court, complete with a special
judge who says he believes
that underage hookers (my
term, not his) are the victims
of this particular crime. After
watching him deal with a long
lineup of young tramps (my term
again), I think up to a point,
he’s right. Pimps and johns
are most definitely the criminals
here. The problem is that most of
the girls in the courtroom, including
Alex and me, were willing victims.
Whatever. We are damn lucky to
have a judge who cares even a little
about what happens to any of us.
His choices for what to do with
us are limited. Juvie. Group homes.
Treatment programs, for those
who need them. Hard-core
repeat offenders spend time in
Caliente, a lockup in mid-nowhere,
Nevada. And for the few
lucky ones with families
who still care and will take
them, the chance to go home.
Turned out for once in my
life, I was one of the few.
When I called Gram, she
freaked. Good freaked,
I mean. All the bad of what
I’ve done started spewing
from my mouth. She shut me
up right away. We can talk
about that later. Right now,
tell me what I have to do
to bring you home. She didn’t
yell. Didn’t cry. Not until
she told me about Iris. She’s
dying, Ginger. Advanced HIV.
Gram and the Kids
Really need me now. Iris, too.
She’s wasting away. Docs
say she’s got maybe a year.
I tried to get Alex to come
back to Barstow with me.
She’s not budging an inch
from the group home her social
worker assigned her to. A group
home for pregnant teens. She said,
Me and the baby will be just
fine. The program will find
me a job, help me learn how
to be a mom. She vows to be
a better mother than her own.
I just hope she’s better than mine.
I’ll miss her, of course. She’s
been the biggest part of me for
a very long time. But truth is,
the biggest part of me should
be me. Just have to find her.
Maybe she’s even a writer.
A Poem by Cody Bennett
Have to Find
The courage to leap
the brink, let myself fall
beyond the precipice
most people call
life.
I’ve grown tired of
stumbling, skinning
my knees. If flight
is
possible without
the sting of growing
wings, let me fly
a-
way, above the madness,
to a place where
there is nothing to
gamble
but another go-round.
And, win or lose, there
is a chance at something
after
the penultimate decision.
Because life, and maybe
death, will always be
a gamble after
all.
Author’s Note
I am often asked how I decide to write about a certain topic. This one was inspired by a statistic I came across. Did you know that the average age of a female prostitute in the United States is twelve years old? This book doesn’t explore the base reason for that statistic—young children are imported into this country from places like Thailand and Africa to serve as child prostitutes. Other books do address that issue, and I may too, one day. But for the purposes of this book, the statistic piqued my interest in teen prostitution. Tricks looks at a handful of reasons that might drive a young adult to sell his or her body. Here, and in real life, almost always you can distill the reason to survival.
Prostitution is not a glamorous profession. Even high-priced call girls often end up addicted, abused, or worse. No one deserves the kind of mistreatment often perpetrated by “johns” and pimps. Whatever the reasons for resorting to prostitution, whatever has happened in someone’s past, the future is theirs to shape. The first step is to find a way out.
If you or someone you know have reached that place, and are under the age of eighteen, there is help. A wonderful organization called Children of the Night will take you off the street and help you start over. All you have to do is ask. Their hotline number is 800-551-1300. But if you can’t remember that, dial 911. Local law enforcement can put you in touch with them.
Table of Contents
CodyFalling Apart
Can’t Tell Her That Part
That Night After Lucas’s Party
Tricks Page 33