Tilt (40 page)

my bus stop.
Hey, Harley. Your mom

asked me to pick you up. She . . . had

to help your aunt Marissa do something.

I’d call that vague. “Isn’t she coming

to the cook-off tonight? It’s her birthday,

and we were going to celebrate it there.”

She said she’d try. I know she wants

to. I guess this is important, though.

Okay, that’s kind of weird, but whatever.

Trace is riding shotgun. He doesn’t

even look at me when I get in the backseat

with Bri. “Do you have any idea

what’s going on?” I whisper to Bri.

Something about this feels like a secret.

One everyone here knows, but me.

Even If That’s True

No one’s confessing. I call Mom,

hoping for an explanation, but all

I get is her voice mail, so I leave

a simple, “Happy birthday. Don’t

forget about the rib cook-off.”

I hope she calls back, but whatever.

We stop by Bri’s house for a few.

I want to change,
says her mom,

who’s wearing workout clothes.

She eyes my short skirt.
It will

probably cool off when the sun

goes down. You can borrow

a pair of Bri’s jeans if you want.

Looks like they just might fit you.

By the way, you’re looking great.

“Thanks for noticing.” I have to

admit, I like when someone notices.

Even if that person happens to be

the mom of a friend who refuses

to acknowledge the very same

thing. Maybe she’s jealous. Or

maybe she’s still a little miffed

that I told about Mikayla. When

we go to her room, she asks me,

in short little bursts,
So, do you

want to borrow jeans? Sweats?

Something?
Now it’s she who

is checking out the height

of my skirt on my thighs. “Nah.

That’s okay. Maybe a sweater,

just in case.” She goes to her closet,

digs through it for a sweater that

will be baggy on me. Doesn’t mean

I have to wear it. She tosses it.

“Thanks. Hey. You’re not mad

at me about anything, are you?”

She Sighs

Sits on her bed. Her voice, when

she answers, is very, very quiet.

No. It’s just, I’m worried about

some stuff. That’s all. Not your fault.

“You mean, like Mikayla? Because

I’m really sorry I told. I just thought . . .”

It’s okay. Someone had to tell. I should

have told, but I was scared. I’m worried

about her, but also about Mom. Tomorrow

she and Mikki are going to meet Sarah Hill.

“Who’s that?” Is she important?

I’ve never heard the name before.

She’s Mom’s biological mother. Mik found

her on Facebook. I don’t know if she’s why,

but lately Mom’s been kind of weird.

Distracted, I guess. Like she’s here, but not.

I don’t know if it’s because of Sarah Hill,

or Mikayla, or something else, but . . .

Her voice trails off and it hits me

that lately we haven’t really talked.

“Well, come on, Bri. If she just found

her biological mother, she’s probably

freaking out. I mean, wouldn’t you?”

I can’t imagine not knowing who

my parents were. Bri just kind of nods.

I guess so. But Mom and Dad are always

fighting lately. He even stayed gone

all night last week. That never happens.

Not a good sign. Even as little as

I was, I remember my parents fighting.

Look how they ended up. But I’m not

going to say that to Bri. “They’re just

stressed because of Mikayla, I bet.”

But now she shakes her head.

That’s not it. Believe it or not, Dad

still doesn’t know she’s pregnant.

Too Many Secrets

In this house, but I’m not going to say

that, either. It’s time to go, we’re told,

so I can leave all the things I didn’t say

behind us. Unvoiced words echo loudly.

But Bri doesn’t seem to notice, and

neither does her mom. Mrs. Carlisle

has poured herself into really tight jeans.

She looks amazing in them, too.

We pile back into the car, in the same

configuration. “Isn’t Mikayla going?

Or Mr. Carlisle?” I didn’t see any sign

of either of them, come to think of it.

Mikayla went with Dylan. And Jace

is working late on a case tonight.

So it’s just the four of us, unless your

mother can find a way to join us.

Up pop questions that I won’t ask.

What are Mikayla and Dylan going to do?

Who works late on a three-day weekend?

What in the world is going on with my mom?

Like Fourth of July

The entire Victorian Square area

is blocked off. Foot traffic only.

But unlike the Fourth, the streets

tonight are filled with the delicious

smell of cooking ribs. Barbecue

chefs come from all over, trying

to win money for their special

recipes. And we get to taste test.

I’ve been saving up calories

for days. My mouth waters

at the smell of hickory smoke,

lifting into the early evening.

Trace spots a friend and off

he goes. Mrs. Carlisle yells

to meet back at the car at ten.

Then she decides to check out

the band. Boy, do heads turn

to follow her butt bounce.

Bri acts disgusted. As for me,

I really want to give it a try.

The Difference

Between tight jeans

and a short skirt is, when

it comes to butt bounce

you’ve got to be a lot

more careful in the skirt,

at least if you don’t really

want your butt to come

bouncing all the way out