Chapter 9
Tegan
The van deposits me and Ace on a corner about a half mile from a massive cul-de-sac that Stacks wants us to hit.
I wish he could have dropped us off closer, but he doesn’t want any potential customers to witness any type of organized-van situation.
That would kind of ruin the sad, lonely story we’re trying to sell, I guess.
My feet move on their own, and I’m already over it. I’m not unaccustomed to walking, but it’s extremely hot, and I’m walking by someone who makes me even warmer.
“How are you feeling about this, pup?” Ace asks.
“Nervous.”
“Don’t be. Just use what you came from as ammunition in a weapon that can change your future.”
“Stop sounding like a salesman.” I give his arm a playful smack. “You sound like you’re selling me a dream that will never be a reality.”
He shrugs and kicks at a small pebble. “I’ve never sold you anything less than a dream, that’s true, but there’s nothing that says it can’t be your reality.”
He stops walking, glances around, and pulls me into a wooded area.
When he eases a knife from his pocket, whips it open, and brings the blade toward me, I nearly scream.
Instead, I just flinch as he gouges a new hole in the shirt he picked out for me, as if the tattered hem and faded stains weren’t enough.
Satisfied with my attire, he turns his attention to the rest of my look.
My eyes nearly cross as he places the blade between his lips so that he can run his hands against my scalp, tousling my clean hair to make it look a bit more unkempt.
If he notices the goosebumps rising on my skin or the way I’m leaning into his touch, he doesn’t show it.
He also doesn’t notice how I stare at every beautiful movement he makes. Every rise of that cheek piercing as he curls his lip around the blade. Fuck.
As he pulls away to mess up his own hair, I fight the urge to grip his wrists and beg for more.
“Are . . . are we supposed to be a team or have our own stories?” I ask as he guides us back to the sidewalk. Nerves cause my stomach to flutter.
“It’s probably best if we have our own stories. It adds an unnecessary layer of complexity when you have to match stories. One slip up, and the sale falls through.”
“Can you go over it all one more time for me?” I ask, suddenly panicking.
Most people would probably be annoyed with me, considering this is the third time I’ve asked, but Ace just repeats the plan like it’s no big deal.
“When we get to a house, I’ll take the lead. The goal is to get them to fork over cash for both of us, and they’ll even tell us how to get it out of their pockets.”
“Right,” I say, remembering. “I’m supposed to look around and figure out their interests.”
“Exactly. Do they have a motorcycle in the driveway? A boat? Do they have a fluffy white cat wearing clothing and a tiara? There’s a magazine for pretty much everything.”
“I don’t think I’d notice if there was a motorcycle crashed into the house, to be honest.”
“You’ll learn. Everything you need is in your backpack—the order book, pens, and a stack of generic magazines to show prospective customers.” He looks down at me and grins. “You’re gonna do great, pup. Don’t sweat it.”
He feels like a mentor, which is something I’ve never had. I look up to him and his wealth of knowledge, and although I’m nervous as hell, I’m excited to see what he can teach me.
And as we turn the corner onto the street, I guess I don’t have to wait long to find out.
We arrive at the first house—a tan Cape Cod that seems to be the least intimidating on the street. Ace gives me no further prep work before he puts his fist to the door and knocks.
As we wait on the stoop, sweat slithers down my back. I’m about to give in and reach back to swipe it away when a lock disengages and a woman’s face pops up behind the glass door.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
Ace transforms in front of me, going from a confident guy to a humble one in the time it takes me to blink. “Hello, ma’am. We hate to bother you, but I’m hoping we can have a few minutes of your time to persuade you to buy some magazines for a good cause.”
With the practiced ease of an experienced hand, he slips his backpack off his shoulder and holds it to his chest as he unzips it and pulls out the stack of magazines.
“What’s the charity?” she asks, her nose turning upward, and I hate the judgement broadcasting from her eyes in fucking UHD clarity. I don’t know how Ace does it. This is . . . degrading.
“It’s not a charity, per se, but you’ll be helping out a good cause, nonetheless. Me and my sister live at the shelter downtown, and we’re trying to fund an apartment so that we—”
“Young man . . .” she begins, and I know something offensive is about to leave her mouth.
Before she can say the words, Ace jumps in front of it.
“I completely understand your reservations. Two homeless kids showing up on your doorstep, asking to sell you some magazines . . . I get it. Do you maybe have a little food to spare? We usually raid a dumpster behind Gino’s Pizzeria, but they’re closed today.
Which means . . . Well, it means we won’t be eating today. ”
The way he rips at this lady’s heartstrings is as impressive as it is offensive. I’ve gone through the trash for food on many occasions, but weaponizing my poverty to scam some rich asshole still feels wrong.
The woman grabs her chin. “I might have a little something. Let me check.”
“Thank you so much, ma’am. Do you mind if we wait just inside? My sister will faint in this heat if she’s out here much longer without something to eat.”
The woman looks down her nose at me. Yeah, I know, lady. I don’t look like I’ve missed many meals.
Ace notices her scrutiny and tries to get ahead of that too. “She has a condition. Hypothyroidism. It makes it hard for her to regulate her temperature and—”
“I have to go,” I say. Tears well in my eyes as I tear down the sidewalk.
God, this was what everyone was worried about.
That people wouldn’t have sympathy for the fat girl.
The chubby woman pretending to be homeless.
It doesn’t matter that I was in extreme poverty before this gig, fat or not.
I know that I’m a walking contradiction.
I know that it’s harder to believe that I could be in need when I look like this. I know—
“Tegan!” Ace yells behind me.
“What?” I snap, turning to face him.
“What the hell was that about?”
I scoff. “I’m medically ill. That’s why I’m fat. That’s where you were going with that, right?”
“I told you. You have to sell yourself, even if it’s not the truth. Even if it’s a lie that hurts your feelings.”
“But you sold a lie that you don’t own. It hurt when you tried to excuse my weight.”
“Pup . . .” He groans, and the way he says my nickname threatens to break down my anger.
“I just wanted to show you how you can pivot and turn the conversation in your favor. She went from being ready to slam the door in our faces to considering letting us inside her home! Once inside, I’ve never been unable to secure a sale. ”
“I don’t think I’m cut out for this, Ace. I appreciate you for giving me a chance, but I don’t think I can sell out like you can.”
His face twists, and I see an unfamiliar glint of anger in his eyes.
“You think I’m a sellout? You think that making my future better so that I don’t have to go back to a fucking trailer with no electricity or running water is selling out? So be it, Tegan. I guess I’m a sellout, then.”
He turns and heads to the next house, leaving me on the sidewalk. I take a few steps after him, but he spins on his heel and glares at me.
“Don’t follow me.”
So I don’t. With tears in my eyes and an ache in my chest, I watch him walk away.