Rumble

by Ellen Hopkins

me. “What do you think you’re doing, Dad?”

  His smile slips, and his warm, open

  (totally foreign to me) demeanor

  ices over. Uh, we’re having dinner?

  This is my son Matthew, Lori.

  She turns concerned eyes my way.

  They are the dark gray of summer

  thunderheads. So good to meet you,

  Matthew. Wow. You look like your dad.

  “It’s Matt. And pretty much

  everyone else says I resemble Mom,

  who my father is still married to,

  by the way.” I redirect my attention

  to Dad. “Do you really think this

  is appropriate? It was bad enough

  having to listen to the two of you last

  night. But a public display of affection?”

  My voice has risen in intensity

  and volume. Dad tries to counteract

  that. Please sit down, Matt, so we can

  discuss this using our inside voices.

  The implication is clear—stop

  acting like a child. The people

  around us react nervously, and

  so does the restaurant manager.

  I Might Back Off

  Except for the smug smile spread

  across Dad’s face. He doesn’t give

  a good goddamn about what anyone

  thinks. Well, Dad, neither do I.

  Anger blasts like a furnace, sears

  my face. “You’re embarrassing

  yourselves! How can you sit there

  acting like this is okay?” The entire

  restaurant is staring pointedly now.

  I mean it, Matt. Sit down before

  Paul over there kicks you out of here.

  You’re the one who’s embarrassing

  yourself, and us. He stands, comes

  around the table, and takes my elbow.

  Sit down or leave and we’ll talk at home.

  “Excuse me, but I’ve got a dinner

  reservation myself, so I don’t think

  I’ll be leaving.” But my own smile

  disappears when Dad nods

  toward the front of the restaurant.

  Pretty sure you’re leaving.

  Your girlfriend just did.

  I Catch Her

  Several paces down

  the sidewalk. “Wait!

  Where are you going?”

  She keeps moving

  forward, in a quick, straight

  line. Home. I don’t need this, Matt.

  “Need what?”

  To witness you being

  a jerk. What is wrong

  with you? I don’t know

  who you are anymore.

  I grab her hand, tug

  her to a stop. “Look,

  I’m sorry . . .” That fucking

  word again. “It’s just I’m

  having a hard time dealing

  with my parents breaking up.”

  She looks at me earnestly.

  Why didn’t you tell me?

  We never talk about what’s

  important. All we ever do

  is argue, and I’m tired of it.

  I take her other hand, hold

  her in place. “I’m tired of it,

  too. How can we go back

  to the way we used to be?”

  She opens her mouth to say

  something. Closes it again.

  Shakes her head. “What?”

  It’s just, I’m not sure we can

  go back. You’ve changed

  so much since . . . Her voice

  dissolves into silence.

  “Wait, wait, wait. You think

  it’s me who’s changed?”

  She nods. After Luke . . .

  I mean, you’re so angry

  and short-tempered.

  You never used to go off

  so easily, but now I never

  know if you’ll be sweet

  Matt or crazy Matt.

  Sometimes you scare me.

  Whoa

  It’s like we’re living in parallel

  but totally disconnected universes.

  “Hold on. First of all, have I

  ever threatened or hurt you?”

  Not physically. But you’ve hurt

  me with the things you’ve said—

  “Like you haven’t? Hayden,

  you’ve accused me of things

  I didn’t do. . . .” At least, I hadn’t

  at the time she accused me of it.

  “You’ve basically called me

  gay-like-my-brother. You’ve

  talked crap behind my back.

  You told me I’m going to hell.”

  Hey. That was my dad, not me.

  And I’ve already apologized.

  “Yeah. Me too. So can’t we just

  put all that behind us and move on?”

  She looks down at our interlocked

  hands. I don’t know. We’re such

  different people, with different

  friends, different goals, different

  beliefs. I’m not sure we’ll ever be

  able to reconcile those things.

  She looks back up, into my eyes.

  I don’t know if love is enough.

  I lean forward, kiss her forehead.

  “You’re saying you still love me?”

  She hesitates, too long, steps back

  just a little. Yes, I still love you.

  But I love Jesus more, and I don’t

  think you can ever accept that.

  So it’s not Judah I should be

  jealous of, it’s some guy who’s

  been dead for two thousand years?

  “What are you saying, Hayden?”

  Our Hands Unlace

  And I think our lives have, too,

  and I just can’t let that happen.

  I maneuver her back against

  the building, place one hand

  on each side of her face and

  repeat, “What are you saying?”

  (Sometimes you scare me.)

  She looks scared now, but tips

  her chin up, accepting the pierce

  of my stare, and determination

  glitters in her eyes. Determination

  bordering on defiance. I almost

  have to look away. But I hold fast.

  And So Does She

  This resolve is new, and

  I can’t help but wonder

  just where—or in whom—

  she discovered it.

  I’ve been thinking about this.

  Today, when you kissed me,

  it really did make me want

  to do more, and that wasn’t

  the first time. Next time I might

  break down and say yes. And

  I don’t want to do that. It’s

  against everything God wants

  from me. Being a virgin on my

  wedding night is the best gift

  I could ever give my husband.

  “But—but—I’d never

  force you to do anything

  you didn’t want to do. And—

  and I could wait—”

  You don’t understand. I love

  you, Matt. But I could never

  marry someone who didn’t love

  the Lord like I do. It wouldn’t work.

  I Break Out

  In bitter, anxious sweat.

  “When did you decide all this?

  You didn’t used to feel that way.”

  Look. I’m getting stronger

  in my faith journey. I didn’t used

  to understand just how important

  it was. Now I know for sure.

  And now I know for sure, too.

  “Because of getting involved

  with your youth ministry.”

  I purposely don’t say Judah.

  Mostly, I guess. I learned ho
w

  to listen, and now I can hear

  God talking to me. His voice

  fills me with awe. It’s amazing.

  It’s schizophrenic. “So this

  means we’re breaking up?”

  She nods and I back away.

  I think it’s for the best, don’t

  you? She starts to unclasp

  the angel pendant, and a slow

  burn of anger prickles inside

  my head. “Keep it. I bought it

  because it’s perfect for you.

  It belongs around your neck.”

  Besides, what would I do with

  it? “Let me ask you a question.

  Jocelyn said you were going to

  break up with me before what

  happened with Luke. Is that

  an accurate appraisal, or was she

  just being her usual bitchy self?

  Wow. She’ll be happy, won’t she?”

  Now she can’t meet my eyes.

  I guess I was thinking about

  breaking up with you before.

  We were starting to pull apart. . . .

  “So instead, you played me

  for months? Did you think

  without my ‘loving girlfriend’

  by my side to support me,

  genetics would insist I put a rope

  around my neck and step off

  the chair, like my little brother?”

  Intentional Strikes

  That’s what the words

  are. I want them to hit

  her hard, and they do.

  No—I—why

  would you say that?

  “I don’t know. Gay like

  my brother, suicidal

  like him, too?”

  No. That’s not it at all.

  Tears drip from her eyes

  all the way to her cleavage.

  Hope that angel knows

  how to swim. “What, then?”

  She tucks her chin, forcing

  the angel to breaststroke. Guilt.

  “Guilt?”

  You were with me when

  Luke did it. . . .

  “So? That was my choice.”

  Now She Is Sobbing

  Every inhale is a tear-racked

  wheeze. There’s more. I know

  you always blamed Vince for

  starting the rumors about Luke.

  But you’re wrong. It was me.

  “What the hell are you saying?”

  I remember Vince’s denial,

  so close to convincing, but I was

  positive it had to be him. “Why?

  You met Luke. I thought you liked him.”

  I did like him! I didn’t mean for

  anything bad to happen to him.

  It’s a miserable little whine.

  It was just a horrible accident.

  “Accident? There was nothing

  accidental about the abuse

  Luke took. How could you?”

  I’m sorry! Look, one day a few

  of us were sitting around talking,

  and the subject of gay marriage

  came up. I said homosexuals were

  abominations in the eyes of God.

  Vince pulled me aside and warned

  me never to say stuff like that if you

  were around, and he told me why.

  I made the mistake of confiding it

  to Joce, and everything went wrong

  from there. But as far as I know,

  I’m the only one Vince told, and

  only because he was worried about

  my hurting you. I’m so, so sorry.

  I’ve struggled with this ever since—

  “You know Jocelyn has a big

  mouth! Why would you tell

  her? What did you say?”

  Her eyes move past me to stare

  at something across the street.

  You and I had been together

  for a while and you’d never tried

  to have sex with me. I couldn’t figure

  it out, so I asked Joce if you could

  be gay. She wanted to know why I

  thought it was possible and I told

  her because Luke was. I swear,

  it just slipped out. Please don’t hate me.

  I Disconnect

  From her.

  From her confession.

  From yet another way

  I find myself responsible

  for the choice my brother made.

  “So, you’re saying you talked

  to Jocelyn about my failures

  as a boyfriend before Luke died,

  and that conversation sparked

  the bullshit that drove him toward

  suicide? Look at me, would you?”

  Her reluctant eyes find mine.

  You don’t know how hard it’s been

  to reconcile this, Matt. It’s the main

  reason I’ve immersed myself so deeply

  in my faith. I needed God to forgive me

  so I can forgive myself. Judah says—

  “Shut. Up.” Stay calm. Breathe in.

  “Don’t you dare bring up his name

  to me again. You don’t need God

  to forgive you. Just crawl to your youth

  minister for absolution. He’d love

  to see you on your hands and knees.”

  Everyone Has a Breaking Point

  And she has just accessed mine.

  “Earlier, you said you don’t know

  who I am. All I can say is, I can’t

  believe I had no clue what a vile,

  despicable person you are. How

  could you hide all that from me?”

  Maintaining calmness. “How could

  you let me lose a friend, allow me

  to believe him capable of that kind

  of treachery, when in reality all

  he was trying to do was be supportive

  of my little brother and me?”

  And now, I wonder, “Did you ever

  participate? Do you by any chance

  know how to Photoshop porn?”

  No!

  Starting to lose it. “How did it feel

  when you found out about Luke?

  Did you run to Judah for a hug?”

  Matt . . .

  Anger escalates. “Oh yes, I can

  see it now. He told you not to worry,

  it wasn’t your fault. Luke was weak.

  Maybe so, Hayden, maybe so.

  But how did it feel, sitting beside me

  at his funeral, holding my hand

  while I broke down, acting as if you

  gave a shit?” My hands clench, unclench.

  “How could you pretend to love me?

  How could you keep leading me on,

  all this time, knowing this breakup

  was inevitable? How—”

  A hand falls on my shoulder.

  That’s enough, son. I think

  we’d better go on home now.

  Thank you, Hayden says to Dad,

  then she turns and flees, as fast

  as she can go in ridiculous heels.

  Dad Coaxes Me

  Backward, toward the street.

  Lorelei maintains a decent distance

  between us, just in case I decide

  to come away swinging, I guess.

  Ten seconds ago, I just might have.

  I wanted so badly to hurt Hayden.

  Not to maim or scar her for life,

  just make her beg for mercy a little.

  Instead, I turn my back on her,

  and I probably need to credit Dad

  with saving me from lockup tonight.

  You all right, now? he asks.

  “Well, sure. Let’s see. The girl who

  I’m in love with turns out to be

  a bullshitting bitch. But that’s okay

  because she just broke up
with me,

  after confessing how she’s manipulated

  me for over a year, not to mention

  the fairly substantial part she played

  in my brother stretching his own neck.

  Before that, my father outed himself

  quite publicly as a two-timing adulterer,

  and the best part about that was when

  I found his and his paramour’s respective

  underwear having boxer-panty relations

  on the bedroom floor. Don’t worry,

  though, I didn’t sniff! Oh, yes, it’s been

  quite a day, and not just any day,

  but Valentine’s Day, one I’ll surely

  remember. How was your dinner,

  by the way? Looks like it’s frozen crap

  for me, or maybe I’ll splurge on McD’s.”

  You finished? Because self-pity sure

  looks poor on you. Just so there are no

  unpleasant surprises, Lori is staying

  the weekend. I’ll take her home Monday.

  Sounds Like a Great Reason

  To get wasted

  and stay that way

  right through Monday

  night. A red, white, and blue

  way to celebrate dead presidents.

  I climb into my truck,

  try to ignore the empty

  passenger seat, start down

  the main drag, headed for home.

  Maybe I can beat Dad, hit the booze

  cupboard before

  he can try to stop me.

  But there on the sidewalk,

  tottering in heels, is a nymph,

  too splendid in emerald green, and

  I’m ecstatic that she

  has to walk a mile home

  on her toes. And I’m leveled

  to know I’ll never again pick her

  up at that house, with her prick father

  peeking out from behind

  the window blinds, promising

  my best can never, ever be enough.

  I Arrive Home First

  Pilfer a tumbler of Jack.

  Dad will probably miss it

  sooner or later, but I don’t give

  a shit. What’s he gonna do,

  make me give it back?

  I go take a piss, hope

  I don’t have to do it

  again when Dad is grunting

  over that woman. Lori.

  Is that what he always

  called her? Is that what

  her husband called her?

  Are three syllables

  too difficult to deal with?

  I swear, I’ll never call

  Alexa “Lex” again.

  In my room, I exchange

  my good clothes

  for comfortable flannels,