Crank (13 page)

okay, then proceeded to thank

him as only Bree--and the monster--could.

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H

air Mussed

clothes cockeyed, makeup smeared,

I would have looked

fairly suspicious if I

had walked through the door that night.

* *

But I didn't have to and never once

pondered getting

caught as I stood

tiptoe on the first-

floor window trim, stretching to catch the ledge and crawl

back inside my window.

* *

House dark, no sound but Jake's snoring through the wall, I

laid in bed, watching a ghost dance on the ceiling, nose sucking

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up sweat, tobacco, and eau de Brendan, wondering what Adam was up to until the sun

poked through the curtains, less than an hour later.

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High

For two days, too much crank, no sleep, liquid diet. The first

* *

day of school was a nightmare.

Good thing I wasn't a freshman.

* *

I'd have gotten lost, somewhere between gym and the chem lab.

* *

(Almost did, in fact.) I collected

handouts; tried to follow list upon

* *

list of curricular expectations; tried, failing miserably, to conquer

* *

new locker combinations; avoided

eye contact with teachers, staff, and

* *

most definitely school police; ducked Sarah and Trent so I didn't

* *

have to listen to their chitchat; spent lunch far from anything close

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to food, even though I trembled from near starvation. All the while

* *

feeling like my head would burst from thinking so damn much when

* *

all my brain wanted to do was close down and fall deep into REM

* *

sleep. I considered climbing under the bleachers, letting it do just that

* * before I did something really dumb like passing out, but just about then

* * the final bell rang.

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D

ay One

blessedly behind me,

I rode the belching bus

home

wondering how I would

possibly make it to school the next day. Craved down time when I had to gear up, sustenance

though I might throw it up, silence when I knew my

family

would be waiting to share

news of the day. The very

monotony

I had lately disdained

cried out to me:

I am

essential

without me you will

wither, like this

summer

folding up into fall;

freeze hard, water in

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winter

awaiting the first breath

of

spring; uproot, grass in

a

wind

blown into tornado;

parch, like earth denied

rain.

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M

om's Car Wasn't in the Driveway

I thanked my, for once, lucky stars, went

inside, ignoring

Jake completely.

Scoped out the fridge, grabbed a handful of red

grapes so sweet

you could never

even fantasize them.

* *

Downed them like candy, went back for more, chased

them with fudge

swirl Haagan-Dazs.

No homework, I

went into my

room, fell straight into bed and the sleep of the dead.

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Mom must have

thought me dead, when she found

me hours later, tried desperately to shake me from the devil's deep slumber

embrace, shouted for

Jake to bring icewater, threw it in my face

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Which

Roused Me

riled me, made me

want to scream.

Instead

I made a major--in

retrospect, not the best--

decision.

I creaked to sitting, thought

twice, but when she insisted

I drag my

rubbery

bones to the dinner table,

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I looked her in the eye and for the first time in my life, told my

mother,

"Fuck you."

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M

ajor Mistake

Her eyes popped wide, her jaw

dropped like concrete. She reached

out and shook me.

What did you say?

Even caught up in confusion,

I knew better than to repeat myself.

I shook my head.

Tell me again.

Okay, she was testing me.

I flunked completely.

"I said, fuck you."

That's what I thought you said.

Mom's turn for firsts.

She slapped me so hard my teeth

rattled and snot flew.

Don't ever say that to me again.

I dissolved into exhausted

tears, wondering why I'd done it.

Mom broke down too.

Kristina, what's going on with

you?

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I couldn't tell her the truth.

What kind of lie might do? I started with a genuine, "I'm sorry."

Oh, God, I'm sorry

too.

She sat down beside me on the bed, put her arms around me, hugged tight.

You're not in trouble,

are you?

Trouble? All sorts of trouble, oh, yes. But not the kind she was worried

about. "No, Mom."

These new friends... are they... okay?

Why couldn't she just say

what she meant, ask if they'd led

me down the path to hell.

You've got so much

promise....

Then again, if she did, would I

own up? Confess that I had taken the lead on this perilous journey?

Please don't throw it all away.

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My mind churned love. Mom loved

me. Adam loved me. I suspected

Chase might love me,

I love you, Kristina Georgia.

(I was pretty sure Brendan

only loved the big "v.")

Who loved me more?

Who loved me most?

Now, please come down to

dinner.

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I

Did

I sat at the table, brain blank, head

spinning, something

that sounded

suspiciously liquidy

whooshing between my ears, trying not to look like the space cadet

I felt like, struggling to form coherent

sentences around megabites of chicken and corn bread, waiting for the ax to clobber

me. But Mom never

said a word about the reason

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for the red marks across my cheek, and not

only didn't punish

me, but let me off

GUFN.

Forgiveness

granted, I made some

decisions: appreciate

family, focus on school and hunt for Kristina.

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I

Mostly Managed That

for the next week.

Hit a reasonable

educational stride, settled into the rhythm of classrooms, quizzes, study halls, homework.

* *

Hung out with

Sarah and Trent, swapped summer

vacation stories

(majorly editing mine), tried out for honor choir and actually made it, despite a voice gone raspy from excess and mushrooming allergies.

* *

Did my best to absorb the energy of family, meals, Sunday church, and a Labor Day camp out.

And I managed all that, barely thinking

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about the monster or wondering what

Chase or Brendan or Adam

might be up to.

* *

Until in one fateful day

Adam wrote, Brendan called, and Chase showed up to drive

me home after school.

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B

ackpack Bulging

I climbed into Chase's truck, slid close. "Where ya been?"

We moved to Sparks. I had to transfer.

Solid explanation. Still,

"Why didn't you call?"

I

did. You were grounded. Remember?

That excuse was shakier.

"Not for the last two weeks."

I

wanted to give you some space.

Pregnant pause, giving

himself some space.

Kristina,

I know I'm not exactly your type.

I looked him in the eye.

"I don't think I have a 'type.'"

I

thought it might be the lifeguard type.

Reno wasn't the "biggest

little city." It was a small-town gossip mill.

Not that w

e have an exclusive thing, I know.

My cheeks burned. "No, we

don't. But I really like you."

I

needed to

hear that. I like you, too. A lot.

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"I went out with Brendan because I was flattered."

I dared to confess, "I never

had a boyfriend until last summer."

That's hard to believe, Kristina.

Taking that totally wrong,

I huffed, "Why?

Because I'm such a slut?"

No. Because you're so beautiful.

Tell me about last summer.

By the time I finished, I still

loved Adam. But I was falling for Chase.

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So

Why

was I so hot to return the phone message, waiting for me to come home?

* *

Brendan:

* *

Give me a call. I want

to see you again. This time

I'll bring the refreshments.

* *

"Refreshments?"

* *

I'd perched on my

pedestal for a whole week.

How fast could I make it down?

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As

I Considered My Answer

I noticed Adam's letter, sitting on the counter.

* *

Dear Kristina,

* *

How's school? I hope I can make it through this year. It's really tough, what with worrying about Mom, Ralph (can you believe she'd like a guy named Ralph?), and Lince. She's talking better now, and can get herself to the bathroom. I guess that's good.

* *

I saw your dad the other day. It was kind of strange because he never even mentioned you. Of course, he was with a new woman. (Not bad, considering she's with your dad. Ha, ha.) Maybe he doesn't want her to think he's old enough to have a daughter your age.

* *

Are you going out with anyone special? Half of me hopes so. The other half wants you to always be mine. There's a pretty cute girl at school, Giselle, giving me the eye. She looks a little like you, in fact. I think I might ask her out.

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Maybe you didn't want to hear that. But you're my

very best friend, the only one in the whole world I could tell that to. I want to hear everything about you, too. Kind of weird, huh?

* *

So do you have a boyfriend? Is he a jock or what? (Wink, wink.) How safe are these letters, anyway? Does your mom read them? I wonder if Giselle parties. Doesn't everyone? Okay, maybe not.

* *

Write soon. Love, Adam

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Giselle?

He liked some girl named Giselle?

Did she speak French (or just give it)?

* *

Maybe

I didn't want to hear that?

Why did I read his letter anyway?

* *

And what was up with Dad?

Why hadn't he called?

* *

Was he a Daddy Judas?

Had he sold me out?

* *

Should I call Brendan?

Set myself up?

* *

Would I truly let him be first?

Was I ready to lose the big v?

* *

Should I call Chase instead?

Ask him to score for me?

* *

Would he do it if I asked?

Walk a slender wire for me?

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Did I want to risk honor-roll status?

Chance further alienating my mom?

* *

Had I lost my mind completely?

Did I really want to get high?

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You

Bet I Did

The monster

shouted,

Where have you been, my

sweet Bree? Hurry back to me.

My blood pressure bloomed, my head

pounded.

Need rose up, pumping violently through my veins. All I could

think of, as I reached for the phone on my

nightstand, were fat ivory lines, waiting to whisk me to a netherworld, far beyond my

door.

Chase was "busy" Friday night. So I

did a really intelligent thing.

Called Brendan for a date and asked

him to make a buy. "Can you get me an eight ball?" I figured an eighth of an ounce would last awhile. It cost