Accent Hussy (It Had 2 B U)

by V. Kelly

  “Tell you what, NJ. How about we double-dutch for the group. Whoever can last longer in the ropes wins the role as leader. If I win, you have to do what I say, got it?”

  The girls chatter amongst themselves and push one of the girls out in front of me. “This is DD. Her real name is Delanie, but we call her DD because she’s the queen of double-dutch. You’ll face her. She’s won six jump roping championships in the last two years.”

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll take you all on. Whoever can last the longest, wins. What do you say?” The girls do another group discussion and turn back to me, nodding their heads. I call over two older girls and have them twirl the ropes. The seven girls line up and get ready to take me on, leaving DD as their last jumper. I wait for my opportunity and jump into the ropes. The littlest of their group jumps in with me. She’s tiny compared to the other girls and looks like she must be around six. She has blonde hair pulled up into two haphazard pigtails. I notice that her clothes are full of holes and are dirty, like they haven’t been washed in weeks. She has a huge scar over her left eye and a few bruises up and down her arms. I have a feeling this little girl is a victim of domestic violence and that thought breaks my heart.

  The minute she jumps in, her tiny legs can’t keep up with how fast the older girls are twirling. I hear the other girls yelling, “Go Hopscotch.” I realize that must be her game of choice. When the twirlers pick up speed, her legs hit the ropes causing her to go tumbling to the ground. When her knees hit the floor, she cries out and I bend down to help her up. She sniffs at me, with tears forming in her deep brown eyes.

  “It’s okay, you did good, Hopscotch. I bet if we were playing hopscotch, you would’ve taken me down.”

  She giggles. “If this was hopscotch you would be eliminated already, Lady.” NJ clears her throat and the little girl whimpers before she retreats behind the rest of the girls.

  When the older girls start twirling the ropes, two of the girls jump in at the same time, barely leaving me any room. These two girls are older than Hopscotch and look like they may be ten, like NJ. They also look like they are related. Both girls are wearing black tank tops and blue jeans. They’re of Hispanic origin and have dark black hair pulled back into ponytails. As they jump, they start doing one of those hand-clapping games you see girls playing, while they chant the Down Down Baby song. They aren’t leaving me an opening to jump in, and if I don’t do it soon, I’m going to lose this challenge. I take a deep breath and jump in. I have to bend down at my waist so that when I jump I don’t hit my head on the little rope they left me with.

  All the girls are laughing, but I don’t care. I’m keeping up with them and that’s all that matters. After they finish their song, they both turn and face me; it’s almost humorous how shocked they looked. After about a hundred turns I can see they are losing their stamina. One of them slips up and their arm hits a rope, knocking it down.

  “Damn it, Cornell, you’re so clumsy.”

  “Whatever, Marks, you were just as tired as I am.” The two girls cackle all the way over to their friends.

  “Do you guys give up yet?” I ask smugly.

  “Nope, it’s my turn now,” NJ sneers.

  “Good, I was hoping you would be next,” I return her sneer.

  “Why’s that, bitch?”

  “Because you obviously know your stuff, and I’m ready to see your skills.”

  She doesn’t say a word to me. She jumps into the two ropes and pretends to look at her nails like she could jump rope all day. I’m starting to get winded, but I’m not about to back down from gaining control of these girls. A crowd has gathered around us. Everyone in the gym, and a few stragglers from outside, have all gathered in the bleachers. A lot of them are plotting my demise and despite the rude words they’re shouting out at me, I jump into the rope with NJ and get my feet moving. The girls twirling the ropes are laughing as NJ flips me off, then spins around to show me her butt. I ignore her and keep going.

  “Give up yet?” I ask her.

  “Not even close,” NJ yells. She instructs the girls to go faster. It’s been forever since I’ve jump roped, and even though I could do this is my sleep, it takes extreme focus to go this fast and not hit the ropes. It’s all about rhythm and keeping in sync with the twirls. NJ’s feet are going so fast I can barely see them. It isn’t until she gets a little too cocky and tries to do some fancy move that her feet slip up and the rope tangles around her.

  “Shit!” she yells. “What are you, some kind of jump rope robot?”

  I don’t answer her. I can’t. Otherwise, I will be giving away my secret weapon: seventeen jump rope trophies, two championship titles, and a world record for most jumps in a ten-minute time period for someone under the age of fifteen. I guess you can say I’m good at jump roping.

  Rolo backed out of facing me in the ropes. I don’t think she could’ve kept up with me anyway. She’s a heavy set girl with bright red hair, emerald eyes, and a fist full of Jolly Ranchers. NJ cursed at her for not even trying, but I honestly think she probably made the correct choice. I successfully defeated BC in thirty seconds. Her feet weren’t coordinated enough to get in rhythm with the ropes. I felt sorry for the girl; everyone ended up laughing at her. When she started to walk away, I grabbed her hand and made her look at me.

  “Hey, you’re BC right.”

  “Yeah, what’s it to ya?” she asks snottily.

  “Well, I think you did a great job out there. Don’t listen to anyone else. You did just fine.”

  Her blue eyes twinkle for a second and a small smile plays on the corner of her cheek forming a dimple, but the moment she makes eye contact with NJ, she returns to her hard scowl and walks away from me, not even answering me.

  It was finally time to face DD. I can see why she would be their go-to-girl. Almond shaped eyes glare at me from behind her thick black glasses. Where she lacks in size, she makes up for in intimidation. She hands her glasses to NJ and cracks her neck as if we’re about to butt heads in a football game instead of playing double-dutch. She ties up her black hair so it won’t get in her way and motions for the girls to start twirling. Instead of jumping in like the other girls did before her, she does a twirl and dances her way into the ropes. Then she starts doing jumping jacks.

  Ohhhh, she wants to play trick double-dutch. Okay, let’s play.

  I take a step back and watch the ropes, memorizing the rhythm and counting each slap on the floor in my head. When I’m pretty sure I have it down, I take a deep breath and do a front handspring straight into the ropes. The crowd gasps and the little girls in my group all curse. DD glares at me and does a toe touch while jumping. I channel my old routine and soon, I’m calling out every trick I have in my arsenal. I start with the worm. It took a lot of patience, hard work, and determination before I perfected doing the worm while jumping rope. Everyone is cheering. Playing to the crowd is just another thing I’m talented at. People have their phones out recording the whole match. Between DD’s crazy acrobatics, and my break dance moves, our little jump rope routine turns into a full-on dance-off.

  DD tries to distract me by kicking at me karate style. I almost grab her foot to stop her from connecting with my stomach, but I allow her to kick me. Although it hurts and I almost stumble back into the ropes, I manage to, somehow keep going.

  “Fuck, this bitch don’t give up,” NJ mumbles. “Come on, DD, you can do this shit.”

  When I win, I’m going to have to fix that mouth on NJ. A girl her age shouldn’t be cursing so much. DD attempts to best me with doing a cheerleading pose while jumping. She has one leg in her hand fully outstretched, and the other jumping up and down like a pogo stick. When she brings her foot down, she accidentally snags one of the ropes and they stop. All the girls scream at once, and of course, my foul-mouthed friend, NJ is swearing again.

  I turn to my girls and smile. “You girls were amazing. You really gave me a run for my money.”

  NJ’s face twists in confusion. “Okay, wha
t gives? You ain’t like no normal helper. How’d you do that stuff?”

  “Let’s just say I know my way around a jump rope.”

  All of the girls groan.

  “I guess you guys have to listen to me now.” I motion for NJ to come over to me and get down to her level. She’s still glaring at me but doesn’t seem to be as angry as she did when we first met. I pull my face close to her ear and whisper, “I’m going to need your help getting to know everyone and keeping them in line. Do you think you can help me with that?”

  NJ shakes her head. Then she sighs and smiles a little. “Yeah, I can help with that.”

  “I’m gonna hug you now, because, despite your hostile exterior, I know underneath is a little girl with a heart of gold.”

  “You can’t hug . . .” I don’t let her finish her sentence. I wrap her in a hug and she goes rigid in my arms. She’s like a statue as I hug her. Maybe I was wrong when I thought I had gotten through to her already. Just as I’m pulling away, she circles my neck with her arms and I feel her crying. “Nobody has ever wanted to hug me before,” she mumbles into my hair.

  Tears form in my own eyes. These little girls are going to be my undoing. I need to thank the guardian angel that brought us all together. I believe, with all my heart and soul, that I’m meant to help these girls.

  My mother sometimes says that fate will bring people into your lives because you are destined to be together. I know, looking into these seven tiny faces, that I am supposed to be here. Stupidity caused my accident, but fate is what told me to choose community service.

  Fate brought me here.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It’s been two weeks since I started working at The Youth Center. I’ve found my groove with the girls, and they’re really starting to like me. Trisha says she can’t believe how I’ve managed to get through to them. According to Trisha the girls are always standoffish with new people. She told me that the way they accepted me into their group so fast, really surprised her. That little tidbit made my heart soar. I’m slowly falling in love with each and every one of my pint-sized pipsqueaks.

  NJ has become my partner in crime. I really lean on her to keep the other girls in line when we are rotating from station to station. I found out that most of the girls live on the same block, which is about a mile from here. Their mom’s all work at a local Walmart and are hardly ever home due to the late hours, which is why most of the girls ended up finding The Youth Center. NJ’s mom is the only one who doesn’t work. Her father is the breadwinner in the family and works at the local peanut plant.

  NJ is the youngest in a family of six. Her mother is stricken with cancer, so she spends most of her day sleeping at home. NJ told me that most people don’t pay attention to her. Her mom gets all of the attention which allows NJ to do whatever she wants. She explained that her brother and older sister bully her; they like to cuss her out and pick on her. I’m guessing that’s where she gets her foul mouth and bad attitude from. In NJ’s family, being hard is the only way to survive.

  I’ve learned so much about these girls that I feel like they’re a part of me now. My heart has broken into seven little pieces and each girl has captured a different piece of it. The only one I don’t know much about is Hopscotch. She tends not to share anything about her home life and actually spends most of her time avoiding me. I’m determined to get her to open up to me. She’s not going to have a choice.

  I’ve actually found my groove with the other workers at The Youth Center as well. Everyone is really nice and has been gracious about helping me settle into my volunteering role. Even Kristene is being nicer to me. Pretty much everyone is since they started seeing a change in the six to ten-year-old girls. Trisha told me that Mr. C. is thrilled with what he has heard about my work with them. She says he can’t wait to meet me. It’s weird, but I’m sorta looking forward to meeting him, too.

  We are just changing from swimsuits and heading to the gym when Trisha comes racing after me. “Mr. C. needs to see you right away.”

  I look at the girls and back at her. She shrugs, “I got them; go talk to Mr. C. When he needs something we do it.”

  I nod my head and take a deep breath. After all this time, I’ve started to build what I believe he’s going to look like in my head. He’s probably an older gentleman with silver starting to pepper his hair, dressed in a nice, firmly-pressed dress suit, a tuft of beard on his face, and the slight smell of tobacco pipe permeating the room. Even with all the warnings from the female staff about his young, gorgeous features, this is the Mr. C. I have built up in my mind.

  I knock on the door leading to his office. A gruff voice tells me to enter from the other side of the door. Opening it, I go to sit in the chair when the same gruff voice tells me to close the door behind me.

  Nerves wreak havoc on my belly. I’m not sure why I’m so nervous, but I am. A large cherry wood desk sits in the middle of the room. Pictures of inner city kids line the wall to my right, and for some reason a pang of familiarity hits me when I look at them, but for the life of me, I don’t know why. A large chalkboard sits against the left wall. Marked on it are little x and o’s like you see in football movies. The chair that Mr. C. is sitting in faces the window, which looks out into the field behind the building. Mr. C. has some soccer goals set up out on a field of grass that is marked up like a football field. Two goal posts sit on opposite ends of the field. Between the field and the building, there’s a playground area for little kids and an outdoor basketball court where I see the older boys playing one on one.

  “Take a seat, please,” Mr. C. instructs. His back is to me, so I can’t see who is speaking.

  “Um, okay.”

  I take a seat in one of the five chairs facing his desk. I can’t believe how massive his office is. A large sectional couch sits below all the pictures on the right wall, and even with it taking up so much space, there is still room for a water cooler near his filing cabinet.

  “I’ve heard great things about your work with the six to ten-year-old girls. I knew you would be a perfect fit for them, Everly.”

  Mr. C.’s voice is rough and gravelly, nothing how I pictured. It sounds almost like he has a cold or has something stuck in his throat.

  “How could you know that without meeting me? Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for you assigning me to their group because I absolutely love the girls. I’m just curious as to how you could possibly know I was going to be a good fit before even getting here. You couldn’t have known that just by reading my file.”

  “You can learn a lot from a rap sheet,” he chuckles. “I get feelings from people. I knew the moment I saw your file that you would be able to connect with the girls. I am curious, though, as to how you broke through to NJ; that girl is a piece of work.”

  “She’s a big softie once you break through all her hostile exterior. Her mom has cancer and her dad works all the time. She’s the youngest of six kids and her older siblings are put in charge of her a lot. They are mean to her, so she comes here to escape.”

  “I see,” he says and then coughs. “And what about the other girls? Have you learned anything about them?

  “Marks and Cornell are cousins. They come from a very big family. They have thirty-two members altogether, so the two get lost in the shuffle. They found this place by accident. Both of their mother’s work at the local Walmart, and instead of going home after school they followed NJ here. That’s how most of them find this place, through NJ. BC and DD are both excellent in school; DD is the queen of double-dutch . . .”

  “Until she met you,” he interrupts. It’s kind of awkward talking to the back of a chair. I can’t see any part of his body, not even a reflection in the glass from the window. Right now, all I have to go on is his voice.

  “You heard about that?”

  “I did. I also saw the video. It’s obvious you made the right decision in challenging them to a game. Bravo, I’m impressed. What about Hopscotch, have you found out anything about her y
et?”

  “No,” I reply sadly. “She won’t open up to me.”

  “I’m sure she will; just give her some time. I’m fascinated by how you’ve adapted to the life around here. Inner city kids aren’t always the easiest to get along with.”

  “I love them. From what I hear, you love them, too.”

  He chuckles. “I do have a soft spot for difficult people,” he states.

  “Did you need something from me?” I ask, wondering what was so important that I got called into his office and away from the girls.

  “Yes, I do,” he replies.

  “Okay, what can I help you with?”

  “I want you to take your clothes off.”

  “EXCUSE ME?” I shout.

  “Your clothes, I think they would look better on my floor.”

  I’m in utter disbelief. This man. The man everyone states never shows an interest in anyone. The man who has a selfless reputation, a humanitarian, a man loved by all, is asking me to take my fucking clothes off. All the nerves in my belly fade, and I suddenly feel sick to my stomach.

  “Is this some sort of joke?”

  “No, I really would like to see your clothes on the floor.”

  “I’m not sure what kind of game you’re playing here, Mr. C.”

  He cuts me off. “Call me Caleb.”

  “What?”

  His chair swivels around and the stupid smile that haunts my dreams grins back at me. CALEB! Caleb is Mr. C.? What the hell is going on here?

  “Caleb? Is this a joke? Where is Mr. C.?”

  Caleb laughs and gets up from the chair; I don’t even have time to react before he places himself right in front of me, my mouth two inches away from his bulging zipper. “You’re looking at him.”

  “This is yours?” I motion to the office, but my words are meant for the whole building.

  “Yes, built this place from the ground up. Quite remarkable, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, the place is remarkable; you, on the other hand, are like . . .”