Trashy (12 page)

Vickie

Putting Buck’s truck in park is the best part of driving it. Damn, that was hard! I knew I wasn’t doing great when an old lady in a Town Car passed me and gave me the finger. But I made it to campus, and Buck’s precious truck didn’t have a scratch on it.

Hovering in the cab, I look around. It smells like him in here and the old leather is cracked and stringy. There are soda bottles littering the floor and the dashboard has a mosaic of greasy fingerprints from his mechanic’s hands. It feels safe in here, like I’m able to carry with me the protection Buck and Shep offer.

I’ve parked way at the back because, well, I haven’t had much experience parking. It seemed smarter to park where I wouldn’t risk hitting other cars and walk than to try and park closer in the visitor spots. It worked, because I’m basically in no-man’s land.

Pulling together my courage, I grab my bag, which contains a notebook and some pens. I wasn’t sure what to bring to meet with my student counselor, but you can’t go wrong with pen and paper, right?

Walking toward campus is intimidating. My heart flutters and I bite my lip. The grass is green here, and plentiful. Not like my town doesn’t have grass, I mean of course we do! But the park has crabgrass and the occasional spike of weeds and dandelions. This is lush. Manicured. Briefly I imagine laying down and rolling in it.

That would be ridiculous, though, so I keep moving toward the brick buildings. There’s a flood of students, all of them walking in groups. They move gracefully, confidently along the sidewalks. Like they belong here.

Rationally, I know I earned a spot in this school. It’s a community college, but I got my high school degree, I made good grades, and with Shep and Buck’s help, I paid tuition. I’m no fraud.

But tell that to my stomach. It’s knotted, and I can’t help wanting to run back to the truck before anyone notices me. I can already picture what they’ll see. Long, platinum hair that says “Trailer Trash.” It doesn’t matter that it’s natural. They’ll see my too-small t-shirt with a middle school band group on it. Unlike the cool shirts I’m glimpsing on other students, I’m not wearing this ironically. It’s one of the few shirts I have.

My hoodie is too thin for the blistering cold. I wrap it tight, trying to hide my shirt and, well, me. Looking at my tattered shoes, I race along until I remember that I don’t know where I’m going.

Oh God, I’m going to have to ask. A group of girls is about to pass me, and it’s terrifying, but--

“Excuse me,” I mumble. They stop and look expectantly. “Where’s the admissions office?” My counselor said in her e-mail that’s where her office is located. I wait for the teasing. The scoffing tones. My cheeks are burning already, anticipating their scorn.

“You just go straight through that archway,” one of them points. “Then take a left. It’s got a yellow door. Would you like me to show you?”

My mouth is hanging open for a moment. When nothing greets me but an expectant smile, I breathe again. It feels crisp, fresh. New. “No, thank you. That’s easy enough to follow.”

“There’s a sign, too,” she offers. “Good luck!”

And they’re moving again, each of them a satellite to the others’ movements, leaving me speechless. It wasn’t like high school, with the stares and name calling. Or the park, where everyone was in the same poor boat as you but still worked hard to one-up each other.

My legs are moving and I find the office, easy. Like I might have a space here. It’s too overwhelming to think hard on, and besides, I still have to see what my counselor wants to meet about.

Knocking timidly on the door, I wait until a soft voice invites me in. My counselor is young. Much younger than I would have expected. She’s blonde, too, and petite. Her clothes are sharp and I frown with envy. They fit her and make her look respectable.

“Come have a seat, Vickie,” she says cheerfully.

Her office is small and the walls are covered with posters, not art. The posters are of far away places, like Egypt and Paris. Places I’ve only seen in books and on the internet. “You like them? I’m a big traveler, and I try to put up a poster for every place I’ve been.” This blows my mind. There are at least fifteen posters. This is one of the first times I’ve crossed a county line.

“So,” she continues, not waiting for me. “You’re first semester at Ridge Rock looks great, Vickie. These grades are something to be proud of.”

My blush stings along my chest, neck, and cheeks. “Thank you. The classes are interesting.” They were, too, even if they were just the intro classes. The interactive lessons my professors put online were dazzling compared to the thirty-year-old textbooks I’d been accustomed to in high school.

“Do you know why I have you here?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Oh, please don’t ma’am me. I’m not ready to be that old. Call me Julie.”

“Erm… okay.”

“So, do you?”

“Do I what?” I squirm in my chair and it makes an embarrassing noise. Julie pretends not to notice.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

Oh. “Not really.”

She smiles bigger and hands me a pamphlet. It’s from the college. “Community college is only two years here, so you kind of need to pick a major. You’re undeclared. Before you sign up for classes next semester, I thought we could talk about your plans.”

This stumps me. “I mean, I just wanted to get a degree and get a job.”

“What kind of job?”

The answer is on the tip of my tongue.
Any job that gets me out of that dying town
. But it didn’t feel like the truth anymore. I didn’t know what the truth was, not yet. “I’d like… I’d like to maybe be able to work from home. Or start my own business?”

Julie claps her hands, delighted. “An entrepreneur! I love it. What kind of business?” My wide eyes probably tell her all she needs to know. “Oh, okay. Well, would you like to hear what your professors are saying?” Mute, I nod. “Your writing is top notch. Your English professor, Mr. Duncan, sent me recommendations to place you in our few advanced writing classes. Do you enjoy writing?”

I mean, yeah. I did. Writing wasn’t effortless, but it was worth the effort. When Buck and I’d talked about it, he said the way I described it was like how he approached an engine; there are a bunch of different parts, but once they’re put together in the right place, the whole thing runs smooth. Writing was like that for me; a bunch of parts I pieced together to create a whole. “Yeah. Yes. Yes, I like writing, but there isn’t much money in that.”

Her face is sympathetic. “I think it depends on how you use it. Would you write novels? Because you could freelance. Maybe journalism. Small internet articles, blogs, copywriting-- Oh, sorry. I’m going too fast. I’m just saying you don’t have to write books, but you could if that’s what you wanted. It’s also possible to piecemeal a small freelance business. You’d be your own boss, you’d be writing.”

“Would I need to move for that?”

“Only if you want to, or decide to work for just one publication. Other than that,” Julie gestures to the posters covering the walls, “the world is your oyster.”

I’ve never eaten oysters. This is a lot to take in. “I guess that sounds good.”

“Tell you what. I’m going to put you in the journalism program. It’s hard, but it transitions into the state schools if you want to get your four year, okay? If you don’t like it at the end of the semester, we’ll talk again and figure something else out. Professor Duncan shared your essay on
Othello
and I gotta say, Vickie, you’ve got real talent. I think this will be a good fit.”

It’s a dismissal, I think. At least, that’s how I treat it. Shaking Julie’s hand, I make my way out in a haze. Talent? Writing? I’m beginning to see how naive I’ve been, how goalless. Get out of town? How was that enough to fuel me for so long?

Julie’s compliments are wrapping themselves around my brain, my heart, my marrow, and squeezing. The boys tell me all the time how smart I am. How worth it I am. But they kinda have to, right? Because love makes the other person perfect. Or in my case, persons. Buck and Shep are flawed. Deeply, really. Buck is always working so hard to make us happy. He tries to be in control for us, to make our strange love work. It’s his commands that guide Shep and I through a tangle of limbs and sex. Buck acts like he’s in charge, like he has no plan but what he’s going to do to us, but I know different. I know he wishes he was more ambitious with work, like Shep. I know Buck wants to prove himself.

And Shep. Sweet, dark, and broody Shep. His thick beard and tattoos can’t hide him from me. He’s so damn serious all of the time! It’s like every decision he makes has to be a struggle, and one he never feels he wins.

I wonder what they see in me. I know it isn’t just my body anymore, which makes my heart skip with joy. Whatever they see, though, they value. I just never expected that value to be seen outside of the trailer.

Feeling light, I skip a little. There are fewer students out. Most are probably back in class. The wind had picked up and there had been a small dusting of snow while I’d been meeting with the counselor. My sneakers slip a bit on the slick pavement as I make my way out to the truck.

As I get farther from campus, my joy evaporates. I have a chill, and it isn’t linked to the cold. The air around me feels too still, and the thought
someone is watching you
races through my mind before I can smother it. Looking all the way around me, I don’t see anyone. There aren’t any cars parked near the truck.

I’m alone, but I don’t feel alone. Creeped out, I hold my keys a little tighter, the ragged edges biting into my palm. Encouraged, I race a little faster until I hit an ice slick and sail ungracefully into the side of the truck with a heavy thump before falling to my knees. The pavement cracks and Jesus, it hurts.

Looking wildly around, it’s obvious that I’m a freaking idiot. Because no one is there. Just me, sprawled on the ground like a bimbo. Pulling myself up, I get into the truck and lock the doors behind me. Just in case.

I don’t speed out of the parking lot, but I go faster than someone who’s still a novice driver should be going. The back wheels spin a little at first, but as soon as I’m on the highway, I’m good.

What was that about
?

My mama’s voice whispers through my mind.
Maybe Lloyd will kill you
. I haven’t seen him recently. Then again, I’ve been busy with the boys and schoolwork. It was an empty threat, but it felt like I hadn’t been alone and the person there wanted to hurt me.

My phone vibrates and a glance at the ID tells me it’s Buck. Probably worried about his truck. It’s like he knows I’m not going as cautiously as I should be. A sliver of me hopes that’s the case, and that tonight my bottom will pay for it. Buck gives the best spankings. Except for Shep.

Pulling to the side of the road, I let the engine rumble as I answer. “Hey, Buck, you’ll never--”

“There’s been a cave in at the mine.” The worry in his voice slices me to my core.

“Is Shep--?” I can’t say it.
Dead
. It’s unthinkable, unbearable.

He chokes a little on the line, and knowing that Buck is crying slays me. Buck doesn’t cry. “I don’t know. Come pick me up at work and we’ll go over.” I don’t answer right away, my mind still trying to accept that the worst might have happened. “Vickie?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Baby girl, you need to be strong for just a little while longer. Focus on the road. Focus on driving. Just get here, and I’ll take care of everything.”

“Okay. I love you, Buck.” It needed to be said. Something about fear brings out the heart.

“I love you, too, baby.”

This time I drive fast enough that no old ladies flip me off.

Buck

Jim’s waiting with me, his hand on my shoulder. The call came while we were both working, but I can’t work anymore, and he’s not asking me to.

It’s like my whole world is on hold until I know what’s going on with Shep.

“It’s going to be okay, Buck. I’m sure Shep is fine.” Jim’s hand pats my shoulder a bit before resuming its perch. Each pat shaves a bit of my calm away. Jim’s trying to help me, I know, but his presence is amping my anxiety.

Shrugging away from him, I lash out. “Don’t. You don’t even like Shep, so don’t try to act like you care.” It’s mean and I know it, but I don’t back down and I can’t apologize. I can’t do anything but keep my eyes peeled for Vickie.

My meanness doesn’t faze Jim, though. “You’re right, I’ve never cared much for Shep. But you do, and I care about you, so I’m saying I think everything’s going to be okay.”

Oh, fuck. I can’t take the niceness. I just stopped crying not too long ago, and Jim’s compassion brings the tears back full force. Hiding my face in my arms, I work to stifle them down again. Jim just keeps on patting my shoulder.

“Shep’s smart, Buck. He’s a survivor. He’s been through worse than this, I imagine, so don’t you assume the worst. He deserves your faith.”

It’s true. Jim’s right. Shep’s the smartest person I know. Well, until I met Vickie. But she’s book-smart. Shep is the kind of life-smart that makes you a touch envious. And he has been through worse. Whether by his hands or not, he lost both parents. His dad was an asshole. Shep had been scared of him, and the park knew what was happening in their trailer.

Black eyes speak louder than words, and Shep’s mom always seemed to be sporting at least one. Truth be told, maybe that’s why I wonder if Shep did it. Because, I think, if it had been me in his place, I probably would’ve killed my dad, too.

My own folks were just junkies. Basically I lost them before I knew them, because the ones I knew were just shells. But they only hurt themselves, never me or each other.

Shep, though, he faced down the police. Through all the interrogations, all the rumors, he kept his shit together. Told anyone and everyone to fuck off if they pushed him too far. Hell, even though I taught him to fight, all I really did was teach him how to use his fists. The fight he already had in spades.

Jim’s comment comforts me. If Shep is trapped in those mines, he’ll be fine. He’s got the fight he needs to survive.

“Thanks, Jim. You’re a good boss.”

He snorts a little. “Yeah. You know, I’ve always been a little jealous of you and Shep.”

“Why’s that?”

“There’s friendships, you know. I’ve got’m. You’re a friend, I reckon, and not just an employee. But then there’s relationships. Deeper and profound and all that shit. That’s what you have with Shep, and I ain’t never seen anything like it. Makes me a little jealous.”

Unease ripples through me, fleeting but thorough. Does Jim know? Does he suspect? I kissed Shep in the park. In our backyard. It was one of the best kisses of my life, and I don’t regret it, not for one damned minute, but it wasn’t exactly inconspicuous either. Had someone seen us? If so, it wouldn’t take long for my boss to hear he’s got a faggot for an employee.

But his hand is still on my shoulder, his fingers digging in gently. Reassuring me. “Yep,” I dare. “Shep’s something special.”

“You’ll get him back.”

The gravel crunches and Vickie pulls my truck in front of the garage. Her face is white, her eyes wide, and I’m thanking the stars that she made it here with my truck in one piece. “Whelp, call me when you know anything.”

“Will do.”

I hurry to the driver’s side door and open it. She’s in shock. With care, I slip her hands from the wheel. I reach across and unbuckle her. “Baby girl, slide over.” She does, but she’s shaking. As soon as I climb in, my arms are around her.

The heat of our bodies feels real. Vickie sobs into my shoulder. “Do you know anything?” she sputters out.

“Nope. Let’s go over and see what’s going on, okay?”

Her hands cup my face, clawing at me, pulling my mouth to hers for a desperate, hungry kiss. I get it. I need it, too. The comfort found in gnashing teeth and twisting tongues. Breathless, I push her away after a minute. “Keep it together, baby girl.”

Vickie tries to crawl across the cab, though. Shaking her a little, I reach down and pinch her nipple, hard. Her gasp and shriek reassure me. “Why did you do that?”

“I’m giving you an order. Sit your pretty ass down and buckle up, Vickie. We’re going to make sure Shep is okay. We’re going together, and we’re going now, so you are going to keep it together. Got me?”

Her brown eyes glaze over a bit, but she responds perfectly. As soon as her seatbelt clicks in, I’m off. Jim’s waving in the rearview.