Tilt Page 9
No. Tears soften the fierce look she
shoots Em’s way. Love isn’t invincible.
Some people take advantage of that.
I Despise Being in the Middle
Of a battle between friends. I jump to
my feet, leaving Audrey with a weak,
“If you need to talk, call me, okay?”
She nods. Buries her face in a magazine
as Emily exits the smeared glass door.
I follow, happy for fresh air, even if it
is tainted by city smells—hot cement,
exhaust, a hint of Dumpster. Em waits
until we’re both in the car to query,
So what’s up with her? She’s fishing,
but I’m not taking the bait. I shrug.
“We didn’t get to talk all that much.”
A caustic smile contorts her face.
I thought she might have mentioned
the abortion. Don’t look so surprised.
Of course I know. Clay told me everything.
What else do I really not want to know?
Maybe being grounded isn’t such a bad thing.
Audrey
A Bad Thing
Happened this summer,
and it began as something
wonderful. Something shared
between
two people awash in forever
love. Sex, not for carnal need
alone, but as an outpouring of
heaven-
born connection. I believed that.
Then, an inkling of conception,
and
in the first days, denial. Tick.
Tock. Certainty dawning, the
brimstone
of anger and blame seethed,
roiled by fear into a magma
of doubt. And what emerged from
the limbo
was a decision that he has already
forgotten because he doesn’t believe
in ghosts. I do. And this one tiny
glowing will haunt every hour
of living
until my own light snuffs out.
Shane
Glowing
That’s how I feel most of the time
since I’ve hooked up with Alex.
It’s like he pours his fire inside
of me and when he leaves an ember
remains, smoldering. He thaws me.
Feeds me. Affirms me. Builds me up.
I accepted my sexual orientation
years ago, but Alex has shown me
how to embrace it. Celebrate it. Believe
with all my heart that I deserve love,
and know I am safe here, within
the “what” of me. I have undergone
some elemental transformation
that will inform my future, and it’s
all because of Alex. I am in love
with him. Addicted, really, and I
am very sure that he is totally in love
with me. So why do I chase him away?
When I Think Like That
It makes me wonder if some random
grown-up has infested me, Invasion
of the Body Snatchers–style. Then again,
when was the last time I considered
myself a kid? Not since Shelby, for sure.
But seems to me that even before she was
born, the “child” had been excised from
my childhood. Dad was perennially absent.
Mom was always lonely, and mourning
a daughter who was at the time nothing
more than something yearned for. The only
real fun we had was when Gram and Gramps
stopped by, bringing with them their unique
brand of entertainment—hippie elitism.
That still holds true. I’m glad they’ve
decided to hang around a little longer
this year. It’s like they bring spring-soft
sunshine into this house of shadows.
Mom needs someone to talk to, and
Gram is always ready to listen. Gramps
is just funny, in a totally crazy way.
I mean, he’s all into Burning Man—that
insane Labor Day freak-out on the playa.
On the surface, he’s a sixties throwback.
But inside, he’s what I want to be—
smart. Intuitive. And nonjudgmental.
When I first came out and everyone else
was freaking, he was the first to support
me. I can tell him anything. So I’d really
like to ask him what’s up with me.
Last night, Alex and I had an amazing time.
We went to an Aces game. Scarfed post-
game pizza. Then we stretched out on
a blanket under the black velour sky
and had long, slow, love-soaked sex,
whispering over and over again, “I love you.”
It Was Like Chanting a Mantra
“I love you,” into his open mouth
as I looked down into his eyes.
I love you, as his tongue traced
the outline of my lips.
“I love you,” and then we full-on
kissed. Not gently. Not that time.
I love you, and he circled me
with his arms, drew me into
the heat of his body and then
the whispers built into cries of
I love you. And we rocked
against each other, into each
other. “I love you.” Wet with
sweat and spit and spilled tears.
Because we were defining
“making love,” and that’s all
that it was. Making love with
each other and to each other.
And at the pinnacle, his final
I love you was a scream into
the face of the night. Afterward,
we lay there, knotted together.
Then he said, I wish we could
stay exactly like this forever.
Forever
Three syllables. Piercing me.
Daggers. And suddenly I was pissed.
Okay, in retrospect, it makes no sense,
but last night, anger surged, hot.
I rolled away, slipped into my jeans.
“We should go before we get busted.”
What’s wrong? What did I say?
His voice was small. Hurt. He watched
me slide my T-shirt over my head.
“Nothing. It’s just me. I’m weird,
you know.” As he started to dress,
I added, “I think maybe I’m bipolar.”
I tried to keep it light as he drove me
home. But when he asked if I wanted
to go to Tahoe today, I found an excuse
to say no. Which doesn’t exactly explain
why I’m in the backseat of Lucas’s stinking
car toking with his brother Clay, Kurt
the turd, and Tobias, the odd. Dopers
are strange, which says something about
me. Lucas turns up Caughlin Parkway. “Dude.
This is kinda close to home. Don’t speed,
okay?” He slows, but not much. We’re
cruising maybe ten over the limit, skunk
smoke streaming. Look at that, says
Clay, who’s riding shotgun. Now Lucas
slows a whole lot more. What’s
the big deal? I lift up in my seat to
see. Oh my God. It’s Mom, pushing
Shelby in her stander. Clay sticks
his head out the window. Holy shit.
Check out the retard. Or maybe it’s
an alien from the planet Ugly-As-Uranus.
Hey, do aliens dig weed? He exhales
a big drag out the window. Lucas punches
it and I duck down, but not before I see
; Mom’s certain recognition. I think
I hear her yell my name, but we’re gone.
Everyone’s Laughing
Everyone except me. “What the hell
is so damn funny?” My right hand lashes
out, almost involuntarily, pops the back
of that fucktard Clay’s head. Probably not
a great idea. I’m not small, but he’s got
fifteen pounds of pure muscle on me.
He whips around. What’s your mother-
fucking problem? You looking to die?
“You could try. But I swear it won’t be
easy.” I push really hard not to sound
gay. Don’t think it worked, though.
Listen here, you queerbait. I’ll kick
your ass and not feel a thing. Pull over,
he commands, and Lucas does as he’s told.
Suddenly, everyone is out of the car.
Kurt and Tobias stand back, but Lucas
holds on to his front-row seat. I take my
best defensive stance. “You think talking
crap about some poor crippled kid
makes you tough? Dude, you’re nothing
but a shit-leaking asshole.” Bam!
His fist connects with my left eye.
Ooh. That’s gonna be ugly. I reply, but
he ducks and I barely graze his cheek.
Nice. Just like a girl. But before
he can gloat too much, I send another
one, a roundhouse to the gut. Omph!
goes his air. Which only pisses him off.
He comes up swinging and I do my
best, but he’s good with his hands
and now my nose is dripping thick, red
snot and my upper lip splits wide when
my teeth drill through. Then, strangely,
he draws back. Asks, What was it to you?
Blood gushing, I admit, “That alien was
my little sister. She’s not ugly, jerkwad.”
Believe It or Not
That ends it. Let’s go, says Clay, and
his parting look is nothing but sympathetic.
Something there, but I’m not sure what.
They jump in the car, leave me geysering
crimson on the sidewalk. Home is only
a few blocks away, though. I feel beaten.
Bloodied. Uglified. But vindicated.
I limp home, wishing I would have said
yes to Tahoe. I need an Alex fix.
I take four or five heavy steps beyond
the front door and Mom comes rushing
down the hallway. Shane! What in the hell—
Now she sees me, in all my dignified
glory. I tell her I’m fine. Swear I stuck
up for my sister, not an alien but an angel.
By the time I get to, “I think I might need stitches,”
Mom is my mommy. She may have forgotten
my birthday. But today she remembers me.
Clay
Wish I Could Forget
My mother. Our mother—
mine and Lucas’s and our
little sister, Jenny Leigh’s.
How Mom looked just fine
some
mornings before she died.
Like the cancer had up
and skittered off in the night.
If that had been fact,
things
would be different now.
Dad wouldn’t be a pitiful
drunk. Jenny Leigh would
still be someone
you
want to know, not an eighth-
grade slut. Lucas would have
a heart, and I’d be college-bound,
like Mom wanted. But you
can’t
gamble on college when you
know construction pays.
Pipe dreams of law school
are something I’ll just have to
forget.
Harley
It Pays
To be patient. That’s what Mom
always says when I ask her why
she doesn’t have a boyfriend.
I’m waiting for the right guy,
she says. Someone really special.
But for now, you’re all I need.
I kind of like that she thinks so,
but I’m afraid she’s missing out
on something everyone needs—
someone to gather you in, hold
you close. Someone to make
every day a little brighter.
On Fourth of July, when Chad
took off with his friend and left
me alone, I asked Mom how
to make him like me. She told
me to be patient, too. You can’t
make someone like you. It has
to happen organically. Maybe
Chad isn’t the right guy for you.
She doesn’t understand how
much I like him. I might even
love him. I can barely breathe
when I’m close to him, and when
he smiles, my stomach does flips
until it starts to ache. Sometimes
he touches me—our legs brush
or our fingers collide. Once in
a while, he’ll rest his arm on my
shoulder, and then I totally die.
He doesn’t ignore me. But he
doesn’t give me what I’m craving.
I Want Him
To call me “sweetheart” and mean it.
I want him to glance at me and not
be able to tear his gaze away.
I want him to be helpless when I part
my lips, touch them lightly with
my tongue, like in movies.
It may never happen organically.
There must be a way to force
it. To make a power play.
I’ve lost ten pounds. Dieted my butt off,
literally. Plus, I’ve still got boobs.
If it’s not my body, it must be
my face. Tonight, Cassie is showing
Bri and me how to do makeup.
Dad’s working. Chad’s out.
Hopefully, by the time he gets home
I’ll be transformed. Not good with
“skank.” Vamp will have to do.
Speaking of Vamps
Now that we’re done with the eyeliner,
mascara and blush session, we’re having
a girls’ movie night, and we’re making
it a Twilight saga marathon. Bri and I
have seen them all, numerous times,
but Cassie has, so far, resisted. “Wait
until you see Robert Pattinson. You’ll
love him. He’s, like, totally dreamy.”
Cassie pops the first movie into
the player. I’ve never been much
of a vampire fan. Bloodsucking
kind of reminds me of leeches.
Bri snorts. Don’t worry. There isn’t
a lot of bloodsucking. It’s mostly
a romance. Like, the best romance
ever. We watch Bella arrive in Forks
and start her new school, complete
with these perfectly beautiful
brother-(pretend) sister vampires.
And I fall in love—again—with Edward.
If He Can Love Bella
Chad can love me. I want him
to be my Edward—taking
care of me, always. Watching
over me, day or night, unsleeping.
Keeping me safe, by his side.
Caring for me with a passion
so pure it can’t be corrupted
by time or distance or seduction.
I know Edward is only fiction.
But that doesn’t have to mean
love like his can only be found
in books and movies or rooted
in the mis
ty world of dreams.
The Movie Ends
And Bri and I sigh at exactly
the same time, which makes
Cassie giggle. Robert Pattinson
is pretty cute. But I expected
a little more action or gore
or something. It wasn’t even scary.
“Now you sound like Gram.
I loaned her my book last summer.
She said it was boring. That
nothing happened, and that boy
vampires shouldn’t sparkle
because it makes them girly.”
That makes Cassie spit her beer.
She kind of has a point. But hey,
I’ve heard the werewolf is pretty
hot. Popcorn and New Moon?
It’s After One A.M.
By the time we finish Eclipse.
Dad came in from work half-
way through, but that didn’t
make Cassie quit watching, so
I guess werewolves are definitely
more her style. Looking at Dad,
sitting in the kitchen, hair too
long and stringy and disheveled,
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.
Bri and I are putting our sticky,
Coke-smeared glasses into
the dishwasher when Chad semi-
stumbles through the door.
He’s wasted. But still adorable.
Hey! Am I missing a party or
what? Kinda late for . . .
His eyes crawl up and down
Bri, then turn toward me. Do
the same. Wow. What happened
to you? It takes a few seconds
for me to figure out he’s talking
about the makeup. Awesome.
But I have to play dumb. “What
do you mean?” I smile through the lip
gloss. It’s just, you look great.
And you, too, he says to Bri.
Whoever you are. Kind of snotty
and totally Chad. Then again,
I didn’t introduce them. “This
is my friend Brianna.” Who
is staring at him with smoky eyes.
I give her a nudge. “I’m tired.”
Don’t forget to wash your faces,
says Cassie. Nothing worse for
your skin than sleeping in makeup.
She gestures toward the bathroom.
I go, and Bri follows me. Once
the door shuts behind us, I turn on
the water and whisper, “He’s cute, huh?”