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Glass - 02

Page 16

by Ellen Hopkins


  Won’t. No, I’ll deal with it

  when I come up for air. Up from

  this place I’ve finally settled into.

  Sleep. Deep, deep sleep. What is

  that noise? It won’t stop, like an

  alarm clock without a snooze button.

  Suddenly I’m ratcheted awake,

  roughly set on my feet, pushed

  out the front door. Mom’s

  crazed face parts the cerebral mist.

  This is the last straw, Kristina.

  What’s going on? My brain

  feels like mush. Behind Mom,

  I see Jake, holding Hunter,

  who’s howling like he’s

  just been bitten. “Wha…?”

  You are leaving. And Hunter

  is staying. Do not come back

  here until you’re completely

  sober. And don’t even think

  about trying to take this baby.

  I don’t get it. All I did was

  take a nap. My head is thick,

  my mouth unsure how to

  work. “Wha…what d-did I do?

  And where will I go?”

  While you were sleeping, Hunter

  rolled under a chair, and got

  stuck under there. He was screaming

  and you couldn’t be bothered to

  wake up and find out why?

  Rolled? Hunter can roll?

  Since when? He’s only six

  months old. Six-month-olds

  can roll? Why didn’t anyone

  tell me he could roll?

  I don’t care where you go.

  Live on the street, sleep

  in your car. Just don’t come

  back here. And don’t ask

  for money. Get help, Kristina.

  She won’t even let me back

  in the house to get my clothes.

  Get my keys. She makes me

  sit in my car while she gets

  them for me. What do I do now?

  Help

  I need help.

  The first person

  who comes to mind

  is, of course, Trey. I dial

  his cell. No answer but voice

  mail. “Please call me. I need help.”

  Sleep.

  I need sleep.

  While I wait for

  Trey’s call, I’ll catch

  a little nap. I drive to an

  out-of-the-way parking place,

  climb over the seat into the back.

  Warmth.

  I need warmth.

  Snow on the ground

  outside, it’s freezing in

  here. No blanket in my car,

  I burrow into my big overcoat,

  tuck my face against my arm, catlike.

  Buzz.

  I need a buzz

  to get me through

  this time of trial. Sleep.

  I’ll sleep, then I’ll catch a

  buzz. It’s under the seat in front

  of me and that’s a comforting thought.

  It’s Dark

  When I wake up, dark and bitter

  cold. My thoughts scatter

  like a swarm of mosquitoes.

  I know I’m in the backseat

  of my car, but I can’t remember

  exactly why. Hunter? Something

  about…Oh, now it all comes

  back to me. I screwed up.

  I screwed up and Mom called

  me on it. Called. Called?

  Did Trey call? I reach for my cell.

  No voice mail. He didn’t call?

  I punch my own call button.

  On the other end, the phone

  rings and rings, finally goes

  to voice mail. “Would you please

  call me?” I beg. “I need you.”

  Where the hell is he, anyway?

  Then I glance at the clock

  on my phone. Three A.M.

  Most likely he’s sleeping.

  But is he sleeping alone?

  No More Sleep for Me

  Now that I’m awake, I can feel the cold,

  whittling my skin, worrying my bones.

  I want to get high, but I need to eat first.

  My belly is empty as a Mojave water hole.

  Three A.M. I’ll have to drive to Denny’s

  if I want to eat at this hour of the day.

  I start the car, de-ice the windows, wonder

  why Trey never called me back.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m in a pink

  and orange booth, waiting for my Moons

  Over My Hammy. Filling. Easy to eat.

  Cheap. Guess I won’t be eating at home

  for a while. Maybe Mom was only jiving.

  [Yeah, right. And I’m a prima ballerina.]

  The food comes, served by a stone-

  faced waitress. Want anything else?

  Let me see. How about a place to go to

  when I get off work later? “Not right now.”

  The sandwich is greasy and tasty and I eat

  it slowly, not to savor the flavors, but to kill

  time, three-plus hours until work. At least

  it’s warm in here. Safe. Warm. Safe. That reminds

  me of a night, spent in Trey’s arms, at his

  cousin Brad’s house. Brad! He has that big spare

  room. It’s kind of far from work, but hey,

  there’s a convenience store in Red Rock, too.

  And guess what. Now I’ve got cash

  register experience. Brad, who’s cute.

  Brad, who’s cool. Brad, who has the best

  connection this side of Mexico. [Give him a call.]

  Brad Is Home When I Call

  I tell him what happened—that my

  loving mother kicked me out

  and kept my baby—omitting a little

  information he doesn’t need to know.

  “So…any chance I might be able

  to stay with you for a while?”

  [Tell him you’ll make it worth

  his while.] I tell him exactly that.

  He hesitates. Uh, well, I never

  really thought about taking in

  a renter. He thinks a bit. First

  off, you are over eighteen, right?

  “Eighteen and extra,” I say,

  giving him plenty of time to

  think it over. It seems to take

  a helluva lot more than plenty.

  Well, I can let you stay for a while,

  I guess. I’m not sure I’m willing

  to commit to a long-term thing,

  so we’ll have to play it by ear, okay?

  Whatever works. At least I won’t

  have to sleep in my car tonight.

  “Okay. Thanks, Brad. Um, can

  you remind me how to get there?”

  I Finish My Shift

  About halfway

  through, a distributor

  comes in with a dolly

  full of boxes.

  Where do you want

  the candy canes?

  Candy canes.

  Christmas is only

  a few weeks away.

  I have toys on

  layaway for Hunter.

  Will I get to play Santa?

  Where will I be

  Christmas morning?

  On the Way to Red Rock

  I stop by the store, pick up the few

  things I know I can eat when I’m

  walking with the monster—fruit,

  light yogurt, several cans of soup.

  Probably rather impolite

  to expect Brad to feed me too.

  I also buy a toothbrush,

  toothpaste, and a hairbrush.

  Mom neglected to pack mine.

  She also forgot to include my

  makeup, but I can’t afford more

  than mascara, at least not until

  my next paycheck.
Paycheck

  to paycheck. Hey, I think I get

  that now. It really does suck.

  As I’m driving down Red

  Rock Road, my cell rings.

  The caller ID makes me

  happy. Pissed. Relieved. Pissed.

  I flip open the phone. “Where

  the hell have you been?”

  Hey, you okay? What’s wrong,

  anyway? Are you hurt? In jail?

  What kind of help do you need?

  I tell Trey what’s up, but really,

  really want to know, “What took

  you so fucking long to call?”

  I just got your message. My cell’s

  battery died and I couldn’t find

  my charger. Just got another one.

  I hate when someone has an

  unshakeable alibi. “Oh. Sorry.

  It’s just that I really needed you.”

  Apology accepted. And I promise

  to try to call more often, okay?

  Anyway, it’s almost semester break.

  Two weeks and counting down.

  Am I done being mad at him?

  For now, I guess. Thinking

  about being with him again

  has got me feeling a little

  antsy. “Can’t wait to see you.”

  Me too. Hey, tell Brad everything’s

  jake, okay? And let me know how

  you’re doing. Love you, Kristina.

  I hope so. I need him

  more than ever right now.

  “I love you, too, Trey.”

  Life at Brad’s

  Isn’t bad. I mean, I’ve got

  this great room, utilities

  included; easy access to

  the best ice in Reno (not to

  mention a cool place to smoke it);

  and I’m pretty much free

  to do exactly as I please.

  Okay, I do need to work

  because I promised Brad

  fifty dollars a week—not bad.

  I’ve been driving all the way

  to the Sev, which has to change

  very soon. I mean, with gas

  at this price, and the LTD

  rating a whopping nine miles

  per gallon, I’m not netting

  a mint from my paychecks.

  There’s another little problem.

  And that is from time to time

  my mom or Scott or Jake

  happens in while I’m working.

  It’s awkward, to say the least,

  especially if Mom has Hunter.

  The Glacier Queen doesn’t ignore

  me, exactly. But she doesn’t

  act like more than a customer.

  Mom and I, in fact, have not

  exchanged more than a dozen

  sentences since she pushed

  me out the front door, almost

  two weeks ago. I thought she

  might invite me to share Christmas

  with the family, but so far,

  not one word.

  At Brad’s, preparation for

  Santa is in full swing. I try

  to participate (mostly because

  I’m incredibly homesick), but

  Devon and LaTreya have not

  as yet identified me as “family.”

  I don’t think they have a clue

  why I’m here, and I’m pretty

  sure they’d rather not have

  me here, but such is life,

  little girls. Still, I do my

  best to be nice. Very nice.

  That isn’t always easy,

  especially when the monster

  insists their whining could

  be dealt with by giving them

  a good shake, or locking

  them up in a closet. Okay,

  not really viable options,

  but kind of fun to think

  about, when they go on and on

  about cartoons and snacks and

  When is Mommy coming back?

  That one really gets to me.

  December Twenty-First

  Last day of Trey’s finals.

  He says he’ll be here tomorrow,

  but the weather service is calling

  for a major blizzard, so things might

  not work out exactly as planned.

  As my shift winds down, Kevin

  comes in with the payroll.

  He gestures for me to follow

  him into the storeroom. I oblige

  with a little smile, because I’ve got

  a plan of action. Kevin looms in the

  doorway, makes sure our bodies

  touch as I pass by. I wait for

  my check but before he

  hands it to me, he says,

  I scheduled you to work on

  Christmas. I know you asked for it

  off, but Midge has seniority. She asked

  first. He measures my reaction, which

  must disappoint him. No way would

  I work Christmas, but I already

  planned to quit today. “Sorry,

  Kevin. You probably know I’m

  living in the North Valleys now, and

  the commute has become impossible.

  I was going to give two weeks’

  notice, but I’m not going to

  work Christmas Day.”

  His face flares, one

  shade lighter than purple.

  Damn, it’s scary! You can’t

  just up and quit like that. What

  am I supposed to do for help?

  He’s actually waiting

  for an answer.

  “I don’t know, Kevin.

  Maybe you’ll have to work

  it yourself. Or call up one of

  your little hos. I couldn’t care

  less. In fact, I may as well

  leave right now. I think

  it looks like snow.”

  He stalks closer, fists

  clenched, eyes ablaze. This

  guy is totally crazed. You will

  not get unemployment, you know,

  and I won’t give you a positive

  reference. You might want

  to rethink this decision.

  Come on, Bree, tell

  me what to say. [You’ve

  got a trump card. Play it.] “I

  don’t care about unemployment. But

  I would like a positive reference. I

  probably should tell you that

  I’ve recorded a couple of

  our conversations about

  your entrepreneurial ventures.

  I’d hate to see that information

  fall into the uh…wrong hands, you

  know?” (Total bullshit, but he has

  no way of knowing that.) God,

  this is totally great. Now

  he’s like plum purple.

  You little bitch. I should have

  known. I’ll have to think about

  that reference, Kristina. Finish up

  your shift, anyway. Do you want

  me to mail your final check?

  He knows the answer.

  I Cash My Check

  (Figure I’d better do it quick), then stop by

  Wal-Mart to pick up my Xmas layaway. It’s a

  freaking madhouse, four days till Christmas, no

  good stuff left, and what’s left picked through.

  Impossible lines zigzag toward the layaway desk.

  Might as well get comfortable. I’m lost in the shopping

  diorama when someone taps my shoulder. Kristina?

  Is that you? Wow, you sure have, um…changed.

  The voice is vaguely familiar, but somehow not right

  for this time and place. When I turn, my equilibrium

  is threatened. It’s Quade, my first crush, the one I

  couldn’t quite find the courage to kiss. [Oh, man,

  why the hell not?]
“Quade? It can’t be you. Talk about

  changing!” His spiked hair is bleached on the ends,

  and his eyebrows are pierced. Metal? I’m guessing

  heavy. “You look great, though.” [Understatement!

  He’s frigging fine.] “What are you up to nowadays?

  Do you live in Reno?” [Like you could be so lucky.]

  No, actually, I still live at home, at least when

  I quit moving around long enough to touch down

  there. My band and I have a gig at Dr. Nasty’s—

  that new club on Fourth Street. Hey, you busy tonight?

  “Well, actually, no…but I’m not sure if they would

  let me inside. I’m not quite twenty-one, you know.”

  Quade scans his memory banks. Ah,

  right. I can get you in, though. He winks.

  You’re with me. He stands in line

  with me awhile, and we talk about “the

  good old days,” as if we were ancient.

 

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