Tilt (57 page)

a quick picture that I hope will do.

While I wait for his response, I leave

my hand where it is, just above a soft

pulsing between my legs. I have never

touched myself there before, not the way

he wants me to. But now I do. Just to see.

Just to know. I move my middle finger

slowly along the slick strip, discover

the nub hiding beneath my pubic bone—

the source of the building throb.

My Cell Buzzes

But I ignore it for the moment.

This is something I need to know

more about. Something I must learn.

Unbidden, my finger starts to move

faster and, unbidden, my body rocks

against it. It’s like I’ve been possessed

by something—someone—I have no

control over. I can’t stop. Wouldn’t

even if I thought I could. So I give

myself up to the woman inside me.

Let her move my hand. Teach

me what to do. She is instinct, pure

or filthy, and I listen to her, follow

her direction. Some urgency begins,

grows like surf moving toward high

tide. Breaks that can’t be harnessed

or slowed or stopped. That swell

into a tidal wave, and with it a crash—

and a bolt of understanding.

If There Ever Was an Eve

This must be how she felt

right after she first figured

out what orgasm meant.

Enlightened.

Embarrassed.

Excited to try it again.

I will. But not now. Why

don’t they teach you
this

in school? That you really

don’t need someone else

to make you feel this good?

Satisfied.

Contented.

I mean, they sort of mention

it, but not as a means to an end.

And some people even call it a sin.

No making that element happy,

I guess. Ask me, self-pleasure

could be the key to abstinence.

Listen to Me

Like I’ve suddenly become

an expert on self-pleasure.

I put on my clothes. Go wash

my hands. And when I get back

to my room, I finally check

my cell for Lucas’s text message.

AWESOME. BUT NEXT TIME I WANT

TO SEE EVERYTHING. GOT IT?

I’m not quite that brave.
I’LL

THINK ABOUT IT. WILL I SEE

YOU THIS WEEKEND?
It’s only

Wednesday. Friday seems like

such a long way away.

His return text takes a while.

Tit for tat, right? I made him

wait while I . . . My face sizzles,

white hot. Finally, the buzz.

ARE YOU OVER YOUR PERIOD?

Guess I’ll Have to Be

Sooner or later. Problem is, it’s going

to start for real at some point soon.

What can I use for an excuse then?

Or should I just come clean, admit

I wasn’t ready and couldn’t think

of another way out? The problem

with lies is they start to pile up, one

on top of another, until it’s hard to find

your way out from under the heap.

I wish I could talk to Bri about it.

But she’d just lecture me. Mom? Yeah,

right. She still thinks I’m her little angel.

Can’t believe she hasn’t noticed my

wings are long gone. Chloe? Maybe, but

I know what she’ll say—
No excuses.

No apologies. Just live in the moment.

One other person comes to mind.

I dial her number. Hope she’s home.

She is. “Hey, Cassie. I, uh, wanted

to talk to you. I’m kind of seeing this guy. . . .”

Boy problems? Already? School

has barely started. Okay, what’s up?

“Well, um . . . See, he’s sort of pushing

me to have . . . you know. And I’m not . . .”

Ready? I would think not, especially

if you just started dating. You remember . . .

Someone—Dad? Chad?—interrupts,

says something I can’t quite make out.

Okay,
Cassie says to him. Now, to me,
Your

dad says to tell any guy who bothers you

he’ll have to answer to your father. Listen.

I have to run. We’ll talk Saturday, okay?

It’s Not

But I say, “Okay.” We’re going

shopping for my bridesmaid’s dress.

Guess it will wait till then. Meanwhile,

maybe biology homework (regeneration)

will take my mind off Lucas

A door slams and Mom calls

out that she needs help unloading

the groceries. I close my notebook,

stash every deviant thought and try to

regenerate some hint of angel wings.

Chloe

Deviant

Some people seem to think

“deviant” is my middle name.

Okay, I may be the kind of girl

who truly believes

life

is totally much more amazing

when you straddle its edges.

First, always, is self-preservation,

but once you get a handle

on the challenges that

presents,

you can take control. And

isn’t that really the point?

To choose your path, veering

around anyone who insists

you’re wrong, from the

endless

shortcuts and switchbacks

along the straight and narrow

way. To avoid the tried-and-true

in favor of imagine-this

possibilities.

Mikayla

Straight

I’ve gone completely straight

for my baby, and that makes

being pregnant even harder.

No booze, no weed, no pills

except for prenatal vitamins.

Nothing to take my mind off

my slowly expanding belly

or how lonely I am without Dylan.

Wednesday is Halloween, and as

October fades into November,

the ever-shortening days seem

to grow longer. And the snap-cool

nights are longer yet. You’d think

I’d be really tired, but apparently

that isn’t so until the last trimester.

At twenty weeks, I’m halfway

there and at my next doctor’s

appointment, I’ll have the ultrasound

that will show if the baby is a boy

or a girl. Halfway there, and so far

I haven’t told anyone. Not Emily.

Not Audrey. None of my teachers,

though I’m pretty sure a couple

of them know, which means

apparently there is no counselor-

student privilege. Before long, though,