Fallout (7 page)

Summer Lily Kenwood
SCREAMING

I learned not to

scream

a long time ago.

Learned to

bite

down hard

against pain,

keep

my little mouth

wedged shut.

Fighting

back was useless,

anyway. I was

fragile

at three, and Zoe

was a hammer.

Girls

are stinkier than

boys when they

get

dirty
, she’d say,

scrubbing until I

hurt.

And if I cried

out, I hurt

worse.

I’M FIFTEEN NOW

And though Zoe is no longer

Dad’s lay of the day, I’ll never

forget her or how he closed

his eyes to the ugly things

she did to me regularly.

He never said a word about

the swollen red places. Never

told her to stop. He had to know,

and if he didn’t, she must have

been one magical piece of ass.

Cynical? Me? Yeah, maybe

I am, but then, why wouldn’t

I be? Since the day I was born,

I’ve been passed around. Pushed

around. Drop-kicked around.

The most totally messed-up

part of that is the more it

happens, the less I care. Anyway,

as foster homes go, this one is

okay. Except for the screaming.

SCREAMING, AGAIN

It’s Darla’s favorite method

of communication, and not

really the best one for a foster

parent. I mean, aren’t they

supposed to
guide us gently
?

Her shrill falsetto saws through

the hollow-core bedroom door.

Ashante! How many times

do I have to tell you to make

your goddamn bed? It’s a rule!

Jeez, man. Ashante is only

seven, and she hasn’t even

been here a week. Darla

really should get an actual job,

leave the fostering to Phil,

who is patient and kind-eyed

and willing enough to smile.

Plus, he’s not bad-looking

for a guy in his late forties.

And I’ve yet to hear him scream.

DARLA IS A DIFFERENT STORY

Here it comes, directed at me.

Summer! Is your homework finished?

Hours ago, but I call, “Almost.”

Well, hurry it up, for God’s sake.

Like God needs to be involved. “Okay.”

I need some help with dinner.

Three other girls live here too.

And turn down that stupid music.

The music belongs to one of them.

I can barely hear myself think.

She thinks? “It’s Erica’s music.”

Well, tell her to turn it down, please.

Whatever. At least she said please.

And would you please stop yelling?

GAWD!

My neck flares, collarbone

to earlobes. Like Erica

couldn’t hear her scream?

I fling myself off the bed,

cross my room and the hall

just beyond in mere seconds.

“Erica!” (Shit, I
am
yelling.)

“Can’t you …?” But when

I push through the door,

the music on the other side

slams into me hard. No

way could she have heard

the commotion. “Great

song, but Darla wants you

to turn it down. What is it?”

Erica reaches for the volume.

“Bad Girlfriend.” By Theory of a Dead-

man. I just downloaded it today.

She looks at me, and her eyes

repeat a too-familiar story.

Erica is wired. Treed, in fact.

I TOTALLY KNOW TREED

In sixth grade, the D.A.R.E.

dorks came in, spouting stats

to scare us into staying straight.

But by then, I knew more than

they did about the monster

because of my dad and his women,

including my so-called mom.

Her ex, too, and his sister and cousin.

Plus a whole network of stoners

connecting them all. The funny

thing is, none of them have a fricking

clue that I am so enlightened.

Tweakers always think no one

knows. Just like Erica right now.

“Shit, girl. You go to dinner lit

like that, you’re so busted.

Darla may be a bitch. But she’s

not stupid, and neither is Phil.”

Here comes the denial.

Her shoulders go stiff and

her head starts twisting

side to side. But she doesn’t

dare let her eyes meet mine.

What are you talking about?

“Hey, no prob. I’m not a spy,

and it’s all your life anyway.

I’m just saying you might

as well be wearing a sign

that says ‘I Like Ice.’ If

I were you, I’d skip dinner.”

I turn, start for the door,

and Erica’s voice stops me.

It’s just so hard to feel good
,

you know?
I do know. And

more than that, it’s just

so incredibly hard to feel.

MAYBE THAT’S WHY

I have also felt the gnawing desire to try

crystal, despite knowing what it did

to

Barely There Dad

to

Rarely Here Mom.

Maybe they were just trying to feel

something too. Something besides

heat

for each other

hate

for each other.

It’s too bad they hooked up at all. Because

the only things they have in common

are

giving me life

and

tearing my life apart.