Cry Baby

by Ginger Scott

  “You wanna play some one-on-one?” He dribbles up to me and attacks a few times before holding the ball on his hip. It’s cute, which I know isn’t the point he’s trying to make. One day, when he’s older—if he gets to be older—he’ll intimidate the guys out here.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be going to school?” I ask.

  He coughs, and it’s so fake that I can’t help but tilt my face and lower my eyes.

  “I’m sick,” he says.

  “Bullshit,” I fire back, spinning my ball in my palm a few times.

  His eyes widen, but I wave him off, because it’s not like that kid hasn’t heard a swear word before.

  “You know missing school isn’t good for your brain,” I say, trying to find a way to be a motivator. I’m such a hypocrite, and I’m making my words up as they come, but for whatever reason Jaden has always looked up to me. I wish he didn’t. I wish I were a better role model.

  “You miss school,” he says, and for once, I have him.

  “Nope,” I say, turning and jogging to the hoop to lay the ball in. I get my rebound then nod for him to try.

  Jaden stares at me for a moment then pulls his ball into his palms and begins to dribble. He keeps his head up the entire way to the hoop, and even though his shot is still too weak to make it all the way over the rim, his technique is a lot better.

  “You’ve been practicing,” I say. His smile broadens enough that I see he’s lost a tooth.

  “That girl showed me how to not look at my hands. She’s nice,” he says, and my chest warms quickly. How dumb that just hearing a little kid talk about Riley makes me feel sappy.

  “She is nice,” I smile. “Go on, give me another layup. This time really push.”

  “Okay,” he says, and I catch the lisp.

  “You lost a tooth,” I call after him as he dribbles away.

  “I did!” He turns to grin and lets his ball bounce away toward the gate. I nod to where it’s rolled and he rushes toward it, not catching it in time before it slips out into the gutter.

  The rumble of the engine isn’t familiar, and that’s why I notice. Everything light and easy goes away in a flash, and terror replaces all of the good feelings I had inside when I see the grill of the Challenger pull into view. I don’t recognize the guy driving, and the two shapes in the backseat are too hard to make out, but I know the passenger side dude is part of The Tribe. I’ve seen him try to sell here before. Last time he tried at night, but today it looks like he wants to take over mornings.

  “Jaden, step back,” I say, my voice stern. Jaden picks up his ball and plants himself just inside the gate of the court, hugging the ball to his chest.

  The car slows as it passes, and everyone in the vehicle looks at me. I toss my ball to the side and fold my arms, sensing my empty pockets and socks. I haven’t carried a knife in weeks, and my piece is still buried out in my uncle’s yard.

  Jaden takes a step back as the car tucks closer to the curb, the wheels moving so slow that I can count the spokes on the wheels. They’re painted black, work probably done up at Henry’s garage. It looks like his work. Henry used to run with Dub, but somehow he got out. Maybe he grew old. I need to find out how he managed to both leave this world and still make money off it, though, especially crossing enemy lines.

  Nobody in the car smiles, and the uneasy feeling in my chest starts to make it hard to breathe. I follow my senses and take slow but deliberate steps toward Jaden. Within seconds, I’m standing just behind him, making him easy to grab or protect if something goes down. I dare the driver to look at me, but he won’t, his eyes are busy scanning the courts and the surrounding park. I move on to the guy I recognize, and his eyes are waiting for mine.

  I shake my head slowly, trying to silently say that this isn’t one of those times—that I’m not here dealing and that this kid is just a kid. He glances to Jaden, and I step forward and put one hand on his tiny shoulder.

  “Don’t run. I’ve got you,” I say. I can feel him trembling.

  The guy’s eyes move back to me, and I remain cold. Nothing is going to happen here today. I won’t let it. This isn’t how my time ends, and it’s definitely not the end for Jaden. The passenger leans toward the driver and says something, his lips covered by his hand and the music inside the car rattling the windows. When the car moves forward, eventually turning right and disappearing behind houses and trees, I begin to breathe again. A full breath won’t come for hours, though. I recognize the panic. Dub lives for this shit, and I just hate it.

  “I’m going to school, and that nice girl? She’ll give us both a ride, so what do you say?” I ask.

  Jaden nods quickly, and without warning, I feel his hand slide into mine. It’s half my size, and it’s chalky with dirt from the court and playtime. I pick up my bag. I still need to get my ball, but I also don’t want to let go of him, and I decide that’s more important.

  He keeps up with my fast steps all the way to Riley’s house, and she’s just lifting the garage when my feet hit her driveway. Her eyes flash to mine and for a second, they smile, then she sees Jaden and her expression shifts, her eyes slanting and her lips closing before words can leave them. She’s caught between worry and confusion.

  “Do you think you have room for two on the way to school?” Riley’s eyebrows raise as she draws in a breath, and before she can answer, the door to her house closes inside the garage.

  “You ready?” Her dad sees me after two steps and freezes.

  “Good morning, Mr. Rojas,” I say, confidently, figuring he really can’t dislike me more thank he already does. I also made sure his daughter was home before her allotted hour was up. Of course, that was after I saw her naked and did things that he would have every right castrating me for.

  “Tristan.” His voice is deep and commanding. He’s wearing a blue uniform, his name stitched on the shirt pocket, and I know it’s some menial job that doesn’t pay well, but right now he may as well be the commander of the world’s army.

  “They need a lift, Dad,” Riley says, urging his dad to look to the right a little, to see Jaden. She’s using him as a human shield. Fucking brilliant.

  “They do, huh?” Her dad rolls his neck, making a cracking noise, then looks at his daughter. Riley lifts her shoulders and grins with closed lips, and her dad is as good at saying no to her as I am it seems.

  “We’ll hop in the back,” I say, giving Jaden a boost and swinging my legs over into the truck bed. Riley’s old sweats are tossed around back here along with some ankle weights and a few ripped jerseys from other teams. I smile looking at her mess, loving that she treats this area like I imagine she does her bedroom floor.

  I glance through the back window as her dad and she get into the truck. She looks at me quickly, her eyes dancing with happiness. She’s happy to see me, happy that I showed up in her driveway—in her life.

  Jaden and I bounce a little as her dad backs out of the driveway, and I make sure to keep my arm along the truck bed side just behind him as we travel the four miles to the elementary school. There are a few times when we pull up next to cars that remind me of the one we just saw, and I instinctually get my arm ready to pull Jaden to me, but the need never comes. He doesn’t have a bag or any of those normal school things with him, so I tell him to leave his ball with me for the day and to tell his teacher that his school bag accidentally went to work with his parents.

  He thinks my lie is brilliant, but I just hope that it doesn’t land on ears that have heard it before. I used that excuse a few times when I went here and had to run to school late after sneaking in extra basketball at the courts in the morning. My bag was always with Dub because he usually picked me up from school. My mom was never strong enough to keep him away from me completely.

  “Hey, hop in the cab. There’s room for three,” Riley says, holding her door open and craning her neck to speak to me as Jaden hops out and runs to class.

  I nod and stuff Jaden’s ball into my fairly empty backpack, then
hop over the truck side, landing in front of Riley. Her cheeks redden, and her smile is shy, which makes my mouth do the same. I haven’t seen her since she dropped me off in my driveway Friday night.

  She slides to the middle, tucking one leg up under her body, and I scoot in trying to keep my body as close to the door as possible. I glance to her knee, to the gear shift, and the place where her thigh brushed against mine, and I feel my pants tighten at the thought. My eyes drift up to Riley’s and she smirks, chuckling softly. All I can do is puff my cheeks and shake my head to express how uncomfortable this ride has quickly become, and my reaction only makes her shoulder shake more with laughter.

  “So, Tristan. Riley tells me that you are volunteering to coach because it will help with your college résumé, is that right?” His question feels a little less like a test this time. I also notice that he has details, which means Riley has been talking about me—it sounds like bragging about me. She’s oversold me, for sure.

  “That’s the plan,” I say, pulling the details from my conversation with my counselor and maybe a little from my actual dreams. “I’d like to get into a state school, but junior college is fine. Really, whatever I can afford, and if someone will take me. There aren’t a lot of places to do extracurricular stuff around Miller.”

  Her dad glances at me and our eyes meet for a beat. His expression is questioning my extracurricular activities, because he knows I’ve had plenty. I won’t deny them, but I won’t make them define me. Not in front of this important man.

  “And what do you want to study?” he asks, looking back to the road.

  I ease back in my seat and run my fingers over the edge of the seat belt. My mouth smiles without me telling it to. It’s faint, but it’s real, as my thoughts drift to that deep place in my mind, beyond my brain and at the center of my heart. I think about Jaden, and about me when I was his age and size. I admired my dad, and I loved how tough he and Dub were, but that’s not all I dreamt about. I liked building. I asked my mom questions all of the time about construction, begged for dump trucks and tractor toys, and I drew my own versions of everything—from theme parks to skyscrapers.

  “I’d like to get into construction,” I say, not feeling strange about saying it at all. It isn’t a lie, and it feels almost possible. It’s labor—hard labor, and maybe it’s being a boss one day. It would be a lot of learning on the job. But it wouldn’t be this. Nothing would be this.

  We stop at a light and Riley’s dad turns his head toward me again. I meet him halfway, and when he nods with approval, I feel like maybe I crossed over a little bit to that other side.

  “It’s good work. Construction,” he says, his eyes drifting to his daughter then back to the intersection.

  I feel Riley’s hand next to mine on the seat, and she stretches her pinky out enough to loop it over mine. My heartbeat picks up, but I don’t jerk away. I let her hold onto this small piece of me, and I leave it right here where it is—totally discoverable by her dad. He never notices, but that wasn’t the point.

  Riley held onto me, and I let her.

  It’s becoming harder and harder not to touch her. I look for opportunities everywhere. Her dad dropped us off and the moment he drove away, I held her hand. I massaged her neck and shoulders when we got into class, and when others stared at us, I bent forward and marked her neck with my kiss.

  I feel like people have started to stare at us, judging me and her. I have it in my head that nobody in here thinks I belong with Riley. They’d be right. They can also all fuck off.

  For the first time in this room, I am looking forward to that empty little book that Ms. Forte is handing out. Some people in here are on their second volume. I’ve cracked through four, maybe five pages, and that was mostly notes to Riley and doodles just to be an ass. I don’t want to write now for academic reasons, though. I want to write for personal ones. I want to say things to Riley, and I don’t know how.

  The second my book lands on my desk, I flip by the first few childish pages and dive in. I press my mechanical pencil so hard that I break the tip several times, but I keep writing through it. Riley glances over and giggles, probably thinking I’m making a joke again. I send a crooked smile back, knowing that when she reads this, she’ll feel bad for laughing at me. I’ll kiss the guilt out of her.

  I write about seeing her the first time. I write about how I felt when she showed up at the court, how I wanted her there, but was so afraid that she would get into trouble. I write about how jealous I was that Lauren became her friend. I write about how scared I was to come to her house, how many times I walked up and walked away again before finally knocking. I spend an entire page talking about her dad and how amazing he seems and how I wish I were more like him. My words about myself aren’t always kind, but that’s not the point. This is for her, and it’s not about me. I apologize for who I am, but I can’t apologize for how I feel.

  I’m obsessed. I constantly think of ways I can get out, how I can survive it and still be close to her. I imagine the pain of the beating I’d have to take, and the more I think about it, the less painful it becomes in my mind. I think it’s more than just a girl—Riley has opened this window to what I could be. She’s built a bridge between my reality and my fantasyland, and I can’t stop crossing it.

  We move right into a lesson in humanities, and while everyone is passing their books to the front, I drop mine into Riley’s bag. She furrows her brow, but I hush her quietly and smirk. She shakes her head, probably thinking I’m making a joke just like last time with the drawings. Again, I will kiss away her guilt.

  Ms. Forte begins to read something from a book I can’t pronounce. She calls the book Gita for short, and I can’t remember the longer name. The words sound foreign when she speaks them, and I’m forcing myself to pay closer attention than normal. If this is how people grow and escape, I need to learn. The only things I understand, though, are the things she puts in her own words. If I could just get this book rewritten by my teacher I might be able to learn.

  My chest is tightening with a sense of hopelessness, and I rearrange my feet under my desk, forcing myself to sit up taller, as if somehow my posture is directly related to my ability to learn. This is an opportunity, and I have been wasting it. The class begins to ask questions, and the sound of their voices takes a backseat to my own thoughts. I think about that application, about what else I could put down. I should visit my counselor soon so she can show me how to log in online, so she can give me a list of colleges. I need to know how much things cost. I need a real job.

  It's overwhelming, and I can’t hold onto the lesson being taught, words now unrecognizable. My chest tightens more, and my legs and arms are beginning to feel restless. I wasn’t made to be in a place like this. I was designed for the streets. I won’t ever be able to force it away. My life here won’t go away. It’s forever, whether I want it or not.

  I can’t…breathe.

  “Riley, you’re needed at the front office.”

  I snap out of my own head when I hear her name. Her face crinkles as she glances at me with a faint smile, a look of surprise.

  “Ohhh kayyyyy?” she says, stepping away from her desk and taking the small paper from our teacher that says she’s allowed to be wandering the hallways.

  “See me after class, and I’ll catch you up on anything you miss,” Ms. Forte says. They both nod and smile, and Riley pauses at her desk, unsure if she should take her things with her. She eventually does, and I rack my brain in search of a way I can follow her out that door.

  “Tristan…I’m up here,” Ms. Forte says, tapping on my desk. I rush with tingles, partly from her calling me out, but mostly from this uneasy feeling I have that Riley was called away. Something isn’t right, and I can’t help but think that it involves me.

  Her dad must be here. He’s found out how bad I am. He knows that I touched his daughter, and he knows that I love her. He knows, and he hates me.

  I’m unworthy.

  I’m trash
.

  I’m a cry baby, whiner, never good enough, and all my dad did was get caught.

  Useless.

  The sting in my right eye shocks me out of my spiral. I lean my face into my palm and wipe the tear away, and a part of me is almost happy that it’s there. I’m not so completely gone that I can’t feel. I feel more than I ever have. My best friend is gone. My heart is split in two worlds, and the girl who holds half of it just walked out the door into something that I fear—that I don’t know and can’t see. All of it means I can’t protect her.

  I never really could.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Riley

  * * *

  My dad wanted to come here to see the pictures. They won’t show us the body. There isn’t much body left, and everything that was my mother—her features, her hair, her smile—is now dust that feeds the earth. More specifically, it’s feeding a small section that grows nearly nothing and is completely shaded by the long brick retention wall for the county dump.

  Sheriff’s officials walked the dump two years ago. They didn’t sift through trash or dig around much. It was a cursory check mostly to satisfy everyone’s assumption—including ours—that my mom just ran away.

  If only they’d looked a little bit harder.

  “I’m sorry, but can you explain again? How was she found? I mean who…why…”

  My dad is having a hard time breathing. I told him we shouldn’t come here. We didn’t have to. DNA had already confirmed it was my mom. We wouldn’t have been able to ID her anyway. Whoever killed her took everything we would recognize from her body, too. Her wedding ring, the watch my dad bought her for their anniversary, the gold, hoop earrings—even the clothes she was wearing that day are impossible to discern.