Tilt by Ellen Hopkins
Saint Mary’s isn’t far. I find a parking place
right near the ER. See? God’s watching out
for us. He always does. But by the time
I find Mom and Gram inside, the doctor
has already broken the news. Mom’s face
is whiter than the walls, and her hands tremble
in her lap. Gram pulls me aside. They’re
doing more tests. But Dr. Malik believes
that Shelby’s heart is giving out. It doesn’t
look good, honey. She tries to hug me, but
I push her away. “No, damn it! He could
be wrong, right? She’s rallied back before.”
Please, God, no. All that stuff I said about
a dignified death? I didn’t mean now.
He could be wrong. We’ll know more
soon. Nothing we can do but wait.
It’s a very long two hours, butt wrestling
hard plastic chairs. An hour in, Dad calls
Gram’s cell. She gets up and moves away
from Mom, but I hear her say, Chris, you need
to catch the first plane home. Unspoken words
float like dandelion spores: Before it’s too late.
Despite Our Hopes and Prayers
The tests support Dr. Malik’s diagnosis.
By the time he comes to confirm, Dad
is on his way to the airport for a flight
home and Aunt Andrea and Alex are here
to hear him say, Shelby’s time is short.
A week at the outside. We can keep
her here, but I suggest you take her
home. She’ll want to be close to you.
Mom nods, but doesn’t cry. I think
her tears are all used up. She doesn’t
speak, either. Maybe her words are all
used up, too. Aunt Andrea asks about
hospice care. She doesn’t seem to
notice the obvious male interest in
Dr. Malik’s eyes when he looks at her,
says, I’ll contact them right away.
When they wheel Shelby out, we all
try to act cheerful. But the performance
is noticeably forced. Though we smile
and banter and joke, our sadness is palpable.
Shelby
Sadness
I’ve heard that word before,
on TV and DVDs. They always
say, “Be happy, not sad.” I know
what happy is, but I
don’t
understand what sad means.
It must be how you feel, like
when you can’t find your smile.
I hear Daddy tell Mommy, “Don’t
cry,”
and that means when your eyes get
wet and I think that’s something
like sad. Sometimes I feel lonely.
And sometimes I feel bored. But
for
most of the time, I feel happy.
Especially when people I love
are all around me, close to
me.
Like now. I only wish they could
be happy, too. I only wish
they could find their smiles.
Harley
All Smiles
I know the saying is cliché, but that’s how
I feel tonight. Like everything’s just right.
My first week at high school was a cruise.
I found all my classes, no tardies. Figured
out how get to my locker between them.
Most of my teachers are ace. And, except
maybe for World History, I think this year
will be pretty easy. With the workouts
I did all summer, even PE seems okay.
Better yet, the new clothes Cassie
bought me are stylish, and with my
new haircut and makeup, I almost feel hot.
I even got “the look” from some guys.
Okay, they were all freshmen, and
ninth-grade boys are mostly dweebs.
But, hey, it’s a good start. And tonight
I’m going to the rib cook-off in Sparks.
It happens every Labor Day weekend,
and it’s one of my favorite events.
Looks like I’m going with Brianna.
Her mom just pulled her car over at
my bus stop. Hey, Harley. Your mom
asked me to pick you up. She . . . had
to help your aunt Marissa do something.
I’d call that vague. “Isn’t she coming
to the cook-off tonight? It’s her birthday,
and we were going to celebrate it there.”
She said she’d try. I know she wants
to. I guess this is important, though.
Okay, that’s kind of weird, but whatever.
Trace is riding shotgun. He doesn’t
even look at me when I get in the backseat
with Bri. “Do you have any idea
what’s going on?” I whisper to Bri.
Something about this feels like a secret.
One everyone here knows, but me.
Even If That’s True
No one’s confessing. I call Mom,
hoping for an explanation, but all
I get is her voice mail, so I leave
a simple, “Happy birthday. Don’t
forget about the rib cook-off.”
I hope she calls back, but whatever.
We stop by Bri’s house for a few.
I want to change, says her mom,
who’s wearing workout clothes.
She eyes my short skirt. It will
probably cool off when the sun
goes down. You can borrow
a pair of Bri’s jeans if you want.
Looks like they just might fit you.
By the way, you’re looking great.
“Thanks for noticing.” I have to
admit, I like when someone notices.
Even if that person happens to be
the mom of a friend who refuses
to acknowledge the very same
thing. Maybe she’s jealous. Or
maybe she’s still a little miffed
that I told about Mikayla. When
we go to her room, she asks me,
in short little bursts, So, do you
want to borrow jeans? Sweats?
Something? Now it’s she who
is checking out the height
of my skirt on my thighs. “Nah.
That’s okay. Maybe a sweater,
just in case.” She goes to her closet,
digs through it for a sweater that
will be baggy on me. Doesn’t mean
I have to wear it. She tosses it.
“Thanks. Hey. You’re not mad
at me about anything, are you?”
She Sighs
Sits on her bed. Her voice, when
she answers, is very, very quiet.
No. It’s just, I’m worried about
some stuff. That’s all. Not your fault.
“You mean, like Mikayla? Because
I’m really sorry I told. I just thought . . .”
It’s okay. Someone had to tell. I should
have told, but I was scared. I’m worried
about her, but also about Mom. Tomorrow
she and Mikki are going to meet Sarah Hill.
“Who’s that?” Is she important?
I’ve never heard the name before.
She’s Mom’s biological mother. Mik found
her on Facebook. I don’t know if she’s why,
but lately Mom’s been kind of weird.
Distracted, I guess. Like she’s here, but not.
I don’t know if it’s because of Sarah Hill,
or Mikayla, or something else, but . . .
Her voice trails off and it hits me
that lately we haven’t really talked.
“Well, come on, Bri. If she just found
her biological mother, she’s probably
freaking out. I mean, wouldn’t you?”
I can’t imagine not knowing who
my parents were. Bri just kind of nods.
I guess so. But Mom and Dad are always
fighting lately. He even stayed gone
all night last week. That never happens.
Not a good sign. Even as little as
I was, I remember my parents fighting.
Look how they ended up. But I’m not
going to say that to Bri. “They’re just
stressed because of Mikayla, I bet.”
But now she shakes her head.
That’s not it. Believe it or not, Dad
still doesn’t know she’s pregnant.
Too Many Secrets
In this house, but I’m not going to say
that, either. It’s time to go, we’re told,
so I can leave all the things I didn’t say
behind us. Unvoiced words echo loudly.
But Bri doesn’t seem to notice, and
neither does her mom. Mrs. Carlisle
has poured herself into really tight jeans.
She looks amazing in them, too.
We pile back into the car, in the same
configuration. “Isn’t Mikayla going?
Or Mr. Carlisle?” I didn’t see any sign
of either of them, come to think of it.
Mikayla went with Dylan. And Jace
is working late on a case tonight.
So it’s just the four of us, unless your
mother can find a way to join us.
Up pop questions that I won’t ask.
What are Mikayla and Dylan going to do?
Who works late on a three-day weekend?
What in the world is going on with my mom?
Like Fourth of July
The entire Victorian Square area
is blocked off. Foot traffic only.
But unlike the Fourth, the streets
tonight are filled with the delicious
smell of cooking ribs. Barbecue
chefs come from all over, trying
to win money for their special
recipes. And we get to taste test.
I’ve been saving up calories
for days. My mouth waters
at the smell of hickory smoke,
lifting into the early evening.
Trace spots a friend and off
he goes. Mrs. Carlisle yells
to meet back at the car at ten.
Then she decides to check out
the band. Boy, do heads turn
to follow her butt bounce.
Bri acts disgusted. As for me,
I really want to give it a try.
The Difference
Between tight jeans
and a short skirt is, when
it comes to butt bounce
you’ve got to be a lot
more careful in the skirt,
at least if you don’t really
want your butt to come
bouncing all the way out
from underneath it. Glad
I’m wearing panties, and
Bri’s glad, too. What are
you doing, Harley? People
are staring. You remind me
of my sister. Not especially
a good thing. But she smiles.
I don’t point out that I’m
actually imitating her mom.
“Like, who? Any cute boys?”
I do give my skirt a tug down
in back. No panty peeks.
Those guys are definitely
checking us out. They’re kind
of cute, I guess. She nods
toward two boys hanging
out on a small patch of grass.
One is familiar. I met him
with Chad on the Fourth. Lucas.
Yeah, that’s it. His eyes go
all up and down me, which is
awesome and creepy at once.
“Don’t look now, but they’re
coming this way. The tall one
is a friend of Chad’s.” Which
means he’s probably a stoner,
too. Definitely not Bri’s type.
Not my type, either, right?
And does Bri really have
a type? Her voice is edgy
when she says, What do
you think they want, Harl?
Good Question
One just about to get answered.
Lucas is cuter than I remembered
him, and his friend isn’t bad, either.
It’s a volley:
Hey. Remember me?
“Of course. Hi, Lucas.”
This here is Kurt.
“This is Brianna.”
Good to see you again.
“You, too. What’s up?”
Not much. Where’s Chad?
“I don’t have a clue.”
Cool. Wanna hang?
I glance at Bri, who shrugs.
And just like that we’re walking
around with a couple of older guys.
It doesn’t seem to bother them
that we are a little younger. For
once, I don’t feel inferior to Bri,
who has somehow been paired
with Kurt, leaving Lucas with me.
Which is more than okay. It’s rockin’.
Lucas
Rockin’
This sweet little thing
has a rockin’ bod. And
the best thing about it
is, I’m betting it’s
virgin
territory. She’s pure
as snowmelt, despite
all the ass waving going
on, and unmarked
girls
are a raging turn-on.
Me and Kurt got two right
here. Pretty, tight and
looking for love, which we
aren’t
exactly offering. But they
don’t know that. The game
now is to see how
easy
we can make them, how far
they’ll let us take them
on promises meant to be
broken. Such potential is hard
to find.
Mikayla
It’s Hard
It’s Even Harder
Hanging out with friends
like we used to—Dylan and I.
Our regular crowd is fast.
Weekends are all about partying.
Tonight, for instance, before
the rib cook-off we dropped by
Clay’s. Emily and Audrey were
there, and this guy named Chad,
who happens to be the guy my cousin’s
been gushing about all summer.
Anyway, they were all getting buzzed
on some excellent weed and when
the blunt came around to me, what
could I do but take it? If I didn’t,
they’d want to know why not. I’ve
never turned it down before. And,
okay, the truth is, I didn’t want to
turn it down. Not even for my baby.
I Can’t Not
Think of it as a baby. I’m ten weeks
pregnant, give or take a few days.
The doctor said I really need to make
my decision right away. Mom made
me an appointment with her ob-gyn.
I couldn’t stomach the thought of a visit
to Planned Parenthood, so I went to
Dr. Ortega instead. She was nice enough,
I guess, but not exactly sympathetic.
She bombarded me with questions.
Are you sure who the father is?
Does he know? Have the two of
you discussed options? You’re
&
Yes. Yes. Yes. And what the . . . ?
Marriage? It’s not even on the table.
No one has said a thing about it.
But why not? I mean, at least as
a possibility. When Sarah Hill got
pregnant with Mom, abortion was
out of the question. Ditto raising
a kid alone. So it must have come
down to two things—adoption
or a shotgun wedding. Things
sure have changed in forty years.
A kiss for your thoughts. Dylan
interrupts my reverie. “I was just
thinking about marriage. Oh, don’t
look so scared. The doctor asked
if we were planning on it. I said no.”
His relief is obvious. Unreasonably,
that makes me mad. “For some people
that is an option, you know. Not so
long ago, one of the only options.”
But we can’t. I mean, how could we?
I don’t even have a job or anything.
He’s Whining Now
And that really irritates me. But I
back off. What’s the point of fighting?
“I know. I’m sorry. Let’s just try
to have fun tonight, okay?” It’s dark
by the time we get to Sparks and park.
“God, that smells good. I’m starving.”
We head straight for the food booths,
find a few that offer free samples,
and take advantage of those. We are
finishing our fourth mini-plate when
a nasal voice falls over our shoulders.
Hey, Dylan. What’s up? Kristy Lopez,
Tyler in tow. Poor Ty looks uneasy,
but not nearly as uncomfortable as
Dylan, who says, Not much. What are
you guys up to? He does me the favor
of not staring up at her boobs, which
she’s totally hanging over the top of him.
Okay, That’s a Pisser
But things get worse immediately.
Ty: Eating ribs, same as you.
Kristy: Are you coming tomorrow?
Dylan, shrugging: Not sure yet.
Me: “Coming tomorrow where?”
Dylan, face flaring red: Tahoe.
Ty: There’s a barbecue and kegger.
Kristy: At Camp Rich. Didn’t you know?
Me, giving Dylan the evil eye. “No.”
Dylan, lying: Thought I told you.