by Nicole Marsh
Collin buckles himself in and turns the key in the ignition, cautiously backing off my lawn, and leaving the trailer park. I watch the beat-up rectangles fade from view in the passenger mirror, thinking the whole time how great a view it is to watch the distance grow.
The sight reminds me to keep my eye on the prize.
As much as I like Collin, I need the money Derek can get from casing his parent’s place. It’s not ideal, not really something I ever wanted to resort to, but it’s a necessary choice, in order to leave this place.
A few miles pass in silence and I space out, mulling over how to gain access to Collin’s house. I suddenly realize neither of us have spoken a word in almost fifteen minutes. Is Collin upset or is this all we’re going to do, ride together in silence?
I wait through another stoplight, until we’ve left our small town. Then I’m incapable of holding back any longer. Breaking the silence, I ask, “Is this what people do on a drive? Just watch the scenery pass without speaking?”
Without turning to discern his expression, I feel his humor permeating the air. Collin clears his throat twice prior to speaking, “Well, yeah. You lounge quietly and think, or chat, or listen to music. It’s just something to do, it doesn’t have to be planned out to a T. Don’t you ever just drive to clear your head or escape?”
Just something to do.
Huh.
His words highlight the gap in our wealth. Growing up poor, things like wasting gas without a purpose wasn’t a way to spend the time. When my mom still lived in the trailer, she saved her fuel to get groceries or go to the bar. Always entering the car with a destination in mind.
Hesitating, I finally respond, carefully selecting words that won’t evoke pity of any kind. I prefer to live without Collin’s pity. “I’ve never, uh, gone on a drive. I actually never learned how to drive.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see his head whip in my direction. His voice is incredulous, “You don’t know how to drive? How do you get anywhere?”
I shrug, my gaze focused out the windshield. “Bike.”
His reaction has me feeling like a loser. This whole drive thing feels like a mistake.
Collin responds with an “Mmm” noise, his eyes firmly fixed out the windshield, watching the rows of tall, golden wheat pass as we drive down the two-lane road. His silence makes me think he’s also realizing his invitation was a mistake.
I sink into my seat, twisting my body to face the window, waiting for him to turn around, so he can drop me off at the trailer. Instead, he surprises me when he directs the SUV onto a small gravel path behind a large oak tree.
My curiosity is piqued as he slowly navigates down the road, stopping inside a dirt circle. We’re out in the countryside, surrounded by nothing but open air and nature. I tear my gaze away from the surrounding wall, of tall green grass, topped by clear sky, to meet Collin’s green gaze. His gem-colored eyes are fixated on my face, watching and waiting for my reaction.
“Where are we?” I wonder aloud.
I’ve noticed Collin’s eyes sparkle whenever he’s happy or amused. They’re doing it right now, and I’m interested to know what he’s thinking. My ears perk when he finally speaks. “One of my favorite places. Come on, let me show you.”
He hops out, but heads to the trunk, rather than the passenger side to help me out. I debark slowly on my own, taking a few tentative strides away from the vehicle, observing as Collin grabs a woven basket. He places the handle onto his shoulder and throws a thick plaid blanket over his arm before joining me.
Our eyes meet for a second, his gaze warm and comforting. Then he holds out his hand, palm facing upwards. The action is simple, and sweet, causing a swarm out butterflies low in my belly.
Collin Franzen is Dangerous.
Ignoring the thought, I gently place my palm in his and he weaves his fingers through mine. He tugs against my hand softly, when I don’t immediately start walking. I silence the part of my brain telling me this feels so natural, our hands fit together so perfectly. Instead I focus on glancing around as Collin winds us through the tall grass like he’s done this a thousand times. The urge to ask where we’re going builds, but before I can voice the question, we emerge into a clearing.
“It’s beautiful,” I say quietly, consumed by the breathtaking view. Flat, green grass separates two tall, sturdy oaks, and leads to an undisturbed lake with deep-blue water.
“I like to come here to relax and think. Or sometimes a group of us will come out here to swim. My grandpa told me about this place, he said my mom used to love coming here as a kid.” His tone is wistful, punctuated by a type of sadness I empathize with. He doesn’t continue speaking, turning away from the water to shake out the blanket and lay it on the grass. I watch as he places the basket in the top corner before toeing off his shoes and settling on his side, onto the blanket.
I follow his lead, slipping out of my sandals and laying on the blanket facing Collin, my hand supporting my cheek. “I wish I brought a swimsuit,” I muse, my eyes jumping to the water.
“We could always go skinny-dipping,” Collin suggests jokingly, accompanying the words with an over the top wink.
I chuckle at his antics, thankful I’m here with someone like Collin that wouldn’t actually take advantage of this situation. I glance down my body to stare at the water again. “Does your mom still come here?”
My question is greeted with silence. After a few beats, I finally peek through my lashes at Collin, but he appears deep in thought. I’m unsure if he heard me from his expression and contemplate asking the question again, seconds before his eyes meet mine. The heartbroken look in the vibrant green orbs has me stifling a gasp of surprise.
He opens his mouth twice, but no words come out and he resumes facing the water. I gently rub a hand up and down his arm in what I hope is a soothing manner. “I’m sorry I asked,” I say quietly, when the silence lingers and Collin refuses to look at me.
Nodding once, Collin continues staring at the lake with an expression I can’t identify. It feels like an eternity in the time that passes until he faces me again.
During the silence, one of us shifted closer. My hand still rests on Collin’s arm and his breath lightly fans across my cheeks with each exhalation. I force my muscles to stay relaxed as Collin slowly tilts his head down, his mouth closing in on mine. My eyes flutter shut of their own accord as Collin leans near, his breath hitting my lips from a few centimeters away.
A loud splash breaks the peaceful silence and I whip my head back, intent on discovering the source. In the process, I slam my forehead into Collin’s nose.
“Oomph,” he groans, while I continue transitioning to a seated position, scanning the area for the disturbance. Across the lake, I spot a group of twenty or so teenagers all jumping into the water and laughing. Someone is unloading a table from a truck and a couple of the girls are unfolding lounge chairs.
Having identified the sudden noise, my eyes return to Collin. I gasp when I see his nose held between both hands, with blood dripping from his fingers. “Oh crap! Is that from me?”
Without waiting for his response, I flip open the top of his basket and dig around until I find a wad of paper towels. I offer them to Collin, then continue searching until my hand hits something cool. Wrapping my fingers around it, I pluck out a frozen ice pack. Scooting across the blanket, I approach Collin like I would a dog that I’m not sure is friendly. “Are you okay? Can I look at it?”
“I’m fine. I don’t think it’s broken, just a little nosebleed,” Collin responds, his voice both nasally and muffled from the hold on his nose.
His eyes meet mine, and I exhale the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. A little glimmer of a sparkle glints back at me above his bloody hands.
Chapter 9
Sighing, I heave my tired body onto my small, ancient couch after another long, grueling day of cleaning disgusting rooms. If I never have to touch someone else’s used condoms again, it will still be too soon.
Attempting to force my body into cooperating with my idea to make something to eat, I swing my feet back onto the ground. Prior to standing, my phone pings with a text. Groaning, I elongate my body as far as possible, swiping my hand across the table until I feel the cool surface of my flip phone.
Crowing over my success, I pull the plastic blob towards me. The message is from Collin: A bunch of us are going tubing tomorrow to celebrate the end of summer, wanna come?
Chewing on my bottom lip, I read and reread the message, dissecting each word.
A bunch of us. Like his football and cheerleader friends?
Celebrate. Like a party on tubes?
Wanna come? Is this a date or are we friends now?
It’s been almost a week since we went for a drive, and we’ve texted a bit, but I figured Collin felt obligated to be friendly because he’s a nice guy. After the bloody nose incident, he was surprisingly cool and gentlemanly. He dropped me and my bike off at the trailer, and gave me a warm, firm hug goodbye. We exchanged numbers, but he hasn’t asked to hang out since.
I hesitate for another minute. This is what I wanted, right? To get close to Collin, gain entry to his house, and survey the layout so Derek and his buddies could steal all their valuables.
Thinking about my deal makes me feel like I’ve swallowed a rock that’s now heavily sitting in the pit of my stomach, but it’s what I need to do to survive. With another heartfelt sigh, I force my fingers to type a response: I don’t have a tube.
Holding my ancient flip phone and my breath, I wait. Ignoring the part of my brain that wants to find out why I’m nervous about his response, I leave my screen up hoping for a quick reply. Luckily for my lungs, my phone pings again in under ten seconds.
With shaky fingers, I click on the center button to open the message. Have an extra. All you need to bring is yourself in a suit. Pick you up at 9?
My breath whooshes out of my chest and I drag in another deep inhale. I feel like I’m hyperventilating just having a conversation with Collin, and I’m not sure why. Typing out my response takes longer than it should. I write, edit, delete, several times, finally settling on: You know where I live.
A few seconds later my phone pings again:
I’m grinning to myself as I throw some frozen veggies and chicken into a skillet to make a stir fry. Moving the icy pieces with a spatula, I hum. It isn’t until I’m seated at my table with a full bowl in front of me that I realize I may not own a swimsuit.
Forcing myself to stay seated, I shovel my dinner into my face aggressively. Barely chewing each bite before swallowing. Even though I make an effort to remain calm and slowly move towards my room to search for a swimsuit—like a reasonable human being—I slam my bowl into the sink and sprint through the tiny hallway.
In my bedroom, I rip a drawer out of the built-in dresser due to my haste. Flinging it onto my bed, I pounce on top of it, like a panther ripping into its prey. Bras, underwear, and socks fly in every direction. I hit the wood at the bottom of the drawer before magically discovering a swimsuit I’d forgotten I owned.
“Well, shit.”
Falling back onto my haunches, I eye the mess surrounding me, contemplating my next possible move. Reluctantly, I walk to the small storage closet and remove the tub filled with my mother’s belongings. I haven’t touched the plastic container in the months since my mom left. I guess a part of me was saving them in case she returned, but that seems less and less likely with each passing day.
Sighing, I peel off the green lid and delve inside. Some of my mom’s clothing is much nicer than mine, gifts from her various boyfriends through the years or stuff she’s stolen or bought from pawn shops, on the cheap.
I sort through all my mom’s left-over clothing, hoping for a decent bikini in the lot. Dragging out miscellaneous scraps of fabric, inspecting each piece before placing it on the dingy, linoleum next to me if it isn’t a swimsuit.
The pile in the container continues to dwindle, and still no swimsuit. She wasn’t good for much, but maybe her stuff is good for this, plays through my mind, as I continue through the tub, slowly nearing the bottom of the container. Most of the clothing is too skimpy for my tastes, but the last three items are more modest sundresses I can’t recall her ever wearing.
Surveying the room around me, I emit a frustrated groan. Why can’t anything ever be as simple as just owning what I need to live my life?
Guess I’m riding my bike across town in the middle of the night, hoping Walmart still has a swimsuit in my size.
I push myself off the floor, and grab a garbage bag from under the sink. First, I’m going to get rid of some of this junk. Back in my bedroom, I pick through my mom’s belongings, leaving a few shirts, a pair of jeans my size, and the three dresses. The remaining worn pieces are shoveled into the bag. Once everything is picked up, I tie off the plastic top and drag it to my front door.
Resigned, I shove my aching feet back into my shoes and step outside, locking up as I exit. I peel my bike off the trailer, and clamber on, still holding the garbage bag. Pointing myself in the direction of the dumpster, I cruise through the dusky, night air, riding across the patchy grass to get there on the quickest route.
I heave the bag up over my shoulder, tossing it into the open dumpster with an “oomph” from the effort. Just as I step away, preparing to climb back on my bike, I hear my name.
“Kenzzzziiiee-girl.” Derek slurs the syllables, his voice sounding drunk as it drifts through the clearing between the trailers.
Twirling around, I follow the direction of his voice to seek him out. My eyes track his movements as he stumbles closer. His feet staggering across the uneven dirt and dying grass as he determinedly makes his way towards me.
I redistribute my weight, balancing on my sore left leg, and gripping my bike, as he drunkenly approaches. I wait to speak until he’s close enough to hear me, not wanting to shout and alert the rest of the trailer park to our drama. “Why have I been seeing so much of you lately, Derek?”
“You know why, Kenz,” he slurs sloppily, as he continues on his path towards me, staggering slightly when his shoe snags on a rock.
“I don’t have anything to tell you yet,” I reply, preventing my annoyance from bleeding into my tone, in an effort to end this as quickly as possible. I have more to do tonight and my achy body is ready to climb into bed already.
Derek doesn’t take the hint that I want to be left alone. Instead, he continues stumbling forward until he’s standing four inches away. I can feel the warmth radiating off his body and smell the stench of booze emanating from his sweat and breath. My natural reaction is to step backward, but I force myself to stay in place, not wanting to give Derek the upper hand by revealing how uncomfortable I am.
Instead, I tip my head back, meeting his dark gaze a half foot above me. A smirk falls to his lips as our eyes connect. The silence lingers until I quirk a brow at him.
“Have you forgotten our deal, Kenzie-girl?” He finally asks.
With an angry exhale, my brow furrows. “How many times do I need to tell you this, Derek? I’m not an idiot, I don’t have memory loss. I’m not going to forget our arrangement, but I need time to make sure everything falls into place.”
“Ooohkaay,” he says, drawing the word out skeptically. “I saw Franzen drop you off the other day, Kenzie-girl. It looked pretty cozy and I didn’t want you to forget about our arrangement. A week has passed since then, without any updates that will help me and Zane. I would hate to be forced to tell Collin how you plotted to rob his house with me, if things fell through.” He grins, his glazed eyes roving over my body while he waits for his newest threat to register.
My whole-body tenses once the meaning of his words sink in. Not that I expected anything different from Derek, he’s involved in all sorts of illegal activities and I have no doubt he would throw anyone
under the bus that got in his way. Still, this is a quick reaction, for him to stoop so low after one week. I give a stunted nod of my head, then step to my left with the intention of providing myself room to clamber on my bike.
Derek stops me, his hand gripping onto my upper arm. He leans forward, his drunken breath fanning across my face, forcing me to scrunch my nose. “Kenz, we aren’t like the Franzens. You can like Collin, but he’s not for you. Just keep that in mind while you spend time with him. Keep the end game in mind; find the information you promised me, then get out. That’s all you can do with guys like him. We’ll never be good enough for the people from Golden Oaks and we both know it.”
I give another stunted nod and Derek releases me. I angrily stride away, my fingers tightly gripping the handles of my bike, as emotion forces my feet forward. Wordlessly, I continue walking until I round the corner of the next trailer. Only then do I allow my breathing to return to normal and relax my shoulders, releasing some of the fiery rage created by Derek’s dismissal of my worth. With a clearer mind, I climb onto my bike and pedal away, leaving Derek near the dumpster, where he belongs.
The rest of my anger and irritation ebbs away the second my front tire leaves the dirt road of the trailer park. The Walmart is over an hour bike ride away, giving me plenty of time to repeat the conversation, thinking over each and every word several times. As much as I want to brush Derek’s words aside, I can’t. They hold too much truth for me to do that.
I can wish I was the kind of girl meant for Collin Franzen as much as I want. But no matter how much I like him and think he likes me; he can never be anything more than a mark. He’s too good for someone from the trailer park plotting to steal from his family.
Someone like me.
Chapter 10
I stand in front of my cracked bathroom mirror, turning left and right, wearing the tiny, red bikini I bought last night. The scraps of fabric that seemed like a good idea in Walmart’s empty dressing room, no longer feels like the right choice in the light of day. Doubt plagues me as I see the cups barely covering the center of my modest breasts and the bottoms hanging low on my flat belly, covering half of each cheek in the back.