Such a Rush

But I forced myself to take a deep breath and relax, letting go of my gut reaction. Mark wasn’t that poor. He was riding this bus because he worked for his uncle at the airport after school, not because he lived in the trailer park. And as I glanced over at him, his look seemed less like larceny and more like lechery. He thought he’d caught me touching myself.

I was getting this kind of attention lately, and it was still new. Back inland near the Air Force base, the last place my mom and I had lived, I’d flown under the radar. I wore whatever clothes she found for me. I’d always hated my curly hair, so dark brown it might as well have been black except in the brightest sunlight. It tended to mat. I had broken a comb in it before. Then one glorious day last summer, I’d seen a makeover show on TV that said curly girls needed to make peace with their hair, get a good cut, use some product, and let it dry naturally. I did what I could with a cheap salon on my side of town and discount store product. The result was much better, and I’d made myself over completely in the weeks before we’d moved.

At my new school, my makeover had the desired effect. Nobody felt sorry for me anymore because my mom wasn’t taking care of me and I didn’t know how to take care of myself. I took care of myself and I looked it. The downside was that I’d gotten stares like these from boys like Mark, which prompted girls to label me a slut and stay away from me. But I knew what I was. I held my head high. Exchanging sympathy for pride was a fair trade-off.

Until I actually found myself entangled in a boy’s come-on, and then I wasn’t so sure. Supporting himself against the back of the seat as the bus rounded a bend, Mark crossed the aisle and bumped his hip against mine, making me scoot over to give him room to sit down. He glanced at my hand on my pocket and asked, “Can I help you with that?”

If he’d asked me a few months ago, I might have said yes. He didn’t have that solid, handsome look of older boys at school who’d gained muscle to go with their height. But for a gawky fifteen-year-old, he was good looking, with sleepy, stoned eyes that moved over me without embarrassment, and dark hair that separated into clumps like he wasn’t showering every day because he stayed out late drinking and nearly missed the bus in the morning. He was the type of guy I always found myself with, the adrenaline junkie who talked me into doing things for a rush that I wouldn’t have done on my own.

He reminded me of my boyfriend from the trailer park near the Air Force base, who apparently hadn’t minded that my hair was matted as long as he got in my pants. He’d convinced me to do it with him in the woods at the edge of the airstrip, with airplanes taking off low over us, exactly where they would crash if something went wrong. Through the sex and the rush and the sight of the streamlined underbellies of the planes, something had happened to me. And I had wanted more of it.

But when I told him I was moving to Heaven Beach, he took up with my best friend the same day. I was through with boys “helping me with that,” at least for a while. I glared at Mark as I stood up in the narrow space between the seats. “Move. I have to get off.”

He gri

Now I got angry. A nice boy from a good family, or even a not-so-nice boy like Mr. Hall’s hot and troubled son Grayson, wouldn’t make a comment loaded with i

“Come on, Leah. Why are you stopping here? Why aren’t you staying on the bus with me until the airport?” His words were a challenge, but underneath the bravado, I could hear the hurt. I shouldn’t push him too far and let him know I was avoiding him. For hurting his pride, he would make things worse for me at school if he was able.

“My mom likes to see me between school and work,” I flat-out lied. No way would I tell him the truth. He would mess things up just to get a rise out of me. The days I’d made the mistake of getting off the bus at the airport with him, he’d followed me into the office and lingered there, asking for brochures, asking for maps, threatening to set the break room on fire with his lighter if I didn’t pay him some attention, until he finally had to mosey over to the crop-duster hangar or get in trouble with his uncle.

The bus squeaked to a stop on the two-lane highway and opened its door to the gravel road into the trailer park. Ben Reynolds and Aaron Traynor stomped down the hollow stairs. If I didn’t make it to the front in the next few seconds, I’d miss this stop. I’d have to walk through the airport with Mark and backtrack to my trailer. I would die if I found out when I finally made it home that I’d missed my mom.

I banged into Mark again and said as forcefully as I could without the five people left on the bus turning around to stare, “Move.”

Hooded eyes resentful, he shifted his knees into the aisle, giving me room to slide out. As I hurried up the aisle, he called after me, “Smell you tomorrow.” A couple of girls tittered.

I felt myself flushing red. I did not smell. He probably did, judging from his hair today. But people expected me to smell. All he had to do was say the word at school, and everybody would believe it. In my mind I was already going through my closet for what to wear tomorrow, making sure it looked as hip and stylish as I could manage on no budget at all.

I took the last big step down to the road and squinted against the bright sunlight as the bus lumbered away. Ben blocked my path into the trailer park. His fingers formed a V around his mouth, and he waggled his tongue at me. Aaron stood behind him, laughing.

Training my eyes on the cement-block washateria that served the trailer park, I started walking. The TV said you should ignore bullies and they would stop harassing you. In practice this worked about half the time. The other half, you ended up with two tall boys shadowing you through a trailer park, their fingers taking little nips at your clothes, like dogs. But today the advice worked. Aaron picked up a handful of gravel and threw it at Ben’s crotch, then took off ru

I felt relieved until I touched the permission form in my pocket again. Please be home. Now that the confrontation with my mother was imminent, my stomach twisted. Suddenly I was not in such a hurry. Anyway, if she happened to be home, she couldn’t escape me. There was only one road into the trailer park and one road out. I dragged my feet around the washateria to the side where the mailboxes were set into the wall so they were harder to break into, and unlocked ours with my teeth gritted. I had been checking the mail since I was ten because my mom never did. I’d been the bearer of bad news for the last three evictions, and I always expected that business-size envelope. There wasn’t one today, only junk, which I dumped in the trash. The nicer sections of Heaven Beach placed recycling bins next to the trash cans. The trailer park did not recycle.

Please be home. I fished my cigarettes out of my purse and lit one, relaxing into the first rush of nicotine. Back in our last town, my boyfriend had snuck cigarettes to me. Now that I had to buy them, they were a huge ding in my paycheck. I had tried to quit, but they were the only thing I looked forward to every day besides watching airplanes. Please be home. I entered the dark opening in the woods. Gravel crunched under my feet. Country music blasted from a trailer even though all the windows were shut. At least I knew someone was home. If Ben or Aaron came back, I could call for help if I needed it. Of course, my mom had called for help plenty of times in trailer parks when no one had come. Please be home.