by Silva Hart
We slide into a booth. The waitress is probably in her twenties with one side of her hair dyed blonde and the other side dyed pink. Studs sparkle from her nose, lip, and eyebrow. A tattoo peeks from the neck of her uniform.
“Hi,” she says, giving me a head-to-toe sweep before turning on what she must think is a charming smile. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.”
I shake my head as I take off my jacket. Her lips part as she stares at my arms and chest, and I catch the glitter of a tongue stud.
“Why not?” she asks, stretching for conversation.
I close the menu and look at Dair who hasn’t gotten a second glance from her. I don’t want her to spit in my food or anything so answer, “Didn’t know it was here.”
She sidles closer to me with a flirtatious wiggle. “Well, now that you know, I expect you to be a regular.”
“Sure,” I give her to stay on her good side. “I’d like a coffee and the special.”
“How do you want your eggs?”
“Over easy.”
She sticks the tip of her pen in her mouth and gives me a lidded smile, wordlessly letting me know that she could be over easy too if I wanted. “White, wheat, or rye?”
“Rye.”
“You got it. You sure you don’t want anything else?” Her tone is suggestive.
Again, there’s always the thought she might do something to my food, so I turn to her and give her my full attention the way she wants. Her cheeks turn pink, and she places a hand on the table as if she suddenly needs it for support. “Maybe later.”
“You got it,” she breathes. “My name’s Trudy. I get off at four.”
I break her gaze and look pointedly at Dair.
“What’s your name?”
I’m reaching exasperated. Why can’t we just place our order and get our food already? “Jett.”
“Ooo, that’s a cool name.”
“What do you want?” I ask Dair, since she’s obviously forgotten he exists.
He’s been watching us. “Oh … um … okay … yeah, I’d like the French toast with a side of home fries and a Coke.”
“Pepsi okay?”
He grimaces. “I guess.”
She frowns as if taking his tone personally, so I thank her which seems to set her right again.
“Damn, bro, you are one hell of a lady slayer,” he hisses at me across the table after she leaves.
I shake my head. I’m not about to tell him that all they ever want is my body. Or maybe that’s all I want to give them. But that’s all it ever is. Until Anna. I still don’t get why she doesn’t want it as bad as all the others. She’s not frigid. I know that. But once usually isn’t enough. For some it is, but they’re the exception and usually just passing through. Otherwise, they get it and keep coming back like ants to spilled ice cream. I’m the one who decides if I want to keep giving it to them or not.
He leans forward and whispers conspiratorially. “Seriously, bro, you going to tap that?”
“Nah.”
“Yeah, a guy like you must be in it up to his eyeballs.”
This is not the conversation I wanted to have. I study what kinds of jellies are in the rack.
Seeing me clam up, he leans back. “It’s my fifth.”
“What?”
“My fifth foster home. Probably the most normal one I’ve ever been in. It’s actually kind of boring.”
Trudy sets our drinks down. “I didn’t know if you wanted cream or not.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“You got it.” She gives me a wink before leaving.
“So, it’s just always like that, huh? Women just throwing themselves at you like that everywhere you go?” Dair asks.
It occurs to me that this is the first time he’s seeing this. “What makes you think that?”
“Come on, man. A waitress? I’ve never had a waitress or a cashier or a hairdresser or anyone like that come on to me that hot and heavy. She wants you bad. She’s not even playing. She’s just putting it right out there.”
Okay, so I’ve experienced this same thing from every type of person he’s mentioned, but I stay silent and set to fixing my coffee sweet and creamy the way I like it.
Chapter 17
He shakes his head. “So, anyway, I was in this great house two years ago. I mean, the fosters were strict as shit and took in a ton of kids just for the money but all of us meshed well. There were six of us and, man, we made those fosters work for every dollar they made off us. We were hellraisers. It was a lot of fun.” He laughs at the memory.
He taps the paper off a straw, sticks it in his drink, and takes a sip. “God, why do they keep insisting Coke and Pepsi are the same? If they were, they wouldn’t have two different names, now would they?”
I shrug and take a sip of the coffee. It’s thin and acrid. At least it’s hot.
“There was this girl there, Mia, the one I asked if you knew. Man, she’s amazing.” His face glows. “She’s this tiny little thing. Looks like an elf. We used to do some crazy shit. Until her, I hadn’t connected with anyone. I’d get used to a place then get handed off again. It kind of messes with you. But, anyway, Mia, man, she was always thinking of something new and interesting to do. There was never a dull moment with her. She’d get a gleam in her eye and say ‘Dare, Dair’ and that was it. Off we’d go on whatever she’d thought up.”
“Like what?”
“So, this one time, she had me distract the school secretary while she swiped an entire packet of passes off the lady’s desk. We kept a bunch for ourselves, but then she started handing them out to everyone like Halloween candy.” He laughs. “The teachers couldn’t figure out why it was as if everyone suddenly had a legit pass to roam the halls whenever they wanted. The principal started confiscating them, but it took a while for him to figure out what had happened.”
Trudy brings our food. “I snuck some extra on for you,” she says to me with another wink.
“Thanks.”
She gives her hair a flip as she swings her hips toward the kitchen.
“Seriously,” Dair says, eyeing my plate heaped with pancakes, eggs, home fries, bacon, and toast. “You sure you’re not some kind of celebrity and I’ve just never heard of you?”
I laugh. “You want any of this?”
He stabs a pancake and a few strips of bacon onto his plate before drowning everything in an inch of syrup. “I was sixteen when I got to that house. Four others had already been there for a while and they were all bonded and felt threatened by another kid showing up. The usual shit. They had a routine. They were all younger but hazed me good until they finally accepted the fact that I wasn’t going anywhere. We all ended up becoming best friends.”
He stuffs a quarter of the pancake into his mouth and talks around it as he chews. “Mia showed up, but they didn’t give her a hard time at all the way they gave me. She’s such a fun person that everyone loves her as soon as they meet her. She lit up the whole house. She and I, man, we were a team from the start.”
“How old is she?”
“She was fifteen then. She’s a year younger than me.” He washes the rest of the sweet dough down with the soda. “The fosters were always keeping a close eye on us. We started leaving the house as much as they’d let us. On my seventeenth birthday, she gave me the ultimate gift.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “You know what I’m talking about. And, man, was it ever good. Best gift I ever got. Best gift I’ll ever get in my entire life. I loved her, man. She was everything.” He corrects himself. “I still love her. She is everything.”
I think of Anna and how she plagues my thoughts. Is it love? I don’t know. The girl is like trying to catch mist in a net. “So, what happened?”
His jaw clenches. “The house was so packed with people, we were careful never to do it there. But she always had to try something new, so we snuck into the bathroom one time. It was broad daylight, and we could hear everyone in the house.”
He crams bacon into his m
outh. “So, there we were when the door flies open and there’s the foster dad standing with a key dangling between his fingers.”
“Damn, that’s sick.”
“No shit. It shocked us. I mean, we’d double and triple checked the lock before starting. He told us we must have thought he was stupid to not know what was going on and how he had a key for this very reason and on and on. Then he called our social workers and told them what happened. He even tried to pressure Mia into pressing charges against me for statutory rape, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with it.”
“So then what?”
“They sent us to new homes. They put me in a home in Lower North and made sure I couldn’t find Mia. They set it up so we didn’t go to the same schools and would probably never see each other again. They even took our phones and gave us new ones after we were at our next houses so we couldn’t contact each other,” he says bitterly, stabbing at his saturated French toast.
“You sure she goes to Elmerton?”
“Yeah, I snuck back to the house after I got moved and asked one of the kids. She said she heard the fosters talking and found out Mia was sent to a home in Northeast and enrolled in Elmerton.”
“I’ll keep an eye out.”
“Just as long as you don’t sleep with her, man.” He tries to sound like he’s joking, but we both know he’s not.
“I’m not like that.”
“I know. I was just messing with you.”
Right.
“Everything still good?” Trudy asks.
We nod, and thankfully she continues to the next table without making more idle chitchat.
“I started going to the gym after that.” A scowl darkens his face. “The whole thing felt so wrong. They can just do whatever they want to us without us having any say just because we don’t have any money. They would never have done that to us if we were rich. Nobody is pushing me around like that ever again. I’m getting a say next time.” His knuckles whiten around his fork.
After chewing through a few more giant bites, he asks, “How long you been staying at the gym?”
Since he’s shared a lot of his life, it’s only right to give some back. “Not too long. It’s not a permanent thing.”
“You got a place to go?”
I shake my head.
“What happened to your parents?”
“My stepdad is an abusive alcoholic asshole.”
He nods. “Yeah, I know that type for sure. But I’m jealous, man. Staying at One-Eyed Mike’s, you have total freedom. You get to come and go as you please and do whatever you want. Just make sure you stay out of the system. It sucks.” He eyes me over his mostly clean plate. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Ah, lucky. I don’t turn eighteen for another ten months. As soon as I do, I’m asking Mia to marry me. We’ll find an apartment together.”
I can tell he’s got a rosy life for the two of them all planned out. I hope it works out for him. I really do.
“How about you?” he asks. “You ever been in love?”
I shrug.
He gapes. “You don’t have a girl?”
“There’s a girl I hang out with. I’m not sure what we are though. She just moved here from California.”
“You telling me there’s a girl out there who can resist your charms?” He laughs. “Man, I love Mia. I know that for real. I want to spend every single day with her for the rest of my life. She just makes everything better.”
Is that what love is? One person who makes everything better? Does Anna make everything better? She’s been so depressed most of the time lately that I don’t know. Lexi’s always happy to see me, but does she make everything better? I hadn’t really thought about it before.
I push the plate away. “I’m going out for a smoke.”
He nods.
“Hey, Jett,” Trudy calls as I reach the door. I turn. “I’ll see you later.” She gives me a little wave. I push out of the door and light a cigarette.
Dair comes out a few minutes later and hands the receipt to me. I’m confused.
“Trudy said to give you that.”
I open up the crumpled slip and find her phone number scrawled with “call me” surrounded by what must be her lipstick kiss. Wadding it up, I toss it into the trashcan we pass on the corner.
“Seriously? You just throwing that away? She wasn’t bad looking, bro. And that was some low hanging fruit right there.”
“That thing probably has more miles on it than One-Eyed Mike’s Pontiac.”
Dair doubles over with laughter. “Man, I know you’re right.”
Monday, in school, I keep an eye out for the pixie Dair described. I’m looking at people for once, and I don’t like it. Most of the girls act like my eye contact is an invitation, and I’m getting a hopeful chorus of “Hi, Jett.” Most of the guys scurry out of my way as if they’re the ones I’m searching for.
I much preferred it when I passed faceless blobs. Paying attention makes me aware of all the hope, lust, admiration, fear, sadness, and everything else they’re all feeling. Why are they so open about it?
Everyone seems to be seeking something from everyone else. Why are they so hung up on what others think of them? What I think of them? What does that even matter?
If I don’t know them and everything they’ve been through that’s shaped them into the person they are today, why seek my approval? They don’t know me. For all they know, I could be a total asshole who looks down on the world to make myself feel better. An opinion from someone like that has zero value.
Lexi steps in next to me, and I’m almost grateful for the company. She wraps her hands around my bicep and, for the first time, I notice everyone staring. Whether openly or out of the corners of their eyes, they’re all watching and listening to us. Have they always done this?
Lexi sails through the throng, queen of her domain. “Did you fight Friday night?”
“Yeah.”
She studies my face. “You don’t look too bad. Did you win?”
“Yeah.”
“Were you in more than one?”
I have to remind myself that I’ve never told her how it works. “Two.”
“Oh, that’s good, right?” When I don’t answer, she asks, “Are you fighting this Friday?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, let me know. I want to watch.”
I shake my head. “Can’t.”
She gives a laugh and smacks me lightly on the chest, her eyes dropping to where her hand just landed. “Jett Dixon, you are so exasperating, I swear.” She pauses. “Are we doing algebra today?”
“Sure.” I can feel her watching me as I scan the passing faces.
“Are you looking for someone?”
Lexi might know her. She knows everyone. Why didn’t I think of that? “Yeah, you know Mia Ward?”
“Yeah, why?”
There’s no time to go into it here. “I’ll tell you sixth.”
“Ok, see you sexth.” She giggles at her joke and crosses the hall into her classroom.
Chapter 18
In English class, Mrs. Kroft wants us to spend the entire period writing which character in The Outsiders we’re most like and why. This is one of the reasons I hate school so much, time wasters like this. They babysit us for seven hours every day so feel as if they have to keep us busy every minute with stupid shit that’s not going to do anything for us in the real world.
But it’s kind of interesting, so I write, I’m not a coward like the Soc’s who always have to fight in groups and can’t take anyone on their own. I’m not responsible like Darry. I’m not funny like Two-Bit. I’m not charismatic like Sodapop. I’m not afraid like Johnny. I’m not sensitive like Ponyboy. I’m not an asshole like Dally.
There. Done. I set my pencil down, cross my arms, and stare at the paper. Mrs. Kroft stops by. Of course she does. She looks over my shoulder, her thigh ever so lightly brushing against me. “What makes Dally an asshole?” she
asks.
There are a few snickers at her question. She moves on without waiting for an answer, leaving me to think. Why do I think Dally’s an asshole? Picking up my pencil, I add, Dally harasses girls, saying things to get a rise out of them or make them as uncomfortable as possible. I’m not mean like that. Mostly because I don't care enough to go to all that trouble.
He pulled a gun on a bunch of cops. I’m smarter than that. It sounds like bragging when I look at it on paper, but it’s true so I leave it.
He took care of Pony and Johnny when they got into trouble, which is something I would probably do. And he always has his friends’ backs no matter what. If I had a tight group like the Greasers, I would have their backs. They could always count on me.
So maybe out of all of them, I’m most like Dally. This conclusion doesn’t sit well with me so I add, But I’m sure as hell not going to die from stupidity. That’s better.
There’s still half an hour left of class. Now what am I supposed to do? Putting my head down on my desk, I fall asleep.
“Jett?” A hand circles on my back, moving higher until the fingers brush the hair at the nape of my neck.
I stir. Wow, I was out cold. My arms are numb. Groggily looking up, I find Mrs. Kroft leaning over me.
“The bell rang,” she says, sliding my essay out from under my useless arms. “Are you going to the gym?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Just wondering.”
Why, Mrs. Kroft? You have something in mind? I know she does. Will she ever act on it is the real question.
I go to the gym. I need to sleep in school more often. That was better than most I get on One-Eyed Mike’s cot.
It’s not long before Mrs. Kroft starts walking back and forth in front of the door. What is she expecting, an invitation? I have half a mind to walk over and close the door. What would she do?
Knowing her, she’d pretend it’s against the school rules to have the door closed while I’m in here alone and come in and scold me, all the while studying every inch of my sweaty torso as if she’ll be tested on it later. I can test her all right.