Authors: Ellen Hopkins
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Issues, #Drugs; Alcohol; Substance Abuse, #Self-Esteem & Self-Reliance, #Dating & Sex
Push to the edge
of “can’t,” knowing
the only way to leave
your mark
is sheer devotion to
the power of “can.”
Focus. Empty every
negative thought
into
a box labeled “not
allowed.” Embrace
the pain, now electric.
Brand your name into
the skin of history.
Bulking Up
I look in the mirror, like what
I see—triceps building. Pecs,
and flexors, too. The last,
hugely important to sending
a baseball over the fence.
But it’s not just my upper
body I work. Core muscles.
Leg muscles. All must sync
to become the best I can be,
and the best hitter in Grizzlies
history. Scratch that. Nevada
state high school history.
No lesser goal will do, and
to help me attain it, I have
resorted to help-in-a-bottle.
No more over-the-counter stuff.
No, this is the real steroidal
deal, brought to me courtesy
of Thailand, through a trusted
source. It isn’t cheap. I had to
dip into my savings account,
but hey, what else is that
money for, if not helping
me get into college? Might
be a warped way of looking
at it, although any seriously
ambitious athlete would
probably understand.
Yeah, I’m taking a chance,
but not a big one because,
despite what I told Bobby,
tests for steroids are really
expensive. Without solid
suspicion, most coaches
won’t ask for random ones.
And my guess is that if
a team is winning games
by breaking home run
records, most coaches
will close their eyes.
Case In Point
Uncle Jeff, who is definitely
closing his eyes, but whether
it’s on purpose or just because,
I really don’t know. Today
we are in the basement, lifting
together. He wants to be
buff too.
Take it easy, son.
You can use the heavier weights
for your legs, but don’t risk
injuring your arm muscles.
I know he means well, but it
isn’t the first time he’s told
me the very same thing. I’m
not fricking stupid. But I say,
“Okay, dude.” Three more reps.
You know, push-ups are good
for your baseball groove too.
Did he really just say baseball
groove? I nod and do another
set while he starts in on squats.
The fatherly advice is really
starting to bug me, so when
he asks about Cara, my face
prickles irritation. But I say,
“I think she’s mad at me.”
Women. Give ’em an inch
and they’ll want the whole
yardstick.
Huff. Puff.
Did
you get her something nice
for Valentine’s Day, I hope?
“Val—Shit. Is that today?”
I forgot all about it. Well, at
least it gives me the excuse
to say, “I have to run into Reno.
Thanks for the workout, Jeff.”
Showered And Dressed
I call Cara’s cell, half expecting
her not to pick up. But she does.
“Hey, you. It’s Friday. We’re going
to get together tonight, right?
You’re not mad, are you?”
She is quiet for a few seconds.
I’m not mad at you, Sean. But
I’m busy tonight. It’s Galena’s
last basketball game and
I have to cheer, remember?
“But it’s Valentine’s Day
and I have something
special for you.…” God,
I’m such a liar. “Please?
I know you’re going to love
it.” Whatever “it” ends up
being. She agrees to meet
me after the game, but her
voice is tinted with reluctance.
Why, if she’s not mad at me?
My Hand
Is on the front doorknob,
just starting to turn it, when
Uncle Jeff comes down the hall
from the kitchen.
Wait. You
might take a look at this.
He hands me a shiny ad
from Zales Jewelers.
GIFTS FOR YOUR
VALENTINE, it says
at the top. FROM $39.99.
They’re at Meadowood Mall.
One word of advice, though.
If you really think she’s mad
at you, I’d spend more than
thirty-nine ninety-nine.
Then he really surprises
me, handing me a crisp
C-note.
That’s the minimum
necessary
to make an angry
woman not angry anymore.
I stand, hundred between
thumb and forefinger, not
quite graspinn this sudden
generosity. “But… why?”
I try to give the money back.
He shakes his head.
I want
you to have it. There’s more
to life than baseball. Before
you and Cara started dating,
I was worried you’d never
figure that out. I want you
to succeed at your sport,
but not at the expense of
your happiness. She makes
you happy. Make her happy too.
I Want To Make Her Happy
I really do. But I’m not
sure jewelry is enough.
Cara is a riddle with no
evident clues. Sometimes
she just fills the whole space
around me with light. Other
times, she covers me with
shadow. And I’m not sure
why. She’s beautiful. Talented.
Brilliant. Rich. She has it all.
I think about her all the way
to the mall. Zales is crowded
with last-minute shoppers
like me. Mostly men. Trying
to make their women happy.
A glitter of diamond chips
catches my eye. The old-
fashioned necklace is three