Trailer Trash(13)

“I doubt it.”

“Wrestling?”

Nate sighed. His dad would certainly like it if he made an effort, but he had no desire to appease him. Besides, Nate didn’t know the first thing about wrestling. “I don’t think so.”

Brian finished off the joint. It wasn’t long before he gave up on the Jennifer he obviously preferred and started making out with the one who wanted him. Brad and Christine hadn’t come up for air in ages. That left Nate and big-bangs Jennifer, who scooted closer, looking hopeful. He felt trapped and completely out of his element.

Dear God, get me out of here!

His dad’s policy had always been “call if you need a ride home.” He claimed it didn’t matter where Nate was or what kind of situation he’d gotten into, his dad would rather Nate call than ride with somebody who’d been drinking, or stay at a party where Nate was being pressured to do something he wasn’t comfortable with. Nate had always laughed at the idea before, but suddenly, he wanted more than anything to take his dad up on that offer. He wanted to beg his dad to take him home, even if “home” meant their house in Orange Grove. But he was a long way from a pay phone. More people were arriving too, all of them eyeing him, sizing him up. He didn’t want to deal with any of them.

He made a show of looking at his watch. “I need to get home. My dad’ll kill me if I miss curfew.”

Jennifer squinted at the three Swatches on her left wrist. “It’s only ten thirty.”

“I know, but he’s pretty strict. Can you give me a ride?”

“I’ll come with you,” a girl who’d just shown up said. “I’m out of cigarettes, and we can pick up more beer on the way back.”

Nate ceded shotgun to the newcomer, who introduced herself as Michelle. She and Jennifer hit him with a barrage of questions as they made their way through the winding, unpaved county roads. Where was he from? Why had he moved to Wyoming? Where had he been hanging out? Did he have a girlfriend back in Texas? Nate answered in a monotone without ever saying Cody’s name. He just wanted out of the car.

He breathed a sigh of relief when they finally entered Orange Grove. There was a house for sale on every block. So many homes, most of them less than ten years old, but nobody was buying. At least a third of the empty houses had broken windows and graffiti spray-painted across their sides.

It was downright depressing. No wonder getting high was such a popular pastime.

“Back already?” his dad asked when he walked in. “You’re an hour before curfew. Did you have fun?”

“It was kind of lame.”

He went upstairs and showered, washing the smell of bonfire smoke from his hair. He climbed into bed and thought about Austin. About the tennis team, which he was no longer a part of, and his old bedroom, and his friend Mike, and all the times they’d complained that there was nothing to do in Austin.

What a fool he’d been.





“Have you been to the Basement yet?” Cody’s mom asked a week before school started. She’d come home from work and gone straight to the shower, and now she sat with her hair combed but still dripping, the shoulders of her Led Zeppelin T-shirt soaked through, a cigarette smoldering between her fingers. She kept her eyes glued on the TV, even when she asked him a question.

“Not yet.”

She’d given him a bit of money from her tip jar the week before. It wasn’t much, but he knew it wasn’t her fault. She worked hard waiting tables, and there were too many expenses and not enough left over in the end. Cody tried looking for work of his own every so often, but there weren’t many jobs in Warren to go around, especially now that the boom was over. With too few businesses and too many unskilled workers, most of the entry-level jobs went to adults, many of them fresh out of high school and already trying to support kids. The few spots left for teenagers usually went to family members and friends, and Cody was neither. Sometimes there was seasonal work to be had—mowing lawns, painting houses, shoveling snow—but those never lasted, and neither did the few dollars they brought in.

He appreciated that she’d given him what she could. Yes, he wished like hell there was more, but at least she tried, and he recognized that every time she handed him money—even a few dollars—it meant something she was giving up for herself. Maybe it was only a couple of drinks at the bar, but it wasn’t like she hadn’t earned them. If a few beers on Thursday night was the high point of her week, Cody understood. In a place like Warren, you took what distractions you could find.

For himself, he had a new distraction: Nate. Every evening, when Nate dropped him off at the end of the day, he’d say, “Want to meet again tomorrow?”