Crank - 01 (19 page)

Our dance was primitive, beautiful, waves at high tide.

Our dance was sensual, sexual, and yet somehow innocent.

Spent calories orbited, raising temperatures. Some drank alcohol.

The wise drank water. It tasted as good as champagne.

And then somehow the subject of my birthday came up.

Word spread and the mood elevated beyond celebratory.

Gifted with kisses. Tender. Probing. Inviting. Feminine. Masculine.

One emptying into the next, eddies in the swollen river.

I kept my eyes closed, absorbing sensation until it screamed

for release. So the part that came next seemed very right.

I Don’t Know

whose blade it was,

whose idea it was.

I don’t remember

saying yes.

I know I didn’t

say no.

The knife was sharp.

One knick at my wrist.

It didn’t even hurt.

It didn’t seem wrong.

Rust in my mouth.

Rich red salt.

I drank it down,

asked for more.

Offered my own

to those who would partake.

Fever. Fire. I was on fire.

Time hesitated.

Solid earth gave way.

Strong arms caught me,

carried me into the cool of outside.

A familiar mouth found mine.

I looked into Chase’s eyes,

found emotions in turmoil.

Fear. Need. Concern. Lust.

And then he said the words

we were both afraid to hear.

I love you, Kristina.

I Was Cinderella

and Chase was my unlikely Prince Charming.

(Hey, I’d graduated from

knights to princes, even if they were unlikely.)

Suddenly I was very sure.

“I love you, too, Chase.”

For real?

I reached up and kissed him and it

was very, very real, despite the quite

surreal juxtaposition of colors

in the night sky.

You take my breath away.

“Make love to me. Please? I don’t

care who sees.” He might have.

But just then his watch beeped “two.”

No way. Come on, let’s go!

Well beyond the witching hour,

Chase hustled most of his guests

out the door. (A few were tied up

in the bedrooms.)

I didn’t want to piss off your parents.

We wouldn’t make it home until

almost three. But the E insisted

I remain hopeful.

“They’re always in bed by ten….”

Doesn’t look like they’re asleep.

Every light was on, upstairs

and down, and I caught my mom’s face

at the window. We had turned back

into pumpkins after all.

If You Guessed

I was GUFN, two points for you.

Can you believe Chase

was brave enough to

walk me to the door?

Mom pounced.

“Do you realize it’s three a.m.?”

Chase tried to apologize,

said we’d lost track

of time, talking.

“I’m
sure
that was all you were doing.”

Mom lectured him on

responsibility and gave

him the old,

“We were worried to death!”

(She looked just fine

to me.) What could

Chase do but nod?

“Well, Kristina won’t be going

anywhere for a while.”

I tried to talk my way

out of her anger zone.

No good.

“What were you thinking, Kristina?”

Scott flashed a half

apologetic look as

Mom carried on.

“Don’t you know the cops keep

a lookout for kids like you?”

I wasn’t a kid. And

I’d never so much as

seen a cop drive by.

Not yet, anyway.

Exiled

to my private mauve island where pretty

pink butterflies fluttered on my wall in

a lovely Å-enhanced butterfly dance,

I tried to be angry, but the ecstasy

wouldn’t let me. In fact, it made

me take a peek at

things from my mom’s POV. I

mean, we did

stay out until

the cock woke

up to stoke his

crow. Not only that, but we did

the very things she worried

about us doing, and more.

Introspection

would be easy

as a dual-edged

sword. If you

acquaint your

self with your

self, you don’t

always like the person you find

inside. I could deal with that. The

bigger problem was discovering Bree

didnÙt really give a damn about liking me.

I Spent the Next Day

helping Mom can tomatoes.

It was an annual event and I

had always hated the tedious

chore. But the last tiny tendrils

of ecstasy, infiltrating me, somehow

made it enjoyable. I didn’t even mind

my mom’s company. In fact, my mood

seemed to rub off on her. She didn’t once

bitch, though she enthusiastically quizzed

me about the previous evening’s activities.

This very big part of me wanted to confess,

to ask forgiveness, request help. Oh, I knew

my bad habits had escalated, and if Kristina

had had her way that day, well, who knows?

But over the last few weeks, Bree had grown

stronger and her argument—that Mom might

put her away, far removed from friends, Chase,

and all personal choice—was feasible. So I

refused to waver from the concert and long

conversation excuse. And when she asked

about drugs, I summoned every ounce of

righteous indignation I could muster and

denied touching a thing except a toke or

two of weed. I knew she wouldn’t be

too upset about that. And by the time

all the jar lids popped down on row

upon row of salsa, sauce, and ketchup,

I was still grounded. But at least

Mom wasn’t as mad anymore.

Burned Out

Burning

up, coming down,

I popped three

aspirin against the

throbbing

in my skull, and

attempted a nap.

I laid in bed,

sweating

out toxins, the

last of the E

and crank,

aching

from the inside

out. Could I ever

shift into reverse?

Falling

from euphoria,

I face-planted into

depression. Hard,

somersaulting

through your own

manure. Harder yet

to get back up without

tripping

and falling all over

again. I felt out of

control, a meteorite

tumbling

through space,

tugged by gravity

toward certain doom.

Jerked Awake

well after dark,

yanked into consciousness

by Mom and Scott, yelling in the hall.

“Are you blind, Marie? You don’t sleep

like that unless you’re crashing.”

She’s running a fever, Scott.

And just what makes you an expert?

“Come on. We both know the scene.

You just refuse to believe it.”

We had a long talk today. She swears

the only thing she has tried is pot.

“Like your sweet, little Kristina

is above lying to you?”

But what do we do? Search her

room? Have her tested?

“We pull the reins tighter. No dates.

Straight home after school.”

For how long? We can’t keep her

locked up here forever.

“At least until report cards come home.

If her grades are okay, she’s free.”

What about tonight? Should I try

to wake her up for dinner again?

“Let her sleep. If she’s really sick, she

needs the rest. Especially after last night.”

Okay. Just, please, try to keep

an open mind. And, Scott?

Thank you for caring.

Report Cards?

If grades were the criteria,

I would be in deep frigging dung.

Two weeks till “d” (for dung) day,

no way could I make up for how

I’d screwed up this quarter.

And if they were going to start

searching my room, I had some

serious stashing to do.

But I didn’t dare move, not

for a while. I stared off into

the dark, thinking about Chase.

No dates? Home straight after

school? How could I live without

seeing Chase?

Alone in my bed, I could taste

him, embrace him, feel his

skin, warm against my own.

There, as the house fell silent,

I could hear him tell me,

I love you, Kristina.

Live without him? They couldn’t

make me.
Wouldn’t
make me.

I would go to him that night.

I grabbed my “hideables.”

Out the window. Down the wall

like a spider, on night prowl.

No way to call him to come

and get me. How would I ever

get myself into Reno?

One way came to mind.

I swallowed my fear

and stuck out my thumb.

Anyone Could Have Come Along

A rapist.

A serial killer.

Brendan.

Lucky me.

I drew a cop.

The black and white

approached slowly,

crept past.

Brake lights flashed.

Thank God I

thought to reach

into my pocket

and toss the contents

into the weeds

as he pulled to the shoulder,

red and blue revolving.

I wasn’t high,

but I felt buzzed.

I wasn’t holding,

but I broke out in fear sweat.

Goosebumps popped out like

disturbed wasps.

How much would he notice?

How much more would he guess?

(And how much did guesses count?)

He Got Out of His Car

Evening, young lady.

His flashlight found my face,

concentrating on my eyes.

Kind of late to be out alone.

My mouth felt paralyzed.

All I could do was nod.

Going somewhere important?

I drew a deep breath. Exhaled

slowly. “Just to a friend’s.”

Do you realize it’s after curfew?

I wanted to say something

smart. What I said was, “It is?”

Do your parents know you’re out?

Parents? Couldn’t involve them!

“Th …they’re out of town.”

I see. Then I can’t take you home.

Yes! He couldn’t take me home.

Relief segued into apprehension.

Looks like I’ll have to take you in.

In? Where was “in”?

He couldn’t mean jail?

Tsk. Wittenberg isn’t a good place …

Juvenile hall? I was dead!

Mom would kill me.

… for a nice girl like you.

He escorted me to his car,

put me into the backseat.

What’s your name, anyway?

If I told him my real name,

they might call home anyway. “Uh…”

Tough question?

It never crossed my mind I

couldn’t get out without it.

You have to answer it sooner or later.

“Bree,” I said. “Bree… Wagner.”

I Wasn’t Scared—Yet

They asked me lots of questions.

I made up every answer,

the most important one being,

“My parents can’t be reached.

May I call my brother?”

They handed me the phone.

I could only hope he was home.

Brrrng… brrrng… brrrng…

“Chase? It’s Bree—your sister?

Listen, I got picked up for curfew…”

I had rousted him up out of

deep crash hell. It took a few

minutes for him to come to.

“Since our mom and dad are out

of town, they brought me to Wittenberg…”

Somehow he got my drift. He

told me to chill, he’d see what

he could do.

No more questions. No tests. Not even

the rush of a strip search.

They marched me down to a

holding cell, gave me four solid

hours to wonder what came next.

No word from my family. Not

Kristina’s. Surely not Bree’s.

They took my clothes, gave me

baggy gray sweats, assigned me

a bed in the dormitory.

I joined the general population.

I wonder where that term came from.

They were not general at all.

Roomie #1, Lucinda, was a gangbanger,

involved in a drive-by.

Roomie #2, Felice, was in for wrecking

a Caddie, carjacked at knifepoint.

Roomie #3, Rose, had beaten up

her mother—with the butt of her gun.

Of course, she had a good excuse.

All of us had one thing in common:

a total infatuation with the monster.

Tell you the truth, that scared me

a little. But not that much.

Tough Girls