Fallout (12 page)
Authors: Ellen Hopkins
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Family, #General, #Orphans & Foster Homes, #Social Issues, #Adolescence, #Drugs; Alcohol; Substance Abuse
FOR EXAMPLE
In the distance, a couple arrives
very late to the game. Not long
ago, the cannon boomed the start
of the second quarter. The man walks
quickly, two steps in front of the woman,
up the steep hill from the east parking lot.
His near lope and the solid set
of his shoulders tell me he’s pissed,
or at least determined to reach
the gate before she does. She, on
the other hand, seems just as resolute
to continue at her own measured speed.
Way to go, lady. Don’t let him stress
you out. Whoa. Wait. As the man
crowns the hill, stomps into view,
his silhouette becomes very familiar.
I know him. Know him well, in fact.
It’s my dad. And she, I assume, is my mom.
THAT DETAIL IS CONFIRMED
As they get closer, as is another
assumption I made earlier. Dad
is definitely not happy. His scowl
creases his face, makes him look
a decade older than his fifty-seven
years. I wave to draw his attention.
When he sees me, his expression
softens, but only a modicum.
Like from “ready to kick someone’s
ass” to “maybe I’ll just mess him up
a little.” I’d like to say I’ve never
seen him like this before, but why
lie? Dad possesses a temper,
and patience isn’t his best thing.
Mom says I take after him that way.
I have no idea what she means.
“Hey, Dad,” I say as he pulls even.
“What’s going on?” Mom chugs
up after him, and I add, “Hi, Mom.
Sorry I missed breakfast.”
On Saturdays, if Mom is home
instead of book touring, she tries
to make breakfast special. There
was a time when I wouldn’t miss one.
Mom smiles, and in kind of a polar
opposite way to Dad, the crinkles
around her eyes plump up.
No prob.
Sometimes sleep trumps food.
Dad snorts impatiently.
We’re
late. “Circumstances beyond
our control” and all. Can we talk
at dinner?
Still pissy. Poor Mom.
He starts off, leaving Mom
standing here. Once his back
is solidly pointed at me,
I whisper, “What’s wrong?”
She shrugs.
Nothing you need
to worry about. Kristina’s latest
scheme is all.
She not-quite-hugs
me.
I’d better catch up. TTFN.
KRISTINA, SCHEME QUEEN
That could be her epitaph.
And her obit could contain
the following resume:
Job Title: | Drug manufacturer and trafficker. |
Job Description: | Make easy money cooking meth and moving it, Point A to Point B. (Caveat: Ingredients are volatile.) |
Job Title: | Prison inmate. |
Job Description: | Get paid thirty-six cents per hour painting murals on cafeteria walls. (Caveat: Goes toward restitution.) |
Job Title: | Boy toy. |
Job Description: | Low pay, but all the sex you can ask for. Just lay back and spread your legs. (Caveat: Unprotected sex equals babies.) |
Job Title: | Newspaper saleslady. |
Job Description: | Pyramid possibilities if you form a crew of loser teenagers. (Caveat: High school dropouts are lazy.) |
Job Title: | Used car saleslady. |
Job Description: | No salary, but decent commission for offing overpriced lemons. (Caveat: Lots of used car lots; few suckers.) |
Job Title: | Rap video extra. |
Job Description: | Major bucks for slinking around on set, pretending to fawn over rap star. (Caveat: Some rap stars are phonies.) |
Job Title: | Stage mother. |
Job Description: | Shuttle your kid from casting call to casting call, hoping |
Job Title: | Mail-order minister. |
Job Description: | Perform cheap outdoor weddings for tips because you can’t afford to own a chapel. (Caveat: Most couples prefer a hokey chapel.) |
Job Title: | Golf tournament caddie. |
Job Description: | Great tips for wearing short shorts and lugging older men’s heavy clubs hole to hole. (Caveat: Not always talking golf clubs.) |
Job Title: | Part-time limo driver. |
Job Description: | Long hours on call, unless you’re ballsy enough to work the airport and dredge up biz. (Caveat: Might as well drive a taxi.) |
Job Title: | Mother. |
Job Description: | Not really sure what that is. |
CYNICAL?
You bet. But the truth
is, for Kristina, the next
“amazing opportunity”
is always within sight.
Why can’t she ever
get things right?
Dad believes she came
into the world hungry
to break rules, argue.
Instigate a fight.
She has a short fuse
too easy to ignite.
Mom, who is gentler,
and carried her for nine
months, thinks of Kristina
in a different light.
She was a special child.
Beautiful. Talented. Bright.
I mostly only see her on
holidays. She has a truck-
driver mouth. Smokes too
much, is wound too tight.
Like a hummingbird,
denied the freedom of flight.
Autumn
CHANGE IS COMING
The surety of that has augered
its way into my brain, stirring up
all those buried childhood fears. I
deal with the uncertainty of tomorrow
by über-controlling today.
Which means getting up an hour
early to make double sure
my room is spotless—fresh
sheets and pillowcase; no
dirty clothes in the hamper;
trash emptied; furniture
dusted; carpet vacuumed—
before I even think about
heading out the door to school.
This morning is in perfect order.
We’ll see what evening brings.
