Fallout (14 page)

I’LL NEVER FORGET

The last time Trey blew back

into my life. I was almost five,

and he was on parole after

serving two years for fraud.

It was not his first time in lockup.

When he came to the door, I had no

idea who he was. Grandfather and

Aunt Cora don’t keep many photos

of him, and the ones they do have

are from long before he ever

started messing around

with meth. He is handsome

in those pictures—tall and strong,

with dark hair and curious gray

eyes and a killer smile. The guy

who came to Grandfather’s door

looked like a derelict. I clung

to Aunt Cora’s skirt as if I were

sewn to the hem. It was a safe

place I knew all too well.

Hey, sis!
Trey planted a big

not-brotherly kiss on her lips.

Then he spotted me.
Autumn?

His voice held need, and his

eyes were steel.
Come to Daddy.

Daddy? No. I didn’t have one

of those. A big ol’ twister

started up in my gut. I backed

behind Aunt Cora, burrowed

deeper. Trey reached for me.

“Noooo!” I screamed, and

turned to run. But not quick

enough. Bark-rough hands

clamped around my waist.

“Please don’t hurt me.”

Here now
, soothed Trey.

I would never hurt my little

girl.
He petted me as he might

a nervous pup, but that did little

to quell the tornado inside me.

SOMEHOW HE DIDN’T GET

That, despite his probable

relationship to me,

I wasn’t his little girl.

Not

then and not now.

He has never even pretended

to play father to me.

With a little help from

my

grandfather, Aunt Cora raised

me, though she was only

seventeen when I was born.

What an amazing

cup

of blessing! She could

have just let me fall into

the system, instead

of

giving up her own party

years to take care of me.

Or she could have left

me to suffer Grandfather’s

poison

alone.

INSTEAD, SHE STAYED

Played the “mom” role, and played

it well. Thank God I’ve got a female

someone
in my life. I’d like to say

I’ve got tons of girlfriends, but nope.

Not exactly sure why, but I have

never been what you could call

popular. Aunt Cora says it’s my aura.

I see them, you know. Yours is dark.

Sort of like black coffee, although

it fluctuates. Sometimes there are

little flecks of gold. If you could

make those coalesce, turn your

aura more toffee than coffee
,

things would be different. Let me

give you some exercises….

Everyone needs a mystic aunt for a

surrogate mom. Sometimes it’s hard

to believe she’s only thirty-four.

I swear she must be reincarnated.

Some ancient witch, burned at the stake,

returned for a shot at redemption.

WHATEVER SHE IS

Witch or gypsy,

I don’t have time

to think about it

now. I summon as

many gold flecks

as I can, hope they

turn me toffee-er,

point myself toward

Ms. Carol’s room.

Cherie feels generous

today, or maybe

she’s got something

to brag on. She’s

waiting by her locker,

which is two down

from mine. I don’t

really want to talk

to her, or anyone.

So much for gold

flecks. I’m black coffee.

I SHOULDN’T HAVE WORRIED

About not feeling like talking.

Cherie can talk enough for

both of us. And she does.

Guess what? Billy Burke

asked me to Homecoming.

“Great,” I say, even though

I think Billy is disgusting.

Why would she want to go

out with that loser, anyway?

Coffee. Coffee. Coffee.

Wanna help me shop for

my dress? I’m thinking blue
,

or maybe green, but I’m not sure.

Is blue the wrong color for

fall? Because all I’m seeing

in magazines is, like, plum and

apricot and that custard yellow….

She goes on and on about

fashion, all the way to Ms. Carol’s

classroom. I nod and smile

and do my very best to

conjure up toffee.

WHEN WE WALK THROUGH THE DOOR

I really hope I’ve managed

to glom onto a few gold flecks

because there’s a new guy,

sitting across from my regular

seat. He’s not like model pretty

or anything, but he is extremely

cute in a boy-next-door sort

of way, with sun-streaked hair

and dark eyes and cheeks that

dimple when he smiles. Smiles.

At me. My face goes hot as I slide

into my chair, wishing I had the slightest

clue how to flirt. I don’t. Never tried

it. I can barely manage to smile back.

And when his grin widens at my obvious

discomfort and he whispers,
Hi
, I think

I might just curl up in a little ball,

roll away into a corner, and die.

IT’S NOT LIKE

I’ve never been attracted

to a guy before. I’m a normal,

healthy heterosexual girl.

Okay, not totally normal,

which is why guys aren’t exactly

fighting over me. Pretty much

everyone here knows my tale

of woe. Who wants to date a loser

who uses words like “woe,” and lives

with her grandfather because

her parents shuffle in and out

of jail, for cripes’ sake?

Aunt Cora says if I’d just carry

myself with more dignity, things

would be different. She claims

I overthink stuff, and maybe

I’m overthinking stuff right now.

Maybe the new guy is just

being nice because we have

to sit next to each other.

Maybe he is smiling at Cherie,

not me at all. Or maybe he is

only smiling because I blushed

like the idiot I am. Or maybe …

Suddenly I notice that the room

is silent, and everyone’s looking at

me. Ms. Carol is up front, taking roll.

Autumn? Are you here, or what?

Now everyone laughs, because

obviously I’m
not
here,

despite being present. Still, I lie,

“Um. Yes. Here.” I slump down into

my seat, but once everything goes

quiet, I chance a glance at the new

guy, too cute in a leather bomber.

He’s still smiling. Definitely at me.