Tilt

  Saint Mary’s isn’t far. I find a parking place

  right near the ER. See? God’s watching out

  for us. He always does. But by the time

  I find Mom and Gram inside, the doctor

  has already broken the news. Mom’s face

  is whiter than the walls, and her hands tremble

  in her lap. Gram pulls me aside. They’re

  doing more tests. But Dr. Malik believes

  that Shelby’s heart is giving out. It doesn’t

  look good, honey. She tries to hug me, but

  I push her away. “No, damn it! He could

  be wrong, right? She’s rallied back before.”

  Please, God, no. All that stuff I said about

  a dignified death? I didn’t mean now.

  He could be wrong. We’ll know more

  soon. Nothing we can do but wait.

  It’s a very long two hours, butt wrestling

  hard plastic chairs. An hour in, Dad calls

  Gram’s cell. She gets up and moves away

  from Mom, but I hear her say, Chris, you need

  to catch the first plane home. Unspoken words

  float like dandelion spores: Before it’s too late.

  Despite Our Hopes and Prayers

  The tests support Dr. Malik’s diagnosis.

  By the time he comes to confirm, Dad

  is on his way to the airport for a flight

  home and Aunt Andrea and Alex are here

  to hear him say, Shelby’s time is short.

  A week at the outside. We can keep

  her here, but I suggest you take her

  home. She’ll want to be close to you.

  Mom nods, but doesn’t cry. I think

  her tears are all used up. She doesn’t

  speak, either. Maybe her words are all

  used up, too. Aunt Andrea asks about

  hospice care. She doesn’t seem to

  notice the obvious male interest in

  Dr. Malik’s eyes when he looks at her,

  says, I’ll contact them right away.

  When they wheel Shelby out, we all

  try to act cheerful. But the performance

  is noticeably forced. Though we smile

  and banter and joke, our sadness is palpable.

  Shelby

  Sadness

  I’ve heard that word before,

  on TV and DVDs. They always

  say, “Be happy, not sad.” I know

  what happy is, but I

  don’t

  understand what sad means.

  It must be how you feel, like

  when you can’t find your smile.

  I hear Daddy tell Mommy, “Don’t

  cry,”

  and that means when your eyes get

  wet and I think that’s something

  like sad. Sometimes I feel lonely.

  And sometimes I feel bored. But

  for

  most of the time, I feel happy.

  Especially when people I love

  are all around me, close to

  me.

  Like now. I only wish they could

  be happy, too. I only wish

  they could find their smiles.

  Harley

  All Smiles

  I know the saying is cliché, but that’s how

  I feel tonight. Like everything’s just right.

  My first week at high school was a cruise.

  I found all my classes, no tardies. Figured

  out how get to my locker between them.

  Most of my teachers are ace. And, except

  maybe for World History, I think this year

  will be pretty easy. With the workouts

  I did all summer, even PE seems okay.

  Better yet, the new clothes Cassie

  bought me are stylish, and with my

  new haircut and makeup, I almost feel hot.

  I even got “the look” from some guys.

  Okay, they were all freshmen, and

  ninth-grade boys are mostly dweebs.

  But, hey, it’s a good start. And tonight

  I’m going to the rib cook-off in Sparks.

  It happens every Labor Day weekend,

  and it’s one of my favorite events.

  Looks like I’m going with Brianna.

  Her mom just pulled her car over at

  my bus stop. Hey, Harley. Your mom

  asked me to pick you up. She . . . had

  to help your aunt Marissa do something.

  I’d call that vague. “Isn’t she coming

  to the cook-off tonight? It’s her birthday,

  and we were going to celebrate it there.”

  She said she’d try. I know she wants

  to. I guess this is important, though.

  Okay, that’s kind of weird, but whatever.

  Trace is riding shotgun. He doesn’t

  even look at me when I get in the backseat

  with Bri. “Do you have any idea

  what’s going on?” I whisper to Bri.

  Something about this feels like a secret.

  One everyone here knows, but me.

  Even If That’s True

  No one’s confessing. I call Mom,

  hoping for an explanation, but all

  I get is her voice mail, so I leave

  a simple, “Happy birthday. Don’t

  forget about the rib cook-off.”

  I hope she calls back, but whatever.

  We stop by Bri’s house for a few.

  I want to change, says her mom,

  who’s wearing workout clothes.

  She eyes my short skirt. It will

  probably cool off when the sun

  goes down. You can borrow

  a pair of Bri’s jeans if you want.

  Looks like they just might fit you.

  By the way, you’re looking great.

  “Thanks for noticing.” I have to

  admit, I like when someone notices.

  Even if that person happens to be

  the mom of a friend who refuses

  to acknowledge the very same

  thing. Maybe she’s jealous. Or

  maybe she’s still a little miffed

  that I told about Mikayla. When

  we go to her room, she asks me,

  in short little bursts, So, do you

  want to borrow jeans? Sweats?

  Something? Now it’s she who

  is checking out the height

  of my skirt on my thighs. “Nah.

  That’s okay. Maybe a sweater,

  just in case.” She goes to her closet,

  digs through it for a sweater that

  will be baggy on me. Doesn’t mean

  I have to wear it. She tosses it.

  “Thanks. Hey. You’re not mad

  at me about anything, are you?”

  She Sighs

  Sits on her bed. Her voice, when

  she answers, is very, very quiet.

  No. It’s just, I’m worried about

  some stuff. That’s all. Not your fault.

  “You mean, like Mikayla? Because

  I’m really sorry I told. I just thought . . .”

  It’s okay. Someone had to tell. I should

  have told, but I was scared. I’m worried

  about her, but also about Mom. Tomorrow

  she and Mikki are going to meet Sarah Hill.

  “Who’s that?” Is she important?

  I’ve never heard the name before.

  She’s Mom’s biological mother. Mik found

  her on Facebook. I don’t know if she’s why,

  but lately Mom’s been kind of weird.

  Distracted, I guess. Like she’s here, but not.

  I don’t know if it’s because of Sarah Hill,

  or Mikayla, or something else, but . . .

  Her voice trails off and it hits me

  that lately we haven’t really talked.


  “Well, come on, Bri. If she just found

  her biological mother, she’s probably

  freaking out. I mean, wouldn’t you?”

  I can’t imagine not knowing who

  my parents were. Bri just kind of nods.

  I guess so. But Mom and Dad are always

  fighting lately. He even stayed gone

  all night last week. That never happens.

  Not a good sign. Even as little as

  I was, I remember my parents fighting.

  Look how they ended up. But I’m not

  going to say that to Bri. “They’re just

  stressed because of Mikayla, I bet.”

  But now she shakes her head.

  That’s not it. Believe it or not, Dad

  still doesn’t know she’s pregnant.

  Too Many Secrets

  In this house, but I’m not going to say

  that, either. It’s time to go, we’re told,

  so I can leave all the things I didn’t say

  behind us. Unvoiced words echo loudly.

  But Bri doesn’t seem to notice, and

  neither does her mom. Mrs. Carlisle

  has poured herself into really tight jeans.

  She looks amazing in them, too.

  We pile back into the car, in the same

  configuration. “Isn’t Mikayla going?

  Or Mr. Carlisle?” I didn’t see any sign

  of either of them, come to think of it.

  Mikayla went with Dylan. And Jace

  is working late on a case tonight.

  So it’s just the four of us, unless your

  mother can find a way to join us.

  Up pop questions that I won’t ask.

  What are Mikayla and Dylan going to do?

  Who works late on a three-day weekend?

  What in the world is going on with my mom?

  Like Fourth of July

  The entire Victorian Square area

  is blocked off. Foot traffic only.

  But unlike the Fourth, the streets

  tonight are filled with the delicious

  smell of cooking ribs. Barbecue

  chefs come from all over, trying

  to win money for their special

  recipes. And we get to taste test.

  I’ve been saving up calories

  for days. My mouth waters

  at the smell of hickory smoke,

  lifting into the early evening.

  Trace spots a friend and off

  he goes. Mrs. Carlisle yells

  to meet back at the car at ten.

  Then she decides to check out

  the band. Boy, do heads turn

  to follow her butt bounce.

  Bri acts disgusted. As for me,

  I really want to give it a try.

  The Difference

  Between tight jeans

  and a short skirt is, when

  it comes to butt bounce

  you’ve got to be a lot

  more careful in the skirt,

  at least if you don’t really

  want your butt to come

  bouncing all the way out

  from underneath it. Glad

  I’m wearing panties, and

  Bri’s glad, too. What are

  you doing, Harley? People

  are staring. You remind me

  of my sister. Not especially

  a good thing. But she smiles.

  I don’t point out that I’m

  actually imitating her mom.

  “Like, who? Any cute boys?”

  I do give my skirt a tug down

  in back. No panty peeks.

  Those guys are definitely

  checking us out. They’re kind

  of cute, I guess. She nods

  toward two boys hanging

  out on a small patch of grass.

  One is familiar. I met him

  with Chad on the Fourth. Lucas.

  Yeah, that’s it. His eyes go

  all up and down me, which is

  awesome and creepy at once.

  “Don’t look now, but they’re

  coming this way. The tall one

  is a friend of Chad’s.” Which

  means he’s probably a stoner,

  too. Definitely not Bri’s type.

  Not my type, either, right?

  And does Bri really have

  a type? Her voice is edgy

  when she says, What do

  you think they want, Harl?

  Good Question

  One just about to get answered.

  Lucas is cuter than I remembered

  him, and his friend isn’t bad, either.

  It’s a volley:

  Hey. Remember me?

  “Of course. Hi, Lucas.”

  This here is Kurt.

  “This is Brianna.”

  Good to see you again.

  “You, too. What’s up?”

  Not much. Where’s Chad?

  “I don’t have a clue.”

  Cool. Wanna hang?

  I glance at Bri, who shrugs.

  And just like that we’re walking

  around with a couple of older guys.

  It doesn’t seem to bother them

  that we are a little younger. For

  once, I don’t feel inferior to Bri,

  who has somehow been paired

  with Kurt, leaving Lucas with me.

  Which is more than okay. It’s rockin’.

  Lucas

  Rockin’

  This sweet little thing

  has a rockin’ bod. And

  the best thing about it

  is, I’m betting it’s

  virgin

  territory. She’s pure

  as snowmelt, despite

  all the ass waving going

  on, and unmarked

  girls

  are a raging turn-on.

  Me and Kurt got two right

  here. Pretty, tight and

  looking for love, which we

  aren’t

  exactly offering. But they

  don’t know that. The game

  now is to see how

  easy

  we can make them, how far

  they’ll let us take them

  on promises meant to be

  broken. Such potential is hard

  to find.

  Mikayla

  It’s Hard

  It’s Even Harder

  Hanging out with friends

  like we used to—Dylan and I.

  Our regular crowd is fast.

  Weekends are all about partying.

  Tonight, for instance, before

  the rib cook-off we dropped by

  Clay’s. Emily and Audrey were

  there, and this guy named Chad,

  who happens to be the guy my cousin’s

  been gushing about all summer.

  Anyway, they were all getting buzzed

  on some excellent weed and when

  the blunt came around to me, what

  could I do but take it? If I didn’t,

  they’d want to know why not. I’ve

  never turned it down before. And,

  okay, the truth is, I didn’t want to

  turn it down. Not even for my baby.

  I Can’t Not

  Think of it as a baby. I’m ten weeks

  pregnant, give or take a few days.

  The doctor said I really need to make

  my decision right away. Mom made

  me an appointment with her ob-gyn.

  I couldn’t stomach the thought of a visit

  to Planned Parenthood, so I went to

  Dr. Ortega instead. She was nice enough,

  I guess, but not exactly sympathetic.

  She bombarded me with questions.

  Are you sure who the father is?

  Does he know? Have the two of

  you discussed options? You’re

&
nbsp; not planning on marriage, right?

  Yes. Yes. Yes. And what the . . . ?

  Marriage? It’s not even on the table.

  No one has said a thing about it.

  But why not? I mean, at least as

  a possibility. When Sarah Hill got

  pregnant with Mom, abortion was

  out of the question. Ditto raising

  a kid alone. So it must have come

  down to two things—adoption

  or a shotgun wedding. Things

  sure have changed in forty years.

  A kiss for your thoughts. Dylan

  interrupts my reverie. “I was just

  thinking about marriage. Oh, don’t

  look so scared. The doctor asked

  if we were planning on it. I said no.”

  His relief is obvious. Unreasonably,

  that makes me mad. “For some people

  that is an option, you know. Not so

  long ago, one of the only options.”

  But we can’t. I mean, how could we?

  I don’t even have a job or anything.

  He’s Whining Now

  And that really irritates me. But I

  back off. What’s the point of fighting?

  “I know. I’m sorry. Let’s just try

  to have fun tonight, okay?” It’s dark

  by the time we get to Sparks and park.

  “God, that smells good. I’m starving.”

  We head straight for the food booths,

  find a few that offer free samples,

  and take advantage of those. We are

  finishing our fourth mini-plate when

  a nasal voice falls over our shoulders.

  Hey, Dylan. What’s up? Kristy Lopez,

  Tyler in tow. Poor Ty looks uneasy,

  but not nearly as uncomfortable as

  Dylan, who says, Not much. What are

  you guys up to? He does me the favor

  of not staring up at her boobs, which

  she’s totally hanging over the top of him.

  Okay, That’s a Pisser

  But things get worse immediately.

  Ty: Eating ribs, same as you.

  Kristy: Are you coming tomorrow?

  Dylan, shrugging: Not sure yet.

  Me: “Coming tomorrow where?”

  Dylan, face flaring red: Tahoe.

  Ty: There’s a barbecue and kegger.

  Kristy: At Camp Rich. Didn’t you know?

  Me, giving Dylan the evil eye. “No.”

  Dylan, lying: Thought I told you.