Tilt (21 page)

like stones, into a pond:
plunk, plunk.

First the “pregnant.” What a horrible

thing to deal with. Then the “was,”

which means, what? Considering

where we are, I have a pretty good

idea. “Wow, Audrey, I don’t know

what to say. Did you . . . uh . . . ?”

She draws her eyes level with mine,

and though she keeps her voice low,

it is thick with anger.
What else

could I do? Everyone told me I had

no choice—Mom, Dad, Clay. “What

about senior year? What about college?”

Mocking.
No choice. How ironic, you

know?
Now she looks down into her lap.

I—I can’t stop thinking about the baby.

Was it a girl? A boy? It already had

a heartbeat. I realize it would have been

hard to keep it. But . . . what if . . . ?

The Sentence Remains Unfinished

Because apparently Emily’s doctor

wasn’t the cute one. She’s already

finished, prescription in hand. She

comes bouncing along the corridor,

slows when she sees who’s sitting

next to me. I can feel Audrey tense.

I didn’t know
she
was here. You

can’t tell her, Mikki, okay? I’ll die

if she finds out.
Considering the dirty

chalk color of Audrey’s face, Em will

probably guess what’s up. But I promise,

“I won’t tell.” Does this mean Audrey

knows—or, at least, suspects—Emily

and Clay hooked up? I hurry to ask,

“Are you and Clay, uh, doing okay?”

No.
Tears soften the fierce look she

shoots Em’s way.
Love isn’t invincible.

Some people take advantage of that.

I Despise Being in the Middle

Of a battle between friends. I jump to

my feet, leaving Audrey with a weak,

“If you need to talk, call me, okay?”

She nods. Buries her face in a magazine

as Emily exits the smeared glass door.

I follow, happy for fresh air, even if it

is tainted by city smells—hot cement,

exhaust, a hint of Dumpster. Em waits

until we’re both in the car to query,

So what’s up with her?
She’s fishing,

but I’m not taking the bait. I shrug.

“We didn’t get to talk all that much.”

A caustic smile contorts her face.

I thought she might have mentioned

the abortion. Don’t look so surprised.

Of course I know. Clay told me everything.

What else do I really not want to know?

Maybe being grounded isn’t such a bad thing.

Audrey

A Bad Thing

Happened this summer,

and it began as something

wonderful. Something shared

between

two people awash in forever

love. Sex, not for carnal need

alone, but as an outpouring of

heaven-

born connection. I believed that.

Then, an inkling of conception,

and

in the first days, denial. Tick.

Tock. Certainty dawning, the

brimstone

of anger and blame seethed,

roiled by fear into a magma

of doubt. And what emerged from

the limbo

was a decision that he has already

forgotten because he doesn’t believe

in ghosts. I do. And this one tiny

glowing will haunt every hour

of living

until my own light snuffs out.

Shane

Glowing

That’s how I feel most of the time

since I’ve hooked up with Alex.

It’s like he pours his fire inside

of me and when he leaves an ember

remains, smoldering. He thaws me.

Feeds me. Affirms me. Builds me up.

I accepted my sexual orientation

years ago, but Alex has shown me

how to embrace it. Celebrate it. Believe

with all my heart that I deserve love,

and know I am safe here, within

the “what” of me. I have undergone

some elemental transformation

that will inform my future, and it’s

all because of Alex. I am in love

with him. Addicted, really, and I

am very sure that he is totally in love

with me. So why do I chase him away?

When I Think Like That

It makes me wonder if some random

grown-up has infested me,
Invasion

of the Body Snatchers
–style. Then again,

when was the last time I considered

myself a kid? Not since Shelby, for sure.

But seems to me that even before she was

born, the “child” had been excised from

my childhood. Dad was perennially absent.

Mom was always lonely, and mourning

a daughter who was at the time nothing

more than something yearned for. The only

real fun we had was when Gram and Gramps

stopped by, bringing with them their unique

brand of entertainment—hippie elitism.

That still holds true. I’m glad they’ve

decided to hang around a little longer

this year. It’s like they bring spring-soft

sunshine into this house of shadows.

Mom needs someone to talk to, and

Gram is always ready to listen. Gramps

is just funny, in a totally crazy way.

I mean, he’s all into Burning Man—that

insane Labor Day freak-out on the playa.

On the surface, he’s a sixties throwback.

But inside, he’s what I want to be—

smart. Intuitive. And nonjudgmental.

When I first came out and everyone else

was freaking, he was the first to support

me. I can tell him anything. So I’d really

like to ask him what’s up with me.

Last night, Alex and I had an amazing time.

We went to an Aces game. Scarfed post-

game pizza. Then we stretched out on

a blanket under the black velour sky

and had long, slow, love-soaked sex,

whispering over and over again, “I love you.”

It Was Like Chanting a Mantra

“I love you,” into his open mouth

as I looked down into his eyes.

I love you,
as his tongue traced

the outline of my lips.

“I love you,” and then we full-on

kissed. Not gently. Not that time.

I love you,
and he circled me

with his arms, drew me into

the heat of his body and then

the whispers built into cries of

I love you.
And we rocked

against each other, into each

other. “I love you.” Wet with

sweat and spit and spilled tears.

Because we were defining

“making love,” and that’s all

that it was. Making love with