Glass - 02

by Ellen Hopkins

  I suck in breath like

  it hurts to find it,

  confess, “I only have

  two hundred with me.”

  Trey tsks. Can’t do a

  ball for a deuce. More

  like a couple of g’s.

  Two grams is plenty.

  But the monster is a

  greedy prick. “Can’t

  we work something

  out? I’m good for the

  rest, I swear.” Trey

  gives an uh-huh look.

  But he says, Well, I do

  get to Reno sometimes.

  Why not?

  Why not?

  Why not!

  Why Not?

  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.]

  What I Don’t Really Get

  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.

  I Meant to Pick Up a Stash

  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.

  I Purposely

  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.

  Robyn Decides

  To break up the party.

  It’s great to see you again.

  she says. But it’s getting late and

  I do have some projects to finish.

  “Late? How late?” I still

  have to drive all the way home.

  I twist Trey’s arm until

  his watch reveals the time:

  nineteen minutes past one.

  No wonder my boobs hurt,

  having not been emptied

  in so many hours. They’re

  hard as stones and leaking

  a little. Another twinge

  of guilt. No more

  breast milk for Hunter.

  Trey hands me a scrap of paper.

  Here’s my number, and give

  me yours, too, okay?

  In case you forget to call.

  His hand brushes mine

  like a summer kiss. Heightened

  by the meth spinning circles

  in my brain, his simple touch—

  not to mention his request—

  sparks shivers, thigh to neck.

  But it is time to go. I spent

  my motel money, and anyway,

  I’m much too buzzed

  to sleep. Might as well drive

  on home. Three hours will

  go by like nothing, this buzzed.

  “Thanks for everything, Robyn.

  Awesome meeting you, Trey.

  Hope to see you again soon.”

  Real, real soon.

  I Start to Leave

  Reconsider, knowing I’ll

  want to stop for a small

  pick-me-up along

  the long road home.

  “Oh, hey. Can you spare

  a piece of tinfoil and

  maybe a straw? I’ve got

  zip for paraphernalia.

  Let’s make you a pipe, Trey

  tells me. How about a light

  bulb, Robyn? She obliges,

>   and in a matter of minutes,

  Trey turns it into a smoking

  device. Be careful. It will get

  really hot. Oh, and you’ll

  probably need this, too.

  He reaches into his pocket,

  extracts a lighter. Now just

  drop a rock, right in here….

  He demonstrates with one

  of Robyn’s. Hold the lighter

  right about here…. A thin

  plume of smoke lifts, and

  Trey is quick to inhale.

  As Robyn and I help him

  finish it, Trey says, So,

  Kristina, next time

  you’re up for the score,

  call me. This shit travels

  the US-95 corridor up from

  Mexico. My connection lives

  near Reno. Ironic, huh?

  No wonder Trey gets

  to Reno sometimes.

  Ironic barely covers

  it. But hey, next time

  I won’t have to drive

  all the way to Stockton.

  (Let alone have to deal

  with Robyn’s evil eye.)

  “That’s good to know,

  Trey,” says Kristina.

  Then Bree takes over.

  “Next time you come

  over the mountain, be

  sure to give mea call.

  I’ll pay you back the

  hundred. And if you talk

  real nice, I just might

  add a little interest.”

  Holy crap. Team Bree

  with the monster, you

  never know what you

  might get. But Trey

  laughs. And just what

  do you have in mind?

  This is Bree’s game. So

  why does she disappear

  now? I shrug. “For me to

  know and you to find out.”

  Guess I’ll have to make

  it soon, then. The curiosity

  might do me in. He wraps

  the hot bulb in a napkin,

  walks me to the door, bends

  to bring his lips close to my

  ear. Careful driving home. I

  want you all in one piece.

  He Wants Me

  All in one piece.

  But does that mean

  he wants me?

  I take the stairs slowly,

  head turning cartwheels.

  It’s been so long

  since anyone has

  wanted me.

  At the bottom of the stairs,

  I turn to look over my shoulder.

  I want to believe

  that he wants me.

  But it’s impossible.

  Trey’s backlit silhouette

  is still in the doorway.

  Maybe it isn’t

  impossible. Only

  highly unlikely.

  He raises a hand, waves

  a good-bye. Closes the door.

  I never used to

  second-guess

  myself. What’s up?

  The porch light winks out.

  Is Trey staying the night?

  Well, of course he is.

  Why do you think

  Robyn wanted you gone?

  Jealousy wells up inside.

  I want him to stay with me.

  Wanting and getting

  are two totally

  different things.

  I want him to take me in

  his arms and kiss me.

  Why must I torture

  myself? He’s with

  Robyn. Right now.

  I want him to touch

  me all over my body.

  Cut it out, Kristina.

  You’re just making

  things worse.

  I want him to tell me

  he needs me. Loves me.

  What am I thinking?

  I don’t want

  that at all.

  Yes I do want that.

  I want to be in love.

  Stop it! Don’t you

  know talking to yourself

  is a sign of insanity?

  It Is a Clear

  Not quite warm

  September night,

  the obsidian sky

  brimming

  with stars. An orange

  harvest moon lights

  the semideserted

  highway, and my

  confidence

  in my ability to

  reach home, all in

  one piece, grows with

  every mile left

  dissolved

  in my wake. I am

  wide awake, buzzed

  to the nth degree.

  I drive slowly, lost

  in thoughts

  of Hunter, hopefully

  sleeping soundly;

  of the things that led

  up to having him;

  of what life

  would be like if he had

  never been conceived.

  I would never have

  thought I

  could

  consider living without

  him; never would have

  thought I might

  easily

  distance myself from

  him. But I want

  someone—other than

  a baby—to love, and

  soon.

  I miss feeling special.

  Miss feeling beautiful.

  I only hope I haven’t

  become

  impossible for a guy to look

  at with lust in his eyes.

  Halfway Home I Stop

  For a small pick-me-up,

  not because I particularly

  need it (my eyes are wide,

  wide open), but because I can.

  I have stash. It’s talking to me.

  One little hit, my heart revs

  high, then settles into quick-

  step mode. How I’ve missed

  that race and pound. How

  I’ve missed the lack of control.

  It makes no sense. I know

  that. But I’m sick of making

  sense. Sick of being sensible.

  As I consider that, it hits me

  that I haven’t called Mom.

  Now it’s much too late.

  Is she pacing the floor, ready

  to pounce when I walk

  through the door? Has she gone

  to sleep, assuming I stayed

  overnight and forgot

  the cell phone in my purse?

  Cell phone! I yank it out,

  and sure enough, there’s

  a voice mail message

  waiting for me. When you

  get this, please call and let

  us know you’re safe. I don’t

  care what time it is. Mom

  is pissed, and rightly so.

  I look at the time. Two

  twenty. Screw it, I’d better

  call. Mom answers on

  the second ring. Hello?

  Kristina, is that you?

  Who else would it be? “Yes,

  it’s me. I’m fine. I stayed

  late at Robyn’s, decided

  to come on home. No worries.

  I’ve had gallons of coffee.”

  No worries? Kristina Georgia

  Snow! Have you no consideration

  whatsoever for your family?

  We’ve been so worried!

  One simple phone call…

  She’s right. Of course she is.

  But I don’t feel like giving much

  ground. “I’m sorry, Mom.

  Go on to bed. I’ll be home

  soon.” I hang up without

  even asking about Hunter. I’ll

  have to eat a table full of crow

  in the morning, but why

  worry about it the rest

  of the way home?

  I’m Totally in the Wrong

 
And I totally know it.

  And I totally don’t care.

  That’s the monster talking

  and I totally know that, too. But

  I’m totally ready to listen to every

  word, every excuse, every suggestion.

  I feel great, for the first time in months.

  I feel positive about the future, like

  I actually might have a future

  beyond babies and books. I

  feel like I’ve got the world

  by the balls. I just have

  to remain cool, calm

  down my parents, regain

  my power. I ask the monster

  how to manage that and he replies,

  Simple. You need money. Money! Of

  course. Can’t have much of a life without

  a steady supply of the green stuff. I

  I do need money, and that means

  a job. But what kind of job?

  Only one thought comes

  readily to mind.

  I Get Home

  A little before four. The house

  is dark. Silent. Everyone fast

  asleep. Except me, of course.

  Rather than chance waking up

  Hunter, I think I’ll run on down

  to the all-night convenience

  mart and pick up an application.

  Almost every kid in the valley

  works at the Sev for a month or two,

  while waiting to go off to college,

  get married, or find a better job. It

  pays minimum wage, and the work

  sucks, but beggars cannot be choosers.

  I park off to one side, check out who’s