Fallout

by Ellen Hopkins

irrational, I know. I mean, they

  couldn’t reasonably

  take in all of Mom’s

  kids. And now, it seems,

  they did take me in, at least for

  a little while. But then, how

  did I end up with Dad?

  BACK TO THE ORIGINAL QUESTION

  I wait for him to drop the butt

  of his cigarette into the foam

  at the bottom of the Pabst can.

  Sssss! The sound is snakelike.

  Don’t much like snakes.

  “So did Grandma Marie know

  you were my father or what?

  Did you know each other?”

  Dad chuckles. We had met once.

  Let’s just say it didn’t go so well.

  Your grandmother didn’t think much

  of me, or of any of Kristina’s men.

  Can’t really say I blame her.

  Me either. Mom’s taste in men

  is what you might call piss poor.

  Kristina told her I was your father

  and how to get hold of me.

  The news came as a total shock.

  I didn’t know what to do. I’d already

  hooked up with Zoe by then.

  ZOE

  The name is like a punch

  in the gut. Whoomf! There

  goes my air. “So why did

  you bring me home, then?”

  Dad gives the smelly beer can

  a wistful look. First of all, I wanted

  you. You were part of Kristina

  and me. The best part of both

  of us, as it turns out. Convincing

  Zoe of that was something else.

  But your Grandma Jean and grandpa

  made me see I had to try.

  I know the rest of the story,

  at least what happened after

  that. One thing I still don’t know,

  though. “So where is my sister?”

  He shrugs. Trey’s sister, Cora,

  took her when he and Kristina

  went to prison. I don’t have

  a clue where they are now.

  Your mother might know, or

  maybe your Grandma Marie.

  But I don’t think so. Last I heard,

  they’d dropped out of sight.

  Dust in the distance signals

  Kortni’s imminent return. As

  the dirt cloud nears and the engine

  rumble closes in, I ask one last

  burning question. “Did you ever

  think maybe you weren’t my father?”

  No hesitation. Of course. Not

  like your mom was exactly what

  you could call faithful, especially

  not with crystal involved. She swore

  she’d only been with me, but once

  a liar, always a liar. First thing we

  did when we brought you home

  was get us tested. You’re mine.

  THAT’S A GOOD THING, RIGHT?

  Better to know for sure where

  you come from than to go

  through life wondering, even

  if you’re not really certain you

  like where you come from. Right?

  Something to ponder.

  Along with everything Dad

  just confessed. Kortni pulls up,

  parks, starts unloading bags

  of groceries. Dad goes to help,

  and I should too.

  But I want to talk to Kyle.

  I go inside, start toward

  the phone, see the answering

  machine light is blinking.

  Why didn’t we hear it ring?

  Too absorbed in storytelling?

  Whatever. I hit the play button.

  It’s my caseworker. This is Alice

  Shreeveport. We have been

  informed of your unfortunate

  incident. We need to discuss

  Summer’s living situation. Please …

  CALL HER

  She wants Dad to call her.

  To discuss my living situation.

  I could erase the message.

  Pretend we never got it.

  But they’d only come looking.

  Sooner or later they would.

  New blow to my solar plexus.

  This time my asthma kicks in.

  I didn’t want to live here.

  Breathe. Can’t. Find. Air.

  So what if they take me away?

  Breathe. Can’t. Find. Air.

  Put me in another foster home?

  Breathe. Can’t. Find. Air.

  Send me to a different town?

  Breathe. Can’t. Find. Air.

  Away from Dad. Kortni. Kyle.

  Breathe. Must. Find. Inhaler.

  NEEDLE-SHARP AIR

  Spikes my lungs.

  Breathe, damn it.

  This means nothing.

  I crawl down the hall,

  into my room. Dig

  in my backpack.

  Locate my inhaler.

  One big pull. Capillary

  expansion. Holy crow.

  I hear Dad slam

  through the front door.

  He and Kortni must

  be arguing. They’ve

  done a lot of that

  lately. I should tell

  him about the message.

  But he’ll find out

  soon enough. Instead

  I’ll go ahead and call

  Kyle. Maybe he’ll

  know what to do.

  Associated Press

  Miss Nevada, twenty-three-year-old Devon Shepherd, found herself embroiled in yet more controversy after she arrived in an inebriated state for a performance of The Nutcracker at the Pioneer Center in Reno.

  “It was the anniversary of her sister’s death,” explained Shepherd’s mother and manager, Angela. “Devon and LaTreya were very close. She has had a difficult time coping.”

  Casino showroom dancer LaTreya Shepherd was killed two years ago, when her fiancé, Robert Cole, shot her in a jealous rage. Shepherd’s father, Brad, was later convicted of attempted murder after paying a prison inmate to poison Cole, who survived.

  Devon Shepherd previously served as Miss Teen Nevada, as did LaTreya, two years prior. Angela Shepherd has been accused of being the “classic overbearing stage mother,” something she strongly denies. “I supported my daughters and their dreams,” she said. “And I will continue to support Devon now.”

  This is not the first time Miss Shepherd’s character has been questioned. Only three weeks after winning her Miss Nevada title, she publicly remarked, “This is a major stepping-stone to a career in film. Hopefully not pornography.”

  She later said, “Obviously, I have poor taste in jokes.”

  Hunter

  SOME SECRETS

  Are better left kept.

  Sometimes you’re better

  off thrashing around

  on your own in the dark.

  Sometimes those things

  that percolate in your brain

  brew into bitter coffee

  once disturbed. Sometimes

  it’s good to remember

  not to go poking in woodpiles

  where snakes like to hide

  and red-bellied spiders crawl.

  Unless you’re hoping to

  get bit. Lusting for poison.

  ALMOST A WEEK

  Since I met Brendan.

  Dad.

  Biologically speaking.

  I think.

  Still not totally sure, mostly because

  I didn’t have the balls to confront him.

  Just couldn’t figure out a way to say,

  Hey dude, did you once rape my mother?

  Wasn’t the right venue.

  Wrong place.

  Wrong time. Too many

  people around.

  So instead, it’s eating me up from

  the inside out. Sounds lik
e a bad plot

  thread. Only, instead of some vicious

  little monster inside, all I’ve got is anger.

  Anger and the need to know.

  Even though

  knowing won’t change

  a single thing.

  AFTER THE TALENT SHOW

  Brendan and Montana left

  right away. I don’t think he liked

  her celebrity status. Didn’t like

  the groupie need to say hello.

  Usually I like it, even though

  once in a while it leads to poor

  behavior on my part. Witness

  my earlier Leah rendezvous.

  But that day I exited quickly

  too. Needed to let the emotional

  dust settle. Needed to work

  through what my next move

  should be. I called Mom from

  my car. Explained the scenario.

  Hoped she’d say no way.

  Your imagination has run amok.

  But she said, I was never

  one hundred percent sure

  that he was really your father.

  I hoped he wasn’t. But I think

  maybe your instincts are good.

  I can’t tell you what to do

  about it. Listen to your heart.

  It generally says the right thing.

  MY HEART SPOKE UP

  Told me Brendan is a prick

  and that, even more than our mutual

  eye art, increases the likelihood

  that he is, yes, my father.

  Guilt seethed all the way

  home. And there was no staunching

  it when Nikki greeted me at the door

  wearing a sexy red dress.

  Like it? she demanded.

  It’s for the station Christmas party.

  “I love it. You’ll be the prettiest girl

  there, that’s for sure.”

  Without warning, chills

  rattled my body. “Cold out today.”

  See? I’m glad I didn’t go. Come on,

  I’ll fix you some cocoa.

  She pulled me off into

  the kitchen, prattling on and on

  about shopping and malls

  and where we’ll spend Christmas Day.

  Though my eyes couldn’t help but admire

  her silk-sheathed frame,

  my brain could not focus

  on what she was saying, something

  she finally took note of. Hey. Are

  you getting sick or what?

  She set the steaming cup

  in front of me, and her cool hand felt

  my forehead. Nope. No fever. That’s

  good, anyway. So …

  Her look was apologetic,

  like she should have asked sooner.

  How was your day? See some great

  talent? Any randomness?

  I sipped the rich chocolate.

  “There were a couple of pretty

  good singers. Lots of not-good singers.

  Randomness? Some.”

  NIKKI’S ADVICE

  Was typical Nikki.

  Maybe you should just

  let it go. You’re not sure,

  anyway, right?

  I had to admit I wasn’t

  sure. And also, “Not being

  sure about him means

  not being sure about me.”

  She sidled up behind me,

  slid her arms around

  my neck. Doesn’t matter.

  I’m sure about you.

  That kind of trite remark

  always irritates me. “Easy

  for you to say. You know

  who your parents are.”

  Her arms fell away, and

  I expected an angry retort,

  but her voice carried only

  hurt. Do what you have to.

  SHE WAS MAD

  But I was mad too. Not

  at her, but that didn’t much

  matter. Not right then.

  In fact, I was mad enough

  to let myself not feel too bad

  about my little p.m. tryst.

  But by bedtime, I felt emptied.

  Nervous. Too, too alone.

  I watched Nik come from

  the shower, skin warm and

  hair wet, and I wanted her

  with every electron of my being.

  Not just her body. All of her.

  In bed with me, a piece of me.

  No, all of me. Because without her,

  I am nothing. I knew it then

  and I know it now. And, thank

  God, she allowed my hours

  of self-pity, then showed me

  again what it means to be

  in love with an angel.

  I WATCH HER NOW

  My angel

  getting ready for the Christmas

  party. Perfuming her arms

  and legs with ginger-steeped

  lotion. Sliding sleek,

  tawny

  legs into gartered stockings.

  Curling long ripples

  into the honey lake of her

  hair.

  Enhancing already

  impossible beauty with

  a touch of blush against

  flawless

  skin. She slips into her

  new dress—a seraph robed

  in red. Then she turns to

  face

  me, the question in her eyes

  as obvious as my answer:

  “You are more than

  beautiful. You are

  perfection.”

  BEST OF ALL

  She is mine. I am acutely

  aware of how other men stare

  as we enter the ballroom.

  They are not looking at me.

  I love her on my arm,

  an exquisite piece of jewelry.

  A few of the women glare.

  Nikki is the ruby

  they wish they could

  be. Their marble eyes follow

  us to our table, leave us

  there. I offer a chair

  to Nikki. “Stay here.

  I’ll go get us drinks.” The bar

  is hosted, and no one

  asks to see my ID,

  so I order Chardonnay

  for Nikki; Jack Daniels and

  Coke for me. By the time

  I get back to the table,

  Rick Denio has closed

  in. But star-striking Nikki

  won’t be nearly as easy as

  he expects it to be.

  AMUSING TO WATCH, THOUGH

  I circle the table, sipping my drink,

  liking the whiskey burn. Rick is all

  over Nikki, and she looks really

  uncomfortable about it. He’s a jerk.

  “Hey, Rick. Putting the moves

  on my girl?” I hand Nik her wine.

  Rick is in the game. Your girl?

  Didn’t know you had such good taste.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know

  about me. Uh, where’s your wife

  tonight?” The station buzz is she

  ran off. With another woman.

  Rick’s face flames, but he remains

  calm. She had another party.

  I can’t help but smile at the opening

  he just gave me. “A girl party, huh?”

  I haven’t had a spar-fest for a while.

  This one could be fun, but Rick’s

  done playing. Not sure who all’s

  there. Excuse me. There’s Montana.

  THERE, INDEED, IS MONTANA

  In a bold, backless dress, sparkly

  silver. And with her, all decked

  out in a complementary gray

  tux, is … “Brendan,” I whisper.

  Nikki looks. Looks again.

  Harder. Oh my God. You do

  look like him. I can’t believe

  it. He
y, you’re okay, right?

  Okay enough to chug my drink.

  “Yep. Fine and dandy. Except

  I need a refill. You good for now?”

  She’s barely touched her glass.

  Good. I can only carry two

  glasses, anyway. I order twin JDs.

  Doubles. Tip the guy five bucks

  so he doesn’t reconsider the ID.

  When I turn around, I’m only

  half-surprised to see who has

  joined Nikki at our table. Poor

  Nik looks positively green.

  Goes well with her pretty red

  Christmas dress. Ha. I crack

  myself up. Too bad I’m spoiling

  to be in a very unfunny mood.

  BEFORE I CAN SIT DOWN

  Nikki sees my double-fisted

  whiskey and Cokes. She jumps

  to her feet, extracts the drinks

  gently from my hands, sets them

  on the table. I’m starving. Let’s get

  some food. It is not a request.

  Anger starts to build, like wasps

  daubing mud. But then when

  I glance at Montana, her eyes

  harbor anxiousness. She wants

  the evening to go well. So all

  I do for the moment is say,

  “Hey, Montana. You look great

  tonight.” I know I should say

  something to Brendan, but all

  I can manage is a small wave.

  Then I let Nikki steer me

  toward the seafood-heavy buffet.

  When Montana asked if they

  could join us, I didn’t know how

  to say no, apologizes Nikki.

  “Not your fault.” I concentrate

  on loading my plate. Shrimp. Crab

  legs. Oriental chicken salad.

  Nikki’s plate makes mine look

  greedy. “Aren’t you hungry?

  I thought you were starving.”

  I only said that because

  I figured you should eat

  before drinking all that booze.

  The last thing you need to do,

  all things considered, is get

  blitzed. She cringes, as if hearing

  the wasp daub. I will keep

  my temper in check. But I also

  plan on drinking whatever

  I please. Free drinks don’t come

  around every day. Still, I will

  play her way. “I’ll be careful.”

  I TRY, REALLY I DO

  I eat everything on my plate.

  (Chase every bite with a swig.)