Free American Outlaw by Jesse James Page B

was just really adorable. I called her up a couple of weeks after the party to see what the deal was.
    “So, I was just thinking about you,” I said.
    “I was thinking about you, too,” she confessed.
    “That’s great,” I said. “Well . . . are we gonna get together sometime?”
    “Sure,” Patty said. “You can take me out to the movies this Friday, if you want.”
    “No way!” I said, unable to believe my luck. “I mean, yes. Yes, I want.”
    “Great, smooth talker,” she said, laughing. “Come over around seven. You can meet my dad and my stepmom then.”
    So I got all excited. That Friday, I showered up and dressed to the preppy nines: Chess King shirt, flared jeans, the whole thing.
    Patty lived on the other side of Riverside, in an upper-class neighborhood with big, quiet houses and sports cars in the driveways. Her front yard was well manicured. No misfit washing machines rusting in the front yard; clearly, this was not my ’hood.
    I rang the doorbell and a familiar face answered. A gold crucifix glinted in my face, and to my utter dismay, I realized I was looking at Ms. Torres, my probation officer.
    I watched her face turn from puzzled, to disgusted, to plain frightened, as she remembered me. Finally, she muttered, “Please, come in.”
    “Jesse!” Patty sang, coming down the stairs as I entered. “I see you’ve met my stepmom.”
    “Patty,” Ms. Torres said drily. She folded her arms and looked at Patty pointedly. “You and I need to have a little talk in the kitchen.”
    That was the sum total of my first—and last—date with Patty.
    Still, life went on. I got up early every Saturday morning to work the swaps. Gradually, I learned how to read customers, sell them on whatever crap my dad had found at auction: a bundle of rags, ten boxes of Tupperware, didn’t matter. If we acquired it, I could sell it. Nights, I’d play tough guy at Golden Apple. A hesitant Southern California winter shuffled in for a visit. Six weeks later, it was gone.
    Home was home. I didn’t much want to be there. Despite the renovations, the house still smelled like the fire. It may have had a new roof and new carpets, but the walls had a faint stench of black smoke that you couldn’t ever get rid of. Bad memories came flooding back every time I walked down the hall.
    My dad and I spoke to each other only when we had to—by this time, I was old enough to understand that I no longer respected him. Yet there was literally no other place I could go.
    Except, of course, jail. And that’s where I was headed next.

4
 
     
    Looking back, I’m tempted to blame it all on Bobby. Of course, I won’t. Still, the appeal is there.
    “We’re gonna hit Rybeck’s Saturday night,” he confided to me. It was late afternoon, just before our senior year was going to begin. We were lounging on his roof. You could see the whole shitty neighborhood from where we were. Kings of all we surveyed. “And we need you.”
    I frowned. Rybeck’s Cameras was the biggest photo store in Riverside. “Who’s we?”
    “Me and Dave,” Bobby whispered, naming one of his old friends. He looked over both shoulders, hamming it up. “We’re going to go in after hours and clean up, man.”
    “That sounds perfect,” I said. “For you.”
    “Noooooo,” Bobby said, slowly wagging a finger. “For all of us.”
    I shook my head. “I can’t do it, Bobby. This year’s going to be bigfor me. I’m going to have scouts at the games this year. I gotta stay focused. It’s my ticket out.”
    “James,” Bobby said, “I’m very disappointed. How could
you,
of all people, leave me alone, when I got the heist of a lifetime all primed and ready?”
    “I’m not leaving you alone,” I pointed out. “You have Dave.”
    “Dave’s no fun,” Bobby protested. His shoulders slumped, and he looked like a giant, sad dog. “He’s all business. He’ll just want to get in and get out. Thanks a
bunch.
”
    “I’m sorry, man,” I said, laughing.