The Con

by Justine Elvira

  His hair is long again, but pulled back in a man bun. He has a cigarette behind his ear and he's wearing an Al's Mechanics t-shirt, jeans, and black boots. His lips are pink and parted and I instantly think of those few minutes we spent together in his bedroom.

  I got to kiss those lips once.

  After our brief make-out session two years ago, I bolted out of his house faster than a cop drives to a donut shop.

  Was running away immature? Yes, but I was only twelve so of course a part of me was immature. I've wanted to speak to Jagger so many times since then, but I've never had the chance. We've never crossed paths.

  Now he's in front of me, holding the envelope that will tell me what my future has in store, and all I can think about is how badly I want to kiss him again.

  "What's in the envelope, twinkle toes?" He's watching me. His eyes drag down my body and then slowly trail back up. I know he's seeing the difference two years can make.

  I'm taller now. Not too tall but a decent size of five-eight. I'm slim, and my body is toned from all of the dancing, but I have just the right amount of curves. I'm wearing my sister's old clothing that finally fits–short denim shorts that show off my long, toned legs and a fitted black tank that lets him see the swell of my chest. I'm a full B-cup now but for a few days every month my boobs are big enough to wear a C-cup.

  When his eyes finally meet mine I answer, "That envelope contains my future."

  He looks back down at it, playing with the thin paper. "This holds your future?"

  "Yes," I say a little less confidently.

  His hands trace over the return address before he looks back at me and hands me the envelope. "Well, open it. Let's see what your future looks like."

  I play with the seal. "I'm not sure I can. I'm nervous, you know?"

  "There's nothing to be nervous about, twinkle toes. The answer is going to be the same whether you open that letter now, or a week from now. Hell. You don't ever have to open that letter, because that letter doesn't dictate your future. Only you can do that, and if it turns out not to be the news you wanted to hear, then you'll just work harder and get in somewhere else."

  He's wrong on so many levels. I want to go to college. I want to dance for the best dance company in New York City. I want to make a career on stage and get the best education while doing it. This envelope does dictate my future, but his words also comfort me and give me the courage to rip the seal and pull out the papers inside. I take a deep breath and start to read, mumbling the words under my breath.

  "Dear Miss Greenwood... We're excited to inform you..." My eyes follow the words as I finish reading the letter. I look up at Jagger and he watches me with anticipation.

  "I got in," I say quietly, not quite believing what I've just read. Not only did I get in, but they are also offering me a full scholarship as long as I stay in the dance program. They see real potential in me.

  I look back down at the letter before looking at Jagger again. He has a wide grin plastered across his face and I can’t help but smile with him. "I got in!" I shout this time.

  Without thinking I jump into him, his arms coming out to wrap around my body in a hug. We embrace, me jumping up and down while Jagger holds on to me.

  I can’t believe I got in.

  Once I've calmed down I realize I’ve just attacked him, but my body seems to only notice his proximity to me. My breathing becomes shallow as my nipples harden, so I pull away and take a step back, tucking my long hair behind my ears. "Sorry. I didn't mean to jump on you like that."

  "Nothing to be sorry about. You were excited about getting in and I'll never complain about being groped by a pretty girl." He winks.

  Jagger takes the cigarette out from behind his ear and lights it up, taking a slow drag as he watches me. My eyes wander over his body again and then my eyes focus on his shirt

  "Do you work at Al's?"

  He lifts the cigarette to his lips, taking another drag before exhaling his answer. "Just for today."

  "And where do you work tomorrow?"

  "You're cute, you know that?"

  "And you're evading my question." Crossing my arms over my chest, I tilt my hip out and wait for his response.

  "I'm working on a job. The shirt is all a part of... the story."

  "So you're working a con." I may not be a big part of the gossip in this community, but I've heard the rumors. Jagger is the sole breadwinner in his house. After his dad died he was left alone with his pregnant sister, and now Jagger provides for him, his sister, and his nephew.

  "I consider myself more of an opportunist," he replies.

  "Yeah? How much is this... opportunity... going to make you?"

  He watches me skeptically before answering. "Four figures, and that's the last I'm going to say about this. I shouldn't be corrupting your innocent mind. You need to forget all about this conversation and focus on your good news. You're going to go far, twinkle toes."

  "How can you be so sure? You've never even seen me dance."

  "It's like I've told you before, you were made for better things than this dump of a town. Don't let anything hold you back."

  As he finishes talking, a truck pulls up with an Al's Mechanics decal on the side. The passenger side window rolls down and a guy I've seen around is sitting in the driver's seat, but I don’t know his name.

  "You ready to go, Ace?"

  Jagger takes one last drag of his cigarette before tossing it on the ground.

  "One sec, Angelo." He takes two steps over to me and surprises me by wrapping his arms around me and giving me a hug. His lips brush against the top of my head and I close my eyes. I want to remember how good it feels to be in his arms, but almost immediately the comfort of his arms is gone and I feel empty.

  "See ya later, twinkle toes."

  He opens the passenger door and hops in the truck, and then they drive away, the tires squealing as Jagger disappears down the road.

  Chapter Five

  One year later

  My eyes are swollen and puffy, and burn from crying the entire drive home. When Monique pulls into my driveway I quickly open the passenger door, grabbing my school bag filled with broken dreams, and I hop out.

  "Thanks for the ride."

  "Ronnie, do you want me to stay? We can buy some ice cream and rent cheesy movies. I want to be here for you."

  I know she means well and I know that she wants to help. Monique has been my best friend ever since I started dancing six years ago at her mother's studio. She's a little older than me and up until today our futures mirrored each other.

  But now we're no longer on the same path.

  Six months ago, halfway into my freshman year at the best Performing Arts high school in Arizona, I suffered a career ending injury; I just didn't know that at the time. I was working on a piece with my male dance partner. Things were going great and I knew we had come up with a great dance together, but then he dropped me. I landed hard on my ankle right before he fell on top of it, making the damage worse.

  It completely shattered.

  I had to have surgery–pins placed in my ankle. I've been going to physical therapy ever since and forced to watch the dancers in my class from the sidelines. I knew the road to recovery would be long and grueling, but I was willing to do it–to fight my way back to the top.

  But the last six months of hard and grueling work has been for nothing.

  Today I met with my team of doctors, which my school graciously paid for since the injury happened there. Then I had a meeting with the board at my school.

  The first string of bad news came from my team of doctors. I can't put any extra weight or strain on my ankle, and I especially can't go up on my pointe shoes. My ankle's too weak. I need to continue with physical therapy, but I'll most likely never be able to dance ballet again.

  Then came the rest of the bad news. The news that had me bawling like a baby the entire ride home. When I met with the board at my school of the Performing Arts, I was informed I lost my
scholarship. Even if I persevered through these injuries and was able to dance again, I would no longer be able to dance on scholarship there. They were apologetic but firm. They need to open my scholarship up to someone who has a bright future ahead of them in the dance world, and I no longer did.

  "I'm good, Monique. I need to be by myself right now, but I'll call you tomorrow."

  I shut the door to her Saab, a sweet sixteen present from her parents, and walk around the front of her car and up the three steps that lead to my front door. In the dusk light I wave to her before opening the front door to my trailer and walking in.

  Leah is waiting for me, sprawled out against the sofa in my living room.

  "It's about time. You texted me over an hour ago."

  "It's an hour drive from Phoenix to here. I couldn't get home any faster." I drop my bag down in the doorway and walk over to where Leah is laying on my couch. She sits up, while I walk over to her with a slight hobble. It's hard to notice my limp unless you're looking for it.

  Leah's bleach blond hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, her dark roots peeking out the front. She has in big gold hoop earrings and her face is all done up in heavily perfected make-up. She's wearing a black mini skirt and a tight tube top that barely covers her breasts. She's short, curvy, and sassy so her outfit matches her personality.

  Although I had seen Leah from time to time over the years, we didn't become friends until after my ballet injury. The last six months I've spent a lot of time at home and Leah has become a fast and convenient friend. She's lived in the Evergreen's since she was born and attends the local high school. The high school I'll be attending in the fall now that I lost my scholarship.

  I plop down next to her on the sofa, prepared to spend the night going over where my life went wrong when Leah asks, "Want to go to a party?"

  I hate admitting this since it's a right of passage for most kids when they enter high school, but I've never been to a party before. I've never had the time, but suddenly the thought of ignoring the real world and having some fun for a night sounds really good. Like, really good. I'm fifteen years old. It's about time I go to a party.

  "Where?"

  "Angelo's place. It's going to be huge–kegs, music, deejay, food. He even paid Old Man Griff to turn his hearing aid off for the night."

  I don't know who Old Man Griff is, but that's not all that surprising.

  "What's the occasion?"

  "He just made a shit load of money thanks to Jagger. That's all I know."

  Heat crawls up the skin of my neck just at the sound of his name.

  Jagger.

  Everything always seems to circle back to Jagger.

  Maybe he'll be at the party. Angelo's the guy who drove him away from me after I opened my acceptance letter last year. The two of them were off to make some money then, and they're obviously still doing very well for themselves now.

  "All right," I agree and stand up from the sofa. "I just need a second to get ready. I plan on drinking my problems away tonight."

  "Are you dying? Is the apocalypse coming? Oh my God, you are a part of one of those weird cults that knows the exact date and time the world will end and now that you know that our life will be over soon, you want to experience all the things you've never done before like getting drunk and dry humping random guys on the dance floor."

  "Calm down, Leah." I laugh. It's the first time I've smiled all day. "Today's been shitty so I want to medicate my problems away with alcohol."

  "Yeah, that's my girl!" she hollers from the living room as I walk into my sister's bedroom. "I knew you could be fun."

  ***

  After rummaging through Pearl's closet I settle on a denim mini skirt and a low-cut green tank that reveals the curves of my breasts. It's a lot more revealing than what I usually wear. A bright pink push-up bra and matching panties are underneath. I want to wear heels to accentuate my legs since there's a chance Jagger will be there, but I don't know if I'll ever be able to wear heels again, so I slip on a pair of white tennis shoes instead–no socks.

  Leah and I walk over to Angelo's place, which is off Spruce, two streets over from my trailer. We're not even halfway there and I can hear the base of the music thumping. As we get closer the music grows louder and louder until we can finally see his house.

  The outside is filled with people and cars line the street. There are easily a hundred people out front, crammed into the tiny area. As we make our way through the crowd Leah introduces me to a few people but quickly abandons me to go flirt with the deejay who's playing Summertime by DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, leaving me alone and surrounded by people I've never met before. My eyes roam the area, searching for a familiar face when I see him.

  He's sitting on the hood of an orange and black muscle car in jeans and a white shirt. His hair is buzzed on the sides but still long on top and pulled back in a bun. He has one boot on the bumper and the other hangs loose down the front of the car. His arm is around a large busty blonde wearing bootie shorts and a skin tight Harley tank.

  It's Lola.

  He's not paying much attention to her as he smokes his cigarette and talks to the man standing in front of the car, but then Lola leans in, whispers something in his ear, and starts to kiss the side of his neck.

  Gah!!! Will nothing go my way today?

  I turn around, stalking my way through the crowd until I hear someone call out my name. I keep walking but then someone grips my upper arm and I'm being spun around.

  It's Ky.

  "Hey, Ronnie. I haven't seen you in a while and I never expected to see you here."

  "I came with Leah," I reply curtly. I look over at his hands that are holding a stack of red Solo cups and before he can say anything else, I reach out and grab one. "See you later, Ky," I yell as I turn my back on him and head over to the kegs.

  My original plan for coming was to get drunk tonight, so that's what I'm going to do. So what if Jagger is here with Lola? I don't need Jagger. He's allowed to be with whoever he wants to be with. He's not mine to claim. I barely even know him.

  But even as the angry thoughts go through my mind, I know they're not all entirely true. I may have only had a few interactions with Jagger over the years, but I do know him. I've felt a deep connection with him from the very first time I met him.

  My soul knows him.

  When I get to the keg it's hard for me to handle at first, but I get a hang of it quickly and start chugging my first cup of beer.

  "Slow down there, Ronnie. I don't want you passing out on me." I look up to see Dougy smiling down on me. He looks a lot bigger than I remember, but growth spurts will do that to you. "I never expected to see you at Angelo's party."

  "Neither did I," I mumble under my breath. This is the last thing on my list of life-plan goals, but now my goals have gone to shit.

  "How's that fancy school taking care of you? Jagger told us–"

  I place my free hand on his chest and look up at him. Even though I'm considered tall for a girl, all of Jagger's friends are taller and in a way it's comforting to have a man a whole head taller than me. "Can you do me one favor tonight?"

  "Sure. What?"

  "No talking about dance or my fancy school."

  Dougy grins down at me. "You've got it. We can talk about how attracted to me you are instead."

  I laugh before gulping down the rest of my beer. "You're definitely easy on the eyes."

  I didn't say that to flirt with him. It's just true. Dougy is definitely a man who takes care of his appearance. His arms are muscular, but not bulky. His head is still shaved and he has a nice natural tan to his skin. His dark eyes make him look mysterious, like he's hiding secrets behind those eyes, but he's not Jagger. No matter how good-looking he is, he'll never be Jagger.

  The music changes to Bad Romance by Lady Gaga and I try not to let the beat overcome my body. This is one of my favorite songs to let off steam to. After a hard rehearsal, I'd change the music to Gaga and dance it out however I
felt, with no rules, no perfect posture and strong lines. It was just wild, no inhibitions dancing.

  "Hey there, twinkle toes." My body stiffens before I slowly turn around. I'm brought face to face with the man I secretly pine for. I breathe him in up close, my memory seriously lacking at just how overwhelming his presence can be. Then my eyes shift over to the slutty Barbie doll hanging all over him. "What you doing hanging out with Thirty-D?"

  Jagger lights another cigarette and brings it to his mouth, inhaling a drag before exhaling, all the while keeping his eyes fixated on me. I keep eye contact, not wanting to be the one that breaks it, but I'm distracted when a rhinestone-manicured hand comes into my vision. I look over at Lola as she tries to poke holes through me with her glare. She takes the hand that's now wrapped around Jagger's neck and pulls him closer to her as she kisses the base of his throat and works her way up.

  I knew she was a slut.

  "You two look a little preoccupied, so Ronnie and I will leave you to it," Dougy says as he grabs my free hand.

  "Don't go, Thirty-D. I just want to warn twinkle toes about your... handicap." Jagger sounds a little tipsy but he's still holding himself together well.

  Dougy's smile turns to a scowl quickly. "Don't be a dick, Jagger."

  Jagger lets out a humorless laugh. “Your dick is the problem, Dougy. Most girls need more than thirty seconds to get off. I just thought she should know how you got your nickname before she gets her hopes up. I'd hate to see her walk away disappointed."

  Gross. I wasn't going to sleep with Dougy.

  I slip my hand out of Dougy's and smile at Jagger and Lola. "I'm getting another beer. See you later."

  I walk away, never hesitating in my steps. Jagger's with Lola and Dougy's not my type. I only have one type and Lola is currently sucking him like she's a creature of the night and he's her next victim.

  After filling my cup for the second time I move over to the side of Angelo's trailer and lean against the siding. Looking out at the crowd I see this party is really just an excuse for people to get drunk and hook up. This party was nothing like I expected it to be, but at least it's distracting me from all of the negativity in my life.