She was painting her nails

Jace walked slovenly down the cracked sidewalk, his shoulders hunched over, feet shuffling on the cement. He had on an Abercrombie and Fitch t-shirt, three leather rope bracelets on his left wrist, and ripped faded jeans that gave him the appearance of hipness but with an air of fashion indifference. He was too hip to care that he was hip.

Behind his aviator shades were eyes filled with pity…..for any sucker who had to spend his high school years in this dump of a town. After Jace’s mom went ballistic over some minor thing with booze and bombing grades, she sent him to live with his grandfather; probably so she could make the moves on her latest target. There had been a string of men through their front door since his parents divorced when Jace was seven. His mom was usually in a drama of her own making, trying to get the guy and then trying to pick up the pieces after the guy inevitably dumped her. Jace used to help her glue those pieces back together, but after a few years it got tiresome. Keggers, girls and other alcohol filled pursuits distracted him until he and his mom basically shared an address, not much more.

So, no surprise that she decided he was getting in the way of her fun. The shocker was living with an adult who actually gives a rip. Suddenly, Jace had a curfew, chores to do and a car-free existence. It was prison after years of wild freedom. Grandpa was ornery as they come and took no guff from “youngsters”. He was going to whip Jace into shape come hell or high water.

Jace’s only escapes were “walks about town”. Grandpa admired exercise, said it was good for the mind and body. So, everyday, sometimes a few times a day, Jace walked the sleepy summer streets, bordered by big maple trees and craftsman two stories with wide covered porches.

Shuffling onto 3rd Street, he found something intriguing. At the corner yellow house, sitting on the front porch, was a girl about 15 years old, with straight blonde hair spilling over her bare shoulders. She was wearing a tank top and cut offs, her long tan legs propped up on the porch railing. She was painting her nails, her head bent in concentration. But as he passed, he noticed her eyes shift towards him. It was almost imperceptible. She moved no other muscle in her body, apparently too cool to acknowledge his presence.

He checked her out in his periphery. Thinking she was safe from detection, she turned and watched him, blowing on her wet nails and tossing her head, causing her silky hair to cascade over one shoulder. Jace smiled to himself as he continued down the street, still feeling her eyes on his back. Maybe this summer wasn’t going to be so bad.