Tilt (4 page)

of sex. This is the first party of

the summer. I plan on an all-nighter.

Which means I can’t say I’m going

out with Dylan. So I invented a sleep-

over at Emily’s. “Hey, Mom,” I call

toward her bedroom. “I’m leaving

now.” I grab my backpack and keys,

start toward the door. I’m almost there

when my brother comes out of the kitchen,

yacking down a sandwich.
Emily’s,

huh?
Trace checks out my shorts,

the scoop of my tank.
God, man,

you look like a Fourth Street hooker.

“When were you on Fourth Street?

Anyway, know what they call a guy

who looks at his sister’s attributes

like that? Pervert.” His face turns

the color of ripe watermelon flesh.

Ka-ching!
Got him. Trace is fifteen

and never been kissed. At least, I’m pretty

sure he hasn’t been. It’s not like I follow him

around, and it’s not like he’d go

bragging about it if he had. Trace is

the so-quiet-you-have-to-wonder-what-

he’s-hiding type. Except, that is, when

it comes to ragging on me. “Tell

Mom I said bye, okay?” I escape into

the gentle warmth of late afternoon

June. The party won’t start until after

dark. But I don’t have to wait that long

to see Dylan. He’s picking me up at

Em’s. I see it as a French vanilla lie.

Not totally white. But close enough.

Emily’s Parents Aren’t Home

So I don’t bother with the doorbell. “Hello?”

No response but a meow from Monster Cat.

Ah, now I hear giggling behind her bedroom

door. She’s either on the phone or not alone.

I probably shouldn’t barge in. Tyler’s probably

in there, too. Instead, I text Dylan.
HEY, BABY
.

COME GET ME
. Just as he says he’s on his way,

Emily comes out of her room, adjusting clothes,

hair mussed and makeup smeared. Good call.

“I take it Ty’s here?” They’ve been going

out for almost a year. Serious love.

Uh, no, actually. It’s not Tyler. It’s Clay.

The look she gives me is half challenge,

half plea. Last time I looked, Clay happened

to be going out with our mutual friend,

Audrey. “Hey, I won’t tell.” But I can’t

believe she’d cheat on Tyler. “Did you and

Ty have a fight or something?”

She smiles.
Nothing like that. I just

wanted to try something different is all.

Something Different?

God, I’m glad Dylan is everything

I need. Two horn blasts tell me he’s outside,

waiting. “Are you coming to the party later?”

I don’t ask, “Are you coming with Tyler or Clay?”

Probably.
She grins.
Depending.

Whatever. All I really care about

right now is Dylan. My pulse picks

up speed as I hurry down the walk

to his shiny green Jeep. He always

keeps the Wrangler spotless. When

he sees me, he gets out and waits,

and his perfect smile spreads across

his incredible face. God, he’s amazing—

bronze skin beneath too-long blond

hair that makes him look like a little boy.

Well, except for the fact that he’s six

foot two and buff as hell. He opens

his arms. I give a little jump, and

he’s holding me and we’re kissing.

His lips are smooth and he tastes like

peppermint. And I never want to stop.

But he does. And he says,
I love you.

Three Words

And everything bad in my life

melts away. I look into the turquoise

deep of his eyes. “I love you, too.”

I tangle my hands into his hair,

pull his face into mine for another

kiss, this one hotter than the last.

A passing car beeps going by.

Dylan draws back, laughing.

Maybe we should get a room?

“Maybe.” We could probably

get one inside. But then Dylan

would find out about Clay.

He and Tyler are friends.

“Let’s get something to eat.

Not good to drink on an empty

stomach.” Experience has

taught me that. Dylan agrees.

But before he detaches himself

totally from me, he slips a hand

down the scoop of my tank.

Can’t wait to kiss these, too.

Dylan

Can’t Wait

To get her all alone,

pull her nakedness into

me, silk skin slick against

my own, eliciting

the proper reaction.

She

smells like summer

wildflowers, as if

they were woven into

her hair and crushed

by the weight of our love.

Tastes

like strawberry pie,

thick drizzles of whipped

cream melting down over

luscious ripe fruit.

I could lick her all day.

Of

all the girls to inhabit

my dreams, she is the one

I want to stay there,

a shimmer of winter

beneath the heat of

summer.

Shane

Thank God It’s Summer

I thought I’d never drag myself

through the last few weeks of school.

It wasn’t the work or the struggle

to pull exceptional grades.

It wasn’t even the gay-bashing.

I got used to that in grade school,

before I even knew for sure I was

gay. Somehow, a few other people

sensed it, like coyotes sniffing out

a pack misfit. Something weak.

Something that needs culling.

Coyotes hunt in packs, and so do

assholes. There’s safety in numbers,

especially when attacking prey

that’s bigger. I’m pretty big, and

one-on-one I can hold my own,

queer or no. But facing down

a posse of pricks requires charisma.

Intelligence. The ability to redirect

negative energy toward something

more deserving—the fast approach

of a teacher, or a cheerleader’s barely-

there skirt. I am an expert bad mojo

shifter. But that has nothing to do

with why I’m glad it’s summer.

What’s Got My Tightie Whities

All bunched up is my sixteenth birthday

in two weeks. Give me a car, everything

about my life will move into the plus column.

I’m sick of bumming rides with my own pack

of losers and freaks. Not that I mind the perks—

a regular supply of weed and the occasional snort.

But I need a reliable way out of this house,

which reeks of rubbing alcohol and dirty diapers.

The stink permeates everything, despite the incense

I keep burning behind my bedroom door. Cherry.

Vanilla. Sandalwood. A thick combination. None

of it can disguise the smell of Shelby. My sister

is four, and though her doctor says it’s a miracle

a kid with Type I SMA has lived this long, I don’t

see it that way. She will never walk. Never even

sit up on her own. Her muscles are wasting away.

And the most vicious thing of all about spinal

muscular atrophy is the disease lets her think.

Lets her feel. Lets her attempt communication,

though the best she can manage is pigeonlike coos.

Trapped inside that useless body is a beautiful spirit,

one that deserves to fly, untethered. Instead,

it is earthbound, jailed by flesh. Fed by tubes.

Lungs pumped free of snot. Miracle? In hell,

maybe. Then again, this house is a lot like hell.

My parents despise each other, but don’t dare

divorce. I mean, what would the neighbors think?

Mom is so hung up on caring for Shelby

that she has lost all her friends. No one calls.

No one comes over, not even Aunt Andrea.

Dad spends all his time at work. And when

he actually has to come home, he makes sure

to get in very late and sleep in the guest room.

He hardly ever talks to Mom. And when he

wastes a few words on me, it’s almost always

some snarky remark about queers. Dad hates

me, too. At least Mom accepts who I am,

or claims to. I don’t know if she’s really that

open-minded, or just can’t stand the thought

of losing her other kid. Shelby doesn’t have

a lot more time here. Despite its omnipresent

proximity, her death will devastate Mom.

And So