Glass (5 page)

Climb the stairs past me,

try to keep all hint of drool

inside my mouth, where it belongs.

Guess whose door he knocks on.

“Robyn isn’t home yet.”

He turns, eyes narrowing

into discerning slits.
She’s always

late. I swear she gets lost,

driving ten blocks from school

to home. The name’s Trey.

“Hey, Trey. I’m Kri…

[Bree!] The voice inside

my brain practically shouts.

“Br…” No, I’m not her

anymore. “Kristina.”

Trey smiles.
Good to meet

you, Kri-Br-Kristina. You a friend

of Robyn’s?
He saunters over,

plops down next to me,

leg touching mine.

My heart picks up its pace.

Can he hear it? If he doesn’t,

he’s deaf! Around the pounding,

I manage, “I’m an old friend

of Robyn’s, just here for a visit.”

His grin says everything.

I see. Well, Robyn’s friends

generally only “visit” for one

of two reasons. Stash. Or money.

Wonder which one you’re after.

I’m not copping to anything.

“Do you include yourself

on that list? Or are you after

something else completely?”

I’m trolling, and he knows it.

Guess you’ll have to hang

around to find out. Oh, look.

Here she comes now. Time

for the party to start.

You up for it, little girl?

No one has called me that

in a very long time. I like

how it makes me feel.

“Oh, yeah. I’m up for it.”

And a whole lot more.

Suddenly I’m very glad

I wore butt-slimming jeans,

a baggy shirt that covers

my tummy, and for the first

time in months, a little makeup.

With a massive, soggy kiss,

one meant to impress.

(But impress him or me?)

All I get is a lukewarm,

Hey, Kristina. Long time

no see. You look good.

No hug? No warm, fuzzy

friendship to rekindle? Oh, well.

Not like we were ever the best

of friends. More like snorting

buddies. She used me. I used

her, and I’m using her now.

“You look great too, Robyn.”

Yeah. Great. Like bones,

in a bag of jaundiced skin.

Robyn opens the door.

Sorry about the mess.

I’ve been kind of busy.

Anyway, housework is

such a waste. It never

frigging ends, does it?

The smell—dirty ashtrays,

sweat, and a slight hint

of mildew—almost knocks

me over and I enter at my

own risk. “Mess” does not

describe the battlefield

I’ve just walked into.

The living room is strewn

with dirty clothes, designer

shoes, and smeared paper

plates. Attached is a small

dining nook. Books (text

and other) spatter the table,

along with beads, pastels,

and various art supplies.

I’ve always got two or three

projects going on at once,

explains Robyn.
Some for art

class, others just to stroke

my creative side. Unfortunately,

I don’t finish many.

Trey laughs.
Spoken like

a true tweaker. Oh, and

speaking of tweak…

He reaches down into his sock

and produces a plastic bag

with some serious-looking crystal.

So Robyn wasn’t scoring

for Trey. He was scoring for

her! Very interesting.

A sizeable buy. I sit, growing more anxious with every

passing second, watching her weigh a half ounce of meth

into eight balls. She’s into the deal, heavy. I mean, there

she is, holding enough crystal to send her away for a very,

very long time. My hands shimmy as I reach for the bindle

Robyn passes me. It’s different from the meth making the

rounds last year. This is hard little rocks and not much powder.

Robyn pulls out a glass pipe, but I ask, “Can we do some

lines?” I long for that punch to my sinuses. The one that

hard-core users can no longer handle because of the gaping

sinus-cavity holes. Trey gives me a strange look, and Robyn

says,
Jeez, it
has
been awhile since you’ve used, huh? You

can’t snort glass, Kristina. You have to smoke this…or

shoot it. You’re not into needles by any chance, are you?

Trey laughs at my over-the-top horror. Needles? No way.

And, apparently, no fine white lines to watch disappear

into my nose. “Is it all like this now?” I ask, ignorant.

Trey answers with a shake of his head.
You can still

find street-lab crank. This is Mexican meth, as

good as it comes, maybe 90 percent pure.

It’s pricey, of course. And worth every damn penny.

How much is that, I want to know, but before I can query,

Robyn drops a sparkling rock into her pipe. She lights

a Bic, holds it well under the glass, and a fine plume of

methamphetamine smoke lifts to greet her open mouth.

The pipe travels next to Trey, who indulges, then passes

it on to me. My hand trembles, anticipating treasure.

Long-lost treasure. One slow, easy inhale sparks little

explosions inside my brain, firing directly into the pleasure

center, igniting ecstatic bursts from eyebrows to toenails.

Trey was right. Whatever it costs, it’s worth it. I want

to feel this great all the time. With one hit, the life I have

worked so hard to make normal perverts itself again.

I came here, meaning to go home reenergized. But now

I don’t want to return to the artificial “home” created by

my parents, my child. All of a sudden I feel more at home

with a forgotten friend and a complete, very cute stranger.

Can I really have established

a new connection so easily?

Nothing in life is that simple.

So I ask, just to make sure,

“Are you sure? Because I can

bring the money to you.”

Not that I can really tell him

when, or how. But still…

But he says,
I really do get to Reno,

more often than I’d like, in fact.

I’ll have to come over in the next

week or two. We can hook up then.

But you’d better be good for the rest,

or else…He pounds one fist against

the opposite palm, but his smile

lets me know he’s only joking.

His smile. His incredible smile.

Stop it, Kristina! [No, don’t.]

Is just
why
he’s being

so accommodating.

Just what, exactly, is his

game?

Can he possibly be

interested in me, baby

blubber and all? I want

to be back in the

game.

Lately, I think about it

more and more. Like

a sick little kid, I want

to go outside and

play.

But I’ve never been

especially good at

choosing play

partners. Is Trey

the game

I’m after, and is he

after me? If so, I need

to learn the rules of his

game so I can

play it well.

Make a quick about-face,

head back to Reno. Like

I couldn’t have guessed it

might not turn out that way.

But I haven’t talked to anyone

my age in months. Between

that and the toot, my mouth

won’t stop working.

One bowl. Robyn and I talk

about Reno, how life used

to be. Two bowls. We talk

about how life is now—

too many classes for her,

too much home for me.

Still another bowl. We

talk about our gay siblings.

Trey perks up at that.

Apparently he wasn’t

privy to Robyn’s more

personal information,

and gay relatives are

always interesting to

those who don’t happen

to have any of them.

Another toke. Trey sits

between Robyn and me. His

knee rests against mine.

The warmth of it fights

the crystal’s chills, and

turns me on completely.

My face flares a deep,

noticeable crimson.

Robyn flashes a tweaker’s

smile, one that says,
Don’t

fuck with me, or I’ll pay

you back good. In fact,

I’ll pay you back first.

But what comes out of

her mouth is,
So, tell

me all about your baby.

Haven’t mentioned Hunter.

I mean, it’s not like the first

thing you do when you meet

an incredible guy is tell

him you’ve got a baby.

But Trey seems more

interested than offended.

Baby, huh? You’re not

married, are you?

His curiosity, and Robyn’s

evil glare, make me smile.

“Nope, not married…”

Even spun, the thought

brings me up short.

So, where’s Daddy? You

living with him or what?

Is he watching Baby tonight?

The meth monster threatens

to pounce, but I rein it in.

Not a single vicious comment

about Daddy the rapist.

“I live with my parents.

My mom babysits Hunter

when I’m not around.”

You still live with your

parents? Mine would have

kicked me out. But hey,

they kicked me out, anyway.

Bree laughs, loving

how it makes Robyn squirm.

Kristina knows it isn’t very

nice, so she blames it

on the crank, which fuels

a very long ramble, Trey’s

knee still sizzling against mine.

“I’d like to move out

but I need a job, and to get one

I need my GED, which I’m

still working on. And even if

if I get a job, I need someone

I trust to take care of Hunter.”

Trey gives me an odd

look, one I cannot

decipher. But all he says

is,
Makes sense to me.

Very little makes sense

to me at this moment.

All I can think about

is how great it is to feel

so alive, so in lust again.