Tricks

Tricks

Ellen Hopkins

This book is dedicated to the fine members of law enforcement, social work, and the judiciary who truly care about young people forced to walk the streets in search of simple sustenance. With a major nod to Randy Sutton of the Las Vegas P.D., Judge William Voy, and Children of the Night.

* * *

Special thanks must also go to three amazing friends, exceptional writers Susan Hart Lindquist, Jim Averbeck, and Suzanne Morgan Williams, who push me to reach ever deeper for the very best stories I'm capable of writing. This book is better because of them. And my life is better because they are in it.

tricks

A Poem by Eden Streit
Eyes Tell Stories

But do they know how to craft fiction? Do

they know how to spin

lies?

His eyes swear forever, flatter with vows of only

me. But are they empty

promises?

I stare into his eyes, as into a crystal ball, but

I cannot find forever, only

movies of yesterday, a sketchbook of today, dreams of a shared

tomorrow.

His eyes whisper secrets.

But are they truths or fairy tales?

I wonder if even he knows.

2

Eden Some People

Never find the right kind of love.

You know, the kind that steals

*

your breath away, like diving into snowmelt.

The kind that jolts your heart,

*

sets it beating apace, an anxious

hiccuping of hummingbird wings.

*

The kind that makes every terrible

minute apart feel like hours. Days.

*

Some people flit from one possibility to the next, never experiencing the incredible

*

connection of two people, rocked by destiny.

Never knowing what it means to love

*

someone else more than themselves.

More than life itself, or the promise

*

of something better, beyond this world.

More, even (forgive me!) than God.

*

Lucky me. I found the right kind of love.

With the wrong person.

3

Not Wrong for Me

No, not at all. Andrew is pretty much

perfect. Not gorgeous, not in a male

*

model kind of way, but he is really cute, with crazy hair that sometimes hides

*

his eyes, dark chocolate eyes that hold

laughter, even when he's deadly serious.

*

He's not a hunk, but toned, and tall enough to effortlessly tuck me under his arms,

*

arms that are gentle but strong from honest

ranch work, arms that make me feel

*

safe when they gather me in. It's the only

time I really feel wanted, and the absolute

*

best part of any day is when I manage to steal cherished time with Andrew.

*

No, he's not even a little wrong for me except maybe--maybe!--in the eyes

*

of God. But much, much worse than that, he's completely wrong for my parents.

4

See, My Papa

Is a hellfire-and-brimstone-preachin,

Assembly of God minister, and Mama

*

is his not-nearly-as-sweet-as-she-seems

right-hand woman, and by almighty God,

*

their daughters (that's me, Eden, and my

little sister, Eve--yeah, no pressure at all)

*

will toe the Pentecostal line. Sometimes

Eve and I even pretend to talk in tongues,

*

just to keep them believing we're heaven-

bound, despite the fact that we go to public school

*

(Mama's too lazy to homeschool) and come

face-to-face with the unsaved every day.

*

But anyway, my father and mother maintain

certain expectations when

*

it comes to their daughters' all-too-human

future plans and desires.

*

Papa:
Our daughters will find

husbands within their faith.

*

Mama:
Our daughters will not

date until they're ready to marry.

5

You Get My Dilemma

I'm definitely not ready to marry, so I can't risk letting them know

*

I'm already dating, let alone dating a guy who isn't born-again, and even

*

worse, doesn't believe he needs to be.

Andrew is spiritual, yes. But religious?

*

Religion is for followers,
he told

me once.
Followers and puppets.

*

At my stricken look, he became not

quite apologetic.
Sorry. But I don't

*

need some money-grubbing preacher

defining my relationship with God.

*

At the time, I was only half in love with Andrew and thought I needed

*

definitions. "What, exactly,
is
your

relationship with our Heavenly Father?"

*

He gently touched my cheek, smiled.

First off, I don't think God is a guy

*

Some Old Testament--writing fart

made that up to keep his old lady

6

in line.
He paused, then added,
Why

would God need a pecker, anyway?

*

Yes, he enjoyed the horrified look in my face. More laughter settled

*

into those amazing eyes, creasing

them at the corners. So sexy!

*

Anyway, I relate to God in a very

personal way. Don't need anyone

*

to tell me how to do it better I see

His hand everywhere--in red sunrises

*

and orange sunsets; in rain, falling on thirsty fields; in how a newborn

*

lamb finds his mama in the herd. I thank

God for these things. And for you.

*

After that, I was a lot more than halfway in love with Andrew.

7

The Funny Thing Is

We actually met at a revival, where nearly

everyone was babbling in tongues,

*

or getting a healthy dose of Holy Spirit

healing. Andrew's sister, Mariah, had

*

forsaken her Roman Catholic roots in favor of born-again believing and had

*

dragged her brother along that night, hoping he'd find salvation. Instead

*

he found me, sitting in the very back

row, half grinning at the goings-on.

*

He slid into an empty seat beside me.

So...,
he whispered.
Come here often?

*

I hadn't noticed him come in, and when

I turned to respond, my voice caught

*

in my throat. Andrew was the best-looking

guy to ever sit next to me,

*

let alone actually say something to me.

In fact, I didn't know they came that cute

*

in Idaho. A good ten seconds passed before

I realized he had asked a question.

8

"I... uh... well, yes, in fact I come here

fairly regularly. See the short guy up there?"

*

I pointed toward Papa, who kept the crowd

chanting and praying while the visiting evangelist

*

busily laid on his hands. "He's the regular

preacher and happens to be my father."

*

Andrew's jaw fell. He looked back and forth, Papa to me.
You're kidding, right?

*

His consternation surprised me. "No, not kidding. Why would you think so?"

*

He measured me again.
It's just... you look so normal, and this...
He shook his head.

*

I leaned closer to him, and for the first

time inhaled his characteristic scent--

*

clean and somehow green, like the alfalfa

fields I later learned he helps work for cash.

*

I dropped my voice very low. "Promise not to tell, but I know just what you mean."

9

It Was a Defining Moment

For me, who had never dared confess

that I have questioned church dogma

*

for quite some time, mostly because I am highly aware of hypocrisy and notice

*

it all too often among my father's flock.

I mean, how can you claim to walk

*

in the light of the Lord when you're

cheating on your husband or stealing

*

from your best friend/business partner?

Okay, I'm something of a cynic.

*

But there was more that evening--instant

connection, to a guy who on the surface

*

was very different from me. And yet, we both knew instinctively that we needed

*

something from each other. Some people might

call it chemistry--two parts hydrogen,

*

one part oxygen, voila! You've got water.

A steady trickle, building to a cascade.

10

If Andrew

Was the poser type, things would

probably be easier. I mean, if he could

*

pretend to accept the Lord into his heart, on my father's strictest of terms, maybe

*

we could be seen together in public--not

really dating, of course. Not without a ring.

*

But Andrew is the most honest person

I've ever met, and deadly honest that night.

*

Did you
have
to come to this thing?

It seems kind of, um... theatrical.

*

We had slipped out the back door, when everyone's attention turned to

*

some unbelievable miracle at the front of the church. I smiled. "Theatrical.

*

That sums it up pretty well, I guess.

You probably couldn't see it in back, but..."

*

I glanced around dramatically, whispered,

"Brother Bradley even wears makeup!"

*

Andrew laughed warmly.
So why do you

come, then? Pure entertainment?

11

I shrugged. "Certain expectations are attached to the 'pastor's daughter' job

*

description. Easier just to meet them, or at least pretend they don't bother you."

*

It was early November, and the night wore a chill. I shivered at the nip in the air,

*

or at the sudden magnetic pull I felt toward this perfect stranger. Without a second

*

thought, Andrew took off his leather

jacket, eased it around my shoulders.

*

Cool tonight,
he observed.
All the signs point to a hard winter.

*

He was standing very close to me.

I sank into that earthy green aura, looked

*

up into his eyes. You don't believe in miracles, but you do believe in signs?"

*

His eyes didn't stray an inch.
Who

says I don't believe in miracles?

They happen every day.
And I think

we both knew that one just might have.

12

It Was Unfamiliar Turf

I mean, of course I'd thought guys were cute

before, and the truth is, I'd even kissed

*

a few. But they'd all been "kiss and run," and none had come sprinting back for seconds.

*

Probably because most of the guys here at Boise High know who my father is.

*

But Andrew went to Borah High, clear across town, and he graduated last year.

*

He's a freshman at Boise State, where his mom

teaches feminist theory. Yes, she and his rancher

*

dad make an odd couple. Love is like that.

Guess where his progressive theories came from.

*

That makes him nineteen, all the more reason

we have to keep our relationship discreet.

*

In Idaho, age of consent is eighteen, and my parents wouldn't even think

*

twice about locking him up for statutory.

That horrible thought has crossed my mind

*

more than once in the four months since

Andrew decided to take a chance on me.

13

Four Months

Of him coming to church with Mariah, both of us patiently wading through Papa's

*

sermons, then waiting for post-services coffee

hours to slip separately out the side doors, into

*

the thick stand of riverside trees for a walk.

Conversation. After a while, we held hands

*

as we ducked in between the old cottonwoods, grown skeletal with autumn. We joked about

*

how soon we'd have to bring our own leaves for cover. And then one day Andrew stopped.

*

He pleated me into his arms, burrowed his face in my hair, inhaled.
Smells like rain,
he said.

*

My heart quickstepped. He wanted to kiss

me. That scared me. What if I wasn't good?

*

His lips brushed my forehead, the pulse in my right temple.
Will I burn if I kiss you?

*

I was scared, but not of burning, and I wanted

that kiss more than anything I'd ever wanted

*

in my life. "Probably. And I'll burn with you.

But it will be worth it." I closed my eyes.