Tricks (14 page)

The phone again. What time is it?

*

Almost ten? Where did the last

two hours go, and what does this

do to my odds of getting laid?

Ronnie's pissed, I'm guessing.

She is.
I
thought you were coming

Over. I've got school tomorrow.

*

Quick! Make something up. "Sorry.

I... uh... Cory came in all messed

up. I had to help Mom get him to bed."

I'll probably burn for lies like that, but I think it worked, so I sign off, delete all incriminating history.

*

The extra-long pause means she thinks

I might be bullshitting her. But finally she gives in. What else can she do?

She so wants me!
Come over anyway.

My parents are in bed. I'll sneak

you in through the window

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Her House

Is fairly close to mine. Good

thing. Hanging out in my room,

I didn't notice how buzzed I was.

I'm definitely feeling it now, though. It's hard to drive a straight

line. Thank God I can take side

*

streets. If I actually had to talk to a cop, he'd haul my ass in, no

doubt. Gonna be hard enough trying to say a few coherent words to

Ronnie. Even this late at night, it's really warm--probably pushing

*

eighty. I drive with the windows

down, letting air movement fight

brain blur. Every street in Vegas is well lit, and everywhere you

look at night, bursts of neon

color the obnoxious skyline.

*

I cruise slowly, tripping on a tall

turquoise tower, how it seems to weave in and out of the breeze-ruffled

palm trees lining the street.

Suddenly, something--someone--

dashes into the road right in front

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of me. I punch the brakes, honk the horn, barely manage to miss the dimwad, who skids to a halt on the far side of the street.

Then he turns back toward my car. What? Who? Cory!

*

He rips around to the passenger

door, jerks it open, jumps inside.

Go!
I shake my head, try to make

some sense of what just went down.

Did I almost run over my brother?

Fucking Hurry up, okay?

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The Tone of His Voice

Is enough to make me comply.

I punch the gas pedal, no tangible

clue why, almost overwhelmed by the smell of cheap booze clinging to my little brother. "What the hell is going on, Cory?" As the question

*

sputters from my mouth, I get a sickly feeling I don't want to hear the answer. But hey, he's not exactly

dying to give me an answer.
Nothing.

Not a goddamn thing.
So why are his hands shaking? And how

*

is it obvious, in the murky half-light inside the car, that his face is approximately the color of dirty cotton?

Whatever. He'll tell me when he feels like it--or maybe he won't. I'm not the type to pry. As I turn the corner,

*

I hear his small, tortured exhale as he scrunches down in the seat. A patrol

car comes cruising up the block toward us, spotlight sweeping sidewalks, yards. Looking for Cory, no doubt.

What has the dumb shit done?

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I Try Not to Think

About that as I fight a sudden

explosion of fear. I'm driving in a straight line, under the limit, at least the speed limit. As for blood

alcohol, there is a very good

possibility that I'm well over

*

the .08. And should this cop decide to pull me over, just in case he really ought to take a look (and hey

apparently he should!), exactly

what charges might I have to face, for no more reason than having

*

a certain passenger in my car?

Whatever Cory has done, I want to wring the little prick's neck.

"What the hell did you do, Cory?"

My hands are slick with sweat against the sticky steering wheel.

*

I keep glancing in my rearview

mirror, sure I'm minutes away from a trip to juvie. But the cop

keeps driving up the block, likely

positive in his little pea brain that

whoever he's looking for is on foot.

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Or maybe he's just too lazy to worry about possibilities

(and viable possibilities at that), driving by in the other direction.

Speaking of driving by, I just

motored on past Ronnie's.

*

The house was dark, except for a light in a single window.

A bedroom window, where

I have no doubt a gorgeous, well-built girl sits waiting to do me, after she's finished

*

bitching me out completely.

Major butt kissing in order, if I happen to actually make it home without becoming a suspect in a... what? What the fuck?

Suddenly my head is clear.

*

I turn another corner. Drive away from home. Stay under the limit.

Find a deserted street, pull right up against the sidewalk. "If you don't

tell me exactly what's going on, I'll

knock your bony ass to the curb."

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His Answer

Is a couple minutes coming, like he's considering making up a lie.

Finally his shoulders sag. It will

be the truth.
I
kinda broke into a house. They had an alarm.

He doesn't look at me, just stares

*

out the window, into the night, the same night I'm staring into.

"What do you mean, 'kinda'?

You can't 'kinda' break into a house. You did or you didn't."

Jeez, I sound just like Jack, at

*

least just like Jack before...

Now I get to play dad to Cory, not that it's a role I want, or do very well. Still, I can't just

sit here and say okay to burglary.

Anyway, "Kinda or not... why?"

*

Zero hesitation.
Why the fuck

not? Jesus, Cody, do you live
on a different planet? We need the stinking money! Jack's never

going back to work. You know that.

Don't you hear Mom jabbering

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about too many bills, not enough

insurance and such? What do you

think's gonna happen to her
when he kicks the freaking bucket?

What's gonna happen to... us?

He stutters. Breaks. Tries to buck

*

up. But suddenly, like fragile glass

stressed beyond redemption, he simply shatters.
Fuck it!

Cory's giant sobs fill the front

seat with booze-infused exhales.

He probably wants to cry like a man--

*

alone within his pain. This may

be the wrong thing to do. But as

I watch him, my own fear hiccups to the surface. I pull my tough, break-and-enter little brother into my arms, and we cry together.

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Headlines Turn the Corner

Flooding us with halogen blue

light. Cop? No, but it comes to me that we probably look like gay dudes making out or something.

Cory must think so too, because he jerks like he's been shocked.

*

Sorry. That was totally lame.

Let's go before we get arrested.

He withdraws across the seat, gaze

again drawn to the neon-spiked

night. Too bad Jack isn't here, ready with some witty remark

*

to make everything okay. Too

bad Jack isn't here, period. "No

worries. But don't ever do anything like that again. Shit, Cory, if you

get busted, you'll just make things

worse. We'll be okay. I promise."

*

I start toward home, chewing on how I could have promised such an unlikely thing. Now I've got to find a way to keep my word.

One way comes to mind. All

I need is a little investment capital.

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A Poem by Eden Streit
Need

Need is a curious thing.

Until you plant the seed, nurture it, encourage its

awakening, you're not even sure

it's there. But once it germinates, nudges up, breaking ground, you can no longer deny it has always lain dormant inside you. And now, blossoming with every kiss, every

touch of his hand, this

new kind of need is growing, sprouting shoots, tendrils of desire

threading you, consuming you.

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Six Months

Since Andrew and I first started

seeing each other. Almost a month since

*

we took our relationship all the way, clear over the top, dropping me eye-deep

*

into a bottomless pit of obsession.

That's pretty much how it feels.

*

Like I'm in so deep I'll never climb out, not that I want to. So okay. I'm obsessed.

*

Whether or not God will forgive me remains to be seen. But I have absolutely no clue

*

how I could un-obsess myself if Andrew

ever decided he didn't want me in his life.

*

So far, though, Andrew seems every

bit as obsessed with me as I am with him.

*

We have learned a lot about each other.

How to touch. Where to kiss. When to let go.

*

Before this month, I didn't really believe

I was his first. But I was. Am. I have taught

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him as much as he has taught me, all through mutual experimentation. Mad

*

sex scientists, that's us. There have been clumsy moments, yes. But they are rare. Few.

*

The worst was when it suddenly came to us

that, swept downstream by a flood of desire

*

we hadn't used protection the first time.

But either I'm sterile or the timing was right,

*

because three days later I started my period.

We've been careful ever since. I wish

*

I could go on the pill, but I know for certain

if I showed my face at Planned Parenthood,

* * *

word would get back to my parents. A trip to the pharmacy would yield the same result.

*

Meaning birth control--condoms, not the best but better than nothing--is up to Andrew.

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With or Without Condoms

(Because after all, we don't have to have

sex
every
time we see each other, do we?)

*

I'm hoping to see Andrew today. Saturday, so no school, and I'm done with my chores.

*

I've just got to come up with the right little

white lie. Or big black lie. Whatever.

*

Mama seems kind of suspicious lately.

I think what they say about being in love

*

is true--some inner glow becomes obvious to everyone around you, even those

*

you most want to keep solidly in the dark.

"So, Mama. Shania and I are doing

*

an English project on
The Lord of
the Rings.
She invited me over to work

*

on it. Would that be okay?" Shania

is, like, my only friend. I've known

*

her since she moved here in second grade and her family joined Papa's church.

*

Once in a while we do stuff together, and the English project is for real.

249

If I really go over there before meeting

Andrew, it will be a big white lie.

*

Mom is busy paying bills. She barely

glances my way. That's good, because

*

when she says,
Um. Guess so,
I can

actually feel the love flicker ignite.

*

I hurry out the door before she changes her mind. The day is warm and scented

*

with spring blooms. Shania is watering the yard when I get there. "Hey, girl."

*

A fair amount of surprise fills her eyes.

Eden. What are you doing here?

*

"Mama let me escape for a while. Just

thought I'd drop by and say hi. Why?"

*

She shakes her head.
It's just that...

well, lately... I haven't seen you much.

*

Guilt nibbles. "I know. I'm sorry. I guess

I've been kind of distracted." By Andrew.

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Can't Tell Her That Part

Or can I? Should I? It would feel good to confess something this special.

*

Shania saves me the trouble.
By your

boyfriend? Does
she know? Or is she

*

guessing? "I suppose you could call

him that." I'm not telling everything.

*

Really?
A big grin crinkles her eyes.

So okay, she's guessing. Good thing.

*

But now that the cat has halfway escaped from the bag, she wants to know all.

*

Come inside and tell me more.

Who is he? Is he cute? How old

*

is he? Does he go to our school?

She grills me all the way through

*

the front door. "Hang on a sec.

I'll tell you all about him...."

*

Well, not all. "But first, I need to make a call. Can I use your phone?"

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An Hour Later

I say good-bye to Shania, who is slightly wiser about Andrew.

*

I didn't tell her he happens to be the very

cute guy who sits in the back at church

*

most Sundays, or that he is picking me up just down the block in a few minutes.

*

As I start walking, I can, in fact, see the Tundra, patiently lurking curbside.

*

The obsession thing quickens my pace, but behind me I hear Shania's
Bye.

*

I turn to wave, and see curiosity has

drawn her all the way to the sidewalk.

*

But Andrew is parked facing away from her. I hurry on past the Tundra, motion

*

discreetly for him to follow me around the corner. Out of Shania's sight, I fling

*

open the door, slide across the seat, and kiss

Andrew like I haven't seen him in days.

*

Mostly because I haven't. Every filament of me shimmers. "We have got to stop

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meeting like this, you know." Then