Perfect (47 page)

inside my head but me.

But now I have a roommate

in there, and I really

don’t

like the guy. He talks way

too much. And the words

that keep coming out

of my mouth don’t

belong to me.

Growing Things

Are trying very hard to make

a spring appearance. It
is
spring

now, though sometimes it’s hard

to tell in northern Nevada. Still

a lot of snow on the mountain.

If I were playing pro ball, I’d

be off in Arizona or Southern

California or someplace really

warm, working toward new

goals. New records. New.

As it is, I’m here, where it’s still

relatively cool, playing regular

season games, working toward

the Nevada state championship

at the end of the month. May.

Championships. Prom. Senior

week. And then, graduation.

Not so excited about any of it

anymore. My baseball record

doesn’t really matter, unless you

count mattering to my ego. Prom?

Kendra turned me down, so I’m

taking Aubree. Don’t have a clue

why I’m going at all. It will only

remind me that I should be there

with Cara. My neck prickles.

If I had hackles, they’d be

rising. I’ve got to stop thinking

about her, or risk blowing up

again. Risk doing something

stupid. Something mean.

Something the bitch damn

well deserved. Talk about

revenge, baby. Brilliant move.

She never saw it coming.

You leave me alone, fucker.

Chad says you’re not here,

that you’re all in my head.

But he’s never heard you

blabbing at me. Go away.

That Guy

The one now living behind

my eyes, keeps trying to tell

me what to do, and it’s getting

really annoying. I did what he

said—posted those pics of

Cara and her girlfriend. He said

they’d go viral, and boy, did

they! People clear across

the country, and probably

around the world, have had

the chance to gawk at Cara’s

pussy. I see her at school,

and I’m pretty sure she

knows. If looks could kill,

I’d be skinned and left for

the bone pickers. But she

hasn’t said a word. Of course,

what is there, really, to say?

She can’t even prove that you’re

the one who posted them.

I Hope The Guy Behind My Eyes

Doesn’t talk all the way through

prom tonight. It’s late this year,

rescheduled from an early April

weekend with too much snow

coming down. Duvall and I hired

a limo (with a lot of help from

his parents and Uncle Jeff).

Might as well do it right.

Aubree is wearing purple,

so I got a lavender tux. Hope

it doesn’t make me look gay.

Gay. Hmm. Wonder if that

bitch is coming with Blue Hair.

Of course she’s coming with

Blue Hair. Just not to prom.

Shut up, asshole! Oh my

God! Does she come? And

just when did she know

she wanted to come with

girls? And was it my fault?

Think I’d Better Lift

A little before it’s time to “shit,

shower, and shave,” as my dad

used to say. Damn, I wish he

was here. Remembering him

opens a big sinkhole in me.

Why does everyone important

have to desert me? I’m almost

to the basement door when

the doorbell rings. I look out

the peephole. It’s a uniform.

“Aunt Mo,” I yell. “You’d better

come here. It’s a cop.” I don’t

wait for her to open the door.

“Can I help you?” Aunt Mo’s

footsteps approach quickly,

and I’m glad she’s here when

the big deputy says,
I’m looking

for Sean O’Connell. Is that you?

My head sort of bobs, and he

goes on.
I need to ask you some

questions. Do you want to

let me in?
He looks at Aunt

Mo, who pulls the door the rest

of the way open, allowing

him to step through. Damn,

the man is tall. He makes me

feel like a dwarf. “Uh, did I,

like,
do
something? Jaywalk?

Run a red light? What?” Does

he know about the steroids?

Do you mind if I ask the

questions? Do you know

a girl named Cara Sykes?

“Uh, yeah. We used to go out.”

But now she’s a lesbian and …

Oh, shit. This can’t be about that.

And do you know anything

about posting pornographic

photos of her on the Internet?

Before I Can Answer

Aunt Mo puts the brakes on.

Excuse me, but is Sean in some

sort of trouble? Sean, do you

have any idea what Deputy …

uh … Rossiter is talking about?

The guy obviously knows

something. Lying would

be stupid. I’ll try avoidance.

“I did see some pictures of

her. They were pretty bad.”

Rumor has it that you took

them. Which would mean

criminal trespass. And Ms.

Sykes is alleging stalking.

Does that sound accurate?

Guy Behind My Eyes:
Deny!

“Well, no, I … not exactly.”

GBME:
That is not denial.

“I wouldn’t call it stalking.”

GBME:
I think we’re in trouble.

Being Eighteen

Has a lot of advantages.

You can vote. You can

go where you want. Do

what you want without

a parent or guardian’s approval.

One major disadvantage:

If you’re arrested, you go

straight to jail. Do not stop

at juvenile hall. Do not take

a parent or guardian with you.

The good deputy reminded

me that I have the right to

an attorney and to keep

my big mouth shut. GBME

agreed. So did Aunt Mo.

I’ll call Jeff and we’ll get

you an attorney. Don’t worry.

We’ll have you out of there

before you know it.
She didn’t