Fallout (68 page)

WELL PAST MIDNIGHT

We stop for sleep in Las Cruces.

New Mexico is supposed to be

pretty. Maybe I’ll agree, come morning.

So far it looks like Arizona did

at night. Miles and miles of

dark emptiness. A starlit vacuum.

Trey pulls into a dive of a motel.

Hope the beds have clean

sheets. The room is claustrophobic.

And ice-cube cold. I flip on the heat, go

to pee in a closet-sized bathroom.

Trey’s going out for fast food, asks for

my order. I beg off. “Too tired to eat.

And I don’t feel so hot. You could

bring me some bottled water, though.”

I throw back the covers for inspection.

The sheets look okay, so I crawl

into bed. Tired. Real tired. So why does

it take forever to fall asleep? How do

I shut off my brain? What have

I done? What will tomorrow bring?

A THIN BEAM OF LIGHT

Ray guns my eyes, and I jump

up into early gray morning.

Where am I? I’m not alone.

Someone is snoring? Oh. Trey.

It all comes tidal waving back.

New Mexico. Cheesy motel room.

Cadillac outside the door. Smell.

What’s that smell? I glance around

the room, notice the Taco Bell

bag, and wrappers, gooey with

hot sauce and bean detritus.

Suddenly I seriously need to toss

what little is in my stomach. I run

to the bathroom. Heave until I hit

empty. Get up, rinse my mouth.

Wash my face. When I exit the room,

Trey is awake, sitting up in bed,

looking more curious than worried.

“Sorry,” I say. “I think I might have

caught Grandfather’s flu bug.”

Hope that’s all you caught
,

he says, half smiling.
Puking
,

first thing when you wake up?

Sounds like morning sickness to me.

Morning sickness? Oh my God.

Is that why I’ve felt so lousy lately?

He could be right. Pregnant?

Why does the idea shock me?

Can’t admit it, though. Not to him.

Righteous indignation swells. Who

the hell is he to even suggest it?

Trey Shepherd has never been

anything but the sperm donor

whose semen maybe jump-started

me. I shake my head. “Can’t be that.

What? You don’t believe me?”

The tone of my voice warns him

off. He shrugs. Goes to pee. I fall

back into bed. What have I done?

And what will Bryce do when he knows?

Summer
LABELS

Hate ’em. Mostly, I guess,

because I’ve worn one label

or another pretty much forever.

Loser.

Because when I was little,

Grandma Jean and Grandpa

Carl couldn’t afford the cutest

clothes or designer backpacks.

Loner.

Because foster kids don’t make

and keep friends. Might as well

brand their foreheads: FK.

For foster kid. Or freak.

Stoner.

Because even if you don’t get

stoned, hanging out with stoners

makes you feel like you belong.

Somewhere. Anywhere.

Stuck-up.

Because when you close yourself

off from questions, erect walls

around pain, unlocking the gate

to let someone in is unthinkable.

Fuckup.

Because it’s easier to let others

believe you have no plans. No

dreams. No future. Nothing

worth taking away from you.

AND NOW A NEW LABEL

Probably the worst one ever

affixed to me. Not because

of the word. Because of what

it means. To me. To Kyle.

To our tentative today and even

shakier tomorrows, despite

how good it is to be together

again. Despite how good it feels

to be sitting here, close to him,

skin to skin, absorbing his heat

by osmosis. Inhaling the scent

of him. Tasting the salt of him,

whenever we chance taking the time

to kiss. Time being of the essence.

Driving south. Looking over our

shoulders, back at Fresno.

Holding the speed limit, wanting

to go faster but not daring.

He, doing this to be with me, despite

my brand-new label: runaway.

SNEAKING OUT

To meet him was harder than

I expected. Not because of Tanya

and Walter. Because of Simone,

who, for some unfathomable reason,

decided she wanted to bond after all.

That day, after I talked to Kyle,

started planning a little AWOL jaunt,

Simone softened. She had drawn

my name for our gift exchange.

Hope you like what I got you.

This was after a fabulous

beans-and-hot-dogs dinner.

We were in our fart-fragranced

bedroom, listening to the radio.

Simone is a huge hip-hop fan.

Can’t stand the stuff myself,

but I wasn’t going to argue.

All I could think about was Kyle

and how to escape the house

to meet him the next day.

Out of the blue, Simone

decided to open up.
You want

to hear about my brother?

The creepy voyeur in me did.

But I kept my mouth closed.

Simone started to talk, anyway.

He was really my stepbrother
,

and it started when I was eight….

It wasn’t a pretty story, but

I couldn’t not listen to the sordid

details of late-night visits.

Bad touch. Very bad touch.

Threats to keep her quiet.

And when it all became too

much and she told, anyway,

her stepmother called her

a liar. And her father, who

was totally not going to disrupt

his new marriage, refused

to believe his own daughter.

It took a trusted teacher to

call in the authorities. Proof

wasn’t difficult to come by.

Yet it was Simone whose life

was disrupted. Simone who

had to move out of her home,

into foster care. Simone whose

childhood was stolen. Innocence

eroded into nightmare. All because

of very bad touch. Love, corrupted.

NOT EXACTLY A NEW STORY

But it was Simone’s story, and once

she shared it, she felt more than

connected to me. She felt chained.

Like if I left her sight, her secrets

might go with me. Like once she gave

them away, they weren’t hers anymore?

Not like I wanted them. Not like I asked

for the responsibility of keeping them.

I’ve got enough secrets of my own.

One of which was on his way to me

from Bakersfield. And I really needed

the opportunity to head out the door

undetected. I had a couple of choices.

Confide. Or hide. I didn’t really think

we had bonded close enough to tell

her about Kyle, his impending arrival.

I wanted to hold that close. Thank God

I still had the “you don’t want to come

in the bathroom now” excuse going on.

Eventually she tired of shadowing me.

Stuck her nose in a book, kept it there.

I HAD MY CELL

With me, set on vibrate,

so no one but me would

know when it rang. I hid

out in the bathroom for

more than an hour, expecting

the buzz against my thigh.

I had almost given up by

the time it came. When

it finally did, it made me

jump. Good thing I was

only pretending to need

the toilet. I spoke in a low

whisper, hoping Simone

had, indeed, vacated the

hallway outside the door.

“Where are you?” It came

out a serpentlike hiss.

He was down the block.

Luckily, Walter was at

his day job. Tanya and

the sisters were crashing

around in the kitchen,

baking cookies. Leaving

was a piece of cake.

NOW I SWEAR

I didn’t have running in mind

as I slipped outside, sprinted

along the sidewalk to where

Kyle had parked. It still was

not my goal when I jerked open

the pickup door, bounded

into Kyle’s arms. Hadn’t even

considered the idea when I buried

my face into his chest, inhaled

his well-loved scent, turned up

my eyes, begging him to kiss me.

But when our lips met, starved,

something stirred. And when

his skin flowed like a warm tide

over my own, whatever had stirred

whipped up, crazy. And when

our bodies linked, woven in

heated rise and fall, every tatter

of loneliness dissipated into

the ether of memory. And then

he said,
Oh my God, I love you

so much. I can’t be without you

ever again. Come with me
,

Summer. Let’s get out of here.