Free Tilt by Ellen Hopkins Page A

But
then,
    when it all turns into a wet,
    sloppy mess, my conscience
    laughs out loud at my
disappointment.
    And now, hearing my best
    friend gasp, I yank away
    and toss a Hail Mary
apology
    I know she won’t accept.

Mikayla
    Apologies Are Useless
To my dad.
I mean, okay, I came in three
hours past my midnight curfew.
But Dylan’s Jeep got a flat, and
his spare was flat, too, and it
took us forever to fix them
especially since pretty much
everything is closed at twelve a.m.
To my mom.
Who I went off on when Dad
wouldn’t listen about the flats
and all. True, I mentioned her
state of dress—too slutty for forty,
with a thigh-high skirt and boob-
baring neckline. But I was angry.
And anyway, she deserved it.
To Dylan.
Who is really very tired of me
being grounded, and I can’t blame
him. This summer was supposed
to be fun, but we haven’t even
made it to Tahoe. The only thing
we’ve managed to do is have sex
a few absolutely amazing times.

I’ve Said I’m Sorry
So many times this summer, it’s starting
to sound like a ringtone. At this point,
no one believes it. Not even me. But I
think I found a way to escape the house
today. Mom is taking Trace and Brianna
to Wild Waters. It’s an absurdly disguised
plot to get Bri and Harley speaking again.
I know because I overheard Mom and Andrea
hatching their evil-moms plan. I could probably
go along, but I’d rather spend some stolen
hours with Dylan. Just not here, in case
Dad happens to come home. So, as Mom
squeezes into a little pink bikini and slips
a cover-up over her head, I ask, all innocently,
“Can I ride my bike? I need some exercise.”
Surely the Workout Nazi can’t say no to that.
She looks at me with a fair amount of
suspicion. Bike riding and what else?
“Nothing else.” Wide-eyed and wounded.
“Jeez, Mom, if I don’t do something I’m
going to start school in size-twenty clothes.
Please?” That was pretty good, I think.
Okay. But don’t stay gone too long.
And don’t ride East Lake. Too dangerous.
I cross my heart, even though East Lake
Boulevard is the only way to get to Washoe
Lake State Park, where I’m meeting
Dylan. Reno and Wild Waters are in
the opposite direction, so I’ll wait until
after they’re gone. It doesn’t take long.
The doorbell rings and Mom calls,
Trace! Bri! Grab your stuff and let’s go.
I open the door for Andrea. God, I wish
I had a camera. The look on Bri’s face
is priceless. What are they doing here?
she snaps. I’m not going if she’s going.
Oh, yes you are, says Mom, pushing
Bri toward the door. This is getting old.
Andrea laughs and Trace smirks and
Bri’s body language shouts whatever.
Out the window, I watch Bri shove
Trace into the backseat ahead of her
and right up against Harley, who is
hunkered against the far side of the seat,
refusing to acknowledge any of this
is happening. Kids. Sometimes I wish
I could go back a few years, to when
school was still fun and friendships
were easy and relationships with boys
were only inventions of imagination.

I Let Dylan Know I Can Escape
It will take him a while to get out here, so I sway
away from the rules again, check my email.
When I see the one that just arrived, I get a little
rush of excitement. It’s from Leon Driscoll, who
I found through his ex-wife on Facebook and
who just might be Mom’s biological uncle.
It says: HELLO, MIKAYLA. IT WAS A SURPRISE
TO HEAR FROM YOU. MY EX SHOULDN’T HAVE
GIVEN YOU MY NAME. BUT I’VE ALWAYS
BELIEVED MY BROTHER, PAUL, SHOULD
HAVE MADE HIMSELF AVAILABLE TO HIS CHILD,
SO I FORWARDED YOUR EMAIL TO HIM. IT IS
MY OPINION THAT HE IS, IN FACT, YOUR
GRANDFATHER. HOWEVER, THIS IS HIS RESPONSE:
“PLEASE INFORM HER THAT I HAVE NEVER
HAD SEX WITH ANYONE OTHER THAN
MY WIFE, SO I CAN’T POSSIBLY BE RELATED
TO HER.” I’M SORRY HE SEEMS UNABLE
TO COWBOY UP AND TAKE RESPONSIBILITY
FOR SOMETHING THAT HAPPENED
FORTY YEARS AGO. VERY SORRY. BEST
I CAN DO IS GIVE YOU TWO THINGS.

I Ponder Those Two Things
As I pedal along the