first.â
âWhere you from?â
âDelaware.â
âThe whole state?â
âDover.â
âWhy are you in Rutherford if youâre from Delaware?â
âYou talk too much,â she says.
âBitch, please,â Alston says, âpeople should talk more.â He reaches into his shorts, pulls out a pack of Camels, selects one in the middle, and lights it.
âHere,â he says, holding out the pack to Janelle. âI can tell you smoke.â
She accepts one and Alston reaches across Dax and lights it for her, cupping the flame with his opposite hand although thereâs no hint of wind. Dax glances at her face, her thin nose and dark eyes, then her long legs. His body tightens, but when she glances back at him he knows right away sheâs not interested. She looks at him as many have, as a slight physical freakâa grown-man body at seventeenâthatâs worth a second glance, and thatâs all. Dax shakes his size 15 basketball shoes and wonders when heâll stop growing.
âIâm trying to get this one to start,â Alston says, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
âNot a chance,â Dax says. âI like my lungs without the crap they put on the roads.â
âItâs different tar,â Janelle says. âThis is good tar. Helps you breathe.â She smiles for the first time and shows her perfectly white, crooked teeth.
The three of them stay quiet for a while under a partly cloudy April afternoon. The low grunts of the Rutherford girlsâ number one rise to high-pitched shrieks as she volleys, retreats, then hammers a cross-court winner to take the first set.
âDruggie parents?â Alston says.
âNo,â Janelle says.
âSo?â
âSo what?â she says.
âSo whatâs the story? Youâre what, seventeen? Eighteen? Youâre in Rutherford, New Jersey, sitting with two fucks at a stupid-ass tennis match, and you donât play tennis. You probably already know youâre going to take off if youâve spent over a week at the Conleysâ. But weâre not there yet. Whatâs up with your parents?â
âYouâre pretty stupid, arenât you?â
âYes, but youâre still sitting here with me and Dax.â
âDax isnât a name.â
âHeâs sitting right here,â Alston says.
âAre you stupid like this one?â she asks Dax.
âHeâs not the most talkative,â Alston says.
âIâm talkative,â Dax says. âWhat do you want to know?â
âTell me about anything.â
âOkay. If you keep throwing up at our tennis matches, coachâll kick us off the team and weâll have to sit through history class more often.â
âDid you throw up?â Janelle says.
âDo I seem like someone who throws up in the afternoon?â
âYou look like someone who flinches.â
âWhat?â
Dax yanks up a balled fist and Alston jerks away.
âIâll kill you, Dax.â
âYouâre a shit talker, but I didnât say that was bad,â Janelle says.
âShit. Iâve never flinched. Iâve hurt people.â
âWhere?â she says, smiling.
âWhere?â
âYes, where did you hurt people? Tell me where you were when you hurt all these poor souls.â
Alston takes a drag.
âEverywhere. Thatâs what you need to know. In the Bronx. In Canada. In your back yard.â
âThat doesnât make sense,â Dax says.
âIâm not done. Here, in Rutherford. In fucking Finland and Egypt and Iraq.â
âWow,â Janelle says. âWorld traveler.â
âWhere you going to go?â Alston says.
âWhen?â
âWhen Conley accidentally walks in on you taking a shower.â
âYou donât know shit.â
âYep. But where?â
âTo your house.â
âTake Union to Springfield, couple
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