Tilt (17 page)

You’re still grounded!
Dad screams.

Grounded means no proximity to your

boyfriend, who, just by the way, is

the reason you’re grounded in the first

place. Why is this even an argument?

He looks at Mom for support and she has to

give it.
Honey, this was supposed to be

a family evening. Dylan probably has plans.

“He does! He planned on hanging out

with me. Please, Mom. I haven’t seen

him in weeks. . . .” Slight exaggeration,

but still. “He’ll buy his own ticket

and everything. Don’t you get it? I have

to see him. I . . . I . . . am in love with him.”

You don’t know the first thing about

love!
Dad is totally freaking out, leaking

spit like a lunatic.
And if you believe

Dylan is in love with you, you’re crazy.

“Shut up, Dad. You think you know

everything.” Who the hell does he think

he is? “Why are you so fucking mean?”

God, that felt good. Almost as good as

seeing the crazy mad look on Dad’s face

right now. But, of course, Mom brings me

back to reality. Convinces me to apologize.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said ‘fucking.’”

Bizarrely

That makes him laugh. I mean,

like lock-him-up-in-an-asylum

hysterical laughter. Mom asks

what’s so funny, and he says,

She just reminds me of me is all.

I once said something similar to my

dad. The main difference being,

he kicked my ass. I don’t guess

I feel the need to kick your ass,

Mikayla. But regarding Dylan

and the game, my answer is still

the same. And until you show us

a little respect, as far as I’m

concerned, you’re still grounded.

God! He pisses me off. I want to say

more, but he turns on one heel

and leaves the room. Mom tries

to soothe my raw-edged nerves

by telling me she’ll see what she

can do about ungrounding me.

She’s So Playable!

Which works out well for me

when we get to the game. Dad

and my jerk-off brother go for

hot dogs. I give Trace a look

that lets him know without

a doubt if he says a word

about me, I’ll shove that foot-

long down his throat whole.

We’re early enough that the team

is signing autographs. My weird

little baseball-loving sister begs

to stand in the signing line, so

Mom goes along. Which offers

the perfect opportunity to go

find Dylan, who is waiting for

me on the right field walkway.

He stands out from the crowd—

tall and strong-muscled in his

shorts and tank top. Suddenly

I really wish we were somewhere

a lot more private than a ball

game on Fourth of July. But,

as my grandma often says,

half a loaf is better than none.

Turns Out

All we’ll get is a couple of stale

crusts. I am in Dylan’s arms,

kissing him for the first time in

way too many days, when all of

a sudden he goes completely stiff.

Uh, looks like we’ve got company.

I peel myself off him, turn to find

Mom glaring at me. Shit. Damn.

My first thought is to grab Dylan,

push him through the crowd to

the nearest gate. But then what?

Mom’s familiar “come hither” head

bob turns me to concrete. Flee?

Screw that. I have nowhere to go

but home. “Sorry. I love you.”

I love you, too,
he says, all mopey

and cute. I kiss him goodbye like

they do in the movies. Dirty movies.

Dylan

Dirty Movies

Are the best I’m gonna do

tonight. Again. I never thought

whacking off would get old, but

after you’ve had the real deal,

all warm and creamy,

calloused

skin, too cool with lotion,

can’t measure up. And once

you’ve experienced the low

growl of building passion,

dubbed

moans and groans get annoying

really fast. And after you’ve

tasted authentic nipples, all sweet

with strawberry shower gel,

fake

boobs, no matter how giant

and airbrushed, kind of seem

like letdowns. No, once you’ve

made love with your amazing

girlfriend, getting off solo is

bullshit.

Shane

Making Love

For the first time is probably scary

for everyone. I’m totally terrified.

It’s been two days since I told

Alex that I think I’m ready.

He insisted I wait, to be sure.

Tonight is the Fourth of July.

Independence Day might seem

like a strange occasion to celebrate

my growing dependence on

Alex. Sex will bind us even tighter.

That isn’t what frightens me.

Neither does leaping so far into

adulthood. No, what scares

me is actually doing it. The act.

I’ve seen it done plenty in movies.

But they always get straight down

to business. It never looks

what you might call romantic.

I want Alex and me to be all about

romance. So okay, we start with

a sweet, long kiss. Let the sweet

melt like brown sugar from heating

desire. But once the ol’ heart starts

the kettle drum beating, then what?

Do I rip off my clothes? Rip off

Alex’s clothes? Do I let him do

the ripping, or expect they’ll find

a way to fall off on their own?

I guess I’m overthinking things,

but the little details worry the hell

out of me. And then, there are

the big ones—the ones they show

in the movies that don’t look very