Glass (14 page)

Is so easy to do,

semibuzzed and

knowing I need to

crash,

knowing I most

definitely
will

crash

as soon as everyone

eats and drinks their

fill, goes on home.

Except,

of course, I’ll have

to deal with Mom’s

wrath, Scott’s

inquisition,

Leigh’s hurt [real

or imagined], Heather’s

delight at my

torment,

a possible [make

that highly probable]

confrontation

between all of the above

and my father, the troll,

and his

miserable

fairy, Linda Sue. I do

feel sorry for her, and

I’m starting to feel pretty

sorry

for myself, too. Okay,

it’s looking to turn

out to be a

sleepless

toss-and-turn,

dissolve-slowly-

into-morning night

after all.

Since Hunter became an official

candidate for the kingdom of heaven.

Three weeks and one day since

Dad and Linda Sue left Mom’s insults

in their exhaust. Three weeks and two

days since Leigh and Heather flew

back to their swanky campus, leaving

me with no unequivocal answers

about cheerleaders and their diet aids

or what, exactly, lesbians do for fun.

Three weeks and three days since I

started work at the 7-Eleven.

Three weeks and three days of learning

to stock shelves, scan items, clear gas

pumps, make coffee and hot dogs. Three

weeks and three days of Kevin’s leers

[not to mention “accidental” gropes]

and semirude comments about

the growing appeal of my shrinking

behind.
It even looks good covered

by a smock!
A nasty green smock,

over looser and looser jeans.

Not that I’ve been into the monster—

not much, anyway. I only have a tiny bit

left, and I haven’t looked to score

more. I only take a quick toke or two

when Hunter doesn’t sleep through

the night and I have to be at work

by seven. Quarter till, actually, but I rarely

punch in before 7:03 or 7:04.

The job isn’t bad, actually. Not great.

Not life-changing. But not as boring

as I thought it would be. At least

it’s around people. Some I even know.

Old classmates. Old teachers. [Really

old, most of them.] Old party pals.

And hey. Tomorrow is my first paycheck.

How will I celebrate? Hmm.

I have definitely vacillated about

scoring again. I want to. Don’t want to.

Need to. Can’t. Bree is screaming

for the monster. Kristina keeps trying

to say no. But somewhere deep inside

she thinks Bree will win.

[You know you want me to.]

The only real question is when.

With a phone call. Unexpected.

Anticipated. I happen to be on

a smoke break (yes, I’ve taken up

the habit again—big surprise)

when my cell begins to chime.

Kristina? It’s Trey. I’m

in Reno. Can we hook up?

OMG! He wants to hook up

with me? My heart starts to pound,

and my hands go clammy. And

then it strikes me he probably

wants the hundred I owe him.

I’d like to collect that debt.

And talk about that “interest.”

OMG! Maybe he wants more

than money. Am I prepared to give

it to him? [Hell, yeah!] “I don’t

get off work until four. I could

meet up with you after that.”

Sounds like a plan. Oh, are

you by any chance looking?

Looking for what? [To score,

idiot.] “Um…” I’m not looking,

am I? [Of course you are.]

“Well…uh…yes, actually, I guess

I am.” Question answered.

Great. I’ll give you a taste

of what I’ve got. You’ll love it.

No doubt about that! And I’ll

probably like the ice, too. I tell

him where he can find me, hang

up the phone, and go back inside

to stock shelves and think about Trey.

Think about anything else

for the rest of the day.

I haven’t thought seriously

about a guy since Chase

went away. And Trey?

I don’t really believe

I might have a chance

with him. [Well,
I do!]

No, I don’t think Bree

really thinks so either.

He’s gorgeous. Smart.

Built. Has a spectacular

connection, unlike Grade

E and his rapist connect.

I guess Trey’s connection

could be a rapist. At least

I won’t have to know

about it from firsthand

experience. [Speaking

of hands, wonder how his

will feel, touching me.]

Hold on now. I still don’t

know that’s what he has

in mind. [Come on. Of course

it’s what he’s got in mind.]

Just stop. Won’t do to get

all hot and bothered on

a definite maybe. Anyway,

I’ve got to concentrate,

get through this shift.

From the cash stash in my purse,

round out my drawer, stow

my inelegant green smock on a hook

in the back room, run to the bathroom

to take a quick peek in the mirror.

My hair is pulled back in a tight

ponytail. I let it loose, and it falls

past my shoulders, shiny and smooth.

Mascara! I search my purse, to no

avail. Guess what I’ve got left

from this morning will have to do.

I don’t look bad, don’t look great.

Oh, well. Trey will be here any-

time. Luckily, I keep my birthday

bread in my wallet. I count out

a hundred, tuck it into my jeans.

I wish I was wearing the tight

ones. These leave plenty to

the imagination, a defense

against Kevin’s obnoxious stares.

Okay, breath mints. A spritz of nice

perfume. (Jake’s unexpected

birthday gift—who told him

how to shop for fragrance?)

I walk out the door just as Trey

pulls up in a stunning new

black-on-black Mustang.

Guess he’s doing okay.

He exits his car, comes over,

and gulps me into his arms like

we’re forever friends.
Great to see

you. Let’s go for a drive.

“Nice ride. Guess I wouldn’t

mind checking it out.”

[Way to play it cool. But

I can’t wait to heat things up.]

Up Virginia Grade,

a well-kept gravel road

into the boonies. I study

his face,

chiseled and handsome,

even in profile, the not-

quite-black shade of

his eyes.

He asks how I’ve been,

what all I’ve been up to,

and my focus shifts to

his lips,

pouting and perfect. As I

outline the last three weeks,

I notice the breadth of

his shoulders.

He’s built, so he must do

something besides deal,

something physical.

His biceps

don’t deny that notion.

They tense as he shifts,

making me tense too.

His thighs

lean but strong, make

me even more tense.

[Go on. Touch them.]

He’s the whole package,

okay, and I want to unwrap

it, explore what’s inside,

under the denim.

This looks okay, don’t you think?

I agree, “Looks good to me.”

Hope you’re ready to rocket.

I give a brisk nod. “Way overdue.”

Excellent.
He loads his pipe, hands

it to me. I can’t help but smile

at the meth—a clear shard of glass.

I inhale gently, gratefully, pass

it back for him to do the same,

close my eyes to ride the giant rush.

Trey is generous. Within a few minutes,

I have climbed to a very tall buzz.

So what do you think? Was I lying?

“It’s the best meth I’ve ever done.”

He touches my knee.
You want more?

“Absolutely.” [And more glass, too.]

The price drops a lot for a quantity.

Heat pulses at my temples. “Like…?”

We could get a half for eight hundred.

If we split that, double last time, for…

It’s just sitting there, waiting for us.

I owe him a hundred, plus four…

To help my decision, he passes the pipe.

“I get paid tomorrow. Can you wait?”

I’ll be here. But I don’t want to wait for…

We’re kissing. Long. Deep. Amazing.

My head spins and my heart pounds

and Bree is demanding more, more,

and suddenly, there is no Adam, no

Chase, and there never, ever was.

Before things go overboard.

Stop?

Stop before we go all the way.

Stop?

Stop before I want to.

Can’t stop.

“Don’t,” I plead. “I can’t.”

Why not?

“Not on a first date…”

Come on!

“…even if it isn’t a date.”

Tease.

Déjà vu. “Not even.”

What then?

“Try me on a second date?”

And if I do?

“No promises, but kiss me like that…”

If I kiss you

again now?

“It’s still our first date.”

A girl with

principles?

“Most would argue with that.”

Maybe I like

that.

“Maybe I like you.”

Maybe I like

you, too.

“Well, then let me tell

you a story….”

He knows more about me

than anyone but Chase does.

In fact, he knows more about

me than Chase does, because

he knows exactly how I feel

about Chase. Adam. Heather.

Leigh. Jake. Scott. Mom.

And Brendan. He knows all

about Brendan.

Ten minutes later he could be

a total jerk, tell me my past

has nothing to do with him.

He could say,
Put out or get out.

But he doesn’t. He says,

You weren’t to blame. The meth

was not to blame. Only that

asshole was to blame. In a fairer

world, he would be dead.

I’m crying now, crying because

I’m high. Crying because he

cares, or at least pretends to.

Crying because it fucking

feels good to cry. Trey takes

me solidly into his arms, tells

me,
No shame in crying. No

shame in hating. Go ahead, hate

him. He deserves that and more.

Then he kisses me again.

Tender, this time. Soft.

Unexpectedly compassionate.

I kiss him back. Tearful. Needy.

Filled with questions. Hungry.

Finally, he pulls away.
I’ll take

you back to your car now. And

I’ll wait for our second date.

As long as it’s tomorrow.

Of sleep tonight.

I know that without

trying. Even if I wasn’t

totally wired out of my tree,

thinking about Trey would

keep my mental wheels

turning. Churning.

I managed to

choke down dinner,

a major accomplishment,

Meth usually makes me yak.

But not tonight. Tonight, all

I could think about was

Trey. Trey. Trey.

I mean, yes, I’m

happy. Excited, even.

But nothing seems to go

right between me and a guy.

[Stop overthinking it,

would you please?]

I’m trying to!

I really like Trey

a lot. He’s incredible.

So what does he want with

me? Besides the obvious, that

is, and he could get that

with pretty much any

girl. Why me?