Tilt

  to go to prison for offing an idiot.

  Anyway, he’s welcome to call

  the house. Dad is currently in China,

  and Mom drove Gram to Davis,

  California, for some kind of medical

  tests. They won’t be home until

  tonight. “May I go now?” Ever so

  polite. He nods, and as I leave,

  I hear him go straight to the phone,

  no doubt to tell our voice mail

  about his concerns. Appreciate

  your effort, Mr. A. Really, I do. But

  Mom and Dad won’t get that message.

  I Decide to Skip

  My last class of the day. I was

  called to the office. Waited an hour.

  Was baited for another thirty minutes.

  I think I deserve to go home. Besides,

  I really don’t want to talk to Tara.

  I can just hear Mr. A.’s response

  to that. Do you hang out with your

  friends? Or are you keeping to yourself?

  It’s not that I want to keep to myself.

  But Tara will know something’s up,

  and if I tell her what’s going on,

  she’ll offer some sage advice. I’ve had

  way too much of that for one day already.

  The empty house welcomes me

  with its silence. I check the answering

  machine first thing. Yep. A red light

  blinks. The first message is from

  Mom. We should be home by nine.

  Be sure to feed yourself, okay? Damn.

  She’s worried about my diet, too?

  Message two: Good ol’ Mr. Albert.

  Blah-de-blah-de-blah-blah. Delete!

  I’m feeling pretty smug, until

  I get to the last message. From Alex.

  Hey, S. Check your cell voice mail.

  When was the last time I did? Absent-

  minded. Trouble concentrating. That’s

  me. I dig for my cell. Find four calls,

  one message, all from Alex. Where

  are you? Sorry I haven’t called

  for a couple of days, but I’ve been

  pretty sick. Thought it was the flu,

  but it isn’t getting better. I’m going

  in to see my doctor this afternoon.

  I’ll call when I have more info.

  Love you. Miss you. Everything okay?

  God

  Beef Broccoli Consumed

  I am considering Dad’s alcohol stash when

  Alex calls. “Hey. What did the doctor say?”

  Well, turns out it’s pneumonia. But not

  PCP. Pneumocystis pneumonia would

  indicate his T-cell count had dropped way

  low. Something that shouldn’t happen,

  considering his drug regimen. But there

  are exceptions to every rule. So it’s even

  more meds for a few days. And no kissing

  until the sputum is under control. Lovely.

  I tell him to get well and keep in touch.

  Then I reach for one of Dad’s bottles.

  Something strong to help me forget that

  while HIV may be manageable, it’s also

  unpredictable. I pour a teacup full of

  bourbon. Think maybe I’ll also borrow

  one of Mom’s antidepressants. Whiskey

  and Prozac. Bet I’ll sleep great tonight.

  Alex

  I Sleep Great

  Most nights. Don’t toss

  and turn thinking about

  my relationship with time.

  What’s the point of

  worrying

  about something I have

  no power over? The old

  adage, “Live every day as

  if it might be your last”

  doesn’t

  work for me. I have to

  plan a future, or just hang

  it up right now. While

  there’s no real way to

  change

  the final outcome, how

  I live until I get there

  is completely up to me.

  And if there’s

  one thing

  I want people to reflect

  on when I’m gone, it’s that

  I faced my fate squarely,

  never tried to run.

  Harley

  I’m Running

  With a fast crowd and I’m not

  sure how I got here. Only something

  like three months ago I was a total

  loser nerd. I wanted to change

  that, but I never expected to go

  this far. In Carson, I’m getting a rep,

  and it’s from hanging out with Chloe.

  I like her. But I’m kind of scared

  of her, too. She’s fearless, especially

  when it comes to risky behaviors.

  The kind they warn us about in health

  class. Doesn’t stop her, and when

  I’m with her, it doesn’t really stop

  me. I feel like a different person.

  What’s weird is nobody seems to

  have noticed. Not Mom. Not Dad.

  Not Cassie. Adults get so caught

  up in their own problems, they lose

  sight of their kids. Keep believing

  we’re angels when we’re so not.

  When I’m Busy Running

  I think that’s good. When I have

  time to consider the overall picture,

  I still want someone to care enough

  to slow me down. The only one who

  seems to anymore is Bri. I can’t tell

  her everything. She already lectures

  me. If she knew about the weed

  and stuff, she’d probably disown me.

  She doesn’t really like Lucas,

  so when we’re together, like now,

  I try not to talk about him too

  much. The problem is, I don’t have

  a lot of other stuff to talk about.

  “You’re coming to the wedding, aren’t

  you? You’ll die when you see me

  in my bridesmaid dress. It’s totally rad.”

  What’s so rad about it? Is it tie-dye

  or something weird like that?

  “Not that weird. It’s scarlet. And short.

  And pretty low-cut. Cassie had to buy me

  a strapless bra, with major push-up power

  to help me fill it out. I found cleavage!”

  She laughs. You’ve always had a lot

  more of that than I do. Call me flat.

  We are in her room, listening to

  Pink sing about how she wants to be

  somebody else. “Do you ever feel

  like that? Like you have to change

  everything about yourself to get

  where you want to be, or think you do?”

  Now she’s quiet. Finally, she answers,

  “Think you do” says a lot, you know?

  It Does, and So Does Her Response

  And I’m really glad that, despite

  everything else going on in my life,

  she is still here. Still my best friend.

  We talk about her—now obviously—

  pregnant sister, who plans to stay in

  school until the semester break.

  Dylan broke up with her. Can

  you believe it? And he’s going out

  with his old girlfriend again. Jerk.

  I can believe it. “Boys are dogs.”

  But, sometimes, so are girls. Which

  prompts, “What’s up with your mom?”

  Bri shrugs. I have no idea. She’s

  here, but barely. I know she misses

  your mom, though. She needs a friend.

  Now I shrug. “My mom’s a prude.

  She needs to learn not to judge . . .”

  Shit . .
. Shoot. “No one should be judged.”

  I Don’t Know

  If that’s true. I only know

  I wouldn’t want to be judged.

  Especially not by my best

  friend. Mrs. Carlisle isn’t

  perfect. But neither is Mom.

  What’s weird is, Bri is

  more like my mom and

  I am more like hers. Except,

  am I, really? Because when

  I’m here, goofing off with

  Bri, I feel more like the real

  me. The Harley who runs

  with Lucas and Kurt and

  Chloe is a fake. But I’m not

  sure how to get rid of her.

  If I did, would I get bored

  and restless and angry because

  everyone would treat me like

  a child again? I’m afraid

  it’s too late to turn back now.

  So, After Mom Picks Me Up

  I’ll be going to my dad’s, who

  allows me to go out on Saturday

  night. Mom would probably croak

  if she knew. But he and I made a pact

  not to tell her. As long as you stay

  out of trouble, there’s no reason

  for her to know, is what he said.

  But if you get in trouble, I do, too.

  I promised to be good, and so far

  have managed to avoid any sort of

  trouble, although Halloween was close.

  Some busybody saw us smashing

  pumpkins and called the cops.

  Luckily, Chloe knew a couple

  of alley shortcuts and we got away.

  I thought I’d pee my pants. Instead,

  I heaved beer. Not attractive.

  Even worse, Kurt took a pic.

  When I asked him why, he said,

  To commemorate the occasion.

  I had no idea what he meant

  by that, but the next day when

  I signed on to my Facebook,

  I saw he had tagged me in a picture.

  I couldn’t believe he had posted

  that one, with my name on it. You

  couldn’t see my face, but you could

  pretty much guess what I was doing.

  I untagged myself and called Lucas.

  “Why would he do that?” I demanded.

  “Tell him to take it down! Please?”

  Lucas’s first reaction was to laugh.

  Ah, come on. It’s just a joke.

  Where’s your sense of humor?

  Kurt removed it eventually, and

  no one I know has said anything

  about it. But that was just so mean.

  And Lucas thought it was funny.

  It’s Late Afternoon

  When Mom gets to Bri’s. She comes

  into the kitchen, where Bri and I are

  helping Mrs. Carlisle chop vegetables

  for soup. My hands smell like celery

  and onions. Weird, but I kind of like

  it. Looks like you’ve got some great

  helpers, Mom says. Do you have a few

  minutes to catch up? It’s been a while.

  Bri’s mom looks pleased. Of course.

  It has been a while. Will you excuse us,

  girls? The potatoes and carrots need

  to be cut up. Something to drink, Andrea?

  Mom declines and they go sit at the big

  kitchen table in the dining area.

  Bri and I keep busy with our knives,

  but we both tune into the conversation

  on the other side of the room. It is friend

  to friend, unstrained, at least at first.

  They Start with the Usual

  How have you been stuff. Move

  quickly to deeper sounding.

  Mrs. C.: How is Marissa doing?

  Things still good with Chris and her?

  Mom: Stable, I guess. But she got

  the wild idea to look into in-vitro.

  She went through all kinds of tests.

  Ultimately, the doctors told her

  if she really wants another baby

  to consider adoption. I’m not sure

  how Chris feels about diapers and

  formula and sleepless nights.

  Mrs. C.: No kidding. I’m not sure how

  I feel about it, either. And it’s coming.

  I notice Mikayla hovering silently

  on the far side of the doorway.

  Mom: So Mikayla’s still set on keeping

  the baby? What about the father?

  Mrs. C.: Dylan wants nothing to do

  with the baby or Mikayla. Yes, she’s

  determined to raise the baby on her

  own. Although she won’t really be

  doing that, will she? She’ll start

  Nevada Virtual Academy in January,

  so she will be able to graduate. But

  after that . . . she has no concrete

  ideas about what to do after that.

  Mikayla backs away from the door,

  and I’m the only one who has seen her.

  Mrs. C.: Harley says your ex is getting

  married. Is that a good or bad thing?

  Mom: Good, I guess. I didn’t care

  much for Cassandra at first. But

  overall, I think she’s been a plus for

  Steve. Not that I’d care, except

  Harley’s relationship with him has

  improved. Can you believe they

  invited me to the wedding? I wouldn’t

  even consider it, except Harley insists

  I come, to see her in her dress.

  She looks over at me and winks.

  I just keep peeling potatoes.

  Mom lowers her voice, but not

  enough so we can’t hear. How’s Jace?

  Mrs. C.: Working a lot. Trying to

  avoid decisions. Confrontations.

  It’s been pretty tense around here.

  She doesn’t elaborate and I wonder

  if she would if Bri and I weren’t here.

  Mrs. C.: What about you? Still dating

  that doctor? Total subject change.

  Mom: Actually, yes. In fact . . . She looks

  at me again. He’s escorting me to Steve’s

  wedding. And I just invited him to join

  us for Thanksgiving at Marissa’s. Mom

  and Dad will be there, so I’m kind of

  introducing him to the family. Is that okay?

  The question was to me. I shrug.

  “If he makes you happy, I’m happy.”

  Brianna

  Is She Happy?

  I swear, Harley used to be

  the happiest person ever.

  Always smiling. Always joking.

  Never worrying about

  what

  the next day might bring.

  Now, she’s so serious,

  not nearly as much fun.

  And though she says nothing

  has happened

  to change her, I know that

  nothing is named Lucas.

  Yet when I asked her if she’s

  in love with him, much

  to my

  surprise, she said not really.

  So why does she need to be

  with him all the time? Why

  does she choose him over her

  best friend?

  Mikayla

  Sometimes You Choose, You Lose

  Maybe that’s just the way of things.

  I mean, forever, I was a winner.

  Popular.

  Ace boyfriend.

  Great grades.

  Decent home.

  On my way. Today, I am a loser.

  Lost friends.

  Lost boyfriend.

  Declining grades.

  Declining home life,

  with parents who can’t get along.

  Most of it came from bad choic
es.

  Wrong friends.

  Wrong boyfriend.

  Wrong night,

  wrong time of the month

  not to insist on a condom.

  I can’t fix my parents, of course.

  But I can rethink becoming a parent myself.

  I Suppose, Sooner or Later

  Pretty much everyone who is on

  their way hits a dead end at some

  point. Has to backtrack. Detour.

  Choose an alternate route.

  But how many people nose into

  a brick wall and have to stay

  there, no foreseeable way out?

  Because that’s where I am now.

  I can see no way out for nineteen

  years, give or take. I’m not quite

  eighteen myself yet. How can I

  dedicate more years to my baby

  than I have experienced? I’m not

  afraid of changing diapers or losing

  sleep for late-night feedings. I’m scared

  I don’t have the tools to teach her

  what she needs to know. I’m scared

  I won’t be able to give her necessary

  things. I’m scared of messing her up

  because I’m pretty messed up myself.

  Still, Every Day

  With her inside me, growing

  into a real baby, becoming

  more and more human,

  makes her more and more

  my child. Every time she

  moves, kicking and pushing

  and turning somersaults

  against the swelling balloon

  of my belly, our connection

  deepens. I’ve started to think

  about names. Amanda. Jasmine.

  Claire. I’m looking into Lamaze

  classes. Mom says I’m nuts,

  that they invented epidurals

  for a very good reason. But I kind

  of want to go natural if I can.

  To give the baby the best possible

  start. Because after that, who knows?

  Dad Being a Lawyer

  He insists that Dylan must take

  responsibility for child support,

  whether or not he wants to.

  Once the baby is born, you must

  establish paternity. Dylan can

  volunteer to take the test, but if

  he refuses you can get a court

  order to make him. Dylan is

  the only possible father, right?

  I should be insulted, I guess.

  But on the other hand, it’s a fair