I hope you didn’t mind an afternoon date. I have a thing tonight I couldn’t get out of. I wanted to spend some time with you, but after I ran into you, I couldn’t seem to find you. I didn’t even know your name. I mean, it seriously took me days to figure out who you even were. It was like you were a ghost or something.”

I was not sure whether to say anything. Was he done?

“Um, yeah, it’s cool. I, uh, I’m for sure, not a ghost. I haven’t been here long, so no one knows me except Amandolette. I’m a fly on the wall to everyone else.”

He stares at me with those gorgeous eyes. Ugh, I want to touch his smooth face. He looks so soft.

“That is where you are wrong, Aurora. Every guy in the school knows who you are. They just do not know what to call you. And being the douchebag teachers’ kids they are, they won’t ever even speak to you because they are too worried about their social status.”

I’m not offended. I knew this much. “Well, Tobias, then why are you talking to me?” I can’t help but ask. When the waitress shows up with our food, I figure he will take the out and ignore the question, but as soon as the waitress is gone, he simply states, “My mom’s not a teacher." A Cheshire cat grin spreads across his face.
OMG he has dimples; someone alert the media!
I just melted.

The rest of the date goes well. He tells me about his mom being in a ladies' church group that pretty much takes care of everyone and everything. He adores her. I’m instantly jealous. I can’t help it. I want him to adore me, too.

His dad is a fantastic lawyer who travels a lot, but from the way he talks, I assume his dad adores his wife, Mrs. West, the same as Tobias. He makes it clear that I can call him Toby like everyone else. He says he isn’t sure why he called himself by his given name when he plowed me down at school that day. We laugh, exchange numbers, and promise each other more dates. School is out in two weeks, and outside of football camp, he will be free any day I don’t have to work.

Toby ends up coming to the diner a lot, always alone, until summer hits. He shows me how to text, which I was surprised to find out was free. Not sure how that actually works on my pay-as-you-go phone, but I guess it’s being a disability, government-issued phone could have had something to do with it. My mom is not disabled, just a stupid drunk, but somehow she convinced the system she was crazy so she could get a check. Well, actually…she may be crazy now that I think about it. She got this phone through an assistance program, but I keep it on me because Thax is more important than she is. If he needs me, I want him to be able to reach me. She won’t do anything out of her way for her only son, so someone has to. Besides, I have a job, and I’m the one who adds minutes to it when needed.

The phone is hideous, but it serves its purpose. It looks like it was designed for the handicapped program, seriously, or the assisted living. It has huge numbers like those Jitterbug phones. It’s hard to text from it because it’s an old school system, as Toby calls it. Heck, it’s not old to me; it’s the only system I’ve ever known. I have to hit the “2” three times to get a “C" to pop up, wait a second, and then hit the next one. But it works, and Toby texts me A LOT.  

Toby and I also spend a lot of time sitting in his truck in the diner parking lot and talking, sometimes accidentally touching hands. Then, one day he decides he wants to drop me off at home instead of our normal routine of him leaving me and letting me walk the few blocks to the park. I don’t like the idea, but he already knows I’m not from his side of the tracks. Literally, I live east, in the slums, and he lives west, in the beautiful gated community of Spring Lake. Which by gated, I mean, huge black wrought iron gate, with a guard to keep the riffraff like me out.
 I’m nervous to let him see my castle, but I know if we are going to go any further with this summer fling, it is inevitable. Reluctantly, I agreed.  It’s a short ride, but better than killing my feet. My used up All Star sneakers can’t take much more of this. Thrift store here I come!

Toby taking me home happens a few more times. Then one day Toby smiles but is serious when he says, "One day, Rory, I’m taking you away from this, but until then, I refuse to stop. It's just a passing through kind of thing. So when I come, be ready. I will keep driving, and you gotta jump!” I about die laughing.

“Seriously, Toby, I’ll eat gravel if I try to jump into this monster truck while it's moving.” He loses the smile.

“Rory, I’m serious, and I want you to be to. We are not stopping here. It’s just a pass by kind of thing."
 I get out, and I can tell he is serious. As I stand watching him drive off, he taps his brakes like always, letting me know he is watching me. I smile and walk inside. Does he think I’m a pass by kind of thing, or is he talking about this place? I quickly scold myself for even thinking it. Toby meant the park; otherwise, he wouldn’t even drive through here. He is getting serious fast, and actually, I like it.

And that gets me back to where I started this story.
 

Almost a month of summer has passed, and Toby and I spend every day together, work or not. He does not even seem fazed by my random nervous rambling. Every day he flies down the gravel road, and I wait by the box. When I see him coming, he slows down to almost a crawl but never stops, and in I jump.

Ball Camp sucks! He stays at camp all day, and I rarely work the day shift; it’s for the older ladies. I still have my afterschool schedule, unless I’m called in, so the one week in June and July that he has a camp, I miss him like crazy.

His truck is blaring the new Bruno Mars CD, which he bought because he knew it was my favorite guy ever. He did not like it at first, but it grew on him, just like I did, ha. Today is Starbucks day. We do the same thing every day of the week, but every day is different. We have it mapped. Toby is the guy who always has a plan, and today is one of my favorite days: coffee and music day. We grab the Starbucks coffee of our choice for the day, head out to the field, and just lay in the bed of his truck listening to his iPod. We decide whom we like, make jokes about who will sing at our wedding, and what songs we will play to dance to. Once, when it was getting late, Toby pulled me up, and we danced right there in the bed of his truck to Bruno’s “When I Was Your Man." I shed a tear when Toby leaned down and told me he loved me. Just six weeks I have known him, and he cares more about me than my own mother ever has. He dipped me back like they do in the movies, and I blurted out, “Oh, Toby, I love you, too." His lips were on mine in 2.2 milliseconds.

Monday officially became my favorite day of the week after that. Since it follows the worst day, it works. Sundays are the worst. I rarely see Toby. He has church, a family lunch, and then whatever his mother signs him up for at the church. A few times he’s stopped by the diner to get a milkshake, but it was an in-and-out kind of order. Two to three minutes tops, and then he'd go running out the door. I’m pretty sure his mother has no clue who I am. Once, I saw her shooting daggers at me through the glass while Toby stood there unaware because he was too fixated on me. The bitch does not have to stare at me; I haven’t done anything to her. I just smiled real big and pulled my eyes back to Toby, handing him a napkin and wiping the milkshake off his nose from where he ate the cherry and I put too much in his cup, as always. Yep, she hates me! Hmm, that’s odd; she seems to have made up her mind already. And here I thought she would give me a chance first, being the Godly woman she is and all.  Oh well, I will love her from afar, even if she looks like she is praying for God to make me get a paper cut. Judgmental Christian, that is what I was always told, so I assume she will grade me the toughest. My job is to love Toby; her job is to love Toby. It’s one thing we have in common. But I bet my lucky rubber Justin Beiber bracelet she would argue that she loves him more. I’d get to keep my bracelet, because I know, for a fact, it can’t be true. She has that love because she is his mother. He was born with her loving him. She would have loved any child she had, but me, I choose to love Toby. I want to love him. I would have loved him no matter who his mom was. That makes me the winner. All I heard as he left was a quick, "Bye, baby,” And then he was gone. But oh well, I just moved past it. Monday is here, and life is good.

The castle is dark when I get home. Carol's M.I.A. and Thax is at a friend’s again, per the text I got earlier in the day. Sometimes I wish Toby would stop and stay awhile. He has never even seen my room. Refusing to stop poses a problem. Then again, being here with him alone would be rough. We have a hard enough time keeping it PG-13 as it is. I mean, we are eighteen, well he is, but he s
eems to want to wait, and I’m OK with that. I should be; it's the best thing to do for myself. Tomorrow is Tuesday, a few hours until his curfew. However, I’ll take what I can get
.

The rest of the week passes much the same as Monday: a few hours with Toby and then back to the lonely dark tower of doom. Toby saves me every day, and then he brings me back. I can’t help but daydream about the day he doesn’t, and that the day will come. My granny always said, “Rory, baby, you are a dreamer,” and if she was here now, I would tell her it’s because when you live a nightmare you have to dream, or you will never make it. I never told her the things I endured at home. She tried to shield us as much as she could, but she just never knew the full story. She might have beat Carol to death had she known. I could not ever let her know because she would have considered herself a failure, and that was not the case. She is whom I dream about now. Her and Toby. Without them to keep me strong, I would be lost, and where would that leave Thax? He is a great kid, really; he just has a shitty role model. I remember, about a year ago, an inebriated, pissed off Carol caught him smoking a cigarette he stole from her, and she was so mad. Not about him smoking, but for taking hers. She snatched it away from him and put it out on the top of his right hand. He still has the scar. That was the first time I ever wanted to beat her down, honestly. She’s treated me like crap my whole life, but Thax
, he is a baby, and he might as well be mine. When I heard him scream, I ran to him, but not in time. She was already screaming at him, spitting in his face, and still had that butt buried in his hand. I could smell his skin burning. I pushed her so hard she stumbled and fell. She was wild-eyed and crazed, but I imagine the look on my face was worse because I all said was, “Stay down,” and she did not dare move a muscle. Sometimes I wish she had. I needed a release then. I had to deal with a terrified child alone, being a child myself. It’s not fair.