By the time he returned, I sported a giant mud stain on my leg from an over zealous sow on her way back from the mud puddle. Water dripped from my shirt and legs from the back splash she caused when she succeeded in her quest for water.

I had squealed in surprise, and for whatever reason, that had triggered a watering frenzy. So I sat, being shoved and jostled by the pigs, gripping hard to the edge of the water trough to keep my place.

It sucked.

Jake laughed when he saw me, then used his boot to push the animals aside, clearing his path to me. He threw a burlap sack on the ground and plopped down on it. He used his teeth to tear open a few packages of sports wrap and laid everything out beside him. Finally, he slapped his denim covered thigh. "Up."

Reluctantly, I complied.

He worked efficiently, his fingers clever and nimble. "How'd you sprain it anyway?"

"I tripped," I told the top of his head. His hair was so black it was nearly blue.

"That's not what I heard."

"Do you always make sure you stay on top of the latest gossip?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Can't help what I hear."

There was nothing to say to that.

"They say you went all "Carrie" on them."

I snorted.

His hands stilled, and he looked up at me. "Why do you let them do it?" he asked, his eyes too intense for my comfort.

I didn't pretend not to understand.

"I just want to lay low until I can get out of here. It's only another year."

He made a final loop and tore the tape, tucking the end neatly over my ankle. "Lay Low, Lay-lah," he said to himself, over-enunciating the syllables, lips pursing as he played with the sounds.

I had to work real hard not to smile.

He should have let go of my foot then, but he held onto it. Then he looked up again, pinning me down with his eyes. "But you know you can, right?"

"Can what?"

"Snap your fingers and put those girls where they belong." He smiled slyly. "You know you can."

I lowered my eyelids, shielding my eyes.

"You're bad Layla. I know you are. I don't know why you're putting up this act, but I see you."

He ran the pad of his thumb along the calloused heel of my foot. "Look at me."

I thought about it, then raised my eyelids and looked straight into his eyes.

The eyes of a lioness, my grandmother had called them. "You need to be harder with her," I'd overheard her tell my daddy once. "She's gonna be a wild one, just like her mama. She's got bad blood in her, that one, the Devil's blood."

Jake's grin was wicked. "That's Layla."

I laughed. I couldn't help it.

A loud clap of the thunder brought us out of our reverie. He quickly packed everything up, handed the bundle to me then knelt, offering me his back. "Come on, let's go."

"I'm okay -"

"I know you can't walk. You sure as hell can't get on a bike," he said, looking at me over his shoulder. "Hurry up, I gotta get back and bring the cattle in before the storm comes."

Screw it, I thought, climbing on. If my mom didn't come to get me, I'd be crawling home in the rain.

***

Jake nudged the passenger door to his pickup open with his foot. I opened my mouth to protest about the mud on my body, (and now his arms and back) but quickly realized that I wasn't going to do any damage that wasn't already done. Several coats of mud and dirt and a generous dusting of animal hairs covered the seats, dash and console.

When he dropped me down onto the seat, he wasn't quite gentle, but wasn't rough either.

Through the side view mirror, I watched him go back for my bike and toss it into the bed of the truck.

He gunned the engine and we were off. I rested my knees on the dash to keep the pressure off my ankle. Dark grey thunderclouds blanketed the early evening sky and I hoped for rain.

"So it's all a lie then?" I asked after a while of driving in silence.

"What's that now?"

"All the things they say about you. That you're - not my words but theirs - bad to the bone."

He laughed. "Is that what they say? That's fucking lame."

"And worse."

He shook his head. "I dunno Layla, what do you want to know?"

"Juvenile Hall?"

"True," he said, his face neutral and relaxed.

"For beating someone to death with a tire iron?" I asked, then held my breath, waiting for the answer.

"No," he said softly. "Not to death."

Well then. What's a girl to say to that? In truth, I'd assumed he'd gone away for drug charges, theft, or simple assault. Typical teenage boy stuff. Well, typical where I come from anyway.

"But there was a tire iron involved?" I asked.

He turned to me and studied my face long enough to make me uncomfortable. I marveled at the length of his sooty black eyelashes. He returned his gaze to the road and nodded curtly.

I tried to wrap my mind around that.

"I'd think you'd get more than three years for something like that."

"They brought the charges down to Aggravated Assault."

"What exactly happened?"

He shook his head. "I'll never tell."

"Why not?"

"Because it involves other people whose business I don't need to be airing in public."

"Which part? The assault or what happened after?"

He thought a moment. "Both."

I was silent for a long time, digesting the information. I shifted in my seat. "So did they fix you all up in Juvenile Hall?"

He scratched his head. "I don't know about all that..." He drummed his long fingers on the steering wheel. "I'm not gonna lie to you. I am what I am Layla."

Getting uncomfortable with the conversation, I switched the subject.

"Was all that stuff back there about your mom a lie to make me feel better?"

"Nope. That's the truth."

"Are you a nasty drunk like your daddy?"

"I don't drink much," he said.

"Oh," I said. I could imagine why.

"Alright. Just ask me the one you really want to ask. Go on, let's get it over with."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "If you know what I want to ask, why don't you just answer it?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

I should've scoffed at him and refused him the satisfaction. But I had to know. He was such a contradiction. Everyone said he was bad, but all I saw was the good in him. Besides, when else would I get the opportunity to hear it strait from the horse's mouth?

"Fine. Jake, are you a heartbreaker slash womanizer slash man-whore slash player?"

He shook his head definitively. "None of the above."

"You just fuck a lot?"

He laughed loud and hard at that. "Something like that."

"Seriously though."

"Seriously what."

"How many?"

"Well, this is getting awfully personal."

"You don't have to answer it if you don't want to."

"Okay," he said, switching on his turn signal.

He made a left at the crosslight. The nicer areas of town faded by and the buildings started to get more run down, the vegetation unkempt. I waited three whole minutes before speaking again.

"More than five?"

He chuckled softly. "You just said I didn't have to answer if I didn't want to."

"I changed my mind."

"I don't really have an exact number. I don't keep track of stuff like that."

I huffed. "But you do know which ballpark you're playing in."

"I guess so."

"So?"

"Why do you want to know so bad? You're only gonna judge me on it if I tell you."

"I'm curious, that's all. And I don't judge people," I said. "I know what it feels like to be judged," I added softly.

He glanced at me briefly. "More than five."

"More than ten?"

"Jesus Layla."

"Well?"

"How would you feel if I asked you the same question?"

My face froze. I hadn't considered that.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to ask. Because it's a rude question and I'm not a nosy bastard like you are."

I hated that word.

"Don't call me that," I snapped.

Bracing himself with his palm against the side of the door, he briefly stuck his head out the window and looked up at the sky. "Hope it rains. We sure could use it."

"More than ten?"

He rolled his eyes. "Alright. More than ten, less than twenty. Happy?"

I recoiled at his words.

He groaned out loud. "You said you weren't going to judge."

"I'm really trying not to. But Jake, you were fifteen when you went to jail. How is that even possible?"

"I was only in jail for two of the three years. The last year I spent at a correctional camp," he grinned. "We were allowed out in town for good behavior."

I made a face.

"What?"

"It's gross. You're gross."

"You're judging."

"I don't care."

"Can we talk about something else?" he asked.

I stayed silent for a few minutes, then answered him. "Are you going to Canyon High next year?"

"Nope, all done with school."

"You should at least graduate high school. Gives you more options in life." I didn't mean to nag, but education was important to me. It was the only chance for people like us to claw our ways out of poverty and destitution.

"Got my GED while I was in Juvy."

"Oh. No college then?"

"Hell no. This the turn?"

I nodded.

He pulled into the trailer park. Shangri-La, the weathered sign read, dimly lit by the single bulb still in working order.

"Home sweet home," he said.

"Something like that."

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