Tilt

  good. Leaning back against my pillow,

  my stomach goes all the way flat, but

  my boobs don’t. For sure they grew

  over the summer. I cup them gently, and

  they overflow the bowls of my hands.

  Wow. How did that happen? Suddenly,

  my cell buzzes. WELL? I’M WAITING.

  Part of me wants to keep him waiting.

  The other part doesn’t want him mad.

  I let one hand slide to the crotch

  of my panties, pull the lacy material

  just a little to one side. I keep my fingers

  covering the most personal part, take

  a quick picture that I hope will do.

  While I wait for his response, I leave

  my hand where it is, just above a soft

  pulsing between my legs. I have never

  touched myself there before, not the way

  he wants me to. But now I do. Just to see.

  Just to know. I move my middle finger

  slowly along the slick strip, discover

  the nub hiding beneath my pubic bone—

  the source of the building throb.

  My Cell Buzzes

  But I ignore it for the moment.

  This is something I need to know

  more about. Something I must learn.

  Unbidden, my finger starts to move

  faster and, unbidden, my body rocks

  against it. It’s like I’ve been possessed

  by something—someone—I have no

  control over. I can’t stop. Wouldn’t

  even if I thought I could. So I give

  myself up to the woman inside me.

  Let her move my hand. Teach

  me what to do. She is instinct, pure

  or filthy, and I listen to her, follow

  her direction. Some urgency begins,

  grows like surf moving toward high

  tide. Breaks that can’t be harnessed

  or slowed or stopped. That swell

  into a tidal wave, and with it a crash—

  and a bolt of understanding.

  If There Ever Was an Eve

  This must be how she felt

  right after she first figured

  out what orgasm meant.

  Enlightened.

  Embarrassed.

  Excited to try it again.

  I will. But not now. Why

  don’t they teach you this

  in school? That you really

  don’t need someone else

  to make you feel this good?

  Satisfied.

  Contented.

  I mean, they sort of mention

  it, but not as a means to an end.

  And some people even call it a sin.

  No making that element happy,

  I guess. Ask me, self-pleasure

  could be the key to abstinence.

  Listen to Me

  Like I’ve suddenly become

  an expert on self-pleasure.

  I put on my clothes. Go wash

  my hands. And when I get back

  to my room, I finally check

  my cell for Lucas’s text message.

  AWESOME. BUT NEXT TIME I WANT

  TO SEE EVERYTHING. GOT IT?

  I’m not quite that brave. I’LL

  THINK ABOUT IT. WILL I SEE

  YOU THIS WEEKEND? It’s only

  Wednesday. Friday seems like

  such a long way away.

  His return text takes a while.

  Tit for tat, right? I made him

  wait while I . . . My face sizzles,

  white hot. Finally, the buzz.

  ARE YOU OVER YOUR PERIOD?

  Guess I’ll Have to Be

  Sooner or later. Problem is, it’s going

  to start for real at some point soon.

  What can I use for an excuse then?

  Or should I just come clean, admit

  I wasn’t ready and couldn’t think

  of another way out? The problem

  with lies is they start to pile up, one

  on top of another, until it’s hard to find

  your way out from under the heap.

  I wish I could talk to Bri about it.

  But she’d just lecture me. Mom? Yeah,

  right. She still thinks I’m her little angel.

  Can’t believe she hasn’t noticed my

  wings are long gone. Chloe? Maybe, but

  I know what she’ll say—No excuses.

  No apologies. Just live in the moment.

  One other person comes to mind.

  I dial her number. Hope she’s home.

  She is. “Hey, Cassie. I, uh, wanted

  to talk to you. I’m kind of seeing this guy. . . .”

  Boy problems? Already? School

  has barely started. Okay, what’s up?

  “Well, um . . . See, he’s sort of pushing

  me to have . . . you know. And I’m not . . .”

  Ready? I would think not, especially

  if you just started dating. You remember . . .

  Someone—Dad? Chad?—interrupts,

  says something I can’t quite make out.

  Okay, Cassie says to him. Now, to me, Your

  dad says to tell any guy who bothers you

  he’ll have to answer to your father. Listen.

  I have to run. We’ll talk Saturday, okay?

  It’s Not

  But I say, “Okay.” We’re going

  shopping for my bridesmaid’s dress.

  Guess it will wait till then. Meanwhile,

  maybe biology homework (regeneration)

  will take my mind off Lucas

  A door slams and Mom calls

  out that she needs help unloading

  the groceries. I close my notebook,

  stash every deviant thought and try to

  regenerate some hint of angel wings.

  Chloe

  Deviant

  Some people seem to think

  “deviant” is my middle name.

  Okay, I may be the kind of girl

  who truly believes

  life

  is totally much more amazing

  when you straddle its edges.

  First, always, is self-preservation,

  but once you get a handle

  on the challenges that

  presents,

  you can take control. And

  isn’t that really the point?

  To choose your path, veering

  around anyone who insists

  you’re wrong, from the

  endless

  shortcuts and switchbacks

  along the straight and narrow

  way. To avoid the tried-and-true

  in favor of imagine-this

  possibilities.

  Mikayla

  Straight

  I’ve gone completely straight

  for my baby, and that makes

  being pregnant even harder.

  No booze, no weed, no pills

  except for prenatal vitamins.

  Nothing to take my mind off

  my slowly expanding belly

  or how lonely I am without Dylan.

  Wednesday is Halloween, and as

  October fades into November,

  the ever-shortening days seem

  to grow longer. And the snap-cool

  nights are longer yet. You’d think

  I’d be really tired, but apparently

  that isn’t so until the last trimester.

  At twenty weeks, I’m halfway

  there and at my next doctor’s

  appointment, I’ll have the ultrasound

  that will show if the baby is a boy

  or a girl. Halfway there, and so far

  I haven’t told anyone. Not Emily.

  Not Audrey. None of my teachers,

  though I’m pretty sure a couple

  of them know, which m
eans

  apparently there is no counselor-

  student privilege. Before long, though,

  the baggy shirts I’ve taken to wearing

  won’t hide my belly bulge. I might

  as well spill to my friends first.

  Find out if they are, in fact, friends.

  Today being Nevada Day, it’s a no-

  school Monday, so I wait until after

  eleven to call Emily. “What’s up?”

  Not much. Going to the carnival

  in Carson later. Want to come?

  Rides? Don’t think so. “Nah.

  Been to one carnival, you’ve been

  to pretty much all of them, you know?”

  I Almost Invent an Excuse

  To hang up. I used to feel close

  to Em, but recent distractions

  have lodged us apart. She only

  asked about Dylan once and I kind

  of went off. Okay, totally went off.

  We haven’t talked much since.

  “Listen. First, I apologize about

  the Dylan thing. I was just so pissed.”

  Hey. It’s okay. I would be pissed, too.

  Can’t believe he broke up with you.

  “There’s more. I . . . I’m pregnant.

  That’s why he broke up with me.”

  Silence. One-one thousand. Two . . .

  Wow. I’m kind of speechless. What . . .

  “I’m keeping the baby. Dylan wanted

  me to get an abortion. But I couldn’t.”

  Wow. But how . . . ? I mean, I thought

  you were getting on birth control.

  “I was going to. But I hadn’t made

  the appointment, and we were out

  one night and he didn’t bring

  a rubber and he swore it would

  be fine. That he’d pull out. And he

  did, but not soon enough, I guess.”

  Wow. I’m sorry. Or, I’m happy for

  you. I don’t know. What should I be?

  Good question. “Don’t be sorry.

  Not about the baby. You can be

  sorry about Dylan if you want.”

  Just please don’t say wow again.

  We talk for a while, and by the time

  we hang up, I’m glad I told her.

  I can’t do this alone. I really need

  support from my family and friends.

  Courage Bolstered

  Now I want to fess up to everyone

  else I think should know. I send

  an email to Sarah Hill, ask her to share

  my good news with Aunt Tia. If I keep

  thinking of it as good news, will that

  make it less scary? I’ll have to tell

  my other grandparents in person.

  I go find Mom, who is in the guest

  room, which is now her bedroom.

  She told Trace, Bri and me it’s because

  Dad snores, but we know that’s bullshit.

  My parents are on the verge of divorce.

  And I’m partially to blame. Mom

  defended me, which only drove

  Dad further away. They barely talk

  at all, and when they do, every word

  is hard-edged and hurtful. Dad stays

  at work later and later. Mom runs.

  Lifts. Spends hours at her computer,

  writing. Building her own career.

  I Knock on the Door

  And her terse Come in says I’ve

  interrupted her train of thought.

  But I can’t stop now. “I wanted

  you to know that I emailed Sarah

  and told her about the baby.”

  Mom turns to me. That’s good.

  But, by the way, she already knows.

  How? “You told her? Because

  that really wasn’t your place.”

  Anger crackles like lightning.

  I didn’t tell her. She guessed. Maybe

  she’s psychic, or maybe it had to do

  with all those questions you asked.

  “Oh. Sorry.” A day for apologies.

  And confessions. “I want to tell

  Grandma and Grandpa Carlisle.”

  She considers. Talk to your father

  first. He should go with you.

  Dad took Trace and Bri to the Nevada

  Day parade. And, “I don’t want to wait.

  Will you come with me? Please?”

  I wait for her to refuse. Instead,

  she says, Okay. If they’re home. But

  I would not anticipate it going well.

  She calls. They’re home. Expecting

  us, but most definitely not what I have

  to tell them. It’s a short drive, with

  butterflies dancing around in my

  stomach. Wait. That’s not butterflies.

  “Mom. I just felt the baby move. I think

  it was the baby, anyway.” Alive and

  kicking, as the old saying goes, even

  if this is a whole different context.

  Mom actually smiles. Babies

  have a way of doing that. Just wait

  until she starts doing push-ups.

  She?

  I kind of thought it might be

  a boy. Masculine like its daddy.

  She. What if it’s a girl like me?

  Thinking in such concrete terms

  makes me even more determined

  to admit to the world I’m pregnant.

  We arrive at my grandparents’

  monstrous home. Why do they need

  such a big place for the two of

  them? Some people, I’m sure, find

  it beautiful, with its marble floors

  and giant columns, outside and in.

  It reminds me of a mausoleum.

  Not that I’ve ever admitted such

  a thing to anyone. Not even Mom,

  who I’m pretty sure feels the same,

  if not about the house, about

  the people who live inside it. I love

  my grandparents. But they’ve never

  exactly been affectionate to Mom.

  Curly and Larry

  Announce our arrival with gruff

  Newfoundland barks. The dogs

  are big and slobbery, but puppies

  at heart. I want a dog someday.

  Mom says they’re too much work,

  and maybe they are. But I want one

  anyway. Just not a hundred-fifty-

  pound behemoth like these two.

  Grandma Carlisle opens the door

  before we reach it. She scopes out

  Mom’s running shorts. Scowls. Come

  on in, then. Henry! They’re here.

  She leads us into the family room.

  The living room is reserved for special

  guests—ones who won’t stain the white

  carpet and furniture. Grandpa appears

  like a magician’s assistant, from thin

  air, it seems. He waves us to the leather

  sofa. Make yourselves at home. Can

  I get you something to drink? Pretty sure

  Mom would like something strong

  to drink, and I would, too. A giant

  glass of alcoholic courage. But both

  of us shake our heads. “No thanks.”

  Grandma gets right to the point.

  Okay, then. Tell us. What is this

  important news? She looks at Mom,

  who looks at me with a silent It’s

  not my place. And she’s right.

  I clear my throat. “Ahem. I don’t

  know how to say this except to come

  straight out with it. I’m pregnant.”

  Grandpa turns the color of pickled

  beets. Grandma goes more toward

  blanched almonds. Their heads rotate—

  toward each other. Away. Toward Mom.

  Away.
But neither can quite look

  at me. “I’m five months along, and

  I have decided to keep the baby

  and I wanted you two to know.”

  Sixty Seconds

  To the barrage. At me:

  graduation

  college

  prepaid college!!

  marriage

  child support

  stepping up to the plate!

  programs

  staying home

  what will the neighbors think?

  Unbelievably, at Mom:

  supervision

  or lack of

  where the hell were you?

  moral fiber

  or lack of

  chip off the ol’ block.

  And now I blow it.

  “How dare you blame Mom?

  This isn’t her fault. It’s mine.”

  Emily

  Fault

  Is easy enough to assign.

  It’s Dylan’s fault for taking

  the easy way out. It’s Mikki’s

  fault for going along. The only

  innocent

  is the baby, who has no choice

  at all. And here, friendship

  becomes murky. I kind of want

  to yell at her. I mean, I might be

  guilty

  of casual sex. Maybe even with

  a friend’s boyfriend. But, damn,

  at least I’m smart about it.

  The last thing I want is an infant

  who

  needs a blood test to determine

  paternity. Mikki knows who

  the father is. But is it fair to push

  him into that role because she

  decides

  to play mommy? Should I be

  mad at him, like a good friend

  might, when I think he’s right

  to walk away, leave her behind?

  Shane

  A Good Friend

  Listens to what you have to say.

  And then tells it like it is, or at least

  how it appears to be. Today Mom’s