Collateral

by Ellen Hopkins

  Jonah calls. A couple of things. One,

  I would really like for you to help out

  with the lit mag next year. We need

  an assistant editor. Interested?

  I’m flattered he thought of me.

  “Absolutely, if you’re sure

  I’m capable.” I wait for the second

  thing. More than capable. You’ll

  be a great addition to our staff.

  I also need some help screening

  the poetry contest entries.

  Most of them will go to the judge,

  but we usually don’t send the ones

  with obvious problems. Like, not

  actually qualifying as poetry.

  I laugh. “People pay an entry fee

  to send nonpoems to a big contest?”

  You’d be surprised, my dear.

  Can you invest a few hours this

  afternoon? I’ll buy you dinner.

  “I’m a starving student, with time

  to kill. When do you want me?”

  He doesn’t let that one go. Only

  every time I think about you. But

  if you could be here by three,

  that would be great. See you then.

  EVERY TIME

  He thinks about me? Joke or no,

  that makes me warm. Makes me

  blush, most of the way to his office.

  Luckily, the walk from the parking

  lot cools me off just enough. We spend

  close to three hours screening contest

  entries and tossing obvious rejections

  into a pile after pulling their entry-

  fee checks. Some have obvious

  misspellings or grammar problems

  (and since it’s poetry, that means

  lack of grammar of any kind). Others

  are simply very weak. “I kind of like

  this one. ‘You make me go weak in

  the knees. Like the birds make the bees.’ ”

  Jonah looks at me with disbelieving

  eyes. You’ve got to be kidding, right?

  “Yeah, actually, I am. I’m about

  finished here, though. And hungry.”

  I leave my car, ride with Jonah.

  We settle on a brewpub. Order giant

  burgers and dark beer. Not my usual

  thing, but Jonah convinces me to try it.

  You’ve got to live large once in

  a while. Veer from the norm, away

  from what is or isn’t expected of you.

  Yeah, like being here with him.

  But it’s been such a hard week,

  tossing stuff back and forth in

  my head. I really need to let it all

  go. And I’m starting with dark beer.

  We eat. Drink. Talk. Joke. Laugh.

  Drink some more. And before I know

  it, evening has slipped well into night.

  “The wai’ress is givning us funny looks.”

  Wow. I’m buzzed. Jonah smiles.

  Probably time to get you home. Darn

  dark beer. I think I should drive you.

  I think he’s right. I don’t dare drive

  like this. But, “Wha’ ’bout my car?”

  I can pick you up tomorrow and

  bring you to get it. Not a problem.

  He settles up, steers me to his car.

  Drives me home without a single

  swerve, missed stop sign, or other

  indication he’s feeling anywhere

  near as messed up as I am. “Glad you

  can hol’ your beer better than I can.”

  Just takes practice. And body mass.

  I’ve got a few years on you. A few

  pounds, too. Okay, a lot of pounds.

  THE APARTMENT ISN’T FAR

  We’re there in less than ten minutes.

  Jonah walks me to the door, waits

  while I fumble for my keys. I find

  them and am just sliding the correct

  one into the lock when a familiar

  truck comes screeching to a halt

  in the parking lot, right behind

  Jonah’s car. The driver’s door jerks

  open, and out jumps Cole. It isn’t

  the first time I’ve seen him crazy-eyed,

  but never has he directed those eyes

  toward me in such a menacing way.

  He moves like a soldier. Confident.

  Fast. And pissed off at the world, or

  at least this particular island of it.

  Jonah reacts quickly, moving in

  front of me just as Cole reaches

  the sidewalk, hands clenching.

  Where the fuck have you been?

  And who the fuck is this? He reeks

  of whiskey, tobacco, and anger

  sweat. “Cole! What are you doing

  here?” His eyes focus on me, and

  just for a second, seem to soften.

  But when he looks at Jonah, fury

  glazes them over. What are you

  doing here? He mimics, slurring.

  Didn’t expect me, did you? Didn’t

  think I’d be watching you, huh, bitch?

  Watching me? A cold wave of fear

  washes over me. Jonah feels it, too.

  His body tenses. But somehow

  he keeps his voice steady. Wait

  a minute. Don’t talk to her like that.

  Cole takes a step toward him.

  He’s wearing a tight khaki T-shirt,

  and I can see his biceps twitching.

  Or what? You gonna kick my ass,

  queer? He gives Jonah a hard push

  with two hands, knocking him

  backward, into me. “Cole, please.

  Stop it. You need to quit now.”

  Unlike Jonah’s voice, mine is

  quivery. Cole moves back as if

  he might listen, but now Jonah

  says, I think you should go. Come

  back tomorrow, when you’re sober.

  It’s enough to set Cole off again.

  I’m not taking orders from you,

  motherfucker! He’s screaming

  now. You either, you goddamn whore.

  I knew you were fucking around!

  NEXT DOOR

  The neighbor flips on her porch

  light and now everything is in motion.

  Cole comes at Jonah, who does

  his best to defend himself. But he

  is no match for a Marine trained

  in hand-to-hand combat. Jonah goes

  down on one knee. Cole circles to do

  more damage. I move between them.

  “Please, Cole. You don’t understand.

  Nothing’s . . .” My jaw explodes.

  Pain shoots through me and now

  I am falling. Someone catches me,

  keeps my head from snapping back.

  Jonah lays me down, covers me

  with his body, expecting more blows.

  But Cole freezes. I look up at him,

  through a haze of red. Blood. From

  me or Jonah, or both of us. I’m not

  sure. I try to say something, but

  my mouth won’t work. And, oh God,

  it hurts. Don’t move, says Jonah,

  and don’t try to talk. He reaches

  for his cell phone, dials for help.

  Still, Cole doesn’t move. Just stares

  at me, shaking his head, as if he can’t

  believe what he just did. That

  makes two of us. “Go,” I manage

  to tell him. “Get out of here.” I don’t

  know if he understands. But he runs.

  BY THE TIME

  The paramedics arrive, I am

  sitting up, propped against

  the wall. Jonah keeps asking

  if I’m okay. I must not look it,

  or he’d probably quit askin
g.

  I reach up, touch my cheek,

  which feels like someone shoved

  a volleyball inside it. My jaw,

  I’m sure, is broken. Along with

  my heart. Once Jonah and I both

  swear it was not Jonah who did

  this, the EMTs want to know what

  happened. “My ex,” I say, then

  point to my jaw. “Hurts.” I don’t

  want to talk to them or anyone.

  Don’t want to say who’s responsible.

  Classic battered wife syndrome.

  The EMT whose name badge reads

  Alvarez is unsympathetic. I see this

  shit all the time. You’d better file

  a police report. Get a restraining

  order. Especially—he gives Jonah

  a straight-out once-over—if your, uh,

  friend here is going to be around.

  Meanwhile, your jaw is busted up

  pretty good. We can take you into

  the ER, or he can drive you. Cheaper

  that way. He gets to his feet and starts

  packing up his stuff. Jonah says

  he’ll take me. He and Alvarez help me

  to the BMW, and by the time we get

  there, Jonah’s wheezing. A quick

  exam, and Alvarez tells us Cole also

  cracked one of Jonah’s ribs. Jonah

  actually smiles. Always wanted to

  take one for the team. It hurt.

  We drive to Emergency in stunned

  silence. Jonah reaches over, grabs

  my hand, and holds it the whole way.

  I can’t believe what just happened.

  I’ve been with Cole for over five years,

  and though I’ve seen him angry—frozen

  over, even—I never thought of him

  as violent before. Okay, as a soldier, yes.

  And he did shake me that one time.

  But this? No. He’d never. Except,

  he did. How could anyone do this

  to someone they loved? Does he love

  me? Can I possibly still love him?

  And even if I can, do I want to? One

  thing’s for certain. There won’t be

  a wedding. All that money, down

  the drain. And I’ll need to start making

  calls. Except, I can’t talk. Can’t think

  very well, either, though I’m mostly

  sober. Guess it can wait till tomorrow.

  Fast Forward

  SCHOOL STARTS

  In a couple of days. I’m looking

  forward to it, with the kind of

  rapt anticipation I haven’t had

  since I first went off to college.

  Time to focus on what Ashley wants.

  My jaw has healed, at least it’s hard

  to tell now it was broken in three

  places, required surgery and wiring

  my mouth shut for eight weeks.

  That was a lot of soup. And Jonah

  brought regular milkshakes.

  I didn’t want to press charges,

  but Darian convinced me I should.

  Cole needs help, and he won’t get it

  unless you do. Anyway, Jonah will.

  If I’d asked him not to, he wouldn’t

  have. But I decided Dar was right.

  The wheels of justice turn slowly,

  though, especially when the military

  is involved in a civilian action. It took

  months to set up a court date. Enough

  time for Cole to complete his special

  ops training. Next thing we knew, he’d

  been sent overseas. Probably to

  Afghanistan. That part is a secret.

  He called me once during that time.

  Told me how sorry he was. I didn’t

  mean to hurt you. Never wanted

  that. I just went a little off. Can you

  find it in your heart to forgive me?

  By then, I’d thought it through.

  Dissected it. Tried to stitch it back

  together. But no matter how hard

  I tried, I could not reconcile Cole

  and me and the future. He’d broken

  my jaw, but he had shattered

  my heart. Smashed all the love

  I’d felt for him into a small heap

  of dust. Residue. That’s all I had left

  for him. The man I’d first met, the Cole

  I fell in such overwhelming love with,

  had been so profoundly changed

  that he no longer existed. The soldier

  who remained was largely a stranger.

  Because I watched the transformation,

  understood why it had happened,

  I could tell him, “I forgive you, Cole.

  But we need to end it here. Please ask

  for help.” After five and a half years,

  there would be no more Ash time.

  I DIDN’T LOSE

  Much money on the wedding. Dar

  helped there. Every vendor heard

  a very sad story. All deposits were

  returned, even the winery’s. They

  were able to rebook that night.

  I spent it walking the beach, beneath

  a thin stream of moonlight. Jonah

  asked if I wanted company, but I

  needed to be alone. I’m still nursing

  a wound that has nothing to do

  with my jaw. It’s scabbed over, but

  every now and then something rubs

  against it, makes it bleed. When

  the news broke about the soldier

  who flipped out one night, took

  his rifle and killed more than a dozen

  women and kids, I thought it must

  be Cole. But then they said he was

  Army. My first reaction was relief.

  It wasn’t him. I couldn’t have been

  that wrong. Then came the certainty

  that one day it could be Cole I hear

  about on the news. I’ve witnessed

  him a little crazy. He could go rogue.

  He is not the type to ask for help.

  I asked for help. I’m in therapy.

  Working my way out of my own dark

  places. Depression. Stress anxiety.

  Chronic OCD. I’ve quit pharmaceuticals.

  Still drink wine, the occasional dark beer.

  But not to sleep. Not to avoid dreams.

  The nightmares don’t come so often

  anymore. A couple of times, I have jerked

  awake in bed, sure that Cole was lying

  there beside me. Once, I thought

  he was walking through the door.

  But as the fear fades, mostly I dream

  of the ocean. Surfing. Jonah. I’m treading

  lightly there. I want to give him more.

  But whenever I get close, I see golden eyes.

  Jonah says he understands, that

  he’s waited a long time for the right

  woman. What’s a little more? For now,

  he’s content to help me heal. Anyway,

  he’s still my professor, emphasis on

  the “my.” I watch him pull our boards

  from the back of the Woodie. Small

  breaks only for a while, until I rediscover

  my courage. But one day I’ll ride Banzai.

  And Jonah will be there to have my back.

  WAKE ME LIKE SUNRISE

  by Ashley Patterson

  An orbit of need, aroused

  by flight of morning,

  feathered in tentative light.

  Tempt me from this drowsy

  abyss, persuade me from these tepid

  dreams with the scorch

  of your kiss.

  But lips do not belong

  to lips alone.

  Bid yours to forge

&nb
sp; fresh trails upon my earth, rich

  with taste of summer skin

  and muted scent of longing.

  Leave no ground undisturbed,

  no pebble disregarded.

  No hiding place.

  Drench me with your mouth,

  fix your eyes on mine.

  Allow me audience as you open

  me wide, an empty book,

  awaiting words penned by your tongue

  without censor, without pause.

  Fill these famished pages,

  complete this passage,

  write me to zenith.

  Drown me with poetry

  as dawning slips away.

  Ellen Hopkins is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of Triangles, as well as nine young adult novels, including the Crank trilogy and Tilt, which are beloved by teens and adults alike. She lives in Carson City, Nevada, with her family. Visit her online at EllenHopkins.com.

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  JACKET DESIGN BY JEANNE M. LEE

  JACKET PHOTOGRAPH BY IRENE LAMPRAKOU/TREVILLION

  AUTHOR PHOTOGRAPH BY SONYA SONES

  COPYRIGHT © 2012 SIMON & SCHUSTER

  Also by Ellen Hopkins

  Triangles

  Young Adult Novels

  Crank

  Burned

  Impulse

  Glass

  Identical

  Tricks

  Fallout

  Perfect

  Tilt

  We hope you enjoyed reading this Atria Books eBook.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 by Ellen Hopkins

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Atria Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

  First Atria Books hardcover edition November 2012

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