Authors: Ellen Hopkins
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Issues, #Drugs; Alcohol; Substance Abuse, #Self-Esteem & Self-Reliance, #Dating & Sex
to the raised ridge of collarbone. His tongue
slides across it.
Mmm. Delicious. What else
can I taste?
He finds other places, each
more intimate than the last, and I am beyond
ready to let him take me all the way
there. But just as I think we finally
will, he sits up. Pulls far away. I don’t
know what to say except, “Don’t stop.”
I’m sorry,
he answers.
I can’t stay.
And
even though I can still feel his hand
stroking the hill of my hip, he is gone.
I wake, crying out for someone never there.
I Don’t Feel Light Anymore
I feel like someone has tied bricks
to my arms and legs. Weighted by loss,
I lie immobile for maybe twenty minutes,
eyes closed, hoping I’ll fall back into
the dream, find Conner has changed
his mind. But I don’t sleep. Don’t dream.
Across the room, I hear Jenna stir.
She always sleeps late on weekends.
If I’m still in bed, it usually means
I’m sick. When she notices me, she gasps.
But she doesn’t bother being quiet.
What’s up with you? Got the flu?
My head never leaves the pillow.
“Don’t know.” What am I going
to say? That I want to go searching
for Conner? “Why do you care?”
I don’t want to catch anything nasty.
Keep your germs all to yourself.
She goes to the closet, digs for a bit,
emerges with one of my favorite
sweaters—a cornflower angora.
Hey.
Can I wear this? Pretty please?
Is she crazy? “Not even. Not
the way you treat my clothes.”
It doesn’t fit you anymore, anyway.
She slips it on.
See? Just right.
I have to admit it looks great on her,
accentuating each and every curve.
I would probably swim in it. “Okay.”
When was the last time I wore it?
Jenna Goes To Shower
And when she emerges from the bath-
room, steam trailing her, there’s something
about her that I can’t attribute to the sweater,
or the makeup, or the way she has blow-dried
her long white-gold hair. At last, I pull myself
upright. “Um… got a big date or something?”
Fact is, I’ve never seen her with a guy.
Didn’t know she even had one on her radar.
She smiles.
Don’t know how “big”
it is. But I guess you could call it
a date. It’s just lunch and a movie.
She doesn’t volunteer more, and
I know she’s expecting me to want
information. I definitely do. “With who?”
Her grin widens.
I met him at your
plastic surgeon’s office. He’s her son.
Her Son?
Okay, wait. Process… process…
“So, you mean…” She can’t be serious.
He’s black? Yep. Definitely black.
And really cute. And smart. And rich…
Won’t mean a thing to our father, who’s a half
step away from the KKK. “Uh, what about…?”
Her face darkens, eclipsed by thoughts
of Daddy.
I don’t give a damn about Dad.
“Well, you should. He didn’t walk out
on Mom, you know.” We’ve had this
argument before. Her answer will be
the same as always.
That doesn’t mean
he needs to take it out on me… or you.
We didn’t ask Mom to leave him.
She’s totally right. Daddy pretty much
pretends we don’t even exist anymore.
We sometimes get cards on our birthdays,
once in a while with Wal-Mart gift cards
inside. Ditto Christmas. But he never asks
to see us. I think we remind him too much
of Mom. One thing’s for sure, though.
If he finds out Jenna’s going out with
a black guy, he will most definitely take
an interest. “Okay, well, it’s all fine by me.
Just remember guys are mostly only
after one thing.” I sound like a mom.
Her smile returns.
Even when
you’re dreaming about them?
Oh my God. “What do you mean?”
Now I really feel sick. Burning up.
Jenna laughs.
You talk in your sleep
sometimes. And sometimes you moan.
I Throw My Pillow
It misses her by a mile, and it comes
to me that we haven’t shared a sister
moment like this in quite a while.
Not since we moved in with Patrick.
I have to get ready to go now.
Andre’s picking me up at eleven.
Eleven? Holy crap. I slept away
most of the morning. Not a good
way to burn calories. I’ll have to
work out an extra hour. I try not
to look at the mirror as I make my
way to the toilet for an overdue pee.
When I come out of the bathroom,
I glance out the window just in time
to see Jenna scoot into a hot little
Audi. Metallic blue. Nice car. I hope
this Andre person is nice too. My sister
pisses me off regularly, but I don’t want
to see her get hurt. And a guy is the surest
path to heartbreak that I know. I put on
sweats, pull my hair back into a ponytail.
If I’m going to work out for two hours,
I have to eat something. Our kitchen
is the devil’s den, the cupboards filled
with carb-laden crap. The kind that
goes straight to your thighs and belly.
The fridge is a little better. I’ve become
an expert label reader and calorie counter.
One orange: thirty-five calories, eight grams
carbs. Ten grapes: thirty calories, nine
grams carbs. One tomato: nine calories,
two grams carbs. I choose the tomato.
One Tomato
Two thin slices of Healthy Fare
turkey, and two glasses of water
later, I make a call. “Hello? Is Sean
there?” Long pause while his little
brother goes to look for him. Finally,
Uh, no. He’s got baseball practice.
“Oh. Well, this is Kendra. I was hoping
to use your workout equipment.” Why pay
for a gym when the O’Connells have
state-of-the-art stuff in their basement?
Wade doesn’t hesitate.
You can use
it. But only if you let me watch.
Pervert
freshman. But, hey, what do I care
if he gets off on watching me sweat?
By The Time I Get There
Wade has rounded up a friend. They follow me
downstairs, stare as I program the elliptical
to level five. Cardio first. Weights after.
The guys stand there, gawking. Might as well
give ’em a good show. I strip down to a sports
bra and Lycra pants. “Can you turn on the TV,
maybe find a music channel?” Wade obliges,
and I climb on the machine, tune into the music,
find my zone. Breathe in. Breathe out. Lose
track of time. Push myself harder. Forget about
freshman eyes and banter. Breathe deeper
as sweat trickles turn to rivulets, carry away
toxins. One tomato, two turkey slices. Fat.
Breathe. Burn fat. Forget about the taunts
of the mirror and too many hours tangled in sleep,
deep woods perfume, and the arms of a ghost.
Sean
Arms
Worked to the max.
Pumped to capacity.
Muscles bathing in lactic
acid. Slow build to
burning.
Lift. Rest. Stretch.