Tilt (39 page)

somewhere else. Nightmare. God!

I’ve got to quit overthinking things.

One day, one week, one month

at a time. Today I’ve got to think

about Algebra Two and chemistry.

Talk about a nightmare! I pull into

a student parking space, try to center

the Sportage as much as possible.

Door dings suck. Used to be I’d try

to maintain a low profile to avoid

the inevitable “there goes the gay

guy” looks. This year, I’ve found pride.

It’s Only Been a Couple of Days

Since school started up again.

But I think it’s working—shoulders

back, head tilted up so I can look

people straight in the eye. Even jocks.

That could backfire. When a gay guy

locks eyes with a jock, things often

go badly. But hell. I’m taking a chance.

Sick of backing down from jackasses.

I smile and wave at peeps I know.

Chin tip the ones I don’t, who bother

to glance in my direction. A couple

look surprised. Others actually

chin tip back. Damn, keep this up,

I might wind up a jock, too. Heh.

Yeah, right. PE is the stuff bad

dreams are made of. I’ve already

fulfilled the requisite four semesters.

If I never smell locker-room sweat

again it will be much too soon.

Onward and upward, BO-free.

Algebra and Chem

Aren’t so bad. Both teachers are cool,

and Tara is in chemistry with me.

We sit in the back, passing notes.

HEY. WHEN DO I GET A RIDE IN

YOUR CAR? OR SHOULD I BE SCARED?

“AFTER SCHOOL? I’LL DRIVE YOU

HOME. AND BE VERY, VERY SCARED
.”

Class is over and I’ve got one foot out

the door when my cell vibrates. It’s Gram,

who finally broke down and got her own cell

after years of refusing to own one.

Shane, honey . . .
Tension edges her voice.

We’re taking Shelby into the ER.

Her color is awful and your mom’s

worried. I was hoping you could get hold

of your father. I tried calling him, but

can’t get past his voice mail. Your mom . . .

well, I think she needs his support.

Can you text him or something?

I Break a Small Sweat

This isn’t Shelb’s first trip to Emergency,

but something about this feels different.

I text Dad:
CALL MOM OR GRAM RIGHT NOW
.

PLEASE, DAD. SOMETHING’S GOING ON WITH

SHELBY. SOMETHING BAD
. The bell rings

and I jump from my chair. “I have to go.”

I barely hear Tara call,
What’s wrong?

No time to answer, no time for excuses,

I run to the parking lot, search for my car.

Where the hell did I park it? There it is. Now

I fumble the keys. Why am I so nervous?

Everything will be fine, right? Please, God.

Oh, shit. This isn’t because of Gaga, is it?

Some kind of reaction to kitten dander?

Saint Mary’s isn’t far. I find a parking place

right near the ER. See? God’s watching out

for us. He always does. But by the time

I find Mom and Gram inside, the doctor

has already broken the news. Mom’s face

is whiter than the walls, and her hands tremble

in her lap. Gram pulls me aside.
They’re

doing more tests. But Dr. Malik believes

that Shelby’s heart is giving out. It doesn’t

look good, honey.
She tries to hug me, but

I push her away. “No, damn it! He could

be wrong, right? She’s rallied back before.”

Please, God, no. All that stuff I said about

a dignified death? I didn’t mean
now.

He could be wrong. We’ll know more

soon. Nothing we can do but wait.

It’s a very long two hours, butt wrestling

hard plastic chairs. An hour in, Dad calls

Gram’s cell. She gets up and moves away

from Mom, but I hear her say,
Chris, you need

to catch the first plane home.
Unspoken words

float like dandelion spores:
Before it’s too late.

Despite Our Hopes and Prayers

The tests support Dr. Malik’s diagnosis.

By the time he comes to confirm, Dad

is on his way to the airport for a flight

home and Aunt Andrea and Alex are here

to hear him say,
Shelby’s time is short.

A week at the outside. We can keep

her here, but I suggest you take her

home. She’ll want to be close to you.

Mom nods, but doesn’t cry. I think

her tears are all used up. She doesn’t

speak, either. Maybe her words are all

used up, too. Aunt Andrea asks about

hospice care. She doesn’t seem to

notice the obvious male interest in

Dr. Malik’s eyes when he looks at her,

says,
I’ll contact them right away.

When they wheel Shelby out, we all

try to act cheerful. But the performance

is noticeably forced. Though we smile

and banter and joke, our sadness is palpable.

Shelby

Sadness

I’ve heard that word before,

on TV and DVDs. They always

say, “Be happy, not sad.” I know

what happy is, but I

don’t

understand what sad means.

It must be how you feel, like

when you can’t find your smile.

I hear Daddy tell Mommy, “Don’t

cry,”

and that means when your eyes get

wet and I think that’s something

like sad. Sometimes I feel lonely.

And sometimes I feel bored. But

for

most of the time, I feel happy.

Especially when people I love

are all around me, close to

me.

Like now. I only wish they could

be happy, too. I only wish

they could find their smiles.

Harley

All Smiles

I know the saying is cliché, but that’s how

I feel tonight. Like everything’s just right.

My first week at high school was a cruise.

I found all my classes, no tardies. Figured

out how get to my locker between them.

Most of my teachers are ace. And, except

maybe for World History, I think this year

will be pretty easy. With the workouts

I did all summer, even PE seems okay.

Better yet, the new clothes Cassie

bought me are stylish, and with my

new haircut and makeup, I almost feel hot.

I even got “the look” from some guys.

Okay, they were all freshmen, and

ninth-grade boys are mostly dweebs.

But, hey, it’s a good start. And tonight

I’m going to the rib cook-off in Sparks.

It happens every Labor Day weekend,

and it’s one of my favorite events.

Looks like I’m going with Brianna.

Her mom just pulled her car over at