Page 47 of Russian Roulette

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SEVEN

Her eyes grow guarded. I made the remark to detect how she would react physically. I’m watching for tiny imperceptible changes in her facial expression, in her eyes or a slight hitch in breathing.

Jade shifts her long legs and crosses them. An unconscious protective instinct to block me out. I fight the urge to run my hand along her thigh. Would Jade object if I did? Something tells me she might not. Breaking eye contact with me, she leans down and takes another long sip of the drink.

“Tell me Jade…how did you learn your hacking skills? Did you take computer classes in college? You’re obviously incredibly smart.”

What would she think if she knew I only made it to the fifth grade of formal education before being pulled out and ‘homeschooled’ by my father?

Homeschooling to Dad meant learning how to survive in the real world, not memorizing random science facts found in textbooks. The only time I could study was on long car rides between county fairs. We’d hit garage sales where we’d pick up interesting paperback books for a dime. Everything from Western novels to learn history, or maps to study United States geography.

The one subject Dad was a stickler about was math. He would spend hours grilling me over and over on my multiplication tables. After I mastered the times tables, we moved on to more complex mathematical equations. I learned how to count money, make change, and think fast on my feet.

All the things I would need to make it in life, not to score high on a college entrance exam. If I had it all to do over, I wouldn’t change a thing from my childhood. I’m where I’m at today because of it.

“I’m not super smart,” she answers with a shrug. “I’m just a fast learner. I studied what I needed to learn, then I dropped out.”

She’s downplaying her intelligence. I wish she wouldn’t.

“What did you study?” I ask. “Engineering? Computers?”

“A little of everything they offered,” she answers. “Enumerative Combinatorics was my favorite.”

“An interesting field,” I say. I don’t have a clue what the fuck she’s talking about.

“It’s the study of counting and arranging objects, like permutations and combinations. It’s not something that’s commonly taught in undergraduate programs, but it’s important in computer science.” She notices my blank expression. “And I studied coding too,” she adds.

I nod, as if I understand. “So, you basically taught yourself how to hack? I’m sure they don’t have a college course teaching those illegal skills.”

“I taught myself the basics,” she says. “I was fortunate to have mentors along the way who helped me hone my skills.”

“Can you write computer programs too?”

“Sure, among other things,” she replies with a shrug. “Computer programs, cellphone apps, even the occasional video game program. It’s all boring, basic stuff.” She turns slightly, giving me her complete attention. “Not nearly as fun as it sounds. There are more exciting things to discuss. Your illusionist show, for example. How did you get started? Did you receive a magic kit as a Christmas present when you were a kid? Spill it. I want to hear all the fascinating details. How did you learn magic?”

Now it’s my turn to be on the hot seat and answer her questions. I consider giving her the regular spiel that I often recite in interviews concerning how my big break happened in Las Vegas. Every word is a big, fat lie. Carefully crafted by my public relations team to give me the desired image their research shows would have the most appeal to the largest audience. The truth is different and not so pretty or media friendly.

I’m afraid Jade would see me differently if she found out that my father is sitting in prison. That I grew up working side hustles on city streets. Everything from the basic three-cup-monte scam to pickpocketing distracted observers of Dad’s tricks if we needed money for dinner. That I spent my childhood traveling from town-to-town and living out of an old beat-up truck. That I never had a room of my own or a proper home.

Not anywhere.

In the summer and fall, we worked at state fairs and fall festivals. We’d run scams on the crowds outside the grounds until they chased us off.

In the winter months, we’d head south. Dad had a special touch with the ladies. There were plenty of rich, old snowbirds in Florida to turn his charm on. All he had to do was stroll along the beach boardwalk in a white suit and a dark tan. In no time, he’d have them eating out of his hand and fighting each other for his attention.

By the time spring rolled around, he’d be antsy again. Dad could never stay in one place for too long. We’d leave Florida with a suitcase full of cash and a collection of expensive watches. Whatever he could convince the old ladies to buy or give him. We lived completely off the grid. No bank accounts, no credit cards, no tax returns, and no school records for me.

He taught me everything I needed to learn.

Now I’m sitting next to an interesting, brilliant girl who is gazing at me as if she might glimpse something worthwhile inside me. Do I tell her the truth and watch the light go out in those beautiful eyes?

Or do I pretend a little longer? The decision is easy to make. I won’t tell her the whole truth yet.

“How did you guess about the Christmas present?” I ask, chuckling. “I thought I was the mind reader here. That’s exactly what happened. I put a magic kit at the top of my Christmas list when I was ten. And guess what Santa brought me under the tree? A magician’s kit, complete with a black top hat and a stuffed bunny. I begged for a real rabbit, but my parents said Santa couldn’t deliver live animals because of the danger of riding in a sleigh.”

She laughs and her whole face lights up. I’ve never heard a genuine laugh come from her and the transformation is amazing.