Gringa by Sandra Scofield Page B

knew Natty could do for money at her age was babysit, and nobody needed a babysitter in Hadicol Camp. Kermit was getting exasperated. “A whoor,” he said, “does sex for money. Now do you get it?”
    â€œLike what?” I asked.
    â€œLike fuck.”
    â€œWho says!”
    â€œWell, maybe I don’t know for sure she fucks. But probably. Everybody knows at school. In study hall I saw her reach up under her skirt and stick her hand in her pants and she scratched her goldamned ass!”
    â€œFor money?” I was being sullen. Natty was my only friend.
    â€œTwerp.”
    â€œDo you do it?” I asked him.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œFuck. Do you fuck.” It was the first time I’d heard the word.
    â€œYou don’t have any business saying fuck, twerp. You don’t know shit about it.”
    â€œBut you do. Because you do it.”
    He twisted in his own trap. “Not exactly.”
    I did know one word for sex. “You mean humping, don’t you?”
    Kermit bent over and whispered in my ear. “I’ll bet you a dollar I can get her to put her hand on my dick.”
    â€œThat’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.” I couldn’t imagine anything worse.
    â€œFor a quarter,” he said. “I can get her to touch it.” His was a sly look. “And for another quarter I bet she’ll kiss it.”
    â€œIf she does it’ll be because she’ll want to know it’s not just a worm in your pocket. Dumbutt! Shithead!”
    â€œBetcha!” Kermit said. He was proud of himself for thinking of it, for making me miserable. “For fifty cents. That bitch thinks she’s shit on a stick.”
    In the back of the Mooster trailer there was an old Chevy with no tires. I told Natty what Kermit had said while we were sitting in it. She thought it was hysterical. “You wouldn’t, would you?” I asked.
    â€œI’ve got brothers. I’ve seen my pop. What do I care about your brother’s little stupid peee-nis.”
    I felt better, until she said, “I’m going to let him pay me fifty cents and see what he gets.”
    She started coming around our trailer when Kermit was there. She’d see the two boys coming in with their bloody rabbits and come over and act like it was wonderful, what they’d done. I couldn’t believe how she was acting. I couldn’t believe he fell for it.
    Then one day she brought over beer, while my parents were both gone, and the three of us got a little woozy. She stretched and yawned, so that her belly showed, and she said, “Cold beer makes me want to go outside and get hot again so I can drink some more.” She looked at Kermit. “Want to?”
    There was just a second of silence, and then they were gone. I felt queasy and apprehensive. I sat there, worrying about what Kermit would do to Natty, or what Natty would do to Kermit—I bolted out of the trailer and ran back towards the Chevy. I could hear Natty laughing like the devil and yelling at me, “Abileeeeen!” I got to the car just in time to catch a wad of clothes flying through the window of the car. Kermit’s pants. Kermit made a barking sound and started cursing, but Natty was already out of the car. Her blouse was all undone; I could see how her chest smoothed out over those two little bumps, white and soft like the flesh of a spring flower that only lasts a single morning. We ran as fast as we could to her trailer. Natty was laughing so hard she said it was giving her a stitch. We ran past her mother, who looked up and said, “What’s going on?” and buried our giggles in towels, sitting on the floor of the bathroom. “It wasn’t a worm,” Natty said. “It stood up and begged.” I was mortified.
    Natty saw my misery and loved it. “I told him he could undo his pants if he’d put his hand inside mine. He was shaking like a leaf!”
    â€œDid you