Tilt (36 page)

her parents really needed to know.

She’ll get over it. She has to.

Mom says when I start high school

I’ll make new friends. That’s all right.

But Bri will always be my best friend.

The Worst Thing

About telling Mom about Mikayla

was having to hear, from my mother,

the dirty little details of sex. The kind

you definitely don’t get in sex ed.

I know you’re not having sex yet,

was how she started the conversation,

boring into my eyes with hers, trying

to figure out if that happens to be true.

And I know you got all the basics in

school, so I won’t go there. What I

want to talk to you about is the things

that might convince you to go all the way.

Go all the way
creeped me out

immediately, and things didn’t get

better. First, she outlined the obvious

lines some guys use to convince

you not to use protection—how it’s

not possible to get preggo the first

time you do it; how he’s great at

pulling out; how he’s def sterile.

That was kind of funny, actually.

But then she got into really weird

stuff, like how foreplay makes you

want to do more, only she didn’t call

it foreplay, she called it “digital

penetration” and “oral stimulation.”

And that really made me picture

Mom doing that stuff, and it grossed

me out totally, so I just promised to

keep it in mind whenever at some

way
future date I might be in that

position. And that should have been

the end of it, except then she felt

the need to confess that foreplay

and what came after was the reason

she and Dad ended up getting married

their senior year in high school. I might

have had a big sister or brother, except

Mom lost that baby. When I asked if

that meant she never loved Dad,

she said,
I thought I did, at the time.

I Watch Dad Now

Futzing around, trying to build

a campfire while Cassie cooks

hot dogs on a rusting barbecue.

Are they really in love? Or just

thinking they are, at this time?

Love is a fragile thing. I hope

theirs can stay in one piece.

The campground is busy—one

last reminder of summer before

school starts up again. The sun drops

down behind the western peaks,

but its warmth remains, trapped

in pine-scented evening air. Camping

with Dad means age-worn tents and

sleeping bags, and that’s okay with me.

Dinner!
chimes Cassie, wrapping

Polish sausages with white bread buns.

Ketchup and mustard are on the table.

Dad holds out his paper plate.

Personally, I like mine naked.

He winks at Cassie, who bursts

out laughing. Chad looks at me,

rolls his eyes, then douses his own

bun with condiments. Message sent.

Wow. Some people probably think

he’s a total wad. But I understand

why he’s so cynical. I just wish

he’d let me break through. We scarf

down hot dogs, chips and soda. I can

feel the pounds I’m gaining tonight,

but I haven’t indulged in junk food

hardly at all this summer and I’m

loving every greasy, sugary swallow.

We throw our paper plates into Dad’s

pitiful fire, and when they flame

Chad tosses in some pinecones.

When those flare, he adds a chunk

of wood, which catches easily.
That’s

how you build a campfire,
he says.

It’s a Throw-Down

But Dad responds to the challenge

by putting his arms around Cassie

and kissing the back of her neck.

Chad bristles. The night could go bad,

and I don’t want that, so I nudge

Chad’s arm. “Want to take a walk?”

He shrugs, which is his way to

agree.
Just one second,
he says,

disappearing into his tent for

a minute or two. When he emerges,

his hands slip out of his pockets.

Okay. Let’s go.
As we start around

a long loop of asphalt, I hear

Cassie call,
Don’t be gone long.

It’s getting dark, and who knows

what comes out at night around here.

Chad chuckles.
Evil things, Mom.

She can’t hear him, of course. But I can.

Evil Things

Are what I think about

as we veer off the pavement.

Dive into a thick stand of trees.

Pine needles, soft beneath our

feet, should cushion sound.

Instead, there is a gentle rustling

near the ground. “What’s that?”

I ask, all paranoid. But Chad

is unconcerned.
Nothing.

The wind. Or maybe . . .

He looks around.
Deer. Or

skunks. Too soft for bear.

“Bear?” We don’t even

have a flashlight. No bear

is going to sneak up on us,

right? I consider which

direction to run. But Chad

laughs and that means

everything is okay. At least,

until he reaches into his pocket.

Out comes a cigarette—hand-

rolled. Except when he lights

it, it doesn’t smell like tobacco.

“Um. Is that marijuana?”

He takes a big puff. Holds

it in and says, around the smoke,

Really excellent weed. Want

some?
He offers me the cigarette.

I shake my head. “No thanks.”

It’s not exactly a shock, I guess.

Wonder if the skunky smell

will attract skunks. Wonder if

it would scare away a bear.

You’ve never smoked weed?

You should. It makes all the bad

crap kind of disappear. You know?

Other than worrying about

bears, there isn’t a lot of bad

crap bothering me. But if I took

it, would it make him like me?

I Know It’s Stupid

I’ve got the information I need

to make a wiser choice. I’ve been

raised better, and understand I have

an alcoholic father. I am programmed

to say no. So why do I say, “Okay”?

I reach for the cigarette. But what

now? I’ve never smoked anything.

Never even tried. I watched Chad

inhale and hold it. I try a little puff.

Don’t want to cough and look

even dumber than I feel. Smoke

crawls across my tongue. Creeps

down my throat. Not much taste

at all. Good thing I didn’t suck in

more. This little taste wants out.

Chad notices my struggle.
Don’t

let it out yet. That’s good shit.

Don’t waste it.
Finally, I have no

choice but to release the tainted

air from my lungs. Now what?

Shouldn’t I feel dizzy? At least

a little blurry? I don’t feel a thing.

You might not feel much. Usually