Tilt (6 page)

Harley

I Hide Hurt

Behind a fake smile. I wear

it all the time. Everyone says how

I always look so cheerful.

Shows what they know, I guess.

Not that things are so bad.

When I think of little kids starving

in Africa, or old people freezing

to death, my life seems pretty good.

Mom’s got a decent job at DMV.

There’s plenty of food in the fridge.

I wear semi-nice clothes, and I’ve got

stuff—a cell, an iPod, a laptop.

School is okay, at least up till

now. I start high school end of

August. I have good friends,

including my excellent BFF, Bri.

Which leaves one thing missing.

My dad. I hardly ever get to see

him, even though he only lives

fifty miles away in stupid Fallon.

So This Weekend Visit

Was a surprise. When Dad called,

I swear I went all fan girl. (Can you

go fan girl over your father? Dumb.)

Hey there, Sugar,
he said.
I sure

have missed you. Want to come

out to the sticks for a couple of days?

My heart started hammering and,

for once, my smile turned real.

After I said, “Sure,” I added, “Daddy.”

I like to try and guilt-trip him that way,

not that it works. As far as I can tell,

he’s totally guilt free. The highway from

Carson to Fallon is flat and plain.

“I wish you didn’t live so far away

so I could see you more often.”

Dad keeps both hands on the steering

wheel and his eyes on the road.
Glad

you said that. Looks like I’m moving

back to Reno. Cass . . . uh . . . my new

girl has a house there. And I landed

a job at Terrible’s. So I’ll be closer.

I’m all jumbled up. Happy, because

he’s going to live closer. A little scared,

because I don’t know what that means.

And a lot jealous. Dad has a girlfriend,

and this time it sounds serious. “You’re

moving in with her? How long have

you been seeing each other?” I ask, even

though it doesn’t matter at all. I stare out

the window as the power poles zip by

and try not to scrunch my nose at

Dad’s obnoxious cigarette-and-sweat

smell.
I guess it’s been about six months

now. We met just before Christmas.

You’ll like her. She’s funny and sweet

and really cute. Not as cute as you, though.

Usually

I like when people say I’m cute.

But not when it feels tacked on.

And not when comparing me

to someone else. And especially

not when the someone doing

the comparing is my dad,

stacking my cuteness against

his new, serious girlfriend’s.

Anyway, cute is okay. But I’d

rather be pretty. Beautiful.

Hot. (Okay, not in my father’s

opinion. That’s just gross.)

I want boys to look at me like

they look at Brianna. It’s hard

having a best friend who draws

everyone’s attention when you

never do. I keep hoping some

of Bri will rub off on me, but

so far, no. Mom says I’m a late

bloomer. But it’s summer already.

Well, Officially

Summer is still two weeks away.

Maybe I’ll bloom by then.

Dad turns off the highway, zigs and

then zags and we pull onto a cracked

cement driveway. He doesn’t live

like a king, that’s for sure. The house

is a prefab, and an old one. The beige

siding is chipped and brown paint

peels from the eaves like scabs

leaving skin. Eww. Disgusting.

Bent chain link surrounds a yard

that looks like it once had grass.

A few green patches remain midst

the crusty brown stuff. “You should

water the lawn once in a while.”

But Dad is already out of the car

and headed toward the house.

He turns long enough to say,

Grab your stuff and come on.

Cassie is anxious to meet you.

She Stands in the Doorway

Tall and too thin and melon-boobed,

with long wavy hair the color

of fall scarlet maples. She

isn’t cute. She’s pretty.

She reaches for Dad

and they’re kissing

like people do in

the movies. I

can see their

tongues

moving

from here.

That part

grosses me

out. What’s

worse is how it

looks like they’re in

love. It’s not fair. How

can he love someone else

when he can’t find enough love

for me to keep me solidly in his life?

Mom’s right. He is one selfish bastard.

I Stuff All That Inside

Find my phony grin and go to meet

Dad’s new girl. As I get out of the car,

they stop the tongue dance. Thank goodness.

At least I don’t have to see it up close.

Hi!
(Her voice is all breathy.)
You must

be Harley.
(Duh.)
I’m Cassie. Well,

really Cassandra, but Cassie for short.

(Double duh.) She does have a nice

smile, though. What do I say that

she hasn’t already said? “Uh . . . hey.”

Cassie pokes Dad’s shoulder.
You

didn’t tell me how gorgeous Harley is.

Gorgeous. A bit over the top, but I

have to admit it thaws me a little.

Come on inside and meet my son.

(Great. She probably wants me to babysit.)

Cassie holds out her hand and I don’t

know what else to do but take it. Her skin

is softer than I expected and when her

hair moves it smells like cinnamon over

tobacco. She tugs me gently across

the threshold. The place looks like a tornado

blew through, depositing clothes and

fast-food wrappers everywhere.

Sorry about the mess. Your dad isn’t

so good about picking up after himself.

That will have to change when he moves

in with me. Chad! Come say hi to Harley.

It takes a few seconds, but eventually

footsteps clomp down the hall. Heavy

footsteps. Either he’s a really big little kid

or Cassie is older than I thought. OMG!