all that much, the sourness of her skin and breath and fear. The Jergens tendriled through, did its best. It smelled clean and plastic, and Jamey pretended like that was all there was to smell. He made another mound of lotion in his palm, ground it into his momma’s feet.
“Why don’t you have no girlfriend?” his momma asked. Her eyes were closed, the back of her hand across her forehead like she was bravely enduring whatever.
“How you know I don’t?”
His momma snorted. “Okay,” she said. “You don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. I’m just saying I know a man’s got frustrations, and you ain’t taking those frustrations out on me.”
You wish, Jamey thought. She moved her toes, their sour smell familiar to Jamey, the definitive scent of his momma. He dumped on more Jergens.
“I’m working on it,” he said. “I got my eye on someone. She’s acting hard to get but I know she’ll give in. She’s nearly mine.”
“Good,” his momma said. “That’s real good, baby.” She flexed and pointed her toes, her voice that squeak again, that girlish hidden promise.
Jamey closed his eyes, tried to imagine it was Perry’s feet he was working on. She’s nearly mine , he thought again. He knew it was true, too, that it was flimsy, whatever was keeping Perry from him, delicate as a diary lock, and he just had to find the key. Or something proper to smash it with.
THEY WERE AT THE DRUGSTORE. Baby Girl had driven right past the school, right past the entrance to the highway, right past the turn they’d have to take if they wanted to hide out all day in the woods or hang out by the quarry. Plenty of kids did it—you just drove in as far as you could go, parked your car off the side of the road, and then plunged in on foot. If anyone was determined enough to drive in and go looking for someone, they’d only find your car, and they’d assume you was just someone who lived in one of the shacks or huts or tents way back there. Most people would assume, anyway. And then you’d just spend your whole day in there, sitting around, daring each other to run hard toward the quarry, and only stop just short of tumbling in, ha-ha, close one. Throw your old cigarette packs in, or someone’s shoes if they were dumb enough to lose sight of them for a second. Perry wouldn’t have minded going there, being outside, daring Baby Girl to lumber to the edge. But Baby Girl had kept driving.
“What you wanna do?” Perry asked her, three times, and each time Baby Girl just shrugged, but it was clear she had a plan. Hadn’t even slowed in indecision. And then finally she’d pulled into the parking lot out front of the Walgreens.
“I got an idea,” she said.
The plan was for Perry to distract the cashier. They were counting on the cashier being male, so Perry wouldn’t have to work too hard to keep his attention. Just push her hair around, cross her arms so her shirt got tight over her chest, ask what time it is.
They’d walked in separately, Baby Girl about thirty seconds after Perry. Once inside, Perry saw that the cashier was an old woman, her hair a pink-tinged cloud, her mouth so beset with lines it looked like she’d once had her lips sewn shut and the scars had never healed. Perry texted Baby Girl: This bitch looks mean .
Itll be fine , Baby Girl texted back. Go to plan B . Plan B was for a female cashier. “Ask about pregnancy tests,” Baby Girl had said. “Lady cashiers will either want to lecture you or else they’ll want to take you in the bathroom, help you unzip, and pat your head while you pee on the stick.”
She was in one of her moods, Perry could tell. Couldn’t take her eyes off the goal, which Perry wasn’t even clear on to begin with. Distract the cashier. Wait for Baby Girl to walk out. Wait for her cell to ring, pretend like it’s urgent, walk out fast with her phone to her ear, get in the car.
But what was Baby Girl even doing? Obviously stealing something, but what? She’d
“Why don’t you have no girlfriend?” his momma asked. Her eyes were closed, the back of her hand across her forehead like she was bravely enduring whatever.
“How you know I don’t?”
His momma snorted. “Okay,” she said. “You don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. I’m just saying I know a man’s got frustrations, and you ain’t taking those frustrations out on me.”
You wish, Jamey thought. She moved her toes, their sour smell familiar to Jamey, the definitive scent of his momma. He dumped on more Jergens.
“I’m working on it,” he said. “I got my eye on someone. She’s acting hard to get but I know she’ll give in. She’s nearly mine.”
“Good,” his momma said. “That’s real good, baby.” She flexed and pointed her toes, her voice that squeak again, that girlish hidden promise.
Jamey closed his eyes, tried to imagine it was Perry’s feet he was working on. She’s nearly mine , he thought again. He knew it was true, too, that it was flimsy, whatever was keeping Perry from him, delicate as a diary lock, and he just had to find the key. Or something proper to smash it with.
THEY WERE AT THE DRUGSTORE. Baby Girl had driven right past the school, right past the entrance to the highway, right past the turn they’d have to take if they wanted to hide out all day in the woods or hang out by the quarry. Plenty of kids did it—you just drove in as far as you could go, parked your car off the side of the road, and then plunged in on foot. If anyone was determined enough to drive in and go looking for someone, they’d only find your car, and they’d assume you was just someone who lived in one of the shacks or huts or tents way back there. Most people would assume, anyway. And then you’d just spend your whole day in there, sitting around, daring each other to run hard toward the quarry, and only stop just short of tumbling in, ha-ha, close one. Throw your old cigarette packs in, or someone’s shoes if they were dumb enough to lose sight of them for a second. Perry wouldn’t have minded going there, being outside, daring Baby Girl to lumber to the edge. But Baby Girl had kept driving.
“What you wanna do?” Perry asked her, three times, and each time Baby Girl just shrugged, but it was clear she had a plan. Hadn’t even slowed in indecision. And then finally she’d pulled into the parking lot out front of the Walgreens.
“I got an idea,” she said.
The plan was for Perry to distract the cashier. They were counting on the cashier being male, so Perry wouldn’t have to work too hard to keep his attention. Just push her hair around, cross her arms so her shirt got tight over her chest, ask what time it is.
They’d walked in separately, Baby Girl about thirty seconds after Perry. Once inside, Perry saw that the cashier was an old woman, her hair a pink-tinged cloud, her mouth so beset with lines it looked like she’d once had her lips sewn shut and the scars had never healed. Perry texted Baby Girl: This bitch looks mean .
Itll be fine , Baby Girl texted back. Go to plan B . Plan B was for a female cashier. “Ask about pregnancy tests,” Baby Girl had said. “Lady cashiers will either want to lecture you or else they’ll want to take you in the bathroom, help you unzip, and pat your head while you pee on the stick.”
She was in one of her moods, Perry could tell. Couldn’t take her eyes off the goal, which Perry wasn’t even clear on to begin with. Distract the cashier. Wait for Baby Girl to walk out. Wait for her cell to ring, pretend like it’s urgent, walk out fast with her phone to her ear, get in the car.
But what was Baby Girl even doing? Obviously stealing something, but what? She’d
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