Free Triangles by Ellen Hopkins Page A

fractured.
    I should go to him. Put my arms around him. Tell him I love him. But I don’t know if that’s true anymore. “What’s wrong with you?” Colder than I meant it to be.
    Several silent seconds pass. Finally, he straightens. What isn’t wrong?
    He reaches for the mostly empty glass, helps himself to the last swallow.
    She’s failing, can’t you see that? And there’s nothing we can do but watch.
    “No. I was just reading about this new drug. It’s still experimental, but—” Stop it! Just stop, Marissa. Every fucking time some new treatment comes along, you get your hopes up. I used to let you get mine up too, but not anymore.
    192/881
    “We have to hope. Every day she’s still here brings us that much closer to a cure.” God, you sound like you’re soliciting donations or something . His voice keeps growing louder. Look, even if that new drug turns out to be a cure, Shelby’s not a good candidate for treatment. You know that as well as I do. If it’s still experimental, they’ll look for kids with the best chances of improvement. They need poster
    children, to keep the funding coming.
    He gets up, takes his glass into
    the kitchen. Through the doorway,
    I see him refill it. “That’s not going to make things better.” So why do
    I suddenly want one myself? Anger
    crawls up my neck like an insect.
    A buzzing, stinging wasp. “Did you
    fucking hear me? I said—”
    A DOOR SLAMS
    At the end of the hallway.
    Everyone between here and
    Reno can hear you, Mom.
    Shane stomps into the room.
    If the two of you have to fight, can you keep it between you?
    He pokes his head into the kitchen.
    Seriously, Dad. Mom’s right.
    What’s wrong with you?
    Christian mumbles something.
    Yeah, well, says Shane. Life pretty much sucks and then you d—
    He stops himself. Moves closer.
    Lowers his voice. What’s the point of arguing? He wants to wallow.
    “I don’t understand why he—”
    Shane interrupts me. Not so hard 194/881
    to figure out. It’s all about guilt.
    ABOUT GUILT
    It’s
    something learned
    in childhood—this nibbling
    of conscience that begins
    with denial—I did
    not
    push my little brother out
    of the swing. No contrary
    evidence, you think you’ve
    gotten away with it until
    an emotion
    you don’t quite understand
    percolates inside of you—
    an acidic brew that churns
    until you make the decision
    to
    confess those bruises on
    Junior’s forehead are,
    indeed, because you shoved
    a little too hard. Choose to
    ignore
    it, and guilt will inexorably
    corrode, chewing flesh and
    soul until it bleeds you out.

    Andrea
    CAMPING WITH MY PARENTS
    Was never exactly fun. But at least now they have an RV. When Missy
    and I were kids, we had to rough it.
    Sleeping bags on the ground,
    under the stars. Mom and Dad
    rated the scruffy tent so they could have scruffy sex on their scruffy
    air mattress. Marissa and I got to
    hear it all. Nice. Especially the sort of decrepit howl Dad always did
    when he finished the deed. Some
    things you never forget, no matter
    how hard you try. I’m pretty sure
    they don’t still have sex, but maybe I should ask. Harley and Brianna
    are supposed to sleep inside the trailer, on the sofa bed. I still get a sleeping bag on the ground, under the stars.
    Or maybe the backseat of my car.
    Especially if there are bears at Prosser, 197/881
    and I’m pretty much thinking there
    must be. Which makes me wonder how
    many bears prowled close by Marissa and me while Mom and Dad indulged
    in a little growl-and-howl nookie.
    I
    DON’T
    MENTION
    BEARS
    TO
    HOLLY
    We sit at her neat kitchen table, waiting for Harley to help Brianna pack for our overnight excursion into the not-quite-wilderness. I said yes to Holly’s half-ass coffee, though I promised Dad I’d stop by Starbucks in Truckee before heading north on the highway to Prosser Reservoir. “Harley and I are doing Fourth of July in Sparks. You guys want to join us?” Sounds fun, but we’ve got Aces tickets.
    Baseball