Tilt (16 page)

She goes from being taut with anger

to whipping-cream-soft from sadness.

I wish I could see her happy for once.

Would it make her happy to know

I think I’ve fallen in love? “Hey, Mom.

Guess what. I met someone, and . . .”

What the hell am I thinking? Even if

she was okay with me talking about

hooking up with a guy, she has other

stuff on her mind, as evidenced by

her empty-eyed stare. Still, she tries,

What? Sorry. I was a million miles away.

“I know. Never mind. It’s not important.”

She nods, returns her gaze to the window.

I back away, leave her lost in her worry.

As soon as I’m out of earshot, I call Alex.

He’s working. Incommunicado until

six. I leave him a message. “I’ve been

thinking about you. About us. Can we

get together tonight? I really need you.”

Alex

Messages

Are like secrets. Sometimes

you totally don’t want to hear

them. Don’t want to discern

the razor-edged meaning they

can

slice you with. Sometimes

the number attached to

a voice-mail warning will

make

your breath turn thick

as marshmallow because

you know a single sentence

could make you smile

or

break

your heart, and so you hesitate

to retrieve it. Some messages infuse

personal shadow with light.

Others will annihilate

your

day.

Mikayla

Ruining My Day

Seems to be my dad’s summer

hobby this year. Okay, maybe—

just maybe—I deserved getting

grounded again for sneaking

out. Or maybe—just maybe—

I deserved it for getting caught

sneaking out. On the other hand,

I’m just shy of eighteen. Pretty

soon my parents won’t be able

to control my every move. Maybe

Dad should consider that before

he tries to rein me in so tightly.

Anyway, it’s not like I’m out

robbing banks or stealing cars.

(Well, technically I guess I’m

stealing my own, since I’m not

allowed to drive it when I’m

grounded.) All I want is to see

Dylan. God, three days away

from him and I freaking climb

the walls. Tonight, at least, is

Fourth of July. My family’s new

tradition is to combine fireworks

with a minor league baseball game.

The Reno Aces play at a stadium

right on the Truckee River, and

they shoot off giant sky sparklers

post-play. Dad got his usual

seats behind home plate, but

general admission people can

sit on the grassy hills above

the outfield. Dylan is a GA kind

of guy. My cell has been confiscated,

and I had to give back Bri’s when

I got busted with it, so I’m on the land

line, jelling things with Dylan. “See

you around six.” Just as I’m about

to hang up, I notice the phone status:

conference call. “Bri? Is that you?”

But it is not my sister who answers

me. It’s my pain-in-the-ass brother.

Nope. Not Bri.
Oh, shit. Trace’s

interference has caused me to

get busted more than once. And

now I can hear him call down

the stairs, toward the family room,

Hey, Dad. Did you know Dylan

is coming to the game with us?

That brat needs to die. Now what

do I do? The best defense is a solid

offense, right? The plan was
not

for Dylan to come to the game

with us (as my brother knows).

But maybe if I say it was, it will

defuse what just might be

an ugly situation. One day soon,

Trace will be very, very sorry.

I Plaster On

My most innocent, contrite face

and go see what I can do. Dad catches

me coming down the stairs.
What’s

this about Dylan? He is most definitely

not
coming with us to the game tonight.

What would make you think he was?

“I want you and Mom to get to know

him. I thought it would be a good way

to do that. Maybe then you wouldn’t be

so suspicious of him—or of us. We love

each other, Dad. And you’d like him,

too, if you’d just give him a chance.”

If I didn’t care about trying to make

this work, I might have to smile at the way

anger creeps, red, all the way up my dad’s

neck, igniting his face.
I have absolutely no

desire to spend my day off getting to know

your derelict druggie boyfriend.
He is yelling,

so I respond in similar fashion. “Dylan

is not a derelict. How can you call him

that when you haven’t ever even met

him? You are completely unfair!”

Suddenly, Mom slams in through the door,

dripping sweat from her morning run.

What is going on?
she huffs.
Do you

two know any other way to communicate?

Play it up! “Dad says Dylan can’t

come to the game with us tonight.”