A Different Blue(12)

being held or kissed or touched, I felt powerful and I felt wanted. I knew what some people

called me. I knew the whispers behind the hands. I knew what the boys said about me. They said I

was a slut. Pretending I wasn't would be believing a lie. A myth, like the Greeks with their

silly Gods.

Jimmy had called me Bluebird. It was his own little nickname. But I bore no resemblance to a

bluebird . . . sweet, bright, happy. I was more like a modern day harpy. A bird-woman. A female

monster equipped with crooked, sharp talons. Mess with me, and I would carry you off to the

underworld and punish and torment you for infinity. Maybe it wasn't my fault I was the way I

was. Cheryl took me in when I was about eleven, and she didn't have much use for a kid. Her

lifestyle wasn't conducive to motherhood. She was unaffectionate and absent most of the time,

but she was all right. When I was younger she made sure I ate and that I had a bed of my own.

[page]We lived in a two bedroom apartment in a dumpy complex on the outskirts of Boulder City,

twenty minutes from the bright lights of Las Vegas. Cheryl was a dealer at the Golden Goblet

Hotel Casino in Vegas, and she spent her days sleeping and her nights surrounded by gamblers and

cigarette smoke, which suited her just fine. She usually had a boyfriend. The older she got, the

more seedy her choice in men became. The older I got, the more interested they became in me. It

made for a tense relationship. I knew that as soon as I graduated I would be on my own because

the money for my care had stopped at eighteen, and I had turned nineteen in August. It was just

a matter of time.

When class was over, I wadded up my paper and threw it back in the trash where it belonged. Mr.

Wilson saw me do it, but I didn't care. Both Manny and Graciela were sitting on my tailgate

talking to group of Manny's girlfriends when I reached the parking lot. I just sighed. First

Manny, now Graciela. I was becoming the chauffeur. They were all laughing and chattering, and my

head immediately started to hurt. One of the girls called out to a handful of guys gathered

around a vintage yellow Camero.

“Brandon! Who are you taking to Homecoming? I still need a date, ya know!”

The girls around her twittered, and Brandon looked over to see who was propositioning him.

Brandon was the younger brother of a guy I hung out with every now and then. Where Mason was

brawny and dark, Brandon was lean and blond, but both were too good-looking for modesty. Mason

had graduated three years before, and Brandon was a Senior, like I was. I was older than all the

guys my age, and though I could acknowledge good looks, I grew bored with them very easily and

didn't make it a secret. Which is probably why I would NOT be crowned Homecoming Queen, despite

Manny's high hopes and machinations.

“Sorry, Sasha. I asked Brooke last week. We definitely need to hang out sometime, though.”

Brandon smiled, and I was reminded how appealing Mason was when he was being sweet. Maybe it was

time to give Mason a call. It had been a while.

“That car is seriously hot, Brandon,” Manny called out, his voice raised above those of his

friends.

“Uh, thanks, man.” Brandon grimaced, and his friends looked away awkwardly. I winced for

Brandon's sake and for Manny's.

“Manny, Gracie, let's go.” I yanked my truck door open, hoping the loafers on my tailgate

would scatter when I started it up. I watched through the rearview mirror as all of Manny's