Fallout (49 page)

NEEDLE-SHARP AIR

Spikes my lungs.

Breathe, damn it.

This means nothing.

I crawl down the hall,

into my room. Dig

in my backpack.

Locate my inhaler.

One big pull. Capillary

expansion. Holy crow.

I hear Dad slam

through the front door.

He and Kortni must

be arguing. They’ve

done a lot of that

lately. I should tell

him about the message.

But he’ll find out

soon enough. Instead

I’ll go ahead and call

Kyle. Maybe he’ll

know what to do.

Associated Press

Miss Nevada, twenty-three-year-old Devon Shepherd, found herself embroiled in yet more controversy after she arrived in an inebriated state for a performance of
The Nutcracker
at the Pioneer Center in Reno.

“It was the anniversary of her sister’s death,” explained Shepherd’s mother and manager, Angela. “Devon and LaTreya were very close. She has had a difficult time coping.”

Casino showroom dancer LaTreya Shepherd was killed two years ago, when her fiancé, Robert Cole, shot her in a jealous rage. Shepherd’s father, Brad, was later convicted of attempted murder after paying a prison inmate to poison Cole, who survived.

Devon Shepherd previously served as Miss Teen Nevada, as did LaTreya, two years prior. Angela Shepherd has been accused of being the “classic overbearing stage mother,” something she strongly denies. “I supported my daughters and their dreams,” she said. “And I will continue to support Devon now.”

This is not the first time Miss Shepherd’s character has been questioned. Only three weeks after winning her Miss Nevada title, she publicly remarked, “This is a major stepping-stone to a career in film. Hopefully not pornography.”

She later said, “Obviously, I have poor taste in jokes.”

Hunter
SOME SECRETS

Are better left kept.

Sometimes you’re better

off thrashing around

on your own in the dark.

Sometimes those things

that percolate in your brain

brew into bitter coffee

once disturbed. Sometimes

it’s good to remember

not to go poking in woodpiles

where snakes like to hide

and red-bellied spiders crawl.

Unless you’re hoping to

get bit. Lusting for poison.

ALMOST A WEEK

Since I met Brendan.

Dad.

Biologically speaking.

I think.

Still not totally sure, mostly because

I didn’t have the balls to confront him.

Just couldn’t figure out a way to say,

Hey dude, did you once rape my mother?

Wasn’t the right venue.

Wrong place.

Wrong time. Too many

people around.

So instead, it’s eating me up from

the inside out. Sounds like a bad plot

thread. Only, instead of some vicious

little monster inside, all I’ve got is anger.

Anger and the need to know.

Even though

knowing won’t change

a single thing.

AFTER THE TALENT SHOW

Brendan and Montana left

right away. I don’t think he liked

her celebrity status. Didn’t like

the groupie need to say hello.

Usually I like it, even though

once in a while it leads to poor

behavior on my part. Witness

my earlier Leah rendezvous.

But that day I exited quickly

too. Needed to let the emotional

dust settle. Needed to work

through what my next move

should be. I called Mom from

my car. Explained the scenario.

Hoped she’d say no way.

Your imagination has run amok.

But she said,
I was never

one hundred percent sure

that he was really your father.

I hoped he wasn’t. But I think

maybe your instincts are good.

I can’t tell you what to do

about it. Listen to your heart.

It generally says the right thing.

MY HEART SPOKE UP

Told me Brendan is a prick

and that, even more than our mutual

eye art, increases the likelihood

that he is, yes, my father.

Guilt seethed all the way

home. And there was no staunching

it when Nikki greeted me at the door

wearing a sexy red dress.

Like it?
she demanded.

It’s for the station Christmas party.

“I love it. You’ll be the prettiest girl

there, that’s for sure.”

Without warning, chills

rattled my body. “Cold out today.”

See? I’m glad I didn’t go. Come on
,

I’ll fix you some cocoa.

She pulled me off into

the kitchen, prattling on and on

about shopping and malls

and where we’ll spend Christmas Day.

Though my eyes couldn’t help but admire

her silk-sheathed frame,

my brain could not focus

on what she was saying, something

she finally took note of.
Hey. Are

you getting sick or what?

She set the steaming cup

in front of me, and her cool hand felt

my forehead.
Nope. No fever. That’s

good, anyway. So …

Her look was apologetic,

like she should have asked sooner.

How was your day? See some great

talent? Any randomness?

I sipped the rich chocolate.

“There were a couple of pretty

good singers. Lots of not-good singers.

Randomness? Some.”

NIKKI’S ADVICE

Was typical Nikki.

Maybe you should just

let it go. You’re not sure
,

anyway, right?

I had to admit I wasn’t

sure. And also, “Not being

sure about him means

not being sure about me.”

She sidled up behind me,

slid her arms around

my neck.
Doesn’t matter.

I’m
sure about you.

That kind of trite remark

always irritates me. “Easy

for you to say. You know

who your parents are.”

Her arms fell away, and

I expected an angry retort,

but her voice carried only

hurt.
Do what you have to.