Tricks

  and I look for my truck. Where

  did I leave the damn thing?

  “Uh, th-thanks s-sho much for

  a great evening. I have to go.

  It’s-sh a long drive home.”

  Carl assesses my obvious

  condition. I can’t let you

  behind the wheel like that.

  You can stay the night at my

  place. No worries. It’s clean.

  “Uh … I d-don’t …” The words

  blur. I can’t drive like this.

  “Okay.” It’s a short walk

  to Carl’s tenth-floor apartment.

  Once inside, I call Dad, make up

  a lie about staying the night

  with some girl I met at a party.

  He sounds relieved, but whether

  that’s because he can tell I’m drunk

  or because of the “girl,” I don’t know.

  That accomplished, I take

  a long look around. The place

  is beautifully decorated. Tall

  windows overlook the city.

  Someday I’ll live like this.

  I have to pee. Again Carl

  reads my mind. The guest

  bathroom is right there. Oh,

  you’ll find new toothbrushes

  in the medicine cabinet.

  Sounds like a plan. Between

  garlic, shallots, whiskey,

  and wine, my mouth could

  use a good scrub. I take full

  advantage of the guest bathroom.

  When I come out, smelling

  of mouthwash and expensive

  lavender soap, Carl is in red silk

  pajamas. He hands me a matching

  pair. Unless you sleep naked?

  His message is clear, in his words

  and in his eyes. I have the choice—

  leather sofa or feather mattress.

  I remember how he said, Lust

  will do, and follow him to his bed.

  A Poem by Whitney Lang

  Follow Me

  That’s what he said.

  Follow me, and find

  the meaning of love

  in my bed.

  I followed,

  found sheets cold

  as death. Neither of us

  could warm them,

  not me, not

  him.

  Not a maelstrom

  of body heat so intense

  it felt like fever. After,

  we slept, chilled.

  He tossed

  and turned, lost

  in some obnoxious

  dream. And when we

  woke, he ordered

  me away.

  Whitney

  So Basically

  Life sucks even more than it

  did before. I mean, everything’s

  the same on the Mom and Kyra

  front. Kyra went back to Vassar,

  along with two suitcases stuffed

  with trendy new boutique clothes.

  Mom went back to tennis and

  whatever else she does at her club.

  Dad went back to the city, where

  he seems to stay for longer and longer

  periods. He and Mom barely speak,

  even on those rare occasions when

  they happen to be in the same room.

  Nothing much new there. What’s

  new is no Lucas, and it has nothing

  to do with his graduation, fast

  approaching. He tells me he has to

  study for finals, but we both know

  that’s bull. He’ll ace them, like he

  aces every test, stoned to the nth

  degree or not. He’s brilliant.

  Beautiful. And def avoiding me.

  Near as I can tell, it started right

  after I gave him my virginity.

  Since that day, he doesn’t return

  my phone calls, and if I happen to

  catch him, he always has an excuse

  for why he can’t see me. Did I do

  something wrong? He won’t even

  tell me that much. Only a couple

  of weeks until school’s out, plus

  summer vacation. Then he’s off

  to college in San Diego. Not so far,

  but far enough I won’t see him often.

  I want to share this time with him,

  burn him into memory so I can

  find him there when I need him. How

  can he be so selfish as to take that

  away from me? One thing for sure.

  I’m going to find a way to ask him.

  The Way Practically Falls

  Into my lap. It’s the Friday after

  Mother’s Day. (Still musing over

  how my mom got mad because

  I didn’t give her a card. Some bullshit

  sentimental tripe about what a great

  mother she is? What’s her doctor

  prescribing, and can I get some?)

  I’m sitting on the grass at lunch,

  not eating as usual, when a shadow

  falls over me, drawing my attention.

  “What’s up, Skylar?” She’s never

  been a friend. What does she want?

  Not much, she says. Just wondering

  if you’re going to the party tonight.

  She stands, left hand perched on

  an all too obvious hipbone.

  I may not eat much, but I bet

  she throws up what she does eat.

  Not that I care. “Party? What

  party?” I haven’t heard a thing.

  She smiles, and something in

  how she smiles activates my radar.

  There’s a party at Lucas’s house.

  You did know about it, didn’t you?

  Obviously, she’s pretty sure I didn’t.

  But I can’t possibly admit it to her.

  “Oh. That party. Um, I haven’t

  decided if I’m going yet.”

  Really? Her smile grows wider.

  Does that mean you and Lucas

  aren’t a thing anymore? She looks

  like a coyote eyeing a jackrabbit.

  Anger—and a fair bit of confusion—

  throbs in my temples. What does she

  know? “How is my relationship with

  Lucas any of your business?”

  Her eyes go marble cold. Guess

  it isn’t, if there is a relationship.

  I heard you two broke up is all.

  If I made a mistake, I’m sorry.

  Off she goes, clearly knowing

  something I don’t. But what?

  And how does she know it? Looks

  like I’m going to a party tonight.

  I Talk Paige

  Into driving me. Mom’s not home

  when she picks me up, so I leave

  a note: Gone to a movie with Paige.

  More like a soap opera, probably.

  I have no real idea what’s going

  to happen, but I’ve got a feeling

  it may not be pretty. I’ve been

  over and over Skylar’s remarks,

  and I can only conclude that Lucas

  said something to somebody that

  somehow got back around to Skylar.

  Well, fine. If he’s having a party,

  makes sense he’ll be there. And if

  he’s there, he won’t be able to

  ignore me. I’ll see to that, though

  I will try playing “nice” first.

  I don’t feel nice right now. I feel

  angry. Ignored. About the same

  way I feel around Mom and Kyra.

  Suffering from “Nothing Syndrome.”

  Lucas Was Supposed to Be

  The antidote to that illness.

  Instead he has become another

  symptom. What is wrong with

  me? Why aren’t I worth
loving?

  I say none of this to Paige, of course.

  She’s thrilled to be going to a party

  with real, live guys and probable

  substance abuse. Why spoil her fairy tale?

  “Hang a left.” We turn into Lucas’s

  neighborhood. Holy crud. This isn’t

  a party. This is a major sometime-

  tonight-a-neighbor-will-call-the-cops

  freaking bash. And he didn’t

  invite me? My earlier irritation

  blossoms into full-bodied anger.

  “Hurry up, would you?”

  Where am I going to park? whines

  Paige, cruising slowly past a mega-line

  of cars. Looks like the whole

  darn town is here! She turns

  the corner and finally spies an empty

  slot next to the curb. Always good

  to get a little exercise before getting

  buzzed, right? She giggles.

  Usually I can handle Paige’s goofball

  laugh. But not tonight. Not right now.

  Still, I’m not going to snap. I’ll save

  that for Lucas. Because suddenly,

  without a doubt, I know I’ve been

  dumped. But why? Why? A wave

  of tears swells, hot and salty.

  “Come on. I think I need a drink.”

  There’s Plenty to Drink

  People leak out of Lucas’s house,

  onto the porch and lawn. Some

  I recognize. Others I don’t, but

  they all pretty much have one

  thing in common—sixteen-ounce

  red plastic party cups. “Let’s go

  find the alcohol.” I don’t wait

  for Paige’s response, just push

  through the crowd, into the house.

  I’ve only been here twice before,

  and both times it was a lot emptier.

  The alcohol seems to be in the kitchen,

  at least that’s where most of the noise

  is. I work my way through the human

  knot, stopping twice to take a hit

  off lit blunts. By the time I reach

  the kitchen, I’ve got a nice little

  pot buzz going on, something to

  mellow the fog of anger. At least

  until I walk through the door.

  to find Lucas, zipper to zipper

  with Skylar. No. How can that

  be? Oh! My! God! That whore

  was effing taunting me!

  Not Only That

  But she wanted me to come tonight,

  wanted me to see them together.

  I played right into it too. Well,

  if she wants me in her face,

  I’m all the way there. I stomp right

  up to them, push between them.

  “Excuse the hell out of me!”

  Directed at Lucas, who is totally

  blown away by my being here,

  and not just at the party, but right

  here, pressed up against him.

  “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  Directed over my shoulder at

  Skylar, who backs out of my way,

  grinning like Hannibal Lecter

  in Silence of the Lambs.

  Lucas gives me the stupidest

  huh? look ever. “What?” I spit.

  “Didn’t expect me? Well, FYI, your—

  your—friend, there, invited me.”

  Now he looks confused. Friend—

  who—what—what do you want,

  Whitney? He glances back and forth

  between Skylar and me, unsure

  of what I’ll do next. I’ll make it easy,

  not that he deserves it. “All I want

  is to talk to you. I think you owe

  me at least that much, don’t you?”

  Uh, yeah … sure … He dares turn

  toward Skylar, as if asking for her

  permission. He never treated me

  with such respect. Tears threaten.

  No. Won’t cry. I make my voice

  hard. “I’m sure she doesn’t mind,

  do you, Skylar?” She shakes her head,

  and I dismiss her. “Good. Lucas,

  I’ll meet you in your bedroom,

  okay?” He exits the kitchen without

  looking at either of us. I start to

  follow, change my mind.

  First I Pour

  A hefty shot (okay, more like four)

  of Cuervo Gold. No need to bother

  with salt or limes, no worries

  about tequila burn going down.

  It feels good. Great. May make me sick

  tomorrow, but it’s stoking the courage

  I’m in desperate need of. Another stiff

  pour and I head for Lucas’s bedroom,

  feeling tequila heat creep back up

  from my belly, all the way to my face.

  My ears are ringing too. Hope I can

  remember the way to his bedroom.

  Both times I was here before, that’s

  exactly where we ended up. Nothing

  major happened then, but now I wish

  it would have. At least if it’s over

  between us, and it’s def looking that

  way. But why? I still don’t get what

  happened. All I did was finally say

  okay. All I did was say, “I love you.”

  Lucas Is Sitting on the Bed

  Wearing a completely unexpected

  expression—pity. Can that be right?

  What the hell? A deep swallow

  of Cuervo sandpapers my throat.

  I go over to Lucas, drop down on

  my knees, rest my hands on his legs,

  look up into his eyes, “Lucas, will

  you please tell me what’s going on?”

  He doesn’t answer right away, and

  for some stupid reason, that makes

  me think there’s hope for us. But

  when he finally speaks, his voice

  is ice. When you first told me you

  were a virgin, I didn’t believe you.

  Not a lot of those around, you know?

  But when I figured out you were telling

  the truth, I totally wanted to pop your

  cherry. You were my first virgin, and

  you’ll probably be my last. Because …

  sorry, but virgin sex really isn’t very good.

  I jerk my hands off his legs, wobble

  to my feet. “F-fuck you! I c-c-can’t

  believe tha’sh all I meant to you.” One

  more gulp and I repeat, “Fuck you!”

  I Stumble Out the Door

  Go in search of Paige. I have to

  get the hell out of here! My heart

  knocks in my chest. My face is on

  fire—with booze and embarrassment.

  How could I have believed he loved

  me? How could I have given my love

  to such an asshole? “Paige?” Did I just

  yell that? Everyone is staring. Maybe

  that’s because tears cascade down my

  face, which is probably streaked black

  with mascara. “Has anyone seen Paige?”

  Someone points toward the living room,

  where my dear friend Paige has hooked

  up with some guy I sort of recognize

  from school. They’re making out like …

  like they’re really into each other.

  She looks at me, clearly torn between

  wanting to help me and preferring to stay

  right where she is. “Never mind,” I say.

  “I’ll find another ride home.” On my

  way to the front door, I pass Skylar,

  staring at me with—fuck that!—pity.

  “Hope you’re not a virgin. Oh, wait.

  Forgot who I’m talking to.”
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  Now What?

  I go outside, sit on the sidewalk, will

  myself not to get sick. Can’t call Mom

  to pick me up, not here. Don’t know if

  I’ve got enough cash for a taxi home.

  I reach into my purse, find my wallet.

  When I open it, a business card falls

  out. Perfect Poses Photography.

  Wha … ? At the bottom is a name.

  Bryn Dawson. Bryn? Oh yeah,

  hot monkey, the guy from the mall.

  I remember his face, the way his eyes

  looked at me. Don’t suppose he …

  Nah, Friday night, he’s out somewhere,

  with some hot female orangutan.

  So why does my hand reach

  for my cell phone, and why do my

  fingers dial his number? One ring …

  This is stupid. And now he’ll have my

  number. Two rings … Hang up, stupid.

  I can just imagine Paige, asking me

  what the hey I’m thinking. Three rings …

  See? He’s so out with someone else.

  And why would you think, even if he

  wasn’t, that he’d even remember you?

  Must Be Fate

  Because someone, I’m assuming him,

  answers on the fourth ring. “Bryn?

  This is Whitney. You probably don’t

  remember me, but we met at the mall

  and you gave me your card. …”

  Definitely must be fate, because he

  does remember me. I break down

  into an inebriated crying binge.

  He’ll hang up now for sure. But

  when I tell him, “Sh-shorry to bug

  you, but something bad just happened

  and I really need a ride. …”

  He barely hesitates before he answers,

  No problem, Whitney. Always happy

  to help a damsel in distress. Give me

  twenty minutes. And directions.

  A Poem by Ginger Cordell

  Directions

  Why doesn’t life come

  with them? “Go straight

  until you hit sixteen, take a

  right,

  then proceed slowly

  until you’re positive

  it’s okay to hang a

  left

  toward where you belong.”

  I guess in someone else’s world,

  parents are road maps,

  who tell you

  which way

  is the correct direction

  to travel. But without

  a map, how

  do I

  know the best route?

  Without guidance,

  how do I know

  which way to

  go?