The office this time, I tip my head high,
meet everyone’s look with a straight-on
glare. Apologize? When hell freezes
solid. The last bell rings as I swing into
the long corridor, now swarming with
kids. I wind my way through them and
nobody gives me a sideways glance.
How will I feel when that changes?
When everyone stares at me? I turn
down the hallway toward my locker.
Skid to a halt when I see Dylan shoulder
to shoulder with Kristy Lopez. She reaches
her own locker, and when she stops to
open it, the way he watches her is almost
protective. Simmering anger boils
into fury. I stomp right up to them. “Can
I talk to you, Dylan? Or, are you too
busy to give me a couple of minutes?”
Kristy Smiles Triumph
And suddenly I understand
that I have lost Dylan. Still,
he follows me outside.
I turn into him.
Fall against him.
Look up at him.
Imploring him.
So in love with him.
“Talk to me, Dylan.”
What do you want me
to say? I told you what
would happen if you
decided to keep the baby.
“You never said you’d
leave me. Never said
you’d go back to her.”
I am not going to be
a father, Mikki.
Anger and sadness melt
into one. “Yes, you are.”
I Gentle My Hands
Against his cheeks. Find sadness
in his eyes, too. “Even if you never
once see this baby, you will be its
father, Dylan. You can’t change that.”
So what do you want from me?
I have no way to pay child support.
“I’m not asking you for money.
I’m asking you to stay in love
with me. Begging you, in fact.
How can I do this without you?”
He pushes my hands away. You
figure that out. It’s all on you.
He pivots, and I watch him walk
away. “You said you loved me!”
I call after him. “You promised.
Love doesn’t just die, Dylan.”
He turns back long enough to say,
Maybe not. But sometimes people kill it.
Stunned
Stung, as if I just disturbed a hive
of yellow jackets, I stumble
to my car, slide under the steering
wheel and rest my head against it.
All my earlier bravado fades
into a black mist. I let myself sob
until a knock on my window coaxes me
out of the dark cloud. Mom. I lower
the glass. “What do you want?”
I just want to know if you’re okay.
“Do I look okay?” It slips out softly.
I don’t want to yell. I want someone
to hear me. “Dylan just broke up with me.”
Do you want to talk about it?
I nod, and she says she’ll drive me
home. I scoot over and she takes
the wheel. I want to talk about it more
than anything, but as we’re backing up,
I notice Dylan walking Kristy to his car.
My voice drowns in a downpour of tears.
Kristy
I Want to Talk
To Dylan about why he has
made this one-eighty.
When summer started
he and Mikayla were
inseparable,
twisted together so tightly
I thought they’d smother.
But now, it seems their
indivisible
days were numbered. Part
of me is gleeful, grateful for
another chance. But I also
need to know what made his
incessant
devotion to her dissolve, sugar
into vinegar. Clearly, he loved
her, and I thought he loved me
once. How can I believe that
emotion
is something he’s capable
of giving? What made him
pull away? And will it
happen again?
Shane
I Pulled Away
From Tara. Shoved Alex to one side,
and it’s lonely in my minuscule corner
of the universe. At school, I suppose
I’m learning something. I ace every quiz,
every test. But why? Even if I work my ass
off to impress some Ivy League scout, even
if I graduate cum laude, build an amazing
career, eventually I’ll die. So what the fuck
is the point? On the plus side, when I am
accosted in the hallways, assaulted
by under-the-breath insults, I just smile.
Those pricks aren’t any more immortal
than I am. And if I’m lucky I will live
to read their obituaries before someone
I know reads mine. That thought stops
me cold. Goddamn. I’m only sixteen.
It’s Not Like People Close to Me
Haven’t noticed. They have,
and every one of them offers
pretty much the same advice.
Various teachers: Shane, I know
this is a difficult time. I think
you should talk to a counselor.
Counselor: Shane, I’m sure it has
been hard to come to grips with
this. If you need to talk, I’m here.
Dad: Shane, we are all working
through this the best we can. It
might be good to talk to your mom.
Mom: Shane, it will get easier.
It hasn’t yet. Not for you. Not for
me. But you have to talk to me.
Everyone wants me to talk. To
tell them how I feel. They won’t
want to hear I feel nothing at all.
I’m Staring into My Locker
Lost in the thick smoke of voices
surrounding me when suddenly
someone taps my shoulder.
Hey, soldier. Tara. Are you going
to keep ignoring me forever?
Because I kind of miss you.
“Soldier?” I have to smile at that.
I turn, and for one millisecond,
seeing her face makes everything
just like it was. And then, psst!
everything is back, just like it is.
“I miss you, too,” I have to admit.
Good. Because I don’t want to eat
lunch alone. Let’s go somewhere.
You owe me a ride in your car.
A small measure of guilt turns
my face red. “I guess I do. Come
on.” She follows me to the parking
lot and when I stop next to
the Sportage, she whistles. Sexy.
Almost as sexy as its driver.
So Tara. “Whatever. Get in.”
We only have a half hour.
“What do you want for lunch?”
She shrugs. Conversation.
I want to know what’s up
with you. Are you okay?
Shit. “Sure. I’m great, in fact.
Life is totally awesome.”
I swing the car toward
McCarran Boulevard. Punch it.
Easy. Are you mad because
I’m worried about you?
Gah! If I hear that one more
time . . . “Jesus H. Christ!
Everybody’s worried about me!”
The Lord’s Name in Vain Thing
Doesn’t faze her.
But what she says
totally takes me down.
I’m not everybody.
I’m your best friend,
or at least, I was.
Damn. “You still are.
I’m sorry. But please
don’t worry about me.”
Okay, I’ll try not to. But
only if you converse with
me. Tell me about Alex.
I’ve only talked about
him in text messages,
and I’d really like to
go into detail, except
for one thing. “Uh, we
might have broken up.”
Unexpectedly, She Freaks
What? And you never mentioned
it to me? I saw you at the funeral,
and the two of you looked pretty
close. When did this happen?
“It hasn’t officially happened.
I just haven’t seen him in a couple
of weeks. Okay, it was my fault.
I kind of showed up at his house,
drunk. . . .” I tell her how he refused
to let me in. How he insisted on driving
daring to get behind the wheel in
the condition I was in. “He told me
not to call until I ‘waded through
my personal hell and vanquished
my demons.’ That hasn’t happened yet.”
I have no idea where I’m driving,
so I circle back toward school. Tara
stays quiet for a minute. Then she says,
And you can’t understand why people
are worried about you? Shane, in all
the years I’ve known you, you have never
been even close to as happy as when you
were with Alex. You can’t throw that away.
A giant wad of choking sadness collects
in my throat. “I kn-know,” I spit out.
Suddenly, I am hungry for him, so when
she says, Promise me you’ll call him?
it isn’t hard to agree. And, when we
reach Reno High and I park the car,
I don’t wait to text Alex. DON’T KNOW
IF I’VE VANQUISHED MY DEMONS. BUT
I DO KNOW I LOVE YOU AND NEED TO SEE
YOU RIGHT AWAY. PLEASE FORGIVE ME.
Then I reach over and give Tara a kiss.
“Thank you. And thanks for being you.”
Gram and Gramps
Have moved into a small apartment
while they continue to look for a place
to buy. They left their travel trailer
parked next to our house and I’ve
made it my haven when I want to be
alone. Tonight, for the first time, it
will be a haven for Alex and me. While
I wait for him, I try to calm my nerves
with the help of some nitro-weed.
I have to admit, I’m anxious to see
him, and with each green inhale
my anxiety grows. So much for stress
reduction. It seems to take forever,
and when he finally knocks softly
on the door, I open it so quickly
he jumps back a little. “Sorry.”
I let him in and he sniffs the air.
Wow. It’s a little, uh, thick in here.
I want him to grab me, pull me to
him. Instead, he studies me carefully.
That shouldn’t bother me, but it
does. “What? Did I grow another
nose or something?” He grins,
and a barrier falls. When I reach
for him, he comes to me. And now we
are kissing. It’s the kind of kiss
that means it’s been way too long.
A sudden longing floods my body—
a torrent of deep, lust-drenched
need, flowing through my veins.
“Make love to me.” Heart pounding,
I tug him backward, toward the small bed.
He wants me just as much. The proof
is obvious, despite two layers of jeans
between us. Yet, he hesitates. Is this
the only reason you wanted to see me?
“No, goddamn it! I love you and
I’ve missed you, and maybe it’s part
of the reason because I’m sick of
not feeling. Make me feel something!”
I Yank My T-Shirt
Over my head, put his hands
on my chest, over my thrashing
heart. “This is the most alive
I’ve been in weeks. Please. I don’t
want to be dead inside anymore.”
He slides his hands around me,
drops them to my thighs, lifts
and carries me to the bed. Now
water becomes fire coursing
through me, consuming, filling
the emptiness inside me with flame.
I fall back against the small, hard
mattress, rushing my zipper as Alex
removes his own clothes. I open
my arms and he comes to me, kisses
my mouth. My neck. Down my chest.
Then he looks up at me with those
sea green eyes, and swears, I love you,
before kissing me in the most intimate
way of all. His mouth urges me to
quench conflagration, but I don’t want
to. “No! Not yet.” Too soon. And not
enough of him. I could go all night.
Besides, “This has to be good for you, too.”
He pushes up over me, stares down
at me. Do you have a condom?
I didn’t bring one. Didn’t think . . .
“I . . . no . . .” Shit. But, you know,
“I don’t care. You can withdraw.
What are the odds? Please . . .”
His eyes flash terror. No fucking way!
I would never take a chance like that.
I’m okay. Let me take care of you.
I do. And it’s good. And when
we lay woven together afterward,
it comes to me that I might not want
of me wouldn’t mind being dead. Period.
Tara
A Sliver
That’s all I could find
left of the Shane who’s
been better than a brother
for more than eight years.
Is there a way
to reinfuse my forever
friend with the humor I so
love him for? Did Shelby
take it with her? Can she
beam it back? I want
to make him
laugh again, and for him
to make me laugh, about
everything or nothing at
all. I want to watch him
walk straight-spined,
like he
always has, despite gay-
phobic commentary; to hear
his acerbic comebacks. I want
him to be the totally flawed,
totally perfect Shane he
used to be.
Harley
Totally Changed
That’s what I am.
A girl transformed
by a boy she’s not
even in love with.
I definitely don’t feel
about Lucas the way
I did about Chad, like
every minute away
from him is an hour
too long. He’s not even
all that nice to me. He
never tells me I’m cute
or smart or good at
anything. Never asks
about school or Mom or
Bri or what I like to do
for fun. He mostl
y just
wants “favors.” So why
am I willing to do almost
anything he tells me to?
“Almost,” Meaning
I still won’t go all the way.
He probably thinks this has been
a world-record period—ten days
and counting. I’ve done a lot
of other stuff, though. Stuff
I never thought I would, not even
with a guy I did love. I guess I do
it because he wants to do it with me.
Me. Not some other girl. Me.
Chloe says I should enjoy it.
Not the attention. “It.” The kissing
and licking and touching and rubbing.
I do like it. It feels good. I totally
get the lust part. But wouldn’t lust
feel even better with a little love
involved? Bri thinks I’m stupid.
No way! With him? Why, Harley?
That’s what she said when I told her
about the first time I did it with my mouth.
You could get a disease like that!
I actually never thought about
that, but I don’t think Lucas
has any diseases. Not that I could
ask him. That would make him mad.
But I for sure can’t get a disease,
or pregnant, doing what he wants
me to do right now. Mom’s still
at work. I’m alone in my room.
Lucas texts instructions. GET NAKED
AND LIE DOWN ON YOUR BED. He gives
me time to comply, and I have to
admit I get a little thrill, thinking
about what might come next. Soft
October sunlight filters in through
the window, spills across my skin,
warming it just enough to let me
stay uncovered. I keep my panties
on. As far as he knows, I’m still
on my period. PLAY WITH YOUR
NIPPLE. GET IT HARD. I WANT A PIC.
I Try to Make It Sexy
Like the girl in that movie. I’m not
sure I can accomplish that with a cell
phone camera, but I give it my best
shot, then hit send before I chicken
out. I wait for another text. It doesn’t
take long. BEAUTIFUL! THIS IS AWESOME.
AND NOW I WANT ANOTHER ONE. TOUCH
YOURSELF. YOU KNOW WHERE. LET ME SEE.
He called me beautiful. That’s a first.
Am I beautiful? I look at the photo
I sent him. Is that really me? I look . . .