Tilt (21 page)

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Authors: Ellen Hopkins

BOOK: Tilt
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like stones, into a pond:
plunk, plunk.
First the “pregnant.” What a horrible
thing to deal with. Then the “was,”
which means, what? Considering
where we are, I have a pretty good
idea. “Wow, Audrey, I don’t know
what to say. Did you . . . uh . . . ?”
She draws her eyes level with mine,
and though she keeps her voice low,
it is thick with anger.
What else
could I do? Everyone told me I had
no choice—Mom, Dad, Clay. “What
about senior year? What about college?”
Mocking.
No choice. How ironic, you
know?
Now she looks down into her lap.
I—I can’t stop thinking about the baby.
Was it a girl? A boy? It already had
a heartbeat. I realize it would have been
hard to keep it. But . . . what if . . . ?
The Sentence Remains Unfinished
Because apparently Emily’s doctor
wasn’t the cute one. She’s already
finished, prescription in hand. She
comes bouncing along the corridor,
slows when she sees who’s sitting
next to me. I can feel Audrey tense.
I didn’t know
she
was here. You
can’t tell her, Mikki, okay? I’ll die
if she finds out.
Considering the dirty
chalk color of Audrey’s face, Em will
probably guess what’s up. But I promise,
“I won’t tell.” Does this mean Audrey
knows—or, at least, suspects—Emily
and Clay hooked up? I hurry to ask,
“Are you and Clay, uh, doing okay?”
No.
Tears soften the fierce look she
shoots Em’s way.
Love isn’t invincible.
Some people take advantage of that.
I Despise Being in the Middle
Of a battle between friends. I jump to
my feet, leaving Audrey with a weak,
“If you need to talk, call me, okay?”
She nods. Buries her face in a magazine
as Emily exits the smeared glass door.
I follow, happy for fresh air, even if it
is tainted by city smells—hot cement,
exhaust, a hint of Dumpster. Em waits
until we’re both in the car to query,
So what’s up with her?
She’s fishing,
but I’m not taking the bait. I shrug.
“We didn’t get to talk all that much.”
A caustic smile contorts her face.
I thought she might have mentioned
the abortion. Don’t look so surprised.
Of course I know. Clay told me everything.
What else do I really not want to know?
Maybe being grounded isn’t such a bad thing.
Audrey

A Bad Thing

Happened this summer,
and it began as something
wonderful. Something shared

between

two people awash in forever
love. Sex, not for carnal need
alone, but as an outpouring of

heaven-

born connection. I believed that.
Then, an inkling of conception,

and

in the first days, denial. Tick.
Tock. Certainty dawning, the

brimstone

of anger and blame seethed,
roiled by fear into a magma
of doubt. And what emerged from

the limbo

was a decision that he has already
forgotten because he doesn’t believe
in ghosts. I do. And this one tiny
glowing will haunt every hour

of living

until my own light snuffs out.

Shane

Glowing

That’s how I feel most of the time
since I’ve hooked up with Alex.
It’s like he pours his fire inside
of me and when he leaves an ember
remains, smoldering. He thaws me.
Feeds me. Affirms me. Builds me up.
I accepted my sexual orientation
years ago, but Alex has shown me
how to embrace it. Celebrate it. Believe
with all my heart that I deserve love,
and know I am safe here, within
the “what” of me. I have undergone
some elemental transformation
that will inform my future, and it’s
all because of Alex. I am in love
with him. Addicted, really, and I
am very sure that he is totally in love
with me. So why do I chase him away?
When I Think Like That
It makes me wonder if some random
grown-up has infested me,
Invasion
of the Body Snatchers
–style. Then again,
when was the last time I considered
myself a kid? Not since Shelby, for sure.
But seems to me that even before she was
born, the “child” had been excised from
my childhood. Dad was perennially absent.
Mom was always lonely, and mourning
a daughter who was at the time nothing
more than something yearned for. The only
real fun we had was when Gram and Gramps
stopped by, bringing with them their unique
brand of entertainment—hippie elitism.
That still holds true. I’m glad they’ve
decided to hang around a little longer
this year. It’s like they bring spring-soft
sunshine into this house of shadows.
Mom needs someone to talk to, and
Gram is always ready to listen. Gramps
is just funny, in a totally crazy way.
I mean, he’s all into Burning Man—that
insane Labor Day freak-out on the playa.
On the surface, he’s a sixties throwback.
But inside, he’s what I want to be—
smart. Intuitive. And nonjudgmental.
When I first came out and everyone else
was freaking, he was the first to support
me. I can tell him anything. So I’d really
like to ask him what’s up with me.
Last night, Alex and I had an amazing time.
We went to an Aces game. Scarfed post-
game pizza. Then we stretched out on
a blanket under the black velour sky
and had long, slow, love-soaked sex,
whispering over and over again, “I love you.”
It Was Like Chanting a Mantra
“I love you,” into his open mouth
as I looked down into his eyes.
I love you,
as his tongue traced
the outline of my lips.
“I love you,” and then we full-on
kissed. Not gently. Not that time.
I love you,
and he circled me
with his arms, drew me into
the heat of his body and then
the whispers built into cries of
I love you.
And we rocked
against each other, into each
other. “I love you.” Wet with
sweat and spit and spilled tears.
Because we were defining
“making love,” and that’s all
that it was. Making love with

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