Glass - 02 (19 page)
Authors: Ellen Hopkins
ecember Twenty-First
Last day of Trey’s finals.
He says he’ll be here tomorrow,
but the weather service is calling
for a major blizzard, so things might
not work out exactly as planned.
As my shift winds down, Kevin
comes in with the payroll.
He gestures for me to follow
him into the storeroom. I oblige
with a little smile, because I’ve got
a plan of action. Kevin looms in the
doorway, makes sure our bodies
touch as I pass by. I wait for
my check but before he
hands it to me, he says,
I scheduled you to work on
Christmas. I know you asked for it
off, but Midge has seniority. She asked
first.
He measures my reaction, which
must disappoint him. No way would
I work Christmas, but I already
planned to quit today. “Sorry,
Kevin. You probably know I’m
living in the North Valleys now, and
the commute has become impossible.
I was going to give two weeks’
notice, but I’m not going to
work Christmas Day.”
His face flares, one
shade lighter than purple.
Damn, it’s scary!
You can’t
just up and quit like that. What
am I supposed to do for help?
He’s actually waiting
for an answer.
“I don’t know, Kevin.
Maybe you’ll have to work
it yourself. Or call up one of
your little hos. I couldn’t care
less. In fact, I may as well
leave right now. I think
it looks like snow.”
He stalks closer, fists
clenched, eyes ablaze. This
guy is totally crazed.
You will
not get unemployment, you know,
and I won’t give you a positive
reference. You might want
to rethink this decision.
Come on, Bree, tell
me what to say. [You’ve
got a trump card. Play it.] “I
don’t care about unemployment. But
I would like a positive reference. I
probably should tell you that
I’ve recorded a couple of
our conversations about
your entrepreneurial ventures.
I’d hate to see that information
fall into the uh…wrong hands, you
know?” (Total bullshit, but he has
no way of knowing that.) God,
this is totally great. Now
he’s like plum purple.
You little bitch. I should have
known. I’ll have to think about
that reference, Kristina. Finish up
your shift, anyway. Do you want
me to mail your final check?
He knows the answer.
Cash My Check
(Figure I’d better do it quick), then stop by
Wal-Mart to pick up my Xmas layaway. It’s a
freaking madhouse, four days till Christmas, no
good stuff left, and what’s left picked through.
Impossible lines zigzag toward the layaway desk.
Might as well get comfortable. I’m lost in the shopping
diorama when someone taps my shoulder.
Kristina?
Is that you? Wow, you sure have, um…changed.
The voice is vaguely familiar, but somehow not right
for this time and place. When I turn, my equilibrium
is threatened. It’s Quade, my first crush, the one I
couldn’t quite find the courage to kiss. [Oh, man,
why the hell not?] “Quade? It can’t be you. Talk about
changing!” His spiked hair is bleached on the ends,
and his eyebrows are pierced. Metal? I’m guessing
heavy. “You look great, though.” [Understatement!
He’s frigging fine.] “What are you up to nowadays?
Do you live in Reno?” [Like you could be so lucky.]
No, actually, I still live at home, at least when
I quit moving around long enough to touch down
there. My band and I have a gig at Dr. Nasty’s—
that new club on Fourth Street. Hey, you busy tonight?
“Well, actually, no…but I’m not sure if they would
let me inside. I’m not quite twenty-one, you know.”
Quade scans his memory banks.
Ah,
right. I can get you in, though.
He winks.
You’re with me.
He stands in line
with me awhile, and we talk about “the
good old days,” as if we were ancient.
At least he helps me pass the time while
I crawl toward layaway. Finally I’m
just about there, and digging for my
layaway slip, which of course I can’t
find. They’ll have to use my phone
number. Oops. Mom’s phone number.
Well, let me know if you can make it,
Quade
says.
Here’s my cell number. We fire up at nine.
“Thanks. I’ll definitely try. The only holdup
might be snow. They’re calling for a killer storm.”
Cool. Let me know either way. And either
way, stay in touch.
He gives me a hug
and heads toward the monster checkout
lines. I watch him go as the lame layaway
girl says,
Picking up a layaway?
Unreal!
ayaway Picked Up
And a couple of leftover baubles
bought for Brad and the girls,
I drive back to Red Rock.
Somehow it still doesn’t feel like
home,
even if it is where my clothes reside;
where I go to sleep (sometimes)
at night; where I eat (sometimes);
where people (strangers) wait
for
me to come back to. No, “home”
is the other direction, in a protected
south valley, not here in a frigid
north valley Hades hole. [What
the
fuck is wrong with you? Remember
how much you wanted away from
home, only a few months ago?]
I do, but that was before the
holidays
intruded. I’ve never been away
from home on Christmas before.
Mom has transformed the house
into a Sugarplum Dreamland, only it
is
Hunter who she has transformed
it for. [You’re jealous of Hunter
now?] Yes. And of Mom [his
mommy] and Leigh, who is
where
I want to be—snug in front
of the fireplace, drinking hot
chocolate and munching popcorn
while trimming the tall fir tree.
I
want to hum along to carols, sneak
off to my room to wrap presents [and
do what else?]. Pipe down, Bree! Despite
your insistence otherwise, that is where I
really belong.
t’s Almost Eight
When I get to Brad’s. The wind
has blown up, and it’s north-pole
cold, but so far, not even a flurry.
Inside they’re watching
A Charlie
Brown Christmas.
I can’t see the TV,
but the music is unmistakable.
Brad looks my direction, smiles.
I wave him over and he follows
me into the kitchen, where I hand
him a crisp hundred. “This week
and next week,” I explain. “I lost
my job today, so I’ll have to find
another one. Didn’t want you to
get shorted in the meantime.”
[How adult of you, especially
considering you’re just about broke.]
Lost your job? What happened?
I already figured this part out.
Might not be the best idea
to tell him I didn’t want to work
Christmas. “The store manager
is a total letch. He won’t keep
his hands off me. So I quit.”
That sucks. You could probably
sue him, you know.
“Sure, if I could afford a lawyer.
Anyway, how would I prove it,
and would I really want
his
lawyer
to start digging up dirt on me?”
Good point. Well, thanks for the money.
You’re welcome to join the girls
and me for yet another encore
of
A Christmas Story. They’ve seen
it three times already, but you know…
“Thanks, Brad. But I ran into an old
friend whose band is playing at some
new club in town. He invited me to drop
by. I thought I’d go check it out.”
Wow. He looks really disappointed.
Be careful. They’re calling for—
“Snow. I know. I’ll keep an eye out,
and if it starts to snow, I promise
I’ll come straight home, okay?”
Did I just call this place home?
And why would I promise to
come straight here? Why
would I promise Brad anything?
He’s not my dad. Not my boyfriend.
[But more than a landlord, no?]
ne Shower
And three solid tokes later,
I’m off to Reno. The sky is dark,
no moon, stars, or planets in sight.
A storm is definitely brewing.
Trey is number one on my speed
dial. I give it a try but, as usual,
fall into his voice mail basket.
God, that is so annoying! Oh, well,
I feel pretty great, and I’m out
for the night, and isn’t this what
freedom is all about? I cruise
down Fourth, locate Dr. Nasty’s.
The name is perfect, the club
a dive. I dial Quade’s number, tell
him I’m here. He says to come
around back. He’ll let me in.
Glad you could make it
. Quade
gives me another hug, and this
time it’s longer, warmer.
Come
on. It’s just about showtime.
I follow him backstage. Three
guys, all dressed in personalized
leather and piercings, give Quade
a nod.
You can hang here, okay?
“No problem.” I grab a stool
as the band takes the stage,
launches a hard metal song
guaranteed to blow eardrums.
Not my favorite music,
but they play it well, one
song crashing into the next,
Quade leading the charge
with his bass. By the time
they take a break, my ears
pound and my throat is parched.
Quade comes up, puts his arm
around my shoulder.
Thirsty?
The best I can do is nod.
Me, too. I’ll get us drinks.
What’s your pleasure?
[Dangerous question.] “Um…” I’ve
never been much of a drinker,
and I’m not even sure if he’s offering
alcohol. “Whatever you’re having.”
He takes off in search of drinks.
Meanwhile, one of his bandmates
comes up.
Hi. I’m Jeremy.
You’re Quade’s old friend, huh?
I’m not sure why, but I smile
a come-on smile. [Way to go!]
“Well, I’m not that old, but we’ve
known each other a long time.”
That was a lot to say with
cotton-mouth, and Jeremy
has a clue what that means.
Now it’s his turn to smile,
and now I know where
this evening could go.
Partying with the band? Isn’t
that every girl’s dream?
t Was a Definite Party
And one that went way too late,
especially considering I was
the one donating most of the ice.
Quade didn’t touch it, but his buds
all did. He watched, more than a tad
disapprovingly, but never said a word.
He drank. A little. Smoked pot. A little.
But no meth, and no tobacco.
Bad
for the vocal cords,
he claimed.
I did it all. Enjoyed doing it all,
surrounded by three decent-looking
dudes and one who resembled
a raccoon, with black circles
swallowing his eyes and pointy
(who knows why!) yellow teeth.
Anyway, it was fun. And I have to
admit, Trey or no Trey, my attraction
to Quade is stronger than ever.
Yeah, yeah, part of that’s being
buzzed and wanting to be kissed. More
is wanting that missed-chance kiss.
As I was leaving, Damian (Raccoon
Man) pulled me aside.
Hey. Can you
score more of that crystal?
“Maybe,” I said. “But it isn’t cheap,”
added Bree, recognizing the chance
to make a little on the deal.
No problem. I’ll take a ball, if you
can get it. And I’d rather pay more
than get one that’s short.
A man [raccoon] after my own
heart. I don’t need to “borrow”
from his if I can come up with
some extra cash to apply to my own
account with Brad, who I’m
hoping will front me some.
Good thing I had plenty tonight,
to combat the alcohol. I had
half a dozen beers, something
I’ve never done before, and beyond
the high of the glass is a definite
three-point-eight low. That, plus
the pot, which I haven’t smoked
since my days with Chase, have
combined to perhaps affect my driving.
