Authors: Ellen Hopkins
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Issues, #Drugs; Alcohol; Substance Abuse, #Self-Esteem & Self-Reliance, #Dating & Sex
are “lesbian enough.” Dani thought
it was funny.
Come on. Don’t take
it seriously. They’re just jealous
.
Easier to call you a fake than to try
and wear jeans as well as you do
.
Anyway, if you need validation, I think
you’re a total lez. You don’t need
to look like a boy to prove it. Now
let’s discuss what you
do
need to do
to prove it
. We were in her car
and it had started to snow by then.
We drove to a far corner of the Rancho
San Rafael parking lot, and as dime-
size flakes turned to quarter-size,
curtaining the glass, Dani showed me
what it takes to make love to a girl.
It Is Yielding
Flesh, lush and tender as June
peaches. It is giving, gracious,
respectful. And though I lacked
experience, Dani was forgiving,
taught me what I asked to know,
left me to discover what I could.
Her kisses were typhoon, wind,
rain and lightning, storming into
open windows. She blanketed me
with velvet skin, pillowed me with
exotic perfume, lifted me onto a cloud
just one breath away from heaven.
I couldn’t say no. Didn’t say stop.
I wanted more. Wanted to go on
forever, even after the first burst of rain.
Even then, I begged for downpour.
Afterward
Iced April air touching our heated
skin and lifting, steam, I shattered
beneath the weight of identity.
Shards of uncertainty scattered,
dissipated with each frosty exhale.
Tears too long held inside dropped,
crystals encasing half-truths. Secrets.
Candor would not be denied, and
I told her everything—how I had kept
my virginity until I needed to be sure.
How I teased Sean. Challenged him,
even, only to change my mind. How I
pleaded with him to stop, the end result.
I thought she would chastise me,
say I deserved what I got. Instead
anger billowed up in her eyes.
Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. Goddamn
him to hell. Guys like that deserve
a noncommutable sentence of
castration. But why didn’t you tell?
I have to think about it. “The last
few months have been so hard,
with my brother and all. I didn’t
want more upheaval, you know?”
You mean external upheaval
.
But what about the craziness inside?
Promise, no matter what, you’ll
never shut yourself off from me
.
And what’s going on with your
brother?
I had never mentioned
Conner to her either. The subject
just hadn’t ever come up. It has now.
Despite only spilling to one person
before, I told Dani everything about
my twin and why he ended up where
he did. Well, she asked for it. I even
proposed my guilt. “I knew he was
messing around with his teacher.
If I would have told, maybe… he…”
Confessing that encouraged a new
round of tears. By then maybe, just
maybe, I was feeling sorry for
myself. But then again, why? Hadn’t
Dani just allowed me to put to one side
the people in my life who I don’t have
the power to save? Which brings me
back to church. Back to Pastor’s words.
I’m not a savior. And even he, who so
many believe was the Savior, was strung
up to die. Maybe it’s time to save myself.
On my left, my mother continues to pray
only for herself. On my right, Dad is still
impossible to read. How do I confess
to either this momentous revelation?
All the strength I felt just moments ago,
every iota of elation, deflates. I am zero.
They Don’t Have To Know
Right now. Or maybe ever. Pretty sure
Mom couldn’t care less if I marry.
And if I have kids, it will make her old.
Not the way to impress her friend flock.
I drop my head for the benediction—
the final prayer that says we can go
home. When I lift it again, I notice
Dad has turned to stare at someone
sitting in the foyer, Easter Sunday
overflow. It’s Conner. Escaped from
Aspen Springs, hungry for communion?
No, he’s flanked by some burly bruiser
and a cute, dark-haired guy who
looks very at ease here. More so than
Conner, who looks close to panic,
especially as Dad nears the door.
Mom hangs back, her motive
unclear. Is it out of respect for
Conner’s space? Or is it because
of fear? If so, what is she afraid of?
Not Sure, In Fact
Who looks more afraid, Conner
or Mom. The sanctuary empties,
and everyone crowds the food table.
I see Dad shake Conner’s hand, say
something that makes Conner nod.
If I can make my way through
the meadow of people, I should
probably say something too. Not
that I know exactly what. “You look
great, for a crazy person?” Maybe
not. I turn to Mom, who hangs back
behind me. “Aren’t you going to say hi?”
She straightens, draws herself up as
tall as she can, elevates her chin,
lifts her nose into the lily-scented
air.
I suppose it is expected of me
.
Expectations. Again. Wonder who
she’ll be more disappointed in—
her suicidal, no-longer-perfect son.
Or his twin, the not-quite-out lesbian.
Kendra
Disappointment
Can do a couple of things.
It can drop you into a giant
sucking sinkhole of
depression,
a place you have to fight
to climb out of. Or it
can trigger an epic
mania
to overcome the odds
and transform failure
into success. Say you
swing
as high as the chains will
take you because you seek
the thrill of flight, and on the
up-
kick, you lose your seat.
Injury is likely. But if you
worry about falling
down,
and never chance “up,”
the sky will remain
forever out of reach.
Reaching For The Sky
Is not such a hard thing to do, not
when everyone around you keeps
promising you have what it takes
to touch it someday. I’ve always believed
I can. But I’ve known for a long time
that it’s a long way up to that patch of blue,
and sometimes it takes extraordinary
measures to reach the stratosphere. Today
I’m going for broke. Mom drives me to
the hospital.
Are you nervous, honey?
“Uh, let’s see. She’s going to make an
incision in that flap that divides my nostrils.
Then she’s going to pull my nose skin
up between my eyes, exposing the bone
and cartilage. Two hours restructuring
those, and hopefully when she returns the skin
to its normal position, all will be well.
What could go wrong, right?” I watched
an animation of the entire procedure.
It should have made me feel more secure
about everything. Instead I almost puked.
God, I hope she doesn’t have a problem
reattaching my skin. I almost went and
read horror stories about rhinoplasty.
Decided that wasn’t such a great idea,
considering I am not going to change
my mind. So I just swallowed megadoses
of vitamins C and E, which should help
the swelling and bruising. Asked (as opposed
to Jenna’s “borrowing” method) Mom for one
of her Xanax so I could sleep last night.
No food or water after midnight. (No problem.)
And here we are, pulling into a parking
space, headed toward a surgical suite and
my skin-peeled-from-my-face adventure.
Am I nervous? Not at all! Just hope I don’t
actually haul off and vomit all over
myself. That might turn the old doc off.
Okay, then. Here we go. How exciting!
Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.
Through the big glass doors, into
the elevator, and up six floors. My legs
are a little shaky, but whether that’s from
nerves or lack of food, I can’t say for sure.
I didn’t eat anything at all yesterday.
It’s getting easier. Practice makes perfect.
I Don’t Have To Wait Long
A nurse comes to get me, hands Mom
some papers to sign. “See you on the other
side.” I follow the chubby nurse,
wondering how a health-care professional
could let herself go like that. Doesn’t
she know it’s unhealthy to be overweight?
Oh well. She’s nice enough.
Put these on.
You can change in there. And you can
leave your panties on, if it makes you more
comfortable.
Under a hospital gown, lacking
anything that resembles a back? The panties
will definitely remain on. Everything else
comes off. The gown is actually designer,
by hospital standards. Blue and pink swirls,
instead of the usual white. The hairnet
and booties are white, however. Nondesigner.
When I come out of the bathroom, Dr.
Kane is waiting.
How are you feeling?
Do you have any questions for me?
When I say no, she points to a wheel-
chair.
Your chariot awaits. We’ll take
you down to the OR and introduce