Fallout (40 page)

THE PARADE BEGINS

At ten on the dot. I’ve been

practicing my announcer banter.

“Here comes the Reed High School

Marching Band, Montana. As

Ambassadors of the city of Sparks,

the band has traveled throughout

the U.S., as well as to England and

Ireland.” Montana waits for the din

of the trumpets to dim before

saying,
Speaking of Ambassadors
,

Hunter, here comes the Reno Rodeo

Flag Girls Drill Team, which represents

Reno Rodeo year-round at events

and drill team competitions. Each year

some one hundred girls try out for fifteen …

And so it goes for well over an hour.

Despite the frigid temps, the bundled-

up crowd is as large as I’ve ever seen it.

The most amazing thing is that young,

old, or somewhere in between, when

I say something, they actually listen to

me.

SEE, WHEN I WAS A KID

I was not what you’d call

popular. The truth is, other

kids picked on me.

Bullied

me, to the point where

I started to defend myself

before the fact. I’m not

sure why they

harassed

me in such cruel fashion,

but it seemed my teachers

never saw the instigation,

only my sometimes

over-

the-top reaction. How

many recesses I stayed

inside, while the bullies

went out to play!

I don’t

remember exactly when

it stopped. Middle school,

I guess. Maybe eighth

grade. Doesn’t matter. All I

know

is that eventually some

of my mom’s fame

rubbed off on me.

MOM’S FAME

May not have been the most

valid way to gain friends

and win dates. But hey, whatever

works, right? I’ll never

forget this one girl. Tori. God,

she was a rabid Marie

Haskins fan. Stalker material.

When she found out

who I was, she threw herself

at my feet. Actually,

a more literal way to put that

is she threw herself on

her knees. Right in front of me.

It may have been my first

oral experience, but she for sure

had a fair bit of practice.

All she asked for in return was

a signed Marie Haskins

book. I told Mom it was for a sick

girl. Not far from the truth.

THE MEMORY

Elicits a lustful smile. Montana

can’t help but take notice.

Wow. Thinking about

Christmas presents just now?

“Not Christmas, but definitely

a gift worth remembering.”

The grin she returns is knowing,

even if she is only guessing.

Then she flips back into announcer

mode.
Speaking of Christmas presents
,

Hunter, look who’s coming down

the street right now!
Anticipation

bloats the crowd. “You mean

that jolly old elf himself, Montana?”

That’s right. Here comes Santa
,

and … has he been working out?

The kids all strain to see svelte

Santa. “I think you’re right. Who

would believe it? Santa and the missus

must have a membership at Gold’s Gym!”

Gold’s Gym, of course, is a sponsor.

Not to mention an X advertiser.

As buff Santa’s sleigh rolls off into

the distance, people begin to move

toward their cars or vendor booths.

I turn off my mic, begin to pack up.

A small pair of hands slides around

my waist from behind. Nikki must

have changed her mind, dragged

herself out of bed. “Nik?” But neither

voice nor hands are a match.
Nope.

Not Nik. It’s just me. Hey, Hunter.

Equal parts disappointment

and exhilaration jab me. Not Nikki.

But not exactly bad, either.

“Leah. All on your own today?”

Well, yeah. Remember I told you

I had something for you?

SHE WINKS

Who knew

with such

a small

gesture

a girl

could look

like such

a letch?

Can a girl

even be

a letch?

Exactly

how is

“letch”

defined?

Suddenly

I’ve got

a good

idea of

what this

girl has on

her dirty

little

mind.

SHE WAITS IMPATIENTLY

While I help stow the gear.

Am I seriously considering

a stroll down Deviant Lane?

Montana notices Leah’s angsty

pace.
You looking for trouble?

she asks in an underneath voice.

Hard to deny obvious truth.

“Probably. Although I didn’t

exactly go looking.”

She reassesses the redhead.

Shrugs.
Okay, then you’re

pursuing serious trouble.

This is so not her business.

“What time is the talent show

again?” Montana and I are judges.

Go ahead. Change the subject.

See if I care. One o’clock, main

stage. And. Do. Not. Be. Late.

I check my watch. Just

about noon. “No worries.

This shouldn’t take long.”