Authors: Ellen Hopkins
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Issues, #Drugs; Alcohol; Substance Abuse, #Self-Esteem & Self-Reliance, #Dating & Sex
you thought we would be together
after this year. I never promised
that. And what happened the other
night made it clear to me that I can
never be what you need. You deserve
someone who will love you with all
her heart. That isn’t me. I’m sorry.”
I knew he would take it hard, but
did not expect the rabid way he comes
back at me now.
What the fuck are
you saying? That it’s over? Because
we finally had sex? You can’t be serious!
“Not just because we finally had sex.”
Damn it. I’m crying. “Because it
didn’t mean anything. I should
be dying to have it again. I’m not.”
He is quiet for several very long
seconds. Finally he says,
Cara
,
I love you and that wouldn’t change
even if we never had sex again
.
I’ll jack off forever, if that’s what
you want
. His voice slices the ether
between us.
But I will never let you
go
. He gives me no choice but to
say, “We’re over, Sean. I’m sorry,
but the longer we try to hold on to
each other, the more it will hurt when
we finally fall apart. This is good-bye.”
I Think I Hear Him Sob
As I hit the off button. That so did
not go well. It was the right thing
to do. So why do I feel empty? Why
must I make things black and white?
Okay, I know the answer. Like it or
not, I take after my parents. Neither
acknowledges hues of gray. Really,
though, it’s my choice. Either deal
the cards faceup on the table or
withdraw from the game. I’m sick
of bluffing. This is where most girls
would pick up the phone, call
their best friend, seek sympathy.
Not me. Oh, I’ve got more than a few
so-called friends, but none I’m close
to. Something else I inherited—lack
of trust. I wish I had someone to talk
to. Only one person comes to mind.
Guess it’s time to let out the bad air.
Straight to voice mail. “Hey, you.
I’ve been thinking about you.…”
Screw that. Try the truth for once.
“Uh, some stuff happened and it
would be really great to talk to you.
Call me when you can. Oh, this is
Cara.” Stupid. She would know who.
Wouldn’t she? Oh my freaking God.
What’s wrong with me? I dump
Sean and
my
ego suffers? Freud
would no doubt have something
deep to say about that. I can’t just
sit here stressing, so I fire up
my laptop, check my e-mail. There
are a dozen from Sean, all sent before
we talked. Delete. Without. Opening.
The usual junk mail. Nothing more.
I head on over to Facebook. No
new wall posts on my profile page.
On my home page, more messages
from you-know-who. Delete.
One from my cousin, Tiffany,
asking about summer plans. Looks
like she’s getting married. You go,
girl. A shout-out from Shantell,
reminding me about her graduation
party. How could I forget? It’s all
she’s talked about for weeks. And
now it looks like I’m going solo.
Messages read, I return to my home
page, where status alerts announce
all the news that’s fit to know. I’m just
about out of there when an update
pops into view. What the…? Sean
is cyber-screaming to our mutual crowd:
CAN’T BELIEVE THE BITCH BROKE
UP WITH ME
!!!
I knew he was upset,
but I didn’t think he’d go public, at least
not so soon. Comments start to appear.
Most paint me a villain. A whore, lacking
a heart. Some are written by “friends.”
Enough Already
I can understand vitriol from his team-
mates. Guys stick together, and those
particular guys have muscles beneath
the double-thick plates of their skulls,
where brain matter really should be.
But the nastiest remarks come from
girls. A couple are on the cheer squad.
The one who comments,
CARA’S A SLUT
would know what that word means
from experience. But I would never
post that on Facebook. Not even now.
I want to respond. React. Deny.
But that would only stoke the coals
of gossip, churn them into a raging
firestorm. Better to keep quiet,
let the coals burn down into ash.
I turn off my computer. Lie on my
bed, hoping for sleep to toss me
somewhere else for a while.
Somewhere deep. Dark. Empty.
Kendra
Empty
Is the perfect state of being.
Nothing inside to anchor
you. Nothing inside
to chain you down, keep
you
from living your dreams.
Empty, almost weightless,
you are an eyelash afloat
on a blink of breeze. You
can
rise above tension and worry,
loosed from the grip of gravity.
Adrift in thermal lift, you
ride the wing of freedom and
soar.
Empty, you are Eve in Eden.
Empty, you are what
you were meant to be.
Thank God For Jenna
My messed-up little sister always
manages to take the glare off of me.
I mean, here I am, in the red-hot seat,
getting the fifth degree from my loser dad
and his wife-to-be (like she has any place
talking all “mom” to me), when in sambas
Jenna with her boyfriend. I have to admit
I felt sorry for the guy. He had no idea
that Dad is stuck in the pre–civil rights
era. Racism is alive and well and hanging
’em high in the Rudolph Mathieson home.
Downright nasty of Jenna to bring Andre
to lunch. She knew Dad would make
a miserable scene. That way, she didn’t have
to make her own scene about the wedding.
Wait. Okay, that was brilliant. Damn her.
Something Obvious
To me, though I’m pretty sure Dad
missed it completely—Andre is flat
crazy in love with Jenna. It was in his eyes,
how he couldn’t pry them off of her.
It was in the way his fingers played
music along the keyboard of her hand.
In the way he kept his mouth shut
just as long as he could. Even when
Dad got right up spit-close in his face,
Andre kept hold of his temper. Some
people might have interpreted it as not
having a spine, but I could tell it was for
Jenna. And despite the awful way she set
him up, he offered her the out. To go
or stay, her choice. Yep, he’s definitely
got a major thing for her. Poor guy.
One Thing I Have To Respect
About Jenna is she does not apologize
for who she is or the things she does.
In that way, she takes after our father.
I am more like Mom, saying I’m sorry
for everything, even when I don’t mean
it. The one thing I refuse to apologize
for is my weight.
Do you know what
kind of damage an eating disorder can
do to your body?
Bitch. I do not have
an eating disorder. I know exactly what
I eat and exactly how to burn it off. That
sounds like order to me, not disorder.
You’re too thin.
Says who? Not Xavier.
Not the big photogs. Not even my mom.
My
real
mom. Not some phony wannabe.
I will be here for you.
Yeah, right.
Not like I want her to be. Definitely not
like I asked her to be. She means nothing
to me. Why should I mean anything to her?
Glad I didn’t mention the rhinoplasty.
I’m sure she would have had something
to say about that, too. It’s scheduled
for Monday. I’m getting a little nervous.
Andre’s mom has been very sweet.
Don’t worry. I’ve performed hundreds,
with very few complications. You’ll be
just fine. You don’t smoke, do you?
Didn’t think so, but needed to make
sure. Smoking increases the risk of
bleeding. Alcohol, too. I can tell you
don’t drink. You’re much too slender.
Slender. Not thin or skinny. Or anorexic.
I’m Online
Reading real-life nose job stories
when I get an instant message from
Bobby.
HEY. ARE YOU ON FACEBOOK? GET
THAT WAY. CHECK OUT SEAN’S PAGE
.
Bobby hardly ever IMs me.
RIGHT NOW!
Something’s definitely up. Oh, wow.
I can’t believe Cara broke up with Sean.
Neither can half the senior class. Glad
I’m not her. They’re chopping her into
little pieces: …
IS A SLUT ANYWAY
…
ALWAYS WAS FULL OF IT
…
NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU
And now: …
SERIOUS COMMITMENT ISSUES
YEAH, MUST RUN IN THE FAMILY
.
That last one from Aubree. Obviously
referring to Conner and me. People
really should mind their own business.
Except, of course, Sean made it pretty
much everyone’s business. Before I
become an obvious topic of conversation,