Bucked

“Look Damien, how ‘bout we talk about this later? I want you to show me what you can do in the gym. What do you say we shoot a few hoops?” I ruffle his hair, and turn toward the gym building.

“Okay,” he grumbles. “But you can do anything, right Kanen?”

“I am the best, but I can’t do everything.” I grin at him and chuck him under the chin, looking at the hero worship in his eyes. That’s dangerous, but when you’re in his situation, it feels so good to believe in somebody. Anybody, really. Even a no-good bull rider who struck gold one day. Little does he know how many people let me down, and all the people I let down along the way. Real life—I guess it doesn’t have to hit him just yet. Hopefully ever. “But I don’t mind trying. Who knows, I think you’ll be able to beat my time one day.”

“You think?” His voice is awestruck. “I hope I can.”

“Well the main thing you always have to remember is to respect the bull,” I tell him. “That is the number one key to success. You need to pay homage to that ton of muscle between your legs, because all you are is a couple of hundred pounds of meat on top.”

“I guess so.” His eyes are wide and look faraway.

We all stroll into the gym and I grab a basketball, faking and then throwing it at the first boy’s stomach, and he quickly closes his hands around it and makes a long shot for the basket.

“Three pointer!” I say, and he turns around, beaming and pumping his fist.

“Thanks, Kanen,” he says. “I’m Ricky, by the way. I just came here this week. Did you know it’s not just Damien, but all the boys talk about you like you’re some kind of God?”

“Well that’s nice to hear, but don’t be fooled,” I tell him. “I’m just a regular cowboy.”

“But you’re one of us, right? You have some of our blood?”

“That I do. Not a hundred percent, but the part I’m most proud of.”

I don’t like to talk about this subject, but I will, because I don’t want to pass on the shame that was handed down to me over generations. I fight against the feeling that I was taught by my mama, that I’m supposed to hate myself, to give up, but it seems that it’s almost part of myself now, even if I can never accept it. It’s complex.

The boy nods. “Me too, I’m proud of it too,” he adds quickly, but in a less than convincing way.

That’s all right, I figure. You have to fake it to make it. At least I hope I will someday. I still am pissed at the people who tried to take my pride. Not that they have all that much to be proud of themselves. Motherfuckers.

While we’re talking, Damien grabs the ball from the ground and chucks it at me, and I catch it with one hand, and do a layup at the net. It’s been awhile, but I fly through the steps and slam dunk it at the end. The kids cheer, and I pass the ball after the rebound to Ricky, who makes his own shot. It falls short, but he quickly scoops it up and shoots again, and the second time it goes in.

“Nice recovery,” I grin.

“That’s what it’s all about. That’s what they taught us. It doesn’t matter if you fall,” he recites. “As long as you get up after you fall down.”

Hmm. Maybe so. That’s what I’ve built my life on, anyway. Giving the finger to those people who tried to drag me down, and to leverage my resources so that I can do whatever I damn well please. Canada’s face swims in front of my eyes. I wouldn’t mind seeing her tonight, but I think I might hold off on calling her. Might be better to keep my distance. I may be falling for Canada, but I’m going to get back up just as many times as I fall.

Eighteen

Chastity

A text comes in from Lacey. “Girl, where were you last night? I told you I was going to come by and bring your tips, but you never answered your phone.”

I’m eating ice cream, and my spoon pauses in midair. She’s right. Crap. I completely bailed on her. After I got inside last night, I realized there were three texts from Lacey and two calls. I guess she came by with my money, ready to hear the story about the Wrecker, and I was out with him already.

“Sorry,” I type quickly. “I went out after all.”

“Who did you go out with?” Her answer comes lightning-fast.

Argh. I struggle with whether I should tell her or not. If I do tell her I went out with Kanen, she’ll go nuts and demand details. But she also knows that I don’t have too many other friends in the city, and she’ll probably see right through me if I lie.

I guess I should just bite the bullet and give her the scoop. “If you must know, I went out with Kanen.”

“Whoa, I

was hoping you would say that,” she writes. “What are you doing right now? Can I come over?”

“Sure.”