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