to decorate the walls, I suppose.
Or there’s always …
I was afraid of that. Hmm.
Well, if I take everything of value
with me, “Maybe I could stay
with Nik.” Then I remember.
Take your shit, get out,
and don’t come back.
Ah, no worries. Surely
she’s cooled off by now.
I STASH ANY RESIDUAL WORRY
In a dark closet inside my brain
while I do my air shift.
Can’t let my listeners know
I’ve just been kicked out
of my bedroom, not to mention
maybe out of my girlfriend’s bed.
Celebrities don’t get kicked
out of places, right? I slip into
Biggest Little City radio star mode.
“What’s up, Reno? If your
Nevada Day was anything like
mine, I know what was up
this morning. Hope your
evening rocks just as hard. Coming
up, White Tie Affair and
Sugarcult. But let’s get things
started with Three Days Grace.”
Cool as ice cream.
A LITTLE AFTER MIDNIGHT
One of my groupies calls and I offer
her the David Cook tickets, which, as
promised, were in my in-box. For
real? What can I give you for them?
I get her meaning, but pretend
innocence. “Nothing but love,
honey, nothing but love. Track me
down at the parade tomorrow.”
The pimply overnight geek comes
in ten minutes late. I don’t say a word
as I vacate the booth. The night
squeezes me with icy fingers, chills
me all the way through. When I get
to Nikki’s, the house is dark.
Her car is gone. All the stuff I left
is in two paper bags on the porch.
I reach beneath the fake rock. But I
already know the key isn’t there.
Autumn
A COLD RAIN
Is falling this morning.
Not unusual for October.
It rains a lot in San Antonio.
Warm
rain. Cool rain. Steamy
hot rain in the summer.
That part of my life, at least,
has stayed constant. Not
like
the rest of it has. Aunt
Cora, who has fallen out
of her senses in love,
is absent much too often.
I’ve
met Liam and understand
why she wants to spend
time with him. But I need
to talk, and I could
never
ask Grandfather the kind
of stuff I need to know.
I recently entered unfamiliar
territory. A place I’ve never
been before.
AN OLD MAXIM GOES
Love is in the air. Seems like
the October air was heavy
with it. Aunt Cora inhaled a
big whiff. And somewhat
incredibly, so did I.
It’s totally crazy.
I’m scared.
I don’t know enough about
being in love to insist that I
really am. But I definitely feel
something for Bryce, and
I’m almost positive he
feels something
for me.
But how do I know for sure
if what I feel is anything more
than gratitude for him paying
attention to me? And how can
I tell if he feels anything
more than sorry
for me?
CHERIE SAYS
Don’t overthink things.
Go with the flow, see
where it takes you. Love
is unpredictable, you know.
Not that I listen much
to what Cherie has to say,
and not that I’ve really
discussed my feelings
with her, except to half
answer her nosy questions.
He’s really cute, isn’t he?
You really like him, huh?
Well, duh and duh. But I say,
“Yeah, he is. And wouldn’t you?”
Did he ask you out yet?
Did he kiss you yet?
“No and no.” Just thinking
about kissing him makes me
nervous. All I know about kissing
is what I’ve seen in the movies.
Still, I have to admit the idea
does intrigue me more than a little.
I try to look nonchalant about
how I feel. But it must be obvious
to anyone with eyes how
I can’t keep my own eyes
off Bryce. It’s like my irises
are made of iron and
he’s a head-to-toe magnet.
That’s not hard to understand.
He’s adorable. Smart. Funny.
What I really don’t get
at all, though, is why
the attraction is mutual.
Bryce is caviar. I am
more like canned sardines.
MAYBE I’M WRONG
About the attraction
being mutual after all.
As always lately, when I get
to school, I immediately
scan the halls for Bryce,
and when I finally spot him,
he is nose to nose with
Tiffany Garcia. My cheeks
flame. Is everybody looking?
Tick-tick-tick-tick goes
my heart. Fast. Faster.
My fingers start to tingle.
No. Not now. Everybody
is looking, and if I freak
out, I’m completely ruined.
As I take deep and deeper
breaths, a voice falls over
my shoulder. What’s up with that?
Cherie. Just perfect. Inhale.
“I really don’t know.” It’s all
I can find enough air to say.
I JERK MY LOCKER OPEN
Hard. Too Hard.
The neat stacks spill
into each other, onto
the floor. Now everyone
is gawking my way for sure.
Are you okay?
Cherie’s question
is laced with concern.
I must look ready to pass
out or die or something.
And maybe I am.
“Yes … No. Uh-uh-
uh …” Great. Let’s
add stuttering to my list.
“I don’t know. I mean …”
I’d be mad too.
Tiffany is a total
slut. Almost every guy
here has gone all the way
around the world with her!
Okay, it’s a slight
exaggeration, but
I’m in no mood to
disagree. “It doesn’t
matter. Not like I own him.”
The truth of that
stings. My eyes tear
up, and I wish Cherie
would just go away, let me
wallow alone in my misery pit.
As if reading,
my mind, she says,
There’s Billy. I need to
ask him something. I’ll be
back in a few minutes, okay?
“I’m fine, Cherie.
Go on.” At least
my locker door is
between me and Bryce.
Except there, on the ugly
brown linoleum,
my history book and
chemistry notebook
huddle, open-cov
ered.
I’ll have to pull my face
out from behind
the rusting metal
to get hold of them.
Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick!
Blood whooshes in my ears.
WITH MY BACK TOWARD
The disturbing melodrama,
I squat, reach for my mess.
Now a different voice
settles like fog around me.
Here. Let me help you.
I know without looking
who’s speaking. The stupid
thing is, I somehow feel grateful
Bryce is talking to me at all.
Still, I protest, “No, thanks.
I’ve got it.” My tone is not
Christmas fudge sweet.
He holds out a hand, which
I ignore. What’s wrong?
What is wrong? Not like
I can confess what I’m feeling.
“Uh, nothing. Something
happened at home is all.”
He watches me reorganize
my stacks. You never talk
much about home. Why not?
Don’t you trust me?
I shut my locker, turn to
look him in the eye. “Not
a whole lot to talk about,
really.” I leave the rest hanging.
Over his shoulder, I notice
Tiffany, now nose to nose
with Billy Burke. Cherie would
flip! “What’s up with her today?”
The question slips out, slick
as Quaker State. Bryce rotates
on one heel. Who? Tiffany?
She got new green contacts.
I guess she’s showing them
off to anyone who’ll notice.
MORTIFIED
That pretty much sums up
how I feel right this minute.
Mortified and relieved.
“Oh,” is all I can manage.
I finish lining up my spare
pens and pencils by color,
just as the bell rings.
Do you like football?
Bryce falls in step at my shoulder.
He’s warm and clean scented,
like rain and fresh-cut apples.
“Playing or watching?”
Dumb thing to say! Of
course he didn’t mean
playing. Tick-tick-tick.
You like to play football?
He sounds really pleased.
Actually, I meant watching.
There’s a game tomorrow?
“I … uh … love football.”
It’s a slight exaggeration.
Aunt Cora loves football,
so I tolerate it. Hours of it.
Bryce grins. Want to go with me?
He’s asking me to the game?
Like a “sit next to him in the stands,
knee touching knee” kind of date?
Tick-tick. Stay cool. “Sure.”
Suddenly I’m acutely aware
of his body, pressed up against
mine. It feels proprietary. I like it.
Cool. I’ll see you at lunch.
Before he turns away, he leans
into me, and his lips brush
the pulse just below my ear.
Tick-tick-tick-tick-TICK!
I THINK
I just might go ahead and die
right here, right now. How
could anything be better than
the way I’m feeling this moment?
Ms. Dzumba blathers on
and on about amoebas, and all
I can think about is Bryce’s
kiss. It was a kiss, wasn’t it?
God, what if it was just an
accident? Was I supposed
to respond? What if that’s
the only kiss I ever get?
Worse, what if it’s not?
What if we go to the game
and he wants to kiss for real?
Like lips, with me kissing back?
What if I try to kiss back
and I totally blow it? Like
bump teeth or bite tongue?
Wait. Tongue? What about that?
What if I freak out completely?
Oh my God. Why did I say
okay? I can’t. I’m just not
a “go to the game” kind of girl.
HOW DO I BACK OUT GRACEFULLY?
Think, Autumn. Excuses
aren’t that hard to come by.
I’m sick.
Too close to the truth.
I broke my leg.
Too easy to disprove.
I have a toothache.
The dentist? On Saturday?
Work called me in.
When did you get a job?
I need to study.
There’s always Sunday.
I’m going in for
green contacts.
There’s a novel idea.
Grandfather won’t
let me go.
The biggest kicker of all.
What if he won’t?
BY THE TIME
The bell rings for lunch, I still
haven’t figured out what to say.
Then I see Bryce. Every ounce
of doubt melts away beneath
the warmth of his smile.
By the time I have stashed
my books, he is at my side.
Almost unbelievably, I feel
his arm slide around my waist.
Hungry? Come on. Let’s go.
I am not even a little bit hungry.
At least, not for food. Usually
I grab a quick bite at the snack
bar, sit on the lawn or in the quad
to nibble and read. But not today.
Bryce guides me out the door,
along the damp sidewalk to
the parking lot. He stops beside
a pretty emerald green Acura,
opens the passenger door.
I’ve never ridden in some
random car before. I slip inside,
vaguely uncomfortable, as if
I’m doing something wrong.
I kind of like the feeling, though.
Bryce takes the driver’s seat, glances
my way. Penny for your thoughts.
My brain stutter must show.
How not to sound like a total
dweeb? “I was just checking out
your stereo.” True enough.
It’s a Bose. Cost a pretty penny.
Nice, huh? My brother gave it to
me for Christmas. He starts the car
and the CD player kicks in. Incubus.
Interesting information. He has
a brother. A brother with money.
I realize suddenly that I know as little
about Bryce as he does about me.
Who has the biggest surprises in store?
SURPRISE NUMBER ONE
I expect him to drive to McDonald’s
or Burger King. Instead he high-
tails it several blocks away, pulls
into a strip mall parking lot.
Esperanza’s is a great little taqueria,
one of Aunt Cora’s favorite “hidden
hot spots.” Apparently it’s one
of Bryce’s favorites too.
He pulls up in front. They have
killer burritos here. Oh, hey,
you do like Mexican food, don’t
you? Wow, this place is rocking.
“Well, yeah. It is lunchtime.
And yes, I do, in fact, like Mexican
food. We’d better hurry, though,
or we’ll be late back to school.”
We go inside, squeeze our way
through the crowded tables
to the takeout counter. Bryce
orders his burrito. I ask for
a chicken soft taco before
I discover,
“Oh, no. I didn’t
bring any money.” I must have
left it in yesterday’s jeans.
Bryce doesn’t miss a beat.
I’ve got it. I invited you to lunch,
remember? Surprise number two.
Some guys are still gentlemen.
We eat in the car, listening
to music I could never play
at home, at least not without
headphones, at least not
when Grandfather is around.
He isn’t big on metal. Bryce
downs his giant burrito faster
than I can finish my taco. I grin.
What? he says. But he knows
why I’m smiling. He shrugs.
Guess I was hungrier than
I thought. Must be hormones.
THAT MAKES ME LAUGH
Unfortunately, my mouth is full.
I lift my hand, barely in time
to save the windshield from
a spray of chicken taco.
Hey, now! he says, laughing too.
I just detailed this car, you know.
He starts the Acura, aims it toward
school. And anyway, what’s so funny?
Somehow, I manage to swallow what’s
left of my lunch. I shake my head.
“It’s just the hormone thing reminded
me of something Aunt Cora might say.”
Why do you live with your aunt?
The blunt question catches me
by surprise. “Uh … actually,
we both live with my grandfather….”
But that’s not what he wants to know.
What happened to your parents?
I SHOULD HAVE AN ANSWER READY
But I never expected
I’d need one. I pretty
much figured Bryce
would lose interest
in me long before
asking that question.
Chunks of truth thump
round in my brain like rocks
in a tumbler: They were
too young, clueless,
selfish. Hell-bent
to party, to fight,
to find trouble. Mired
heart-deep in love,
in pain, in addiction.
But I don’t want to talk
about the monster, don’t
have the courage to say
“prison.” These words
define me as a freak.
And so, as Bryce turns
into the designated
student parking lot,
pulls into a space, a lie
(at least I think it’s a lie)
leaks from my mouth.
“My parents are dead.”
TEARS POOL IN MY EYES