Tricks

by Ellen Hopkins

  drinking much. All it does

  is make me stupid and sick.

  It doesn’t make me forget.

  In fact, sometimes, the drunker

  I get, the more I remember.

  I remember the kids, how

  annoying and entertaining

  they could be. Do they miss me?

  Have they even asked, Where

  is Ginger? Why did she go?

  I remember Barstow, the armpit

  town where I first made a friend,

  first got decent grades. Ms. Felton

  even told me once, You’re an

  excellent writer. You should

  think about it as a career.

  Writer? Me? And what am

  I doing instead? I remember

  Sandy, a ball in the street,

  and Mary Ann’s face, scrunched

  with pain. I’m sorry. I should

  have …. Only the blame belonged

  to me. Which always brings

  me back to my very favorite

  memories, all centered around

  Gram, deceptively petite, while

  so driven. Tireless. Completely

  devoted to a pack of kids she owed

  absolutely zero devotion. All

  because of her giant capacity

  to love. Does she hate me

  now for taking the easy way out?

  Would she ask me to come home

  if she could? Did she mean it when

  she said, You know where I live.

  No matter what, I want you to

  remember this is always your home.

  Tempting as It Might Be

  To get back on the bus, see

  if she would welcome me,

  uglier memories intrude on

  that sweet little daydream.

  Since the revelation about

  Iris sicking her snarling dogs

  on me, other faces—other

  mutts—materialize when

  I least want to recognize them,

  often just as I sink into an

  alcohol-fueled stupor, praying

  it will let me sleep, dreamless.

  I was so young the first time,

  I didn’t know what it meant,

  only that nothing had ever hurt

  so bad. Walt tore me up and I bled

  and bled and when I screamed,

  nobody came. And he laughed.

  That’s it, little baby. Scream

  for your daddy. Only he wasn’t

  my daddy at all. My daddy was

  a brave soldier, fighting far away.

  Iris told me so. I still believed

  the stuff she told me then. When

  I told her about the man, not

  my daddy, she said, He was

  only making you into a real girl.

  I didn’t understand. But I made

  myself believe her. I was a real

  girl now. But what was I before?

  Walt Was the First

  There were others. Nameless.

  Faceless. I figured out how to

  close off my brain when they did

  it to me, to withdraw into a dark

  little room inside my head, where

  I couldn’t see them. Couldn’t smell

  their sweat, their stagnant breath.

  Couldn’t taste the tobacco coating

  their tongues, or the beer tainting

  the spit they left in my mouth.

  Couldn’t feel what was down

  between my legs. But now they

  revisit me. Is it because of what

  I’m doing? Because of these

  nameless, faceless men watching

  me? Even without them touching

  me, I feel dirty about what I do.

  Alex does even filthier things

  but says it all washes off with soap.

  I don’t believe that. I think it all

  leaves stains. Indelible stains.

  I Wait for Her Now

  Wondering where she is, what

  she has done today, if she’ll come

  home. Lydia called. We’ve got

  a bachelor party at ten. It’s nine

  fifteen already, and no sign of

  Alex. I tried her cell. Went straight

  to voice mail. The battery must be

  gone. If she doesn’t show, I’ll have

  to go alone. Won’t be the first time,

  and she knows how scared I am

  to work by myself. I still love her,

  but I feel her slipping away, bit

  by bit, every day. Finally the door

  opens. She’s a total mess—makeup

  smeared, hair like a rat’s nest, clothes

  dirty and torn. I rush to her side,

  “What happened? Are you okay?”

  I try to hug her, but she shoves me

  away. Don’t touch me. Tears spill

  from her eyes, tracking mascara

  down her cheeks. She sinks down

  on the sofa, puts her face into

  her hands. Bastard screwed me,

  then robbed me. Took everything.

  Again I try to hold her. This time

  she doesn’t pull away, but she is

  like sandstone. Hard on the surface,

  crumbling beneath. “It’s okay.

  We’ll be okay.” Then, an after-

  thought, “How much did he get?”

  Her head sags against my chest,

  wetting my shirt with tears, snot.

  Not sure. Four or five hundred.

  Anger flares suddenly, but not

  because of the money. Because

  of what we’ve become. “We’ve got

  a goddamn bachelor party,

  clear across town. We’ll barely

  make it if we leave right now.”

  She looks up at me with ringtail

  eyes. I can’t …. please. I’m gonna

  be sick. She runs to the bathroom.

  I follow, put an ear to the door,

  hear the definite sound of puke

  splash. “Okay,” I call. “I’ll take

  this one by myself. But when I get

  back, we have to talk.” For once,

  I’m not afraid to do the gig alone.

  The whole cab ride over, I think

  about what it is I want to say.

  I arrive at a few minutes after ten.

  The guys are young, not much

  older than me. Good. They won’t

  ask for many extras. I handle

  the business end, promise a lap

  dance to the groom, who looks

  excited and scared at the same time.

  And for the entire hour I’m taking

  off my clothes, shimmying and

  writhing and faking “sexy,” my mind

  is on one thing. I don’t know

  how, where, or even with whom.

  Just know I have to get out of here.

  A Poem by Cody Bennett

  Don’t Know

  Who I am anymore.

  I was sure once, not long

  ago. Knew where I came

  from, and where I was

  going

  to. Now I don’t have

  a clue who puts on

  my shoes in the morning,

  nor what direction he’s

  going

  when he closes the door

  behind him. He looks a lot

  like me. But his flame has

  been extinguished, buried

  too far

  beneath his soil to find

  air enough to smolder.

  It is no more than a vague

  memory, all oxygen

  gone.

  Cody

  How Do I Find Myself Here?

  Not even a year since everything

  started a snowball roll toward hell.

  It’s a place I’m starting to k
now well,

  a place I deserve. I mean, I couldn’t

  stop Cory from fucking up. He was

  set on it. And Jack wasn’t my fault.

  I didn’t make him get cancer, did my

  best for him when he did. Hear that,

  Jack? I wanted to help you! Couldn’t.

  I’m not God. What happened is between

  him and you. Can’t you do anything

  up there to help me out down here?

  Okay, maybe I’m not worthy

  of your intervention. Maybe you’re

  just plain grossed out. Pissed off.

  But if you help me, you’ll help

  Mom, too. She can’t make it on

  her own. Damn it, you promised!

  And dude, if I can’t worm my way

  out of this crazy place, I’ll have to

  consider that medicine chest, still full

  of pain meds and sleeping pills. Mom

  would only miss me so long. The rest

  of the world wouldn’t miss me at all.

  That Includes Ronnie

  Oh, she claims she misses me now.

  I only see her at school, and I’m not

  there a whole hell of a lot. I should

  be, of course. Just started junior year.

  If I really want college, really want

  more, I need to focus not only on

  attendance, but on getting good

  grades. Impossible. Too much

  going on. Too much going down.

  Hard enough, just surviving.

  Trying not to think about Cory.

  Not to think about Lydia, etc.

  I get to class late, or not at all.

  Can’t find interest in any of my

  classes. English? I talk good enough.

  Math? Let me give you a point

  spread. History? Want to hear

  mine? Chemistry? Girls or men?

  And Ronnie? She pleads for attention.

  Can’t you please come over, spend

  a little time with me? C’mon, Cody.

  I miss you so much. Remember ….

  Then she’ll try to convince me,

  bringing up one of those special

  (God, yes, they were special)

  times we spent in bed. Oh, I do

  miss holding her close. The satin

  of her hair. The luscious full curves

  of her body. But sex means something

  different now. I can’t tell her that.

  So I lie. Tell her I have to work. (For

  a temp service, so she can’t track

  me down any certain place.) Tell

  her I have to drive Mom somewhere.

  (Usually to visit Cory.) Tell her

  I’m just too freaking tired. (No lie.)

  Sooner or later, she’ll get sick

  of the excuses and find another

  guy. I only hope it’s someone

  who deserves the perfect girl.

  Not an addict. Not a boy whore.

  Not a fucking loser like me.

  The Only Thing

  I’ve won at lately is a few games

  of chance. A hand or ten of poker.

  And the Chiefs have been on a roll.

  I’ve tried to keep the bets reasonable,

  but the problem with winning is,

  once you’ve got a bigger bankroll,

  you want to make bigger bets. Got

  a whopper riding this week. Enough

  to let me skip a couple of “dates,”

  if my luck holds. I have been smart

  enough to pay my car insurance

  for six months, help Mom with

  the power and phone. She thinks

  I’m working at a temp service too.

  Since they place you in jobs

  temporarily, according to different

  businesses’ need, it provides

  the perfect excuse for sometimes

  having money, sometimes not.

  For being away from home odd

  hours. And, since those jobs tend

  to be manual labor, Mom doesn’t ask

  why I so often plunge straight into

  the shower after coming through the door.

  On a Positive Note

  I’ve managed to make small credit

  card payments. Not enough to pay

  down the principal, but enough

  to cover the interest, anyway. Only

  one problem. As had to happen,

  I couldn’t keep intercepting the bills.

  Mom called me into the kitchen. Cody,

  what are all these charges to Int-Gam,

  Inc.? She stood there, hands on hips,

  waiting for my confession. How

  could I tell her “Int-Gam, Inc.”

  was Internet Gaming Incorporated,

  and that I had been using the cards

  for months, losing money hand over

  fist? “I’m not sure, Mom,” I lied,

  looking her straight in the eye.

  “But just so you know, I found

  those credit cards in Cory’s things.”

  I can’t believe what a liar I’ve become,

  and lying about Cory was a way low

  blow. But she bought it. Why not?

  Her youngest son is a criminal.

  Not much of a stretch to think

  that he might also be a thief.

  Credit Cards

  No longer being an option, sports bets

  will have to be laid down through

  local bookies. Vince knows one or

  two. And there’s always poker.

  Hey, I’ve got a stake—a few hun

  saved up. Anyway, I’ve got spending

  cash, thanks to Lydia. Mostly it’s

  from men. Thank God, I haven’t had

  too many experiences similar to the one

  with crew-cut Dan. I can’t seem to excise

  that night completely from my head.

  I’ve questioned a lot of things about

  myself before. The gambling. Booze.

  Drugs. Lying. But, despite sleeping

  with men for money, I’ve never

  questioned my sexuality. That’s

  the core of any man, any person.

  How can I be unsure of that, especially

  considering the pain and humiliation?

  Maybe Lydia was right, and we all

  swing both ways to some degree. It’s

  all according to necessity, she said.

  Does that mean if every woman

  disappeared, I’d actively crave men?

  Not Craving Any

  Of the guys at Vince’s tonight.

  I glance from face to face, chest

  to chest. Nope. Not a single twitch.

  Maybe there’s hope for me after all.

  Now if Lady Luck will just decide

  to climb into my lap, hang out.

  Hey, says Vince. Anyone bring

  smoke? He looks straight at me,

  not expecting me to say yes. It’s

  been weeks since I had enough

  cash to score. My connection had

  almost given up on me too.

  I surprised him, and I surprise

  Vince now. “Actually, yeah, I do.”

  I hand over a couple of big blunts,

  light another, pass it on. Only way

  to convince Vince to introduce me

  to his bookie friends is with generosity.

  Meanwhile, it’s poker. The key

  to winning this game is properly

  assessing the competition. I know

  most of the guys at the table—Vince,

  best player here, a regular bluff master,

  not afraid to lay down a major bet.

  Justin is an elementary school janitor.

  Can’t afford to bet big. Never ups the ante.

  Sitting down is Shaun, UNR fresh
man,

  innocent-looking, but knows how to bet.

  Finally, there’s Misty’s boyfriend,

  Chris. He’s a total jerk, and wasted.

  A fair bit of coke has been passed

  around, but I’m guessing he’s been

  smoking ice. Maybe even crashing,

  despite the cola. His mood is mean.

  Fucking deal already, would

  you? Haven’t got all night.

  Vince stares him down, trying

  to decide, no doubt, if he’s going

  to have to deal with Chris some

  way other than nicely. He starts

  with nice. Take it easy, man.

  Where you have to be, anyway?

  Chris grabs the cards, now in

  a pile in front of him. He sorts

  them one way, then another, shoots

  eyeball arrows around the table as if

  we’re all just waiting to give our

  hands away. Got a date with Misty.

  Fact Is

  I’ve got a date with Misty. Well,

  not with her, exactly. We both have

  a date with some sexually confused

  out-of-towner. Three-ways aren’t

  quite so bad. Misty isn’t the brightest

  girl. But she’s got a killer bod to focus

  on. It’s okay to be turned on by that.

  The evening’s little snort party will

  help me out too. In fact, we might

  even have fun. But, far as I know,

  Chris isn’t coming along. “You sure

  you’re hooking up with Misty tonight?”

  The table falls silent. Not even

  a minimal buzz as Chris gives me

  an odd look. That’s what I said.

  Why? You know something

  I don’t? He throws three cards

  on the table. Waits for more.

  And also for my answer. “Uh.

  It’s just I thought she had to work

  tonight. You know. For Lydia.”

  I draw two cards. Dig way down

  for composure. Lady Luck is definitely

  rock ’n’ rolling with me. Full house.

  Chris doesn’t respond. For some

  reason, that bothers me a lot. I look

  over at him and he’s staring at me,

  head tipped as if listening to some-

  thing no one else can hear. Little

  voices in his head? Schizo, too?

  It’s all lost on Vince, who draws

  last. One card …. C’mon, Lady,

  don’t trade partners now! His face

  gives nothing away. But when

  he bets, we all gulp in breaths.

  He tosses some chips. A hundred.

  Justin folds. Shaun considers quite

  a while, finally calls. Chris swears

  softly, breaks out in a sweat, trying