Tricks

by Ellen Hopkins

  “God, do you know my mom?

  But she thinks having a guy

  around makes her important.”

  Alex snorts. How old is she,

  anyway? Sounds like she

  still plays with Barbies.

  “I doubt she ever played with

  Barbies. Just a shitload of

  Kens.” And Sams. And Bills.

  But, as much as I think Alex

  is pretty okay, I’m not about

  to share too much information

  about Iris and how she brings in

  cash. Besides, maybe Iris would

  stop tricking for the right guy.

  Maybe if the right guy came along,

  we could live a nice, normal

  life. However that’s defined.

  I Guess Nothing Says

  Moms have to be good

  people, though. I mean,

  look at Britney Spears. She

  might not be a complete

  whore, but she’s not

  exactly a shining example

  of motherhood. And, just

  down the block, a woman

  in baggy sweats yanks her

  little girl along, yelling,

  Hurry the hell up, would

  you? The kid’s bawling.

  And then there’s Alex’s

  mom. Busted for robbing

  a liquor store with a gun.

  All for another fix. A few

  hours of finding a way to

  forget everything. Alex included.

  I hope I’m never a mom. But

  if I am, I’ll make damn

  sure my kids look up to me.

  Speaking of Kids

  I really ought to get home.

  Gram has a hair appointment

  this afternoon, so unless Iris

  suddenly figured out motherhood,

  Mary Ann is the only one there to

  take care of the little kids until I get

  home. “Better go,” I tell Alex.

  “Time to play mom. How

  ’bout a smoke for the road?”

  She grimaces. At least my winner

  mother had the sense to get fixed.

  You’re gonna pay me back, right?

  Pay her … oh, for the cigs.

  “Yeah, sure. I can ‘borrow’

  some from Iri—uh, my mom.”

  Not sure why I don’t want

  Alex to know I call her Iris.

  Yeah, it makes her seem like

  less of a mom, but Alex knows

  she’s not much of a mom anyway.

  Anyone with eyes could guess it.

  I Walk Up the Street

  Slowly, sucking nicotine into

  my lungs. Tastes like crap,

  and I know if I don’t stop it will

  kill me. But it satisfies some

  deep call. And what the hell?

  I don’t want to live too damn long.

  Suddenly an ambulance screams

  by. Fear punches my gut. Without

  a doubt, I know exactly where

  it’s headed. I throw the lit Kool

  into the gutter, start to run,

  choking on yellowish smoke.

  I round the corner and sure as day,

  the square red truck is in front

  of Gram’s, warning lights spinning.

  Beside it, a police cruiser blocks

  most of the street, and another

  is parked farther up the road, routing

  traffic away. Shit, shit, shit! I run

  faster, barely able to breathe.

  Fricking cigarettes! I skid to a stop,

  try to take in what I see. Two

  paramedics kneel next to Sandy.

  His little body lies in the street,

  unmoving. “Is he okay?” I scream,

  trying to push closer, only to be

  stopped by a young police officer.

  Give them some room. The little

  boy is breathing. That’s all

  we know. Are you the mother?

  “No. I’m his sister. But I—I—”

  What else is there to say right

  now? “Wha-what happened?”

  Hit and run. His radio scratches

  some unintelligible information.

  Hang on. I’ve got to take this call.

  Your, uh, sister over there saw

  the whole thing. Why don’t you

  talk to her? But stay right here.

  Like I would go somewhere?

  Damn me. Why wasn’t I here?

  Must be what he’s thinking too.

  Mary Ann Stands Sobbing

  On the sidewalk, eyes wide

  with fear. “What happened?”

  I struggle to keep my voice gentle.

  He—I—Sandy was kicking

  a ball on the lawn. Pepper

  and Honey started to fight, and …

  when I tried to stop them, I guess

  the ball rolled into the street

  and Sandy ran after it and …

  I guess a motorcycle came down

  the street and ran over him and

  just kept going and … and … I

  was right there and I didn’t mean—

  Oh my God, I’m so sorry. …Oh

  my God, I’m so sorry… .

  I grab her shoulders, shake hard.

  “Stop it. It’s not your fault. Go

  take care of the kids. They’re scared.”

  They all stand huddled together

  on the doorstep. Mary Ann goes

  over to them as another ambulance

  arrives. Two ambulances for one

  person? Talk about overki—

  Don’t dare finish the thought.

  Two new paramedics open the back

  doors of their ambulance, remove

  a gurney and a backboard.

  Together, the four prepare Sandy

  for a ride to the hospital. I can’t

  do anything but watch them

  lift his still motionless form, tubes

  running into his arm and an

  oxygen mask over his face, onto

  the wheeled stretcher. As they load

  him into the waiting ambulance,

  Officer Lemoore comes over to me.

  Your brother has internal injuries.

  They’ll need someone to give

  permission for treatment. Where

  are your parents? Can you call

  them and tell them to come

  to Emergency right away?

  I Tug My Eyes

  Away from the ambulance,

  finally really look at the

  policeman in front of me.

  He must be straight out of

  the academy, not too many

  years older than me. He’s

  good-looking, in a straight sort of

  way, with topaz gold eyes.

  Eyes brimming sympathy.

  “I—I’ll try to get hold of my

  mom. But it will probably be

  my grandmother. Is that okay?”

  He hesitates. The information

  sinks in. Your mother would

  be best. She has custody, right?

  I nod. “But she’s not always,

  uh …” How can I say this?

  “Easy to track down.”

  I see. Well, do the best you can.

  If we need to, we can get a court

  order, but that takes time. And …

  He shakes his head, and his

  meaning is very clear: There

  might not be a whole lot of time.

  Guilt churns. I want to heave.

  “Can’t I go in the ambulance?

  If he wakes up, he’ll be scared.”

  He won’t wake up. He’s sedated.

  Besides, you need to find your

  mom. And someone needs to take

  care of your brother and sisters.
<
br />   He gestures toward the crew.

  You’re the oldest. It’s up to you.

  I Am the Oldest

  It was up to me to make sure

  something like this never

  happened. But no, I needed to

  hang out downtown, smoking

  with Alex. If Sandy doesn’t

  pull through, I’ll make sure a hit

  and run happens. To me. The cop

  follows me to the front door.

  I need to ask you a few questions,

  he says to Mary Ann, moving her

  off to one side. Tell me again

  what happened. Can you describe…

  I push the other kids inside.

  “I need to get hold of Gram.

  Go watch TV. And don’t fight.”

  I try to call Iris first. Her cell

  goes straight to voice mail. Big

  surprise. Gram left the beauty parlor

  number next to the phone. No

  surprise there, either. She’s

  good about communication.

  Hands Shaking

  I dial the number, ask to speak

  to Vivian Belcher. “Gram?”

  I force my voice calm, hope

  she’ll respond in the same way.

  “You have to go to Emergency

  right away. There was an accident. …”

  I don’t tell her everything. Don’t

  have to. Enough for her to know

  Sandy’s life hangs by a sliver.

  I poke my head into the living

  room. Porter lies on the sofa,

  absorbed in Hannah Montana.

  Pepper and Honey sit on the floor,

  holding each other in silent

  acceptance of one another, and

  maybe of the small part they,

  too, played in the afternoon’s

  drama. I go to tell Officer Lemoore

  that I got hold of Gram. He’s finished

  with Mary Ann, whose face is white

  as smoke. “Let’s go inside,” I say.

  A Poem by Cody Bennett

  Smoke

  You stand in front of me,

  pretending to be solid,

  but you are nothing

  more than smoke and

  mirrors.

  You said you’d never

  leave, that you would

  care for us forever.

  But now you claim you

  cannot

  stay, that you’ve been

  called away. When you

  go, who will I turn to

  when it all crashes down?

  Tell

  me who. Then tell me

  how I can believe in

  anyone again, if all your

  promises have been

  lies.

  Cody

  Nothing’s Static

  If I’ve learned anything at

  all in sixteen years, it’s that

  things change. What you feel

  bad about one day can turn

  around like that. Same goes

  for the things you care about.

  Three weeks ago, I kind of liked

  spending time at home, goofing

  off online or picking at my guitar,

  or just watching TV. But now

  everything feels strained

  at the Bennett house. Not

  really like home at all. Everyone

  is strung tight. On edge.

  Concerned about the future.

  Something to do with Jack’s

  digestive system. Whatever

  it is, neither he nor Mom

  wants to talk about it. Silence,

  thick with apprehension, hangs

  over the place like a shroud.

  No more dinner table banter.

  No more cheerful ribbing.

  No more stupid jokes.

  Three Weeks Ago

  I didn’t have a girlfriend.

  Not being partnered up

  wasn’t so damn bad, not

  that I totally mind having

  the hottest girl in my crowd

  acting like she can’t get

  enough of me. It’s just kind

  of complicated because, as

  I suspected, Alyssa is not

  very happy about Ronnie

  jumping my bones, jumping

  ’Lyssa’s ship in the process.

  The first time ’Lyssa saw us

  together, I thought she’d shit

  on the spot. We were sitting

  together (okay, like glued

  together, front to front, Ronnie

  in my lap) on the grass at

  school. ’Lyssa came hauling

  around the corner, headed

  somewhere in a hurry. But

  when she saw us, she braked

  and did a double take. Just

  what do you think you’re doing?

  I’m not sure if she was talking

  to Ronnie or me, but Ronnie

  jumped right down her throat.

  What does it look like we’re

  doing, Alyssa? Having tea?

  Then she laughed. Too hard.

  ’Lyssa puffed out her cheeks

  and her face turned red—the rotten

  red of an overripe tomato. Her

  hands clenched. Unclenched.

  I thought we were dog meat. But

  all she said was, That’s fucked up.

  Oil and water or not, Alyssa

  was the first girl I ever had

  real feelings for. And now

  her feelings were shredded.

  I felt like shit. Still do. But

  not enough to tell Ronnie to

  take a hike. She’s freaking

  beautiful, with black coffee

  eyes, shiny dark hair, and legs

  that go up to there. Slipping

  in between them is like making

  love to warm milk and honey.

  We Had Sex

  The very first night we went

  out together, although I didn’t

  think it was going to happen,

  what with her brother being

  a bouncer (okay, security guard)

  at Frozen75, something she

  neglected to tell me until we

  slithered up to the front of

  the line. Pissed off a bunch

  of people, for sure. But, just

  like any club, I guess, they

  have an Invited Guest line.

  And if your brother’s a bouncer,

  you’re invited. Especially if he’s

  a bouncer the size of a VW

  Beetle. Vince Carino plays

  linebacker for the UNLV Rebels,

  a decent university team,

  usually the second best in the state.

  Never mind there are only two,

  and the one from that cowtown

  up north, Reno, generally comes

  out on top. Not always, though,

  and when Vegas wins, it’s party time.

  Then Again

  It’s pretty much always party

  time in Las Vegas. They don’t

  call it Sin City for nothing.

  Ronnie and I partied down

  that first night for sure. And

  we’ve been partying ever since.

  See, Vince is not only okay with

  his sister and me being together.

  He encourages it. Says she needs

  a guy in her life to keep her in

  line. Not that I’d ever try that

  with Ronnie. I’m a pacifist.

  Vince is not. But he is a partier.

  Drinks like no serious athlete

  should, not that I think he’s

  especially serious. What I think

  is, he likes knocking people down—

  smashing them into the ground.

  Glad he seems to like me. Booze


  isn’t his only bad habit, though.

  Pot. Pills. Crack. Probably other

  stuff, but that’s all I’ve seen. And

  that’s plenty. I so do not want to

  know too much about Vince Carino.

  Vince and I Have Shared

  A bottle or two, a fistful of doobs,

  pipes and pipes and pipes. Tonight,

  we’ll pass around all three at his

  regular Friday poker game. Not sure

  how I reached the heart of his inner

  circle so quickly. Suppose it could

  be because I’m usually the one

  supplying the weed. Anyway,

  I know zip about poker, but it

  sounds like a hell of a lot more

  fun than staying home, listening

  to Jack cough and Mom sigh.

  Before I go, I guess I should

  brush up on the rules a little.

  Punch a few words into my

  search engine and I come up

  with … whoa. Way too much

  information. Let’s start with

  the basic what hand beats what?

  One pair, two pair, three of a kind.

  Easy enough to remember. Straight.

  Flush. Full house. Four of a kind.

  Straight flush. Royal flush. Together,

  do those equal a hetero queen’s toilet?

  Damn It, Jack

  You’ve cursed me! You’re

  the one who’s supposed to

  be coming up with corny jokes.

  I’m supposed to laugh at them,

  whether or not they’re funny.

  Now I need to check up on you.

  He’s in the living room, adrift on

  anonymous painkillers. The TV

  is blaring, and his eyes are aimed

  at it, but vacant. Dread shoots through

  my body on a wave of adrenaline.

  “Hey, Jack. How’s it going?”

  He jumps a little. Huh? Oh.

  Hey, Cody. What’s up, son?

  His speech is slurred, just

  barely coherent. Fucking

  meds. Where’s your mom?

  Is she home from work yet?

  Damn. For a minute, I really

  thought he might be dead. But

  why would I think that? He’s

  only got indigestion. Jeez, man.

  Talk about jumpy. Freaking

  crack is famous for that.

  But I’ve got to admit I like

  the way it makes every nerve

  come alive. Just like Ronnie

  said it would. She’s got a tidy

  little habit. I have to be careful

  not to let my own toking get

  so out of hand. I swear I never

  had a clue she had made friends

  with the pipe. Best thing about