Identical Read online

  it’s ridiculous, but I glance around.

  Nope, no discernable spies. Good

  thing. Mick and I are taking off at lunch.

  We probably won’t eat much.

  (No sandwiches, anyway.)

  So if I do head back to class

  afterward, it will be in an altered state.

  Self-medication firmly at the top

  of my agenda, I blow through

  Lawler’s history quiz, put my

  pencil down, and sit staring out

  the window, waiting for the bell.

  A black shape materializes in the sky,

  wings slowly through the mist. Buzzard?

  No, as it nears, I see it’s a condor.

  Some kind of omen there. As I

  consider exactly what kind,

  someone taps my shoulder. I wheel

  around. Finished? asks Mr. Lawler.

  I nod and hand him my paper, and

  when I look into his gold-flecked

  green eyes, I think for about

  the hundredth time what a fine

  guy he is. As if I had said it out

  loud, he smiles. You may go, then.

  I smile right back. “Thanks. See you

  tomorrow.” I pick up my books, stand

  with deliberate grace, and as

  I walk toward the door I feel

  eyes on my back, know at least one

  pair belongs to him. Men are so easy.

  I Stop in the Girls’ Room

  For a quick pee and to redo my makeup.

  The bell finally rings. Within seconds,

  the lunch rush madhouse erupts.

  Hurry up! What the fuck?

  Hey, you, come here!

  It’s the same every day. Same voices.

  Same laughter. Same lame people

  I’ve known most of my life.

  Got a smoke? Got a Tic Tac?

  Did you hear about…?

  I hustle along the walkway, mostly

  ignoring the waves and hellos of

  people I rarely give the time of day to.

  …got the lead… …made honor roll…

  Ian’s looking for you.

  Ah, see, they’re confusing me with

  Kaeleigh. Sometimes I think that’s

  funny. Other times, it just annoys

  the living crap out of me. Guess that’s

  what comes of sharing a wardrobe,

  not to mention a face. Oh, well.

  At least Mick won’t confuse me

  with her. She wouldn’t go near him.

  He’s much too much like Daddy.

  Both of them are tough outside.

  But dig down under the skin,

  there’s a soft, gooey core.

  Auger into that core, like tapping

  a maple, you’ll get doused

  with incredibly sweet sap.

  It’s a lot of work, work that

  Kaeleigh could never appreciate,

  because she doesn’t like maple

  syrup anyway. But I do. I love

  it. And if Daddy would just stand

  still for me, I’d happily tap his core.

  Mick’s Sexy

  Chevy Avalanche, with slate gray

  paint and silver leather seats, idles

  in a far corner of the parking lot.

  Two years out of school, he isn’t

  really supposed to be here.

  But he generally comes running

  when I call. He likes what I give him.

  I like what he gives me, too,

  and I’m mostly talking about

  the bud. I pick up my pace because

  right under his front seat I know

  there’s a fat, stinky joint

  with my name on it.

  Okay, Mick’s name is there too.

  It’s his dope, after all.

  But he’s always happy to share.

  Of course, he expects compensation,

  and after smoking a big ol’ doobie,

  I’m generally willing to cooperate.

  Life has gotten better—or at least

  more bearable—since I was introduced

  to my good friend, marijuana.

  You couldn’t have a more decent friend.

  I love everything about it.

  I love the way it smells—good green

  bud, anyway, and that’s the only

  kind Mick gets. I guess his brother

  knows a Humboldt grower. Okay,

  the pot smells a lot like skunk juice.

  But somehow, there’s a difference.

  A good one.

  I love the way the thick smoke

  tastes, curling across my tongue,

  snaking down my throat. I love

  holding it in. Coughing it out.

  I love head rushes, the creeping

  warmth that follows.

  And I love the distant place

  it takes me to. Everything feels

  right there. Mellow. Easy.

  Stress-free. I even love the munchies,

  the perfect excuse for devouring a pint

  of Häagen-Dazs. Of course, afterward

  I have to go stick my finger down

  my throat. Don’t dare get fat.

  Daddy would not like that.

  Mick and Marijuana

  Await me. I’m ready to pay

  Mick’s going rate for the pot.

  (And I’m not talking money.)

  Some people would balk

  at the price tag.

  Not me.

  You might think, because

  of the things I’ve seen

  Daddy do, I’d be disgusted

  by sex. No way.

  I like it.

  I like how it feels physically,

  yes. Kisses, hot and prickly

  as August. Hands, tan

  and rough against my soft

  white skin. And the last, extreme

  punctuation.

  I get off.

  But getting off myself

  isn’t the best part. I do

  everything in my power

  to make sure

  he gets off.

  And that puts me indisputably

  in control. (He thinks otherwise,

  and I let him.) It’s the only time

  I am in control. And I like

  how that feels

  most of all.

  Kaeleigh

  Call Me Powerless

  Yeah, I know on first glance

  I have it all. Looks. Money.

  Straight As. Leads. Popularity.

  I’m a regular princess, right?

  Not me.

  The final bell rings and I dash

  for my locker, hoping no one

  offers me a ride home. Some

  people despise the bus, but

  I like it.

  Yes, it’s mostly freshmen

  and losers, and I fit right in.

  Anyway, no one bugs me

  with questions or invitations.

  I am practically anonymous.

  Too soon, brakes screech and

  I get off

  a few blocks from home. The walk

  is usually silent. But today Ian’s

  Yamaha rips around the corner.

  It slows, stops, and I wait as

  he gets off,

  sheds his helmet, draws near.

  Have you been avoiding me?

  I have, and I struggle to meet

  his eyes. When I finally do, I find

  concern. Pain. Anger. And love,

  most of all.

  Ian Is My Best Friend

  He has loved me since

  fourth grade. I would trust

  him with my life, and all

  my secrets but one.

  Soooo…have you?

  I wish I were worthy

  of his love. (Any love.)

  I should tell him to run.

>   But I can’t. I need him.

  Ahem. Hello?

  He deserves to be loved,

  by someone really great.

  He’s gorgeous, in an artsy

  way. No ego. All heart.

  Earth to Kaeleigh…

  All heart and waiting for me

  to respond. “I…um…Sorry,

  I’m a million miles away.

  What did you say?”

  Ah, the old “million miles

  away” excuse.

  His smile holds the warmth

  of the sun, and when he

  opens his arms, I plunge

  deep between them. “Sorry.”

  For what? Oh, you have

  been avoiding me, huh?

  His body is toned, and he smells

  yummy, like some kind of spice.

  I look up into eyes, the turquoise

  of the Caribbean. “Sort of.”

  I always said I liked your

  honesty. Still…

  “Not avoiding you in particular.

  More like everyone, kind of.

  Sometimes I get antisocial.

  You know that, though.”

  Yeah, I do, but I’m not

  exactly sure why.

  “I must get it from my dad.

  Can’t be from Mom, the world-

  class go-getter, hand shaker,

  and baby kisser.”

  I don’t think a judge

  should be antisocial.

  Can’t talk about my father.

  Too much to say that can’t

  be said. I pull away from Ian’s

  hug. “You’re probably right.”

  So, may I walk you home?

  Or would you rather ride?

  “Two blocks? Think we can

  walk it. But hey, if you be

  really, really nice, I’ll let

  you give me a ride to work.”

  Deal. Being nice to you is easy,

  even when you try to avoid me.

  This Huge Part of Me

  Is so happy Ian won’t let me avoid

  him, won’t let me push him away.

  What I don’t understand is why not.

  I mean, girls hit on him all the time.

  Over the years he has gone out

  with a few. But he never gets serious.

  I know he wants to get serious.

  He’s definitely not a player, not

  a poser, not a loser, not a user.

  Ian wants deep down forever love,

  love he knows he can count on.

  And that so sets him up for hurt.

  Last year he and Katie were an item

  for several months. After he broke

  up with her, I asked what happened.

  We were on the hill behind

  his house, soaking up April sun.

  Katie’s great, he said. Pretty. Sweet.

  “So what, then?” I asked, knowing

  the answer but wanting to hear it.

  (And realizing how selfish that was.)

  He turned his face away from me,

  into the spring breeze. She’s great,

  he repeated. But she’ll never be you.

  Then he looked straight into my eyes.

  I love you, and I know you know how

  much. I also know there’s something

  that keeps you from loving me back.

  What is it, Kaeleigh? Is it me?

  Because I swear I’ll change….

  “No! It’s not you. Oh Ian, you’re

  the absolute best. If I could love

  anyone, it would be you. I want…”

  The rest, the “to love you” stuck

  like a giant wad of gum in my throat.

  Ian pulled me into him, held me close.

  Please! he pleaded. And then he kissed

  me. Gently. And I kissed him back,

  but only for a second because suddenly

  all I could see was a featureless

  face, with a wide, sour mouth

  coaxing, Please, baby. I won’t hurt you.

  Fear enveloped me, clasped itself

  around me. I couldn’t shake

  free, struggled to find breath.

  Still seeking air, I jerked back.

  I will never forget the look on

  Ian’s face, contorted with my pain.

  What the fuck is it, Kaeleigh?

  Whatever it is, don’t leave it

  inside. Someday you’ll implode.

  Trembling, eyes burning, I reached

  for his hand. “I know. I only hope

  you won’t have to clean up the mess.”

  I Still Haven’t Imploded

  Though, I have to admit,

  sometimes (maybe even often)

  I wish

  I would. Wish I could

  just get it over with. But it’s

  not going to happen right

  this moment

  so I’ll go to work instead.

  Arms tight around Ian’s waist,

  cool October wind in my face,

  I truly wish the power of his love

  could eclipse

  the overwhelming shame.

  He deserves someone better

  than me, someone pure. Worthy.

  The shadows

  bend long toward evening

  as the Yamaha quiets to a stutter.

  A cloud of regret boils up,

  rains sadness down all

  around me

  and as I climb from the bike,

  a strange desire grips me. I can

  do this. Want to do this.

  I steel myself against the specters

  always haunting me,

  gather all my inner strength,

  softly kiss the promise of his lips.

  Raeanne

  Promises Are Meaningless

  Mom: I promise I’ll be home soon.

  Mick: I promise I want only you.

  I wish

  they’d both take a one-way

  elevator to hell! Okay, I’m used

  to my mother’s lies. Right at

  this moment

  it’s Mick whose bullshit

  is pissing me off. Yeah, I guess

  I’m a total dumb-ass for believing

  the thought of being with me

  could eclipse

  his testosterone-fueled flirtations.

  I mean, at lunch, I could hardly

  wait to be with him. I sprinted

  toward his truck, out of

  the shadows

  and into the bright autumn

  glare. And there, leaning into

  his open window, was that bitch

  Madison. Jealousy squeezed

  around me,

  choked off my scream. Too much

  to let myself dwell on, like visions,

  always haunting me,

  of Kaeleigh and Daddy.

  Madison Happens to Be

  Mick’s ex, the operative two

  letters being e and x. Why

  can’t she just leave him

  alone? She’s totally

  wrong for him. Anyway,

  it was her decision for them

  to break up. A very good decision.

  First of all, Mick’s out of

  school. Graduated, bottom

  of his class, two years ago.

  Madison is the type who needs

  a guy on her arm at school,

  someone to flaunt, someone

  cute she can order around.

  More to the point, the only

  drugs Madison will likely

  ever do are steroids. She’s

  a total mainstream jock.

  Softball team. Swim team.

  Golf team. If it means creaming

  an opponent, she’s all over it.

  Could be why she’s hustling

  Mick now. When he was up

  for grabs, she couldn’t care

/>   less about scratching his

  figurative itch. All it took

  was his hooking up with me,

  and out came her stubby claws.

  Well, mine are a whole

  lot sharper, though she

  doesn’t seem to realize it.

  Just wait till I dig them

  into that sun-toughened

  jockette hide. Then it won’t

  matter if I can’t scream.

  She’ll Scream Loud Enough

  For both of us, and I do look forward

  to that. Ooh. Was that mean? Maybe.

  But hey, I’m sick and tired of playing

  passive. No, I’ll leave that to Kaeleigh.

  Kaeleigh, queen of passive, all the time

  saying no, but not strong enough

  to mean it. Not strong enough to fight.

  Not anywhere near as strong as me.

  I have to say I rather enjoyed verbally sparring

  instead of retreating. Once I finally caught

  my breath, I climbed up into the Avalanche,

  slid across the seat, almost into Mick’s lap.

  He turned (not quite quick enough, but it

  was what it was), grinning. ’Bout time you

  got here. I almost took off without you.

  Unsaid words hung like a heavy curtain:

  Without you. And with Madison. I pretended

  not to hear them, not to get mad at them.

  Ignoring Ms. Jock completely, I looked straight

  into his eyes. “Really? And miss out on this?”

  Then I kissed him. Hard. Wet. Sharp stabs

  of tongue. My fingers drifted in between

  his thighs, finding exactly what they expected.

  Madison gave a little gasp. “Oh,” I said. “Sorry,

  didn’t mean to offend you.” I laughed. Mick

  joined me, then said, That’s my cue. See ya, Mad.

  She Was Mad, Okay

  Madison puffed up red, venomous

  as an adder. Holy crud. I’ve never