Tilt (13 page)

the day she had me. I’ve heard it

was a tough labor. Maybe she’d rather

not retrograde to the delivery room.

I gave up. Went and called Lucas, who

is an asshole, but his brother scores

awesome weed. He picked me up and

we’re on our way to get Chad,

who is almost as big an asshole as Lucas.

But beggars (of weed, that is) can’t choose

the company their suppliers keep. “Where

does Clay get this stuff?” I try not to exhale

too much smoke around my words.

Lucas shrugs.
Some guy he knows

has a Humboldt connect. Clay buys it.

I borrow it. Hope he never catches me.

No Shit

Clay is huge. If I were Lucas, I’d be wary

about “borrowing” anything from him.

We pull into the driveway of a cute little

house with perfect paint and a pretty yard.

“Chad lives
here
?” The house so misrepresents

him. “Are his parents clean freaks, or what?”

Lucas laughs.
Don’t know about that,

but his mom is, like, hot. Not that you’d

care. And I think she’s divorced, although

last time I was here, some creepy guy

was hanging all over her. Guess he’s moving

in. Chad’s not happy about that at all.

Lucas beeps and Chad comes slinking

out the door—a lizard on two legs.

Behind him is his mom—a tall, skinny

redhead with impossible breasts. Plastic.

Even if I were straight, I wouldn’t find

her hot. But the dude grabbing her from

behind obviously does. Wait. Holy shit.

I think it’s Harley’s dad. I haven’t seen

him in a really long time, but . . . yeah.

Pretty sure it’s him. Chad ignores both

of them, though I can see his mom saying

something to him. He waves her off.

Then he notices me and if scowls could kill,

I’d be a corpse. He settles into the backseat.

Gets straight to the point.
Why you hang

with fags, dude?
Lucas’s face goes red,

but he keeps quiet, so I answer, “As friends

go, fags are totally nonthreatening, unless

you happen to be questioning your own

sexuality. Are you, uh, worried, Chad?”

That was a lot more fun than admitting Lucas

is not really my friend and only consorts

with me because of the money I give him

for weed that he steals from his brother.

Chad Sputters a Denial

And that’s all good. Just wanted

to make him squirm. “You can take

me home,” I tell Lucas. Let the boys

play without me. Who needs them?

I got my weed, and it’s my birthday,

and in just a few hours, when I see

Alex, this upside-down place I find

myself in will right itself. I mean,

I’m
the queer here. So why do I feel

like I’m the only normal one in this

piece of crap stinking car? But I’ll

want to score again sometime, so

I don’t say that, nor do I say that

the reason gay guys prefer girls for

friends is because they’re not hung

up on dick size. (Well, not personal

dick size, anyway.) When we park

in front of my house, Chad draws

a needle-sharp breath and I take sick

satisfaction in his obvious envy.

Of Course, He Doesn’t Know

That all the money in the world couldn’t

fill this beautiful big old house with

happiness. That the expensive furniture

and art were bought with loneliness.

Mom’s. Mine. Can’t say for sure Shelby

is lonely. Maybe she’s content, adrift

in bed, Barney and Dora and the Playhouse

Disney gang for company. Maybe she is,

in fact, happy. But Mom wears sadness

like skin—tight and irreversible. Dad?

I’d say he was born pissed, but if I dig

way deep into memory, I can see him

playing with me. Laughing with Mom.

Now, all he wants is to be away from

the home he works so hard to pay for.

I slip through the front door. No balloons.

No presents. No party. No surprise.

Only silence. Happy birthday to me.

Chad

Surprises

I hate surprises.

Nothing good ever

comes from them. There

are

little ones, like finding

a spider all limp and wet in

the bottom of your glass

after you’ve gulped

the

soda. There are medium

ones, like your buddy pulling

up with a fag in his car and

it’s obvious that the

source of

the smell inside is the blunt

they’ve been sharing. Gay spit.

Creepy. And then there are giant

surprises, the ones that give you

nightmares.

Like when your mom moves

a new guy into your house

and the asshole wants to play

substitute father.

Harley

I Can’t Believe

Almost a month of summer

is gone already. Fourth of July

is in just a few days. Fireworks!

Mom doesn’t know it yet,

but we’re going to watch them

with Dad and Cassie. And Chad.

At least I hope he’ll come, too.

I’m going to wear my new blue

short shorts and red-and-white

striped tank top. I can’t believe

how good I look in them. If I

keep up the dieting and exercise,

by the time school starts I’ll be

hot. Maybe I’ll even make

the cheerleading squad, except

I think you have to be stuck-up.

I wonder if I was stuck-up,

would Chad like me better?

Seems Like Guys

Go for the conceited girls.

Don’t ask me why. Seems weird

to me. It’s not just because they’re

pretty. Some of them aren’t all that much

to look at. Cassie says it’s the way they present

themselves, like you’d have to be dense not to notice

how incredible they are. Maybe I should practice thinking

too much of myself. Maybe I already do. I mean, I know

Chad is way out of my league. But still, this little part

of me believes I can make him like me if I just can

figure out how to please him. Losing weight is

a good start. But there has to be something

more. He’s nice enough when Cassie

makes him do stuff with me. But

otherwise, he barely notices I’m there.

Dad says he’s sulky. I think he’s sultry.

Mom says I need to quit obsessing. I think

it’s better to be obsessed than to be depressed.

Brianna says things happen in their own time. (Has

she been listening to my mother?) I think pushing to get

what you want can’t be so awful. I think it’s key to success.

Maybe I’ll Talk to Gram

About it. Mom and Bri and I are going

camping with Gram and Gramps tonight.

I’ve got awesome grandparents. I mean, they’re