Tilt

The office this time, I tip my head high,

  meet everyone’s look with a straight-on

  glare. Apologize? When hell freezes

  solid. The last bell rings as I swing into

  the long corridor, now swarming with

  kids. I wind my way through them and

  nobody gives me a sideways glance.

  How will I feel when that changes?

  When everyone stares at me? I turn

  down the hallway toward my locker.

  Skid to a halt when I see Dylan shoulder

  to shoulder with Kristy Lopez. She reaches

  her own locker, and when she stops to

  open it, the way he watches her is almost

  protective. Simmering anger boils

  into fury. I stomp right up to them. “Can

  I talk to you, Dylan? Or, are you too

  busy to give me a couple of minutes?”

  Kristy Smiles Triumph

  And suddenly I understand

  that I have lost Dylan. Still,

  he follows me outside.

  I turn into him.

  Fall against him.

  Look up at him.

  Imploring him.

  So in love with him.

  “Talk to me, Dylan.”

  What do you want me

  to say? I told you what

  would happen if you

  decided to keep the baby.

  “You never said you’d

  leave me. Never said

  you’d go back to her.”

  I am not going to be

  a father, Mikki.

  Anger and sadness melt

  into one. “Yes, you are.”

  I Gentle My Hands

  Against his cheeks. Find sadness

  in his eyes, too. “Even if you never

  once see this baby, you will be its

  father, Dylan. You can’t change that.”

  So what do you want from me?

  I have no way to pay child support.

  “I’m not asking you for money.

  I’m asking you to stay in love

  with me. Begging you, in fact.

  How can I do this without you?”

  He pushes my hands away. You

  figure that out. It’s all on you.

  He pivots, and I watch him walk

  away. “You said you loved me!”

  I call after him. “You promised.

  Love doesn’t just die, Dylan.”

  He turns back long enough to say,

  Maybe not. But sometimes people kill it.

  Stunned

  Stung, as if I just disturbed a hive

  of yellow jackets, I stumble

  to my car, slide under the steering

  wheel and rest my head against it.

  All my earlier bravado fades

  into a black mist. I let myself sob

  until a knock on my window coaxes me

  out of the dark cloud. Mom. I lower

  the glass. “What do you want?”

  I just want to know if you’re okay.

  “Do I look okay?” It slips out softly.

  I don’t want to yell. I want someone

  to hear me. “Dylan just broke up with me.”

  Do you want to talk about it?

  I nod, and she says she’ll drive me

  home. I scoot over and she takes

  the wheel. I want to talk about it more

  than anything, but as we’re backing up,

  I notice Dylan walking Kristy to his car.

  My voice drowns in a downpour of tears.

  Kristy

  I Want to Talk

  To Dylan about why he has

  made this one-eighty.

  When summer started

  he and Mikayla were

  inseparable,

  twisted together so tightly

  I thought they’d smother.

  But now, it seems their

  indivisible

  days were numbered. Part

  of me is gleeful, grateful for

  another chance. But I also

  need to know what made his

  incessant

  devotion to her dissolve, sugar

  into vinegar. Clearly, he loved

  her, and I thought he loved me

  once. How can I believe that

  emotion

  is something he’s capable

  of giving? What made him

  pull away? And will it

  happen again?

  Shane

  I Pulled Away

  From Tara. Shoved Alex to one side,

  and it’s lonely in my minuscule corner

  of the universe. At school, I suppose

  I’m learning something. I ace every quiz,

  every test. But why? Even if I work my ass

  off to impress some Ivy League scout, even

  if I graduate cum laude, build an amazing

  career, eventually I’ll die. So what the fuck

  is the point? On the plus side, when I am

  accosted in the hallways, assaulted

  by under-the-breath insults, I just smile.

  Those pricks aren’t any more immortal

  than I am. And if I’m lucky I will live

  to read their obituaries before someone

  I know reads mine. That thought stops

  me cold. Goddamn. I’m only sixteen.

  It’s Not Like People Close to Me

  Haven’t noticed. They have,

  and every one of them offers

  pretty much the same advice.

  Various teachers: Shane, I know

  this is a difficult time. I think

  you should talk to a counselor.

  Counselor: Shane, I’m sure it has

  been hard to come to grips with

  this. If you need to talk, I’m here.

  Dad: Shane, we are all working

  through this the best we can. It

  might be good to talk to your mom.

  Mom: Shane, it will get easier.

  It hasn’t yet. Not for you. Not for

  me. But you have to talk to me.

  Everyone wants me to talk. To

  tell them how I feel. They won’t

  want to hear I feel nothing at all.

  I’m Staring into My Locker

  Lost in the thick smoke of voices

  surrounding me when suddenly

  someone taps my shoulder.

  Hey, soldier. Tara. Are you going

  to keep ignoring me forever?

  Because I kind of miss you.

  “Soldier?” I have to smile at that.

  I turn, and for one millisecond,

  seeing her face makes everything

  just like it was. And then, psst!

  everything is back, just like it is.

  “I miss you, too,” I have to admit.

  Good. Because I don’t want to eat

  lunch alone. Let’s go somewhere.

  You owe me a ride in your car.

  A small measure of guilt turns

  my face red. “I guess I do. Come

  on.” She follows me to the parking

  lot and when I stop next to

  the Sportage, she whistles. Sexy.

  Almost as sexy as its driver.

  So Tara. “Whatever. Get in.”

  We only have a half hour.

  “What do you want for lunch?”

  She shrugs. Conversation.

  I want to know what’s up

  with you. Are you okay?

  Shit. “Sure. I’m great, in fact.

  Life is totally awesome.”

  I swing the car toward

  McCarran Boulevard. Punch it.

  Easy. Are you mad because

  I’m worried about you?

  Gah! If I hear that one more

  time . . . “Jesus H. Christ!

  Everybody’s worried about me!”

  The Lord’s Name in Vain Thing

/>   Doesn’t faze her.

  But what she says

  totally takes me down.

  I’m not everybody.

  I’m your best friend,

  or at least, I was.

  Damn. “You still are.

  I’m sorry. But please

  don’t worry about me.”

  Okay, I’ll try not to. But

  only if you converse with

  me. Tell me about Alex.

  I’ve only talked about

  him in text messages,

  and I’d really like to

  go into detail, except

  for one thing. “Uh, we

  might have broken up.”

  Unexpectedly, She Freaks

  What? And you never mentioned

  it to me? I saw you at the funeral,

  and the two of you looked pretty

  close. When did this happen?

  “It hasn’t officially happened.

  I just haven’t seen him in a couple

  of weeks. Okay, it was my fault.

  I kind of showed up at his house,

  drunk. . . .” I tell her how he refused

  to let me in. How he insisted on driving

  me home. How he yelled at me for

  daring to get behind the wheel in

  the condition I was in. “He told me

  not to call until I ‘waded through

  my personal hell and vanquished

  my demons.’ That hasn’t happened yet.”

  I have no idea where I’m driving,

  so I circle back toward school. Tara

  stays quiet for a minute. Then she says,

  And you can’t understand why people

  are worried about you? Shane, in all

  the years I’ve known you, you have never

  been even close to as happy as when you

  were with Alex. You can’t throw that away.

  A giant wad of choking sadness collects

  in my throat. “I kn-know,” I spit out.

  Suddenly, I am hungry for him, so when

  she says, Promise me you’ll call him?

  it isn’t hard to agree. And, when we

  reach Reno High and I park the car,

  I don’t wait to text Alex. DON’T KNOW

  IF I’VE VANQUISHED MY DEMONS. BUT

  I DO KNOW I LOVE YOU AND NEED TO SEE

  YOU RIGHT AWAY. PLEASE FORGIVE ME.

  Then I reach over and give Tara a kiss.

  “Thank you. And thanks for being you.”

  Gram and Gramps

  Have moved into a small apartment

  while they continue to look for a place

  to buy. They left their travel trailer

  parked next to our house and I’ve

  made it my haven when I want to be

  alone. Tonight, for the first time, it

  will be a haven for Alex and me. While

  I wait for him, I try to calm my nerves

  with the help of some nitro-weed.

  I have to admit, I’m anxious to see

  him, and with each green inhale

  my anxiety grows. So much for stress

  reduction. It seems to take forever,

  and when he finally knocks softly

  on the door, I open it so quickly

  he jumps back a little. “Sorry.”

  I let him in and he sniffs the air.

  Wow. It’s a little, uh, thick in here.

  I want him to grab me, pull me to

  him. Instead, he studies me carefully.

  That shouldn’t bother me, but it

  does. “What? Did I grow another

  nose or something?” He grins,

  and a barrier falls. When I reach

  for him, he comes to me. And now we

  are kissing. It’s the kind of kiss

  that means it’s been way too long.

  A sudden longing floods my body—

  a torrent of deep, lust-drenched

  need, flowing through my veins.

  “Make love to me.” Heart pounding,

  I tug him backward, toward the small bed.

  He wants me just as much. The proof

  is obvious, despite two layers of jeans

  between us. Yet, he hesitates. Is this

  the only reason you wanted to see me?

  “No, goddamn it! I love you and

  I’ve missed you, and maybe it’s part

  of the reason because I’m sick of

  not feeling. Make me feel something!”

  I Yank My T-Shirt

  Over my head, put his hands

  on my chest, over my thrashing

  heart. “This is the most alive

  I’ve been in weeks. Please. I don’t

  want to be dead inside anymore.”

  He slides his hands around me,

  drops them to my thighs, lifts

  and carries me to the bed. Now

  water becomes fire coursing

  through me, consuming, filling

  the emptiness inside me with flame.

  I fall back against the small, hard

  mattress, rushing my zipper as Alex

  removes his own clothes. I open

  my arms and he comes to me, kisses

  my mouth. My neck. Down my chest.

  Then he looks up at me with those

  sea green eyes, and swears, I love you,

  before kissing me in the most intimate

  way of all. His mouth urges me to

  quench conflagration, but I don’t want

  to. “No! Not yet.” Too soon. And not

  enough of him. I could go all night.

  Besides, “This has to be good for you, too.”

  He pushes up over me, stares down

  at me. Do you have a condom?

  I didn’t bring one. Didn’t think . . .

  “I . . . no . . .” Shit. But, you know,

  “I don’t care. You can withdraw.

  What are the odds? Please . . .”

  His eyes flash terror. No fucking way!

  I would never take a chance like that.

  I’m okay. Let me take care of you.

  I do. And it’s good. And when

  we lay woven together afterward,

  it comes to me that I might not want

  to be dead inside, but maybe a sliver

  of me wouldn’t mind being dead. Period.

  Tara

  A Sliver

  That’s all I could find

  left of the Shane who’s

  been better than a brother

  for more than eight years.

  Is there a way

  to reinfuse my forever

  friend with the humor I so

  love him for? Did Shelby

  take it with her? Can she

  beam it back? I want

  to make him

  laugh again, and for him

  to make me laugh, about

  everything or nothing at

  all. I want to watch him

  walk straight-spined,

  like he

  always has, despite gay-

  phobic commentary; to hear

  his acerbic comebacks. I want

  him to be the totally flawed,

  totally perfect Shane he

  used to be.

  Harley

  Totally Changed

  That’s what I am.

  A girl transformed

  by a boy she’s not

  even in love with.

  I definitely don’t feel

  about Lucas the way

  I did about Chad, like

  every minute away

  from him is an hour

  too long. He’s not even

  all that nice to me. He

  never tells me I’m cute

  or smart or good at

  anything. Never asks

  about school or Mom or

  Bri or what I like to do

  for fun. He mostl
y just

  wants “favors.” So why

  am I willing to do almost

  anything he tells me to?

  “Almost,” Meaning

  I still won’t go all the way.

  He probably thinks this has been

  a world-record period—ten days

  and counting. I’ve done a lot

  of other stuff, though. Stuff

  I never thought I would, not even

  with a guy I did love. I guess I do

  it because he wants to do it with me.

  Me. Not some other girl. Me.

  Chloe says I should enjoy it.

  Not the attention. “It.” The kissing

  and licking and touching and rubbing.

  I do like it. It feels good. I totally

  get the lust part. But wouldn’t lust

  feel even better with a little love

  involved? Bri thinks I’m stupid.

  No way! With him? Why, Harley?

  That’s what she said when I told her

  about the first time I did it with my mouth.

  You could get a disease like that!

  I actually never thought about

  that, but I don’t think Lucas

  has any diseases. Not that I could

  ask him. That would make him mad.

  But I for sure can’t get a disease,

  or pregnant, doing what he wants

  me to do right now. Mom’s still

  at work. I’m alone in my room.

  Lucas texts instructions. GET NAKED

  AND LIE DOWN ON YOUR BED. He gives

  me time to comply, and I have to

  admit I get a little thrill, thinking

  about what might come next. Soft

  October sunlight filters in through

  the window, spills across my skin,

  warming it just enough to let me

  stay uncovered. I keep my panties

  on. As far as he knows, I’m still

  on my period. PLAY WITH YOUR

  NIPPLE. GET IT HARD. I WANT A PIC.

  I Try to Make It Sexy

  Like the girl in that movie. I’m not

  sure I can accomplish that with a cell

  phone camera, but I give it my best

  shot, then hit send before I chicken

  out. I wait for another text. It doesn’t

  take long. BEAUTIFUL! THIS IS AWESOME.

  AND NOW I WANT ANOTHER ONE. TOUCH

  YOURSELF. YOU KNOW WHERE. LET ME SEE.

  He called me beautiful. That’s a first.

  Am I beautiful? I look at the photo

  I sent him. Is that really me? I look . . .