Tilt

  not with much conviction.

  I am totally bothered the whole

  time we shop for healthy food.

  And as soon as we get home,

  I call my best friend to discuss.

  Brianna

  A Best Friend

  Listens when you rant

  about the bad, the blah,

  the totally stupid.

  A best friend

  comments when you want

  her to, shuts her mouth

  when you don’t. She

  is

  the one who laughs at your

  jokes, no matter how idiotic.

  She can interpret the tone of

  your voice,

  cries if she hears pain,

  smiles at each hint of joy.

  She will tell you to stop

  when you

  don’t see danger or twist

  toward wrongdoing. She is

  your conscience when you

  can’t find it.

  Mikayla

  A Conscience

  Can be an annoying thing.

  Especially when considering

  a major deception, like sneaking

  out to meet your boyfriend.

  Tonight won’t be the first time

  I’ve done it since I’ve been

  grounded. I’ve mostly given

  up on listening to that stupid

  little nag inside my head. Every

  now and then it insists I’ll be

  sorry, and maybe I will. But if

  Mom and Dad won’t lighten up,

  I don’t have much choice but

  the covert route to Dylan. So I wait

  for all the lights in the house

  to extinguish. For every voice

  to quiet way beyond whispers.

  And then I wait just a little bit

  longer before texting Dylan to come

  pick me up. The tiny voice complains,

  “You even pilfered Brianna’s cell

  to send the TM.” And I argue right

  back, “Yeah, but she never uses it,

  except to call Harley, who’s busy

  helping her dad move. And I couldn’t

  exactly ‘borrow’ mine from off Mom

  and Dad’s dresser, now could I?”

  Anyway, I didn’t really steal it.

  I’ll put it back in Bri’s backpack first

  thing in the morning. She won’t miss

  it at all. I check my makeup, lotion

  my hands so when they touch Dylan

  they’ll be satin-soft. Spritz perfume—

  just a little. Don’t want to smell, as Trace

  would say, like a Fourth Street hooker.

  Luckily, his bedroom is on the other

  side of the house. I’m pretty sure

  if he heard my window creak open

  this time of night, he’d be sure to let

  someone (like Dad) know immediately.

  So I’m Very, Very Quiet

  As I urge the window open,

  slip through the gap, holding tight

  to the sill. The house is built into

  the hill, but it’s still a drop from

  my upstairs room to the ground.

  Getting back in is harder, but I’ve

  figured out how to shimmy

  up the rough siding, using the family

  room window frame as a boost.

  It’s a perfect June night, warm

  with a soft sigh of breeze and

  star spatters splashed across

  the blue-black sky. My heart

  skips as the neighbor’s old dog

  yaps. Trying to bust my escape.

  I hurry down the driveway,

  turn toward the main road through

  the valley. Dylan’s headlights find

  me before I reach it, though.

  Just seeing his face, illuminated

  through the windshield, fills me

  with happiness. I jump through

  the passenger door. “Let’s go!”

  He gives me a quick kiss, then

  guns the Wrangler. Ty’s parents

  are out of town. He said we can

  hang out there if it’s okay with you.

  I consider our limited options.

  The back of the Jeep isn’t very

  comfortable, and who knows when

  a nosy cop might decide to

  check out the usual summer night

  party spots. The last thing I need

  is my uncle or one of his buddies

  eyeing my boobs again. Tyler’s is

  safer, and it’s close. “Sounds good.”

  Out of the Loop

  For a couple of weeks, communications

  limited to a covert phone call or six,

  I have not been privy to gossip concerning

  my posse. Turns out, Ty walked in on

  Emily and Clay. Caught them mid-dirty.

  Dylan informs me of this so I’ll know what

  to say, or what not to say, when we get

  there. And then he makes the comment,

  I didn’t know your friend was such a slut.

  Em and I have been tight since third

  grade. My first reaction is to jump in

  and defend. But then I remember the last

  time I saw her, how she told me she just

  wanted to try something new. I look at Dylan,

  all iron-jawed in his conviction. “Neither did I.”

  Now I’m torn between asserting a semi-

  warped sense of morality and standing up

  for a friend. My best friend, really. If the Ugg

  were on the other foot, would she react

  differently? Ack. Relationships are so

  complicated. I’ll think about it later.

  Meanwhile, until we get to Tyler’s, I let

  my hand crawl up Dylan’s thigh, all the way

  to the burgeoning bulge. Quit, he says.

  God, girl, don’t you have any idea how much

  I’ve missed being with you? I’m desperate

  to show you. Just not here. Five minutes, okay?

  It takes three to reach Tyler’s. Thirty

  seconds to get through the door, kissing

  each other like we’ve never done it before.

  The house smells like skunk. Green weed.

  Now I know the source. Ty is sitting on

  the couch watching TV with Caitlin Bowers.

  They barely look our way and suddenly

  I hear the canned moans that can only mean

  they’re watching cable porn. Disgusting.

  Guess he’s not really missing Em. Make

  yourselves at home, he says, patting the sofa

  beside him. Orgy? Don’t think so. Thank

  God Dylan is on the same page as me.

  Uh. Not now, thanks. Mik and I would

  appreciate a little alone time, you know?

  Ty waves us down the hall. You can have

  my parents’ room. Just be sure to clean

  up after yourselves, okay? His bluntness

  stings, but not enough to keep me from

  following Dylan, feeling like I’m about

  to do something really filthy in a stranger’s

  bed. Which sort of makes me wonder

  what has gone on in that bed before we

  got there. Dylan pulls me through the door,

  and his kisses are filled with intent. “Wait,”

  I say, going into the bathroom to get

  a big clean-looking towel. I put it over

  the pretty paisley spread and as we start

  taking off our clothes, it comes to me that

  we’ve barely said a dozen words to each

  other tonight. That’s plenty for Dylan, who

  pulls me down on top of him. I look into

  his eyes. “I love you.” Does he know how


  very much? I love you, too. Totally.

  We are kissing. Licking. Biting. Moaning

  louder than the TV in the other room.

  He’s ready. Wants inside me. But

  there’s something important missing.

  “Not yet. Where’s the condom?”

  I forgot it. But it’s okay. I’ll pull

  out. Don’t worry. Don’t worry?

  We didn’t use one last time. It was

  right after my last period. But now

  it’s been a couple of weeks. “Dylan.

  This is dangerous. I can’t get pregnant.”

  He Rolls Me onto My Back

  Strong. Sure of himself. Then he smiles

  down at me. I know what I’m doing.

  Promise. I won’t get you pregnant.

  And I have to have you right now.

  He hesitates, waiting for my answer.

  Everything about me is shouting yes,

  so I nod and lose myself in the moment.

  Making love with him is so beautiful.

  We rock together, in rhythm. One.

  As he starts to tense, I remind him with

  a subtle lift of his hips. He withdraws just

  in time, slicking my belly. See? All good.

  I am happy for the towel beneath us.

  Happier to lie together, bathed in sweat

  and the sticky proof of our love. It is, for sure,

  all good. At least, until I get home.

  Tyler

  He Takes Mikayla Home

  Dylan, my almost brother.

  The top of my list of best

  buddies

  and yet I have never once

  confessed that I loved Mikki

  before he did. Why that fact

  should

  bother me now, I have no idea.

  I mean, he and she are superglued.

  Maybe it’s because Emily and I are

  not

  inseparable anymore. Caitlin

  is a diversion, that’s all.

  I will never

  covet

  time with her, like I did with Em.

  Like I once hoped to with Mik.

  Dylan and I have been

  each other’s

  sounding boards. But when it

  comes to what really counts

  to us, and between us,

  things

  border on secretive.

  Shane

  Some Secrets

  Should never be admitted outside

  a confessional. Should be written

  on scraps of paper. Shredded. Burned,

  their ashes allowed to lift upon the wind

  toward heaven. Whispered apologies

  to the only One capable of forgiveness.

  Other secrets should be shouted long

  before they ever are. Should be sung,

  solos in front of the choir. Given voice

  and melody. Arias, swelling to fill

  the dead, empty space around deception

  with the unbearable lightness of truth.

  And then there are those that can only

  be whispered. Shared between trustworthy

  friends, if only to lighten their weight

  in the telling. Secrets meant to be kept

  like treasure—secured in a concealed

  lockbox, tucked away inside your heart.

  Why?

  That’s the question I keep asking myself.

  Why did I have to fall in love with someone

  destined to die early? Impending death

  hangs thick around here already. I’m steeped

  in it and its cologne does not wash off

  easily. Okay, I know Alex isn’t, like, even

  close to checking out. His HIV is under

  control for now. He’s not even sick, not really.

  I’ve researched the virus in the past—

  just needed to know the facts, man, before

  ever expecting to tumble for some guy

  who was actually infected. I get that he isn’t

  going to croak any time soon. Understand

  that there are ways to be together without

  catching it myself, even if our relationship

  grows beyond chastity, all the way to passion.

  I’m Tired

  Of living chaste. Damn it, today

  I’m sixteen years old. And I know

  that isn’t exactly over the hill, but

  I want to see what sex is all about.

  Most of me wants to find out with

  Alex. But the little piece that’s afraid

  is completely paranoid. The kind of

  paranoid love struggles to conquer.

  I’ve smoked weed with him. Held

  his hand. And I’ve kissed him—

  full-on making out, so much better

  than anything I expected or could have

  invented in my warped imagination.

  But when I get home, I take massive

  doses of vitamin C and zinc. Stupid,

  I know. Like Airborne could ward off

  HIV. Still, it’s a start. Anyway, I don’t

  have a choice. Though I haven’t admitted

  it to him yet, wrong, right, dangerous or harmless,

  I am totally in love—and lust—with Alex.

  Later, We’re Going Out

  To celebrate my birthday. Not

  like anyone here at home is planning

  a party. I mean, what a surprise

  it would be if one of my parents

  actually acknowledged the occasion.

  As usual, Dad was out the door before

  I even got up this morning. And when

  I sat across from Mom, drinking coffee

  as she read the newspaper (complete

  with the date and everything!), she barely

  looked up. “Hey, Mom,” I said. “Any

  plans for the day?” But she just kept

  skimming the pages. Nope. Nothing

  special. How about you? Articulated

  like she actually gave a half damn.

  “Having dinner at La Strada, with

  my b—my friend, Alex.” It’s one

  of the fanciest restaurants in Reno.

  A date restaurant. But all she said was,

  That’s nice. Wherever her head was at,

  it was certainly not thinking back to

  the day she had me. I’ve heard it

  was a tough labor. Maybe she’d rather

  not retrograde to the delivery room.

  I gave up. Went and called Lucas, who

  is an asshole, but his brother scores

  awesome weed. He picked me up and

  we’re on our way to get Chad,

  who is almost as big an asshole as Lucas.

  But beggars (of weed, that is) can’t choose

  the company their suppliers keep. “Where

  does Clay get this stuff?” I try not to exhale

  too much smoke around my words.

  Lucas shrugs. Some guy he knows

  has a Humboldt connect. Clay buys it.

  I borrow it. Hope he never catches me.

  No Shit

  Clay is huge. If I were Lucas, I’d be wary

  about “borrowing” anything from him.

  We pull into the driveway of a cute little

  house with perfect paint and a pretty yard.

  “Chad lives here?” The house so misrepresents

  him. “Are his parents clean freaks, or what?”

  Lucas laughs. Don’t know about that,

  but his mom is, like, hot. Not that you’d

  care. And I think she’s divorced, although

  last time I was here, some creepy guy

  was hanging all over her. Guess he’s moving

  in. Chad’s not happy about that at all.

  Lucas beeps and Chad comes slinking

  out the door—a lizard on t
wo legs.

  Behind him is his mom—a tall, skinny

  redhead with impossible breasts. Plastic.

  Even if I were straight, I wouldn’t find

  her hot. But the dude grabbing her from

  behind obviously does. Wait. Holy shit.

  I think it’s Harley’s dad. I haven’t seen

  him in a really long time, but . . . yeah.

  Pretty sure it’s him. Chad ignores both

  of them, though I can see his mom saying

  something to him. He waves her off.

  Then he notices me and if scowls could kill,

  I’d be a corpse. He settles into the backseat.

  Gets straight to the point. Why you hang

  with fags, dude? Lucas’s face goes red,

  but he keeps quiet, so I answer, “As friends

  go, fags are totally nonthreatening, unless

  you happen to be questioning your own

  sexuality. Are you, uh, worried, Chad?”

  That was a lot more fun than admitting Lucas

  is not really my friend and only consorts

  with me because of the money I give him

  for weed that he steals from his brother.

  Chad Sputters a Denial

  And that’s all good. Just wanted

  to make him squirm. “You can take

  me home,” I tell Lucas. Let the boys

  play without me. Who needs them?

  I got my weed, and it’s my birthday,

  and in just a few hours, when I see

  Alex, this upside-down place I find

  myself in will right itself. I mean,

  I’m the queer here. So why do I feel

  like I’m the only normal one in this

  piece of crap stinking car? But I’ll

  want to score again sometime, so

  I don’t say that, nor do I say that

  the reason gay guys prefer girls for

  friends is because they’re not hung

  up on dick size. (Well, not personal

  dick size, anyway.) When we park

  in front of my house, Chad draws

  a needle-sharp breath and I take sick

  satisfaction in his obvious envy.

  Of Course, He Doesn’t Know

  That all the money in the world couldn’t

  fill this beautiful big old house with

  happiness. That the expensive furniture

  and art were bought with loneliness.

  Mom’s. Mine. Can’t say for sure Shelby

  is lonely. Maybe she’s content, adrift

  in bed, Barney and Dora and the Playhouse