Prologue
Reno, Nevada
1992
Scorching, desert sun soaked into the roof of the mobile
homes, the aluminum so old and weathered that there was no
reflection. Heat shimmered off the trailers, the rusted out
cars parked in the weeds, and even the dirt. An abandoned
tricycle laid on its side, the red paint worn away and one
wheel missing.
A young girl bolted out the front door of one of the
older trailers and scrambled down the four wooden steps to
the road.
"You get back here, ya little bitch!" a male voice
bellowed from inside.
The girl sauntered down the street between other mobile
homes just like hers. A jaunty baseball cap shielded her
face from the blinding light. Her sandals flapped on the
hot pavement. She wore pristine white short shorts and a
pink sleeveless blouse tied off at the waist.
As far as the eye could see were rust streaked, silver
trailers with faded trim, red dirt and black sticky
pavement with not a shrub or a flower in sight. This was
her life and she couldn't wait to get out.
The few damp tendrils that had escaped her hat sparkled
with fire where the sun touched them. Even though Alma had
just turned sixteen, her body had blossomed into that of
a full grown beautiful woman. As she walked away she
muttered to herself.
It'll be a cold day in you-know-where before I take
orders from one of Mom's boyfriends. How can she stand
them? Ugh! You'll never catch me settling for some low
life boyfriend. I don't take guff off nobody. Especially
not from some lousy, drunken, pig of a step-father,
or ‘uncle' or whatever the heck Mom's calling this one.
Alma was concentrating on where she was going and what
her future might hold when a deep voice called out.
"Hey, Lady Bug! Where you off to in such a hurry?"
Alma's head snapped up and when she recognized the voice
calling from behind a screen door, a smile lit up her face.
She slowed her angry march as she came up to the door of
the neighboring trailer, accenting the sway of her hips.
"Hey, Charlie!" Alma purred. "Just goin' for a stroll;
wanna come along?"
"Sure, lemme get my beer." the man replied as he stepped
back into his door and almost instantly reappeared. He
joined Alma in the middle of the street and they began to
walk. The man was in his early twenties, and what he lacked
in height, he made up for in physique.
He was unbelievably handsome, with shaggy, light brown
hair that just touched the collar of his shirt. His cobalt
blue eyes, with silver flecks, sparkled when he looked at
her. As they walked down the middle of the road, Alma's
smile had slowly faded and she appeared deep in thought.
"Whas' up? You're awful serious today."
"It's nothin'." Alma said."Come on now, tell Charlie
what's buggin' ya," he replied.
"It's just that creep my Mom's got livin' with us. What
a loser!" Once Alma started the floodgates seemed to open.
Charlie was her best friend and always listened, really
listened to her.
"He lays around all day drinkin' beer while she goes
out to work. Then when she comes home he claims he was out
lookin' for a job. She has a few beers with him and then
the arguing begins. I don't know why she keeps pickin'
these losers." She sighed.
"She moves one of ‘em in, pays the bills, and supports
the bum. In the end it's always the same; they fight every
night and finally he smacks her around and she kicks ‘im to
the curb. I am never gonna' have a boy friend like that!
I've got plans, big plans, believe you me!"
Charlie stopped in the road and Alma walked a few steps
before she realized he wasn't beside her anymore. She
stopped and looked around.
"What?" she asked.
"He's not botherin' you, is he?"
"What'd ya mean?"
"He's not touchin' ya?"
"Ha! That'll be the day! Just let ‘im try somethin'
like that! I'll kill him!"
"You sure?" Charlie insisted.
"Wha'd you care?" she asked.
Charlie scowled at her. "I thought we were friends,
Alma. Friends look out for friends."
"Well, thanks, but you don't need to worry. He wouldn't
dare try anything like that. Besides, he's not my type."
"Oh, really? And what would be your type be, at the wise
ol' age of fifteen?" Charlie laughed.
"Sixteen!" she corrected him. "Last week and you
know it. Anyway, my type is none of your beeswax."
"Okay, okay, don't get your knickers...." Charlie
cleared his throat realizing what he had been about to say.
I've got no right to refer to a young girl's knickers in
any context. "Ah....I mean...don't get all mad and
everything. I was just wondering."
He paused, thinking about her turning
sixteen. "So...how does that old saying go? ‘Sweet sixteen
and never been kissed.' Would that describe you?"
Alma blushed at how close Charlie was to the truth. Why
does he only see a child when he looks at me? What I want
is for him to realize that I'm a woman now and that he's my
type. How can I convince him of that when he's with
Cassandra? She wondered to herself. How can I compete with
a tall, willowy blonde waitress who works a real job at the
diner? I have to do something. (c)