Tilt

But then he claims, Oh, God, I love you, too.

  And we’re kissing again. And we’re halfway

  to naked as we fall, tangled, on the bed.

  Any Small Sense of Fear

  Vanishes as logic dissolves in desire

  heightened by declarations of love.

  I love him. And he says he loves me.

  Alex slows forward movement.

  I don’t want to hurry. I want to

  commit every second to memory.

  We lie on our sides, looking into

  each other’s eyes as our hands

  begin slow, mutual exploration.

  There is no top, no bottom here.

  There is only the web of us. Outside

  the big window, the sky grows dark,

  except for the far distant stars

  I can see, fighting the garish

  lit neon. I don’t have to think

  about what to do. Mouth. Tongue.

  Hands. Skin. All in perfect order.

  And now, there are fireworks.

  Alex

  Fireworks

  I have been in love before—

  snared by emotion so intense,

  deception by omission was easy.

  But lies smother love. And in the wake

  of my confession came a white-hot

  sizzle

  of anger. I deserved every hateful

  word. Lying here, inhaling new love,

  hope swells inside me. Skin against

  skin, I lose myself within the sharp

  crackle

  of passion, freed by embracing

  the truth I cannot change.

  I find slender rays of fear

  in his eyes, yet he places his trust

  in me and I will not

  shatter

  that. I blanket his body with mine.

  Tattoo him with pleasure.

  Lead him to the edge of the cliff,

  push him over, feel him fly,

  wings beating softly in the promise of

  this night.

  Harley

  This Night

  Is probably the best one ever

  in my entire life. Mom and I have

  done fireworks in Sparks (yeah,

  I get the irony) since I was a little

  kid. We hang out in the big plaza,

  waiting for the sun to go down

  and the sky to grow really dark.

  There is live music. Food. Craft

  booths. People pitch sunshades,

  put down blankets. Grown-ups

  drink too much alcohol, which

  is sometimes entertaining.

  Usually it’s just Mom and me,

  and maybe one of my friends.

  But tonight we’re hanging with

  Dad and Cassie and Chad, too.

  Mom looks kind of pissy because

  Dad is pretty drunk and Cassie

  isn’t far behind. Mom says she has

  to play chaperone, so she’s sober.

  Oh, well. Liquor is fattening.

  Mom is starting to look good.

  Our diet is working. The shorts

  I’m wearing are a whole size

  smaller than the ones I wore

  last year. I swear, I think guys

  are checking me out. Maybe

  it’s good Bri didn’t come along.

  For once, I’m getting the attention.

  Some of that is from girls, too.

  Mostly because every time I ask

  to go get a drink or check out

  the band, Cassie tells Chad he has

  to go with me. Lots of crazies out

  there, you know. We have to keep

  our Harley girl safe. She’s sort of

  slurring now—ourharleey girlshafe.

  But that’s okay. It only makes Chad

  want to walk around more. And I can

  find plenty of excuses to go along.

  There Are Couples Everywhere

  Holding hands. Making out.

  Dancing real, real close. I wish

  Chad would hold my hand, but

  the closest he’s come to that is

  propping an arm on my shoulder.

  Whatever! He actually touched me!

  We slice through the crowd.

  For some reason, people get out

  of Chad’s way. He doesn’t seem

  to notice. “What’s it like, having

  my dad live with you? My mom

  thinks he’s a jerk. Do you?”

  He doesn’t even hesitate. Totally.

  That’s all Mom ever hooks up with.

  But as jerks go, he’s low voltage.

  Should I be mad he thinks Dad’s

  a jerk? Probably not. Lots of people

  do, including Gram and Gramps.

  “What do you mean, ‘low voltage’?”

  We keep walking, aiming nowhere

  in particular. But he stops in front

  of the antique steam train taking

  up space on a downtown sidewalk.

  He watches the kids crawling over

  the engine like ants. Low voltage

  means nothing he does shocks

  me. Mom has had worse losers

  hanging on. Including my asshole

  dad. Now, he was high voltage.

  Bastard beat Mom black and blue.

  Almost killed me once. They locked

  him up for twenty-five years, and

  that isn’t even close to long enough.

  I hope he rots there. And before

  he does, I hope some con with a giant

  dick makes him his little bitch.

  Subzero Cold

  That’s what that was, and little

  shivers work their way up my spine,

  despite the warmth of the evening.

  I really don’t know what to say,

  except for the lamest thing ever.

  “I’m sorry.” The look he gives lets

  me know he concurs with my lame

  assessment. What are you sorry about?

  I shrug. “I’m sorry he hurt you.

  At least my dad’s a nonviolent jerk.”

  Chad’s turn to shrug. I was in

  the hospital for a while, but I was little

  and barely remember it. What

  I do remember is how much I hate him.

  That explains why Chad is frozen.

  I want to be the one who thaws him.

  But I don’t know where to start.

  Don’t know what he likes in a girl.

  “Did you ever have a girlfriend?”

  Okay, that must have been a dumb

  question because he bayonets me

  with his eyes. Of course I’ve had

  a girlfriend. What do you think

  I am, a eunuch or something?

  My face is on fire. “No. That’s not . . .

  I mean, will you tell me about her?”

  What do you want to know?

  She was hot as hell and a total

  skank, and I really kind of loved

  her that way. He smiles at my

  obvious discomfort. “Oh. Why

  aren’t you together anymore?”

  She dumped me for another guy.

  Girls are impossible to satisfy.

  “Not every girl.” Not me. I’d be

  happy if he’d just like me a little.

  Suddenly, Someone Yells

  Chad’s name. He waves at a guy

  cutting through the crowd. Stay here,

  he tells me. I’ll be right back.

  I watch him go meet his friend,

  a kind of cute guy with dark blond

  hair. They talk for a few, leaving me

  to wonder what about. Me? Not

  me? Is Chad ashamed to be seen

  with me? How can I change that?

  How can I get him to like me

  a little? Or, better yet, to like me
r />   a lot. He said he loved his ex-girlfriend

  because she was skanky. Does that

  mean because she dressed like a sleaze,

  or because she put out like one?

  These shorts are about as sleazy

  as I know how to get. Chad did lean

  his arm on my shoulder today.

  Could my shorts be the reason why?

  Now He Waves Me Over

  To where he’s standing with

  his friend. Awesome. He must

  not be ashamed of me after all.

  I hurry toward them, arrive just

  a little bit breathless. Chad says,

  Hey, sweetheart. Would you please

  get me a Coke? Here’s a five-spot.

  Lucas and I will wait right here.

  Sweetheart! Oh. My. God.

  “S-sure,” I manage to sputter around

  the giant lump that has formed in my

  throat. Before I go find a snack stand,

  I give him the prettiest smile

  I know how to—the one I practice

  in the mirror. The concession line

  is kind of long and the whole time

  I stand in it, one word keeps

  repeating in my head. Sweetheart.

  Finally, I get the soda, pocket

  the change so I don’t lose it.

  But When I Turn Around

  I can’t see Chad anywhere. No Chad.

  No Lucas. I look everywhere, but no sign

  of them. Maybe they needed a restroom.

  I wait at our designated meeting spot.

  Wait. And wait. It’s getting really dark

  now. They’ll shoot off the fireworks

  any second. Maybe I’d better go on

  back to Mom. Did he ditch me? No

  way. That can’t be. He called me

  sweetheart. I reach our blanket just

  as the first gigantic sparkler paints

  the sky red. Mom is pacing, worried.

  Where have you been? And where

  is Chad? She turns dagger eyes on

  Cassie and Dad, who are too drunk

  to notice. “I, uh . . . I guess he ditched

  me.” Mom hugs me to her and I watch

  the rainbow explosions, blurred by

  traitor tears. He called me sweetheart.

  Lucas

  Traitor

  When Chad wanted to

  ditch his little girlfriend

  in favor of a fat, stinky blunt,

  I asked if he felt like

  a traitor.

  I mean, he did desert her,

  and considering the way she

  looked at him—like he was a god

  or something—she’s probably

  feeling like shit. But Chad

  has no

  connection with her except

  his mom hooking up with

  her dad, at least that’s what

  he says. Considering, like me,

  the dude lacks any sort of

  moral

  filters, that girl is in for

  a world of hurt, unless

  she follows the unwritten

  code

  of unrequited love: When

  it all gets too heavy for comfort,

  scream bloody murder and run.

  Mikayla

  I Wanted to Scream

  When Mom caught me with Dylan

  at the baseball game. I wanted to

  grab his hand and run until we had

  to stop or risk bursting lungs. But

  I had nowhere to run to. So I stole

  another kiss, tucked my tail and

  followed my mother back to our seats.

  Watched the game and fireworks in

  silence, knowing I would not be

  ungrounded for some time. Turns out

  that was a wise move, because Mom

  talked Dad into letting me off the hook

  early. We have to give her a chance

  to earn back our trust, she told him.

  I’m pretty damn sure I’m not worthy

  of that. But, hey, at least I’m free.

  So When Emily Called

  And said she needed a ride

  somewhere, I said I’d be right

  over. As much as I want to see

  Dylan, he is in Stockton right now,

  helping his big sister move into

  a place near the University of the Pacific,

  where she’ll be a freshman in

  the fall. Dylan is such a sweetheart.

  I’ll see him later. Right now, I’m

  just happy to be out of my house,

  on my own. I pull up in front of Em’s

  house, text her that I’m here. Don’t want

  to chance running into yet another

  boyfriend. She and Clay didn’t last long.

  Mostly because he never broke up with

  Audrey, who still happens to be a friend

  of mine (if not Em’s!), further complicating

  things. Can’t people commit anymore?

  Em Comes Straight Out

  So there must not be a guy stashed

  in her bedroom. “Hey, girl,” I say

  as she slides into the passenger seat.

  “What’s wrong with your car?”

  She smiles. Nothing. I just didn’t

  want to take it where we’re going.

  Say what? “Where are we going?

  Montebello?” The heart of Reno

  gangbanger turf. If she says yes,

  I’m seriously changing my mind.

  No, silly. Planned Parenthood. I have

  a checkup so I can get on a new pill.

  Unbelievable! This girl has nerve.

  “Great. So now my car will be parked

  there for all of Reno to see? I swear,

  Em, if you weren’t my best friend . . .”

  But I am, so it’s cool, right? Anyway,

  your car isn’t as noticeable as mine.

  That part is true. She drives a lemon-

  yellow Camaro—a sorry I’m never

  around, but this proves I love you

  car, as she puts it. “Okay, fine.

  But don’t say you don’t owe me.”

  I aim my unnoticeable silver Nissan

  toward Planned Parenthood. While

  I’m there I should make an appointment

  for myself. I need to get on the pill.

  But the idea of some strange doctor

  touching me there creeps me out.

  “So isn’t the gynecologist thing gross?”

  Kind of, yeah. But . . . wait. You haven’t

  done it yet? You don’t use birth control?

  “Well, yeah, but you know . . .

  rubbers and whatnot.” It’s the what-

  not that’s kind of scary. But I don’t

  feel like giving her the dirty details.

  Better than nothing, I guess. But

  God, be careful. Preggers would suck.

  No Freaking Kidding

  The parking lot is jam-packed.

  I pull into a space next to another

  little silver car, not much different

  from mine. Unless people have

  my license plate memorized,

  we’re pretty much incognito.

  Emily goes to check in, then sits

  next to me in an ugly orange plastic

  chair. There must be two dozen

  women, waiting to be called in

  for checkups, HIV screenings,

  and other services. This is the kind

  of place where you don’t look

  other people in the eye. I watch

  little kids run back and forth,

  or play with puzzles that have

  seen better days. The building

  smells old so I spritz perfume.

  Finally, a nurse calls Em’s name.

  This shouldn’t ta
ke too long unless

  I get the cute doctor. She winks.

  Disgusting and funny, all at

  the same time. I pull out my

  cell and text something totally

  suggestive to Dylan, then start

  playing SmackShot. I’m so

  absorbed in just missing bull’s-

  eyes that I barely notice someone

  sit down next to me. Hey, Mikki.

  Long time no see. It’s Audrey,

  and she looks pretty awful. Pale.

  Shaky. “Yeah, I guess it has been

  a while. How’s your summer?”

  Not wonderful. I, uh . . . She looks

  around. Clears her throat. Drops her

  voice to a whisper. Was pregnant.

  Past Tense

  Was pregnant. The words drop

  like stones, into a pond: plunk, plunk.

  First the “pregnant.” What a horrible

  thing to deal with. Then the “was,”

  which means, what? Considering

  where we are, I have a pretty good

  idea. “Wow, Audrey, I don’t know

  what to say. Did you . . . uh . . . ?”

  She draws her eyes level with mine,

  and though she keeps her voice low,

  it is thick with anger. What else

  could I do? Everyone told me I had

  no choice—Mom, Dad, Clay. “What

  about senior year? What about college?”

  Mocking. No choice. How ironic, you

  know? Now she looks down into her lap.

  I—I can’t stop thinking about the baby.

  Was it a girl? A boy? It already had

  a heartbeat. I realize it would have been

  hard to keep it. But . . . what if . . . ?

  The Sentence Remains Unfinished

  Because apparently Emily’s doctor

  wasn’t the cute one. She’s already

  finished, prescription in hand. She

  comes bouncing along the corridor,

  slows when she sees who’s sitting

  next to me. I can feel Audrey tense.

  I didn’t know she was here. You

  can’t tell her, Mikki, okay? I’ll die

  if she finds out. Considering the dirty

  chalk color of Audrey’s face, Em will

  probably guess what’s up. But I promise,

  “I won’t tell.” Does this mean Audrey

  knows—or, at least, suspects—Emily

  and Clay hooked up? I hurry to ask,

  “Are you and Clay, uh, doing okay?”