Tilt

  it’s relatively clean. Pretty sure

  it’s not. And that totally makes

  me want to heave again. Except

  there’s nothing left but those awful

  cramps and I don’t think I can heave

  those out. Food poisoning? Flu?

  Cold sweat erupts on my forehead.

  And, though it’s way warm in here,

  I shiver. Tiny spasms assault me,

  and with each tremor, fear builds

  inside me. No. I must be wrong.

  There are lots of reasons to puke

  in the morning. But my period

  is overdue. At one week, I didn’t

  even think about it. At two, I figured

  I miscounted. At three, I decided

  I’m never really that regular, anyway.

  But now, I’m over a month late.

  And I’m really very afraid of why.

  I Shower Away

  The sweat and vomit.

  Towel off, still shaking.

  Brush my teeth. Mouthwash.

  Body spray. Deodorant. Wrap

  myself in a robe, scurry

  back to my bedroom as

  the house begins to warm

  with voices. Waking up.

  Heading for the kitchen,

  where the scent of

  pancakes, usually

  tempting, but not today,

  lifts into the morning.

  Can’t do the family

  thing. Instead, I dress

  quickly, find my keys

  and slip out the door,

  quietly as I can. I think

  maybe Bri sees me, but

  that’s okay. Start my car,

  point it toward town,

  nothing really new about

  that except what I suspect

  a pregnancy test will confirm.

  Brianna

  I Suspect

  Mom knew about her party

  all along. Harley and I tried

  our best to keep it secret, but

  surprises

  are hard to pull off, especially

  with so many people involved.

  Doesn’t matter. At least I

  can

  say everyone had fun, even

  my stuffy grandparents.

  We go over to their house

  sometimes

  and I feel like I shouldn’t sit

  on their fancy furniture.

  I didn’t know Grandma could

  be

  so sociable! She was kind of

  like Cinderella, only a lot

  older and a little bit more

  ugly.

  Shane

  Ugly

  That was my parents’ reaction

  when they found out about Alex’s

  HIV. Okay, to be fair, at first Mom

  thought it was me who was positive

  when she came across the prescription

  bottle Alex left in my room. It

  didn’t have a label, so she researched

  the actual pills. Wow. She freaked.

  When I came in, she was shaking

  so hard I thought she might crack

  like overbaked clay. She jerked

  me down the hall, into my room

  and over to my desk, where

  the bottle sat. She picked it up

  gingerly. Do you have something

  to tell me? About these, maybe?

  God, Shane . . . Her eyes filled

  with tears, but she held them back.

  Tell me you’re not HIV positive!

  I think she shrank about an inch.

  When I told her they belonged

  to Alex, and not to worry because

  he’s got the virus under control,

  she only relaxed a little. “And

  anyway, HIV isn’t an automatic

  death sentence anymore. Alex found

  out early, and these antiviral drugs

  will keep him from getting AIDS

  for a very long time. When we’re

  together, we’re very careful to

  always use condoms. And the main

  thing is, I love him, Mom. My life

  would be empty without him in

  it.” She shrank a little more, but

  it’s the truth, and she knows it.

  She kind of nodded, then left.

  I know this only heaped more

  worry on her already sagging

  shoulders, and for that I’m sorry.

  But it changes nothing at all.

  It Might Have Ended There

  But Dad happened to make a rare

  appearance at home, only to find

  Mom researching HIV, the word

  flashing loudly on her computer screen.

  Like her, at first he thought I

  had it. But finding out it was Alex

  changed nothing for him. He had

  hit the bottle hard that morning.

  I thought he was going to kick

  my door in. Open up! It took me

  a minute to react. Too slow for

  Dad. Goddamn it, you little shit.

  Open this fucking door! When

  I finally unlocked it, he pushed

  straight through, grabbed me

  by the shirt. Are you plain stupid?

  He reeked of booze and his

  eyes carouseled, unfocused.

  I could have taken him if I let

  it get physical. I decided to try

  humor instead. “Is there another

  kind of stupid? Like, uh, fancy

  stupid? Or beautiful stupid?”

  Guess he didn’t think it was funny.

  He tore at my shirt. The motion

  splashed whiskey out of the glass

  he was holding. Shut up. What

  the hell are you doing? Trying to

  die? You can’t mess around

  with HIV. AIDS is God’s way of

  saying “gay” is a very bad choice.

  God again! Plus, the word “choice.”

  I kept my voice low. “Do you

  know how Alex contracted HIV, Dad?”

  I described how Alex’s uncle raped

  him. “No choice in that, Dad. None at all.”

  His Face Flushed Beet Purple

  And he let go of my shirt. And, though

  he didn’t say a word, something inside

  him shifted. I could see it in his eyes.

  He made an about-face, exited my room.

  Not long after, he left the house and I fell

  into a big pit of black depression.

  That happens sometimes, when too much

  shit gets flung at me at once. It’s like

  all the external pressure sucks into me,

  then tries to escape again. But it can’t.

  So it builds. Throbs. Makes me feel

  like my skin is anxious to split. I think

  that feeling is why some people cut—

  little slices so they don’t shred completely.

  I’m too much of a coward to cut.

  That day, I closed my blinds. Turned off

  the lights. Crawled into bed and turned

  myself off, too. So I didn’t rip apart.

  Later, Something Happened

  I don’t know what, but it must

  have been bad, because voices

  cut through the artificial night

  in my head. At first, just one.

  Mom.

  Talking to herself.

  Asking questions.

  Then, silence. A second voice.

  Aunt Andrea.

  Whispering.

  Consoling?

  It was weird. More like a dream

  than real. And, even though Aunt

  Andrea never comes over, I told

  myself nothing could be that wrong.

  Finally, the third, slurred voice.

  Dad.

/>   Denying.

  Crying?

  I wasn’t about to get involved,

  so I convinced myself it wasn’t real.

  But after, Mom had changed.

  She Is Distracted

  Even more distant than usual.

  She mutters. Throws her hands

  into the air. Talks to the sky.

  Sometimes she shouts obscenities,

  mostly directed toward Dad. Like now.

  From the kitchen: No! You fucking

  son-of-a-whore. How could you

  do this to me? It’s probably useless,

  but I so want to help her, hurry

  to try. I find her, hair messed up

  and red-rimmed eyes. “What happened?

  What did he do?” Will it ever end?

  She shrugs. Nothing. I’m sorry.

  I didn’t mean for you to hear

  anything. We had a fight is all.

  “A fight about me.” They always fight

  about me, but Mom says this

  time it was about Shelby and

  a new SMA treatment she saw.

  Your dad doesn’t think it would

  be worth a try. But I do. That’s not

  it. But she isn’t going to tell me

  what it really is. She did, however,

  give me the opportunity to get

  something off my chest. “Mom, you

  probably don’t want to hear this,

  but I agree with Dad. I think you

  should let the disease run its course.

  Shelby deserves a dignified death.

  More treatment won’t stop her from

  dying. But it will take away her dignity.

  I don’t want to watch that, and neither does

  Dad. And I don’t think you should, either.”

  There. Feelings shared. God, does it

  piss her off. I can’t believe you said

  that! Where did you get such ideas?

  The Answer Is So Obvious

  It sinks its fangs immediately.

  Is that how you feel about Alex,

  should he develop AIDS? That

  he deserves a dignified death?

  I tell her that’s exactly how

  I feel. Once there is no choice,

  I pray his death is dignified.

  “I hope I’ll be there to help him

  through it, but that will probably

  be many years from now.” She

  gives me a strange look. Kind of

  like, really? “I know the odds

  of us staying together that long

  aren’t good. I mean, we’re both

  young and stupid.” It’s enough

  to saw through the tension.

  We are both sort of half smiling

  when Dad barrels through the door,

  carrying—groceries? When was

  the last time he went shopping?

  Not only that, but it is late afternoon

  and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t been

  drinking. It’s like whatever broke

  Mom down tried to fix Dad up.

  Success in That Endeavor

  Is highly unlikely. Dad’s eyes scroll

  back and forth between Mom and me.

  Questioning. His mouth opens. Closes.

  Mom says, We’re talking about death.

  His face creases, so she adds, Dignified

  death, actually. For people we love.

  I . . . , he tries, uh . . . oh. He starts

  unpacking the grocery bags. I got steaks.

  Thought we could barbecue. He turns

  back to me. I bought an extra one, in case

  you wanted to invite Alex to join us. What

  the hell? I’m sorry we fought yesterday.

  Wait just one damn minute. Was that

  an apology? Not to mention acceptance

  of Alex and me? “Alex and I will still both be gay.”

  He doesn’t miss a beat. That’s what

  I hear. Guess I’ll have to get over

  it. You’re still my son, Shane. I love you.

  Invasion of the Body Snatchers

  Yeah, that’s it. Has to be. Alternately,

  what does this stranger want from me?

  Must find out. “Actions speak louder

  than words, Dad. But steak is a good start.”

  He actually smiles at me. Creeping

  me out. And rib-eye, too. Thought

  your mom was looking a little anemic.

  Where did he find a sense of humor?

  I don’t even know how to feel

  right now, because I’m pretty sure

  everything will be back to “usual”

  without warning. Maybe someone

  prescribed him new meds? I think

  about not inviting Alex. But I’m

  dying to see him, and to make him

  feel something like normal while

  in the company of my family. Surreal.

  When was the last time I felt that way?

  I am not far toward my room when I hear

  Dad say, You didn’t tell him, did you?

  Shelby

  I Hear

  Nobody thinks so. But I do.

  Sometimes people whisper.

  Sometimes they yell.

  Sometimes they say mean things.

  I see

  more than the TV. It’s my friend.

  I don’t have any others, like the kids

  on Barney do. Why are people afraid

  of me? I don’t want to hurt them.

  I taste

  only the sweet air, whooshed

  through tubes to help me breathe.

  If I’m lucky a bit of flavor comes

  with the wind or skin or clothes

  I smell.

  I wish my mouth would let

  me tell Mama I love her.

  Let me tell Daddy I miss him.

  Let me tell Shane how good

  I feel

  when I see him happy with Alex.

  I like when I swim because when

  I float, I am free. I like when I sleep

  because I dance when

  I dream.

  Harley

  Dancing

  That’s where Dad and Cassie

  are going later. Which means

  Chad and I will be home alone.

  And I’ve got a plan. Formulated

  from watching many episodes of

  Jersey Shore, The Bachelor and

  Desperate Housewives. Mom

  would throw a regular fit if she

  knew those shows have become

  my sources of inspiration. It’s

  called the direct approach. So not

  me. But what do I have to lose?

  Meanwhile, I’m going school

  shopping. With Cassie. I think

  Mom was a little hurt that I didn’t

  want to go with her—the low

  fashion queen. I love her. But style

  is not her thing. Cassie knows

  the kind of look I’m after, and

  she knows where to find crazy

  cool clothes that aren’t too pricey.

  I squish into a pair of stretchy

  jeans. Tight, with back-pocket

  detailing that draws attention

  to my size-five butt. Size five!

  It was worth walking every mile.

  Next I try on a really short skirt.

  Hmm. “Cassie,” I call to the far

  side of the dressing room door.

  “I need your opinion on something.”

  Mom would freak immediately,

  but Cassie takes the time to really

  check it out. Turn around. She kind

  of whistles. It looks great, but

  you definitely better not bend over

  in it. At least, not without panties.

  Cassie Rocks

  She’s funny. Pretty. Smart,
at least

  about some things. And she always

  makes time for me. Acts like she cares

  about me. She even talked Dad into

  contributing to this shopping excursion.

  One thing Mom gripes about is how he has

  never paid child support. She has a pretty

  good job, but back-to-school always pinches.

  This year, at least, he’s kicking in a little.

  Stepping up to the plate, or at least as far

  as the backstop, all because of Cassie.

  All stocked up on jeans, skirts and blouses,

  we look for shoes. It’s my lucky day.

  Payless is having a two-for-one sale.

  Which means I get four pairs—two athletic,

  two heels. And once those are paid for,

  Cassie says, What about that hair?

  Want to do something bold? My treat.

  We Are Cruising the Mall

  Discussing bolder hair and sipping

  iced coffees (despite the caffeine,

  which will stunt my growth, according

  to my mom). We duck into Sephora,

  check out the testers. There’s one flowery

  one I really love—rose, violet and a hint

  of vanilla. Pricey stuff, so for now,

  the lingering reminder will have to do.

  You have a birthday coming up soon, right?

  “Three weeks,” I agree, and I love

  that she remembers, not to mention

  the fact that I now have hope of smelling

  this way when I start school. As we

  leave the store, Cassie tenses suddenly.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. She half pushes me out

  the door, steers me into a sharp right turn,

  picks up her pace till I practically have

  to run to keep up, shopping bags swinging.

  Quick veer down a perpendicular

  aisle, then she allows herself to

  glance over her shoulder. Apparently

  whatever she saw to get her all worked

  up isn’t there anymore, because she slows

  and I can finally breathe. “What’s wrong?”

  Nothing. But she keeps walking

  purposefully toward the exit. I mean,

  not nothing, exactly. I just need to get

  out of here right now, okay? It takes

  until we’re in the car, out of the parking

  lot and around the block twice, I’m

  guessing so she knows “not nothing”

  isn’t following us, until she thinks

  about explaining. Even then, I can see