Free Glass by Ellen Hopkins Page A

I’ll probably catch
    an earful about rapid weight loss from Mom.
    Heather is definitely on my shit list.
    But apparently the loosening
    of my jeans has not escaped notice.
    Now if I can just run into Trey.
    I’d call him about scoring for Dad,
    but Stockton is too far away. So
    last night, when everyone wandered
    off to their bedrooms, I called Grade E.
    I kept the request cryptic, of course,
    and asked to meet away from the Sev.
    Wouldn’t do to get busted there, where
    I’m supposed to start work on Monday.
    Speaking of Grady, what time is it,
    anyway? The clock says ten thirty.
    Crap! I was supposed to meet him
    at ten. I jump into clothes and dash
    for my phone. Great. A message.
    It’s Grady, and he isn’t happy.
    Where the fuck are you? It’s ten
    fifteen. You’ve got five minutes!
    I hit call return, fingers crossed.
    “Hey, Grady, it’s me. Sorry I’m late.
    I…uh…got hung up with my mom.
    I can be there in a couple of minutes.”
    He agrees to meet me at the state
    park. But I’ll want a taste.
    I hope he means a taste of crystal,
    not a taste of Kristina.

F irst I’ve Got To
    Get out the front door without
    someone stopping me. One excuse
    comes easily to mind. I locate
    my keys and the money Dad gave
    me and don’t even stop to brush
    my teeth or hair. [Ugly picture!]
    I hear everyone in the kitchen.
    Perfect. “I’ll be right back,” I call,
    stowing the excuse for later.
    I go straight for my car, jam
    the key into the ignition, and as
    I back out, I notice Mom at
    the door, hands on hips. Her lips
    are moving, but I wave and keep
    going. Within a quarter mile
    my cell rings. Caller ID says it’s
    Mom, and I consider letting
    it go to voice mail. Better not.
    “Hi, Mom. Yes, I know I was rude.
    Yes, I’m grateful Leigh volunteered
    to get up with Hunter. Yes, I know
    we’ve got lots to do today. Yes, I
    understand how important tomorrow
    is. Where am I going?” [Thought
    she’d never ask!] “I woke up
    majorly on the rag and out of
    tampons. Had to get some ASAP.”
    She mentions the obvious—
    that she has a box in her
    bathroom. Couldn’t I have
    asked instead of taking
    off like a bandit in the night?
    “Heh-heh, yeah, I suppose
    I could have, huh? Sorry for
    being so dense, Mom.” I hold
    my breath and, lucky me,
    she goes for it, hook, line, and
    bobber. (I hate sinkers. My
    bait always gets stuck in
    the muck when I use them.)
    Anyway, I shouldn’t waste
    a lot of time doing blow
    with Grade E. He’s parked
    at the far end of the parking
    lot. And guess what.
    He’s not alone. From
    a distance I can see
    two guys, bobbing heads.
    They’re doing toot, and it
    looks to me like they’re
    doing it the old-fashioned
    way—with a straw and mirror.
    Wonder whose crank
    they’re snorting. Wonder
    how short the ball will
    be. [The two-hundred-dollar
    price tag makes sense now.
    We’re getting street crank,
    not ice.] Wonder how cut
    it will be. I pull into a near
    parking spot, and when I do,
    the face that jumps into view
    makes me forget about every
    question I had only seconds
    before. He’s dark
    and cute and he looks like Hunter.
    It’s Brendan, and I want to puke.

B ut I Can’t Puke
    I can’t
    turn and run and
    I can’t
    look weak and
    I can’t
    even get nasty until the
    deal
    is done.
    Brendan flashes a smile laced
    with
    evil. I can’t stand him. I despise
    him.
    And now I have to look
    him in the eye?
    I won’t
    give him the satisfaction of turning away.
    I won’t
    get in his face, or out of his face.
    I won’t
    give up my secret.
    No, I will never,
    ever,
    not in a billion years,
    confess
    the unimaginable result
    of his despicable act,
    that
    it created beauty.
    Will never confess that
    my son
    [can evil be genetic?]
    is his son.

I Had Hoped
    Never to see Brendan again,
    but I guess it just goes to show
    that as much as Reno has grown,
    it’s still a compact city. And just
    my luck, Brendan still lives in it.
    I’ll take the high road and if
    the low