Authors: Ellen Hopkins
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Issues, #Drugs; Alcohol; Substance Abuse, #Self-Esteem & Self-Reliance, #Dating & Sex
even ask about the pictures.
GBME:
Ha! Maybe she’s
already seen them.
“No way. Don’t be ridiculous.”
GBME:
You never know.
Deputy Rossiter:
Who in the hell
are you talking to back there?
“No one. Sorry. Just processing.”
GBME:
Maybe Aunt Mo is a lezbo
too. Maybe she’d like them.
“Aunt Mo is so not a lezbo.”
GBME:
You never know.
Deputy Rossiter:
Did you know
crazy people talk to themselves?
“I am not crazy.”
GBME:
You never know.
The Booking Process
Takes a lot of time. Retinal
scan: check. Personal info:
check. Photographing,
face forward, right, left:
check. Fingerprinting:
check. Every step, all new
to me, just another day
at jail for the intake
officer. Now a nurse
comes to take some blood
and ask a lot of questions
about my medical history.
“What’s the blood for?”
The question seems fair,
but the mastiff-faced nurse
seems totally put out by it.
She rolls her big bug eyes.
To identify certain diseases,
of course.
She squints at my
pupils.
Screen for substances …
The familiar nervous prickling
begins at the base of my skull,
creeps upward. “Like what?”
Mastiff Nurse:
Why, you worried
about something in particular?
GBME:
You really need to learn
when to keep your mouth shut.
“Uh, no. Just curious is all.”
My face flushes embers.
It must be cranberry red.
Mastiff Nurse:
Are you currently
taking any medications?
GBME:
A simple “no” will do.
“Would you please shut up?”
Mastiff Nurse:
Excuse me?
GBME:
I’ll shut up if you will.
Andre
If You Will
Only
pause, as you hurry
through your days,
take a minute to
look
at passersby, beyond
cursory skin-deep
analysis, all the way
into
their eyes, what beauty
you might find woven
from the life threads there.
If you will only look past
my
clumsy attempts at love,
sound the depths of
emotion in my
heart,
what haven you might
find in the soft surf
of my harbor.
Birthdays
Have never really felt like such a big
thing. Certain ones stand
out—my fifth, when my gramps took me
to Disneyland and Cinderella kissed
me. I thought she was
the most beautiful lady in the universe.
My eleventh, when we went to San Francisco
and watched a street dance
competition in Golden Gate Park. I’d been
practicing on the sly, but wasn’t nearly as
good as I thought I was.
Seeing those b-boys do one-armed handstands
made me believe I could do one too. I tried,
landed on my head. Never
knew a tiny head wound could bleed so much.
My sixteenth, when I got my driver’s license
and
the Quattro on the same
day. Mom wanted my first car to be a safe one.
Today is my eighteenth birthday. Jenna
and I are celebrating
tonight. It’s someone else’s party we’re going
to, but that’s okay. I haven’t seen her in over
a week, and I can’t believe
how much I’ve missed her. Don’t know if
absence actually makes the heart grow
fonder, but it definitely
makes it ache. Should love be painful?
I’m getting ready when someone knocks
on my bedroom door.
Mom.
May I come in?
Birthday present?
I’m shirtless, but she’s seen me that way
a time or two.
“Of course.” I step back and she brushes by.
Your father had to fly to Oakland. Your
grandmother has been ill.
She’s out of danger for now, but they
are moving her into a nursing home.
I thought you might
try and get down to see her as soon as
school is out. Your grandfather would
like that too. He’s asking
about you and your plans for next year.
Gramps, too? “Why didn’t anyone tell
me that Grandma Grace
was sick? Is she going to be okay?”
When people get older, their bodies
deteriorate. You can
make the outside look better, but you
can’t always control what’s going on
inside. She has brain
cancer. Inoperable. But she’s not in pain.
Guilt smacks me in the face. How long
since I’ve even called to
say hello? “How long does she have?”
A Few Months
That’s it. The truth of death grabs me
by the shoulders. Shakes.
Mom comes over, puts her arms around
me. She hasn’t held me like this since
I was little.
I’m sorry.
I know you were close. And I’m sorry I
had to give you the news on your birthday.
She would want you to
go to your party, though. For Grace, death
is a beginning. She’s a woman of strong
faith. I wish I was. It
would make the day-to-day living easier.
Easier? How much easier could it be
for her? What is she
afraid of? “Are you afraid of dying?”
Her arms fall away, as if they have been
around me too long.
She smiles.
Only when I think about it.
She has always seemed ageless to me,
like time has no way
of touching her. I understand now that
no one is immune to time’s embrace. One
day I will lose her. She
goes to the door, hesitates.
Happy birthday.
Before he left, your father made a deposit
into your savings account.
Use some of it for a mad splurge, okay?
“Okay.” One day I will lose them both.
“Hey, Mom? I love you.”
I think I need to tell her that more often.
I love you, too, Andre. Very much. Now,
go have fun. Just be
smart about it. I want you to make nineteen.
The Party
Is up Jumbo Grade. The pavement ends
at the first cattle guard,
and the Quattro bumps along the packed
dirt.
Why are you driving so slow?
complains Jenna.
This is a four-wheel drive, isn’t it?
“It’s all-wheel drive, but that doesn’t
mean it was built for
off-roading. I don’t want to tear it up.”
You should get a Hummer. That would
be fun.
As usual, she has
already been drinking. Tequila, tonight.
“Where do you come up with all your
alcohol? You can’t
just keep taking it from your parents.”
She laughs.
No, I only take a few sips
from theirs. Patrick
is a tightwad. He’d definitely miss it.
It’s not that hard to get guys to buy
it for me, though.
I wait outside a grocery store and ask.
“Oh.” I can picture the scene clearly.
“And what do you offer
them in return for helping you out?”
Nothing! Hey, are you jealous? I might
flirt, but I wouldn’t
follow through. Once they hand it over,
I say thanks. That’s it. What do you
think I am, anyway?
She unscrews the Cuervo, takes a long
pull off the bottle, and I’m tempted to tell
her too much. “How much do
you drink every day?” I want her to say it’s
not every day. She doesn’t.
I don’t know.
Enough to relax me, help
me sleep. Don’t worry. It’s under control.
Obviously
It’s under control enough that she has
finished a pint before
we even get to the party. By the time
we spot the bonfire, up on a little mesa,
she is starting to slur.
There it is. Hey. D’you think it’s sh-safe
having a fire up here?
Well, she’s clear
enough to think about
that, she’s probably not too drunk. Yet.
“Considering this place was under
snow not long ago,
I think we’ll be fine. I’ll turn around
and park downhill just in case, though.”
Some twenty cars are
already lined up along the escape route.
I park below them, so it’s a long uphill
walk to join the people
gathered around the fire. Most have plastic
cups in their hands, filled with Budweiser
from the keg someone
supplied. Heavy smoke, not campfire-scented,
hangs in the air. I haven’t smelled weed since
we moved here. Plenty
of it in Oakland, though I never indulged.
Jenna, big surprise, goes straight for
the group passing
the blunt.
Hey, Bobby. Hey, Aubree.
She sucks in a lungful of green-smelling
weed. Tries not to cough
as she says,
Did you hear about Sean?
His lawyer says they have enough evidence
for a trial.
She offers me
the J. I decline, and she passes it on to
the Bobby person.
Yeah, I know. He thought
Coach was gonna
kick him off the team, but they’re letting him
stay, at least until he gets convicted, if he
does. You don’t think
Cara will actually testify against him?