Page 1 of Fang
Fourteen years old
“Stinky Cami. Stinky Cami,” the boys on the bus chant.
The tears are rolling down my face as the bus driver attempts to stop them by yelling, but they don’t stop. They never do.
Zak Brohan dubbed me Stinky Cami last year when I came into class with dirty clothes and not having showered in a week because our water was turned off. The name has stuck.
The bus finally comes to a stop outside of the trailer park. I’m out of my seat and out the door before anyone can say anything. Other kids filter out behind me, but I run all the way to the place I call home.
Busting through the door, I wince when I find my mother on the couch, a man on top of her doing things I never want to see. It happens more than I care to admit.
“Get in your room,” Mom screams at me when the fella on top of her glances my way.
You’d think she was trying to protect her child, but I know the truth. She’s jealous that his attention is on me.
I run into my room, slamming the door behind me. I let the tears fall as I wonder for the umpteenth time what I did to deserve a life like this.
I hear the telltale signs of my mom earning her money before the whole place goes silent. I shouldn’t judge her. She’s doing what she has to do, but it’s not to support us. She won’t be taking that money to pay our bills or buy food for the house. No, she will be taking it to her dealer to get her next fix.
The only reason we still have this trailer is because she sleeps with the park manager several times a month in exchange for a place to do her business. In fact, I think he sends people her way.
I wait until it’s been quiet for a long while before I open my door and look out. My face feels crusty with the dried tears. I want to wash my face and use the bathroom, but I know if I show my face too soon, Mom will be ready to teach me a lesson. It’s not worth it.
When I’m sure the coast is clear, I rush to the bathroom. I rinse my face before using the bathroom. After washing my hands with the soap I stole from the local dollar store, I open the door to head back to my room.
I’m shocked to find the man from before standing there. He’s standing in nothing but his boxers. The look on his face says he’s up to no good.
“Well, hello there. I was wondering if you were ever coming out,” he says to me.
My heart races as dread rolls through me.
“My mom will be upset if she finds you talking to me.” It’s true, but not the way he thinks.
He reaches out to touch my hair. I flinch away from him.
“Your mom went to get us some party favors. My treat after all. Why don’t you come talk to me in the living room?” He grabs my arm, dragging me, not bothering to wait for an answer.
My heart is racing in my chest. I know what this means. This man is no good. He wants to do things to me. The things he does to my mom. I’m not an idiot. Growing up in this home, you can’t be.
He’s not the first guy to try to do something with me. Usually it’s them trying to get into my room, which is locked.
I didn’t expect him to still be here, though. This is the first time Barbara has left a man here with me. She must have been so excited about the idea of drugs that she forgot I was here.
I hope Tito is home. He’s her dealer two doors down. She will be home soon if he is.
“You’re very pretty. How old are you?” he asks.
I don’t answer him, staring straight ahead as he pulls me onto the couch next to him. I don’t miss the wet spot he sits on. It makes me queasy.
“It’s rude to ignore your elders,” the man hisses, squeezing my arm tighter.
I wince. “You’re hurting me.”
“I asked you a question.”
“Fourteen,” I tell him.
He sneers a little. “I thought you were younger, but you’ll do. Are you going to be a good girl for me?”
