Worth Telling
one
“Hey,” he breathed, spitting a toothpick on my lawn. “You’re Isabella right?”
“No,” I scowled and scratched at the grass tickling my left leg.
Foster cocked his head in confusion. “What’s your name then?”
“Indiana,” I told him, long and slow and a bit spiteful, so he’d remember.
“Oh…oh. Do you know who I am?” he fussed with his cap, it was white but the bill was blue. Underneath, a bit of his blonde hair poked out.
“Yes I do, Foster,” I swatted at my leg again. “Did you need something?”
He didn’t answer for a long time. First he just looked at me, his green eyes searching my face like he’d lost something important there. I was messy looking that day, I usually was. But I know that I was particularly messy from the pool. I could feel that my hair had wrapped itself into a big, wet, tangled nest. I neglected to take off my eye makeup before I swam and had enormous raccoon mascara rings. When his eyes began to travel down my scantily clad body, I interrupted him with a loud, fake cough.
“What do you want?” I snarled.
“Uh…you got a sister right?” Foster rubbed the back his neck. “I’m looking for her.”
“Luna? Marley? Or The Baby?”
Foster’s mouth screwed up into this tight line “who is The Baby?”
“Oh,” I chuckled to myself. Sometimes it slipped my mind that it was just a nickname. “CeCe’s The Baby because she’s the baby.”
Foster smirked. “I thought she was like sixteen.”
“But she’s still the baby of our family,” Luna and Marley (who were twenty-two) were real twins but The Baby and I were Irish twins. Born eleven months apart. But we were total opposites. She got the looks. I got the brains. She took sweetness. I got sass. She was ‘experienced.’ I was not. It figured that Foster would be looking for The Baby. All the boys came around looking for her. I wondered if they were fucking.
“I’m, ummm…. supposed to be picking something up,” I could see a few beads of sweat forming on his tanned forehead. I thought about how some nights I could hear him bouncing a basketball on his driveway from my bedroom. “I mean buying something from ‘The Baby.’ A thing. She said I could—“
“Oh you’re here for pot.” The Baby made a killing that summer selling drugs to the neighborhood kids for her ex boyfriend Ricky.
Foster nodded, his eyes widening just a bit.
“She’s not home,” The Baby was gone until Friday, on a trip with a bunch of those girls who hung out behind 7-11, but I had been authorized to make sales. “I’ll get it for you. Come on.”
“No,” I scowled and scratched at the grass tickling my left leg.
Foster cocked his head in confusion. “What’s your name then?”
“Indiana,” I told him, long and slow and a bit spiteful, so he’d remember.
“Oh…oh. Do you know who I am?” he fussed with his cap, it was white but the bill was blue. Underneath, a bit of his blonde hair poked out.
“Yes I do, Foster,” I swatted at my leg again. “Did you need something?”
He didn’t answer for a long time. First he just looked at me, his green eyes searching my face like he’d lost something important there. I was messy looking that day, I usually was. But I know that I was particularly messy from the pool. I could feel that my hair had wrapped itself into a big, wet, tangled nest. I neglected to take off my eye makeup before I swam and had enormous raccoon mascara rings. When his eyes began to travel down my scantily clad body, I interrupted him with a loud, fake cough.
“What do you want?” I snarled.
“Uh…you got a sister right?” Foster rubbed the back his neck. “I’m looking for her.”
“Luna? Marley? Or The Baby?”
Foster’s mouth screwed up into this tight line “who is The Baby?”
“Oh,” I chuckled to myself. Sometimes it slipped my mind that it was just a nickname. “CeCe’s The Baby because she’s the baby.”
Foster smirked. “I thought she was like sixteen.”
“But she’s still the baby of our family,” Luna and Marley (who were twenty-two) were real twins but The Baby and I were Irish twins. Born eleven months apart. But we were total opposites. She got the looks. I got the brains. She took sweetness. I got sass. She was ‘experienced.’ I was not. It figured that Foster would be looking for The Baby. All the boys came around looking for her. I wondered if they were fucking.
“I’m, ummm…. supposed to be picking something up,” I could see a few beads of sweat forming on his tanned forehead. I thought about how some nights I could hear him bouncing a basketball on his driveway from my bedroom. “I mean buying something from ‘The Baby.’ A thing. She said I could—“
“Oh you’re here for pot.” The Baby made a killing that summer selling drugs to the neighborhood kids for her ex boyfriend Ricky.
Foster nodded, his eyes widening just a bit.
“She’s not home,” The Baby was gone until Friday, on a trip with a bunch of those girls who hung out behind 7-11, but I had been authorized to make sales. “I’ll get it for you. Come on.”