Author: Ellen Hopkins
Category: Literature
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/ellen-hopkins/page,20,39433-tilt.html
outside my window. I can see her eyes
following movement. It’s her dad and
my mom, on the patio. They are alone,
and caught up in some conversation.
Mom’s lips move and now he looks
kind of sad. He leans toward her,
but she steps away. Shakes her head.
Whatever he said, I see Mom’s clear
resolution. “What the heck is that about?”
Bri shakes her head. I have no idea.
Brianna
I Have No Idea
What’s going on anymore.
Everything feels tenuous,
like standing at the ocean’s
edge, the licking waves
eroding
the sand from beneath
my feet. My best friend
is turning herself into
somebody new, steadfastly
changing,
and maybe not for the better.
My sister is clinging to
some weird fantasy, make-
believing she is
slipping
toward happily ever after.
And my parents have become
an unknown equation. Two,
divided by x, and the farther
apart
they push from each other,
the likelier they will never
bounce back.
Mikayla
Divided
That’s how I’ve felt ever since
I found out I was pregnant. Torn
in two, one half insisting on the easy
solution, the other on doing the right
thing. When I got home from Vegas
and told Dylan I had decided to keep
the baby, he gave me an ultimatum—
It’s me or it, Mik. I love you. But if
you keep it, you will lose me. And
don’t expect any help from me.
Each word struck like a jagged blade,
piercing skin, flesh and heart.
I can’t imagine life without Dylan,
and I changed my mind again. I totally
planned to keep the appointment.
I would have let Dylan drive me
to the clinic. But fate intervened
and I went to a funeral instead.
I Didn’t Know Shelby
Didn’t even really know she existed,
or what her life was about. Our only
relationship was my sister being friends
with her cousin, and my mom with her aunt.
A long, elastic thread. But when she died
and that cord snapped, it was a sharp reminder
of the value of life. She was only four. Not
much bigger than a baby doll, and that’s how
she looked in her frilly white burial dress,
her hair all curled in ringlets. A sleeping doll.
So much sadness at her passing, though it
wasn’t unexpected. How could you carry
a baby for nine months, dreams building,
only to have hope crushed by a heartbreaking
diagnosis? How could you live knowing
your child’s time with you would be so short?
So I Was at the Funeral Today
It was not my first, so I knew
the minister would talk about
dying
how it’s really a beginning, and
how Christ is key to conquering
death
and through him, one day we
would be reconnected with our
dead.
Then the eulogies, personal
stories about Shelby’s
living
and how her spirit added
layers of hope to every
life
she touched. And I wished
I’d known her while she was
alive.
And Hearing About
How those four short years
meant so much to those who
shared them, I knew without
a doubt that my baby deserves
the chance to bring his or her light
into this world. It can’t be up to me
to snuff it out. Making this decision
has been a tug-of-war. Or maybe
more like a teeter-totter ride.
Back and forth. Up and down.
Either way, I’ve thumped to
the ground, and now that I have,
things can only get harder, but
I won’t change my mind again.
First I’ve got to tell two people—
the baby’s father. And mine.
I Don’t Know Why Mom
Didn’t come to the wake. She said
she had a headache, but that’s not
a very good excuse. I hope she’s home
when I get there. No use putting this off
any longer, and I need her support.
Oh, good. Her Jeep’s in the driveway.
As Dad puts his car into park, I say,
“Hey, Dad. I need to talk to you.
It’s important.” Trace and Bri both
look at me, eyes asking if I’m going
to confess. I nod an acknowledgment.
If they want to listen in, fine. I go
inside and find Mom on her computer.
The glass beside it is almost empty,
a small puddle of red wine in the bottom.
“Mom?” Reluctantly, she draws her attention
away from the screen, refocuses it on me.
“I’m going to tell Dad about the baby.
I need you to be there, okay?” She starts
to say something. Stops. Gets out of her chair.
We Find Dad in the Kitchen
Pouring himself a drink. Death
and alcohol seem to partner well.
I could use one myself. Oh, wait.
Seeing Mom trail in behind me,
Dad has to know something is up.
Okay, Mikayla. What’s so important?
I notice Trace and Bri, hovering
in the background. But what the hell?
It’s now or never. “I . . . um . . .”
Come on. Straight out. “I’m pregnant.”
He stares, like I told him in Swahili.
Then he takes a gulp of his drink. Oh.
Something of an anticlimax.
“Uh, Dad. Did you hear me? I said
I’m pregnant and . . .”
I heard you. His voice is steady, but hard-
edged. What do you want me to say?
I don’t know what I want him
to say, or where to go from here.
Except, “I’m going to keep the baby.”
Trace and Bri
Have crept closer, obviously anxious
to know how this will go. Dad notices,
and now the anger switch flips to on.
His eyes rotate. Trace. Bri. Mom. Me.
All of you knew? All of you, crotch-deep
in this conspiracy? Unreasonably, he turns
on Mom. How dare you keep this from me?
One lie on top of another, huh? Bitch.
Wow. Mom tries to defend herself.
We wanted to wait until Mikayla
decided what to do. We weren’t trying
to hide it from you. Actually, we were.
And Dad, of course, knows it. Really.
So, would you have told me if she had
an abortion? Two beats. That’s what I
thought. How far along are you?
I try to hold his gaze. Fail. Look past
him, to the far wall. “Twelve weeks.”
And Dylan is the father? He waits for
my nod. What does he have to say?
“He wants me to have an abortion.
But I’m not going to kill this baby.”
Goddammit, Mikayla! How can you
have a baby? You’re not even eighteen.
How will you finish high school? What
about college? Is Dylan planning on
supporting you? Or do you expect me
to? What the fuck is wrong with you?
Take it easy, Jace, Mom intervenes.
This is not the end of the world. We can—
We? Who’s we, Holly? You and me?
We’re not even sure there is a you and me,
right? And now we’re supposed to throw
a baby into the mix? Are you insane?
He slams his drink on the counter. Shards
of booze-flavored glass spray the granite.
He leaves the mess, storms from the room.
Bri and Trace scramble to get out of his way.
Good thing. He probably would have
crashed right through them. “Well, that
went pretty well, don’t you think?”
The joke thuds. I grab a sponge, start to
clean up the glass. Mom comes over
to help. There’s a big chunk of something
stuck in the silence. Some huge piece
of information I’m not privy to, but I
think I need to be. “What’s going on
between you and Dad?” Whatever it
is makes Mom sad. “Nothing major.
Just a rough patch.” The lie settles
into the space between us. Shimmers,
like the slivers of glass we sweep away.
Dissolve
One bad scene, into the next. I call
Dylan, ask if I can see him. He agrees
to meet me at Emily’s, and as I drive
over there it occurs to me that I don’t
have to sneak around anymore.
It’s dark by the time we hook up.
I leave my car, get into his, slide close
for a kiss that feels awkward. “Can
we go somewhere?” I touch his thigh,
the way I know he likes. “I want you.”
Rock Creek? I agree and he starts
to drive to one of our favorite parking
spots. So how was the funeral? It’s
the kind of question you ask when
you don’t know what else to say.
“Sad.” I know he wants to ask if
I have rescheduled my appointment,
but I don’t want to tell him until
I have the chance to touch him. Kiss
him. Make him remember our love.
We Are Barely Parked
And I am all over him
because I want him
because I need him
because I love him
can’t bear the thought of
losing him
going on without him
seeing him with someone else
I cover his mouth with mine
give him my kiss
open his lips
with the tip of my tongue
And now we are naked
skin rubbing skin
bone against bone
flesh into flesh
I tell him I love him
a murmur
a scream
a moan
Right at this moment there is
no baby
no worry
no one but the two of us.
Dylan
At This Moment
I
have never loved her
more. She has possessed
me, this demon girl,
infiltrated me, and I
don’t
know how to exorcise her.
If I found the right words,
some damning incantation,
would I even
want
to
use them, command our hearts
apart? More than lust connects
us, so why doesn’t she understand
how much there is to
lose
if she pursues this ridiculous
plan? I refuse to be dragged
along. And, love or no love,
that will mean leaving
her
behind.
Shane
The Plan
To eradicate every reminder of Shelby
while we were all at the funeral
seems to have gone like clockwork.
Alex and I arrive home before everyone
else, and I go straight for the bedroom
I used to avoid. Emptied. No furniture.
No TV. No VCR. Lung assist machine?
Gone. Donated to a family who needs
one but can’t afford it. One small measure
of good. Thank you, Shelby, wherever
you are. You are there somewhere, right?
What a fucking joke. I snort a half laugh.
Alex looks at me with curious eyes.
What’s so funny? Good question.
He probably thinks I’ve lost
it, and maybe I have. “Nothing, really.
Just pondering the Great Beyond.
You know, the Giant Void, and all that.”
Now he looks at me, surprised. Giant
void as in space? Or as in the place
you used to call heaven?
“What’s the difference? It’s all a huge
bowl of nothing, isn’t it? And just what
the fuck is the point of any of it?”
That isn’t you talking, Shane. I really
think you need to give it some time.
Do you want me to stay or should I go?
“I think I want to be alone for a while.”
We exit the immediate void. Alex tries
to kiss me goodbye, but I’m not
in the mood. Call me if you need me,
he says, starting toward the front door.
When he’s almost there, he turns back
to me. Just so you know, your unshakable
faith, despite everything, is a very big part
of why I fell in love with you. It’s who you are.
It’s Who I Was
I watch him leave, go to my room,
turn on my computer. Enter “Death”
into the search engine. Holy crap.
Pages and pages of definitions
and theories and obituaries and stories
about people dying. Death pictures.
Death videos, including YouTube vids
labeled “gruesome.” What kind of freaks
post those? And who the fuck wants
to watch them? Oh my God. There
are more than a dozen beheadings.
Car wrecks. Executions. Maybe I do
want to watch them. See if I can find
any evidence at all of souls, fleeing.
Morbid curiosity is getting the best
of me. I believe I need to see one, and
am just about to click on it when I hear
familiar voices coming through the front
door. Footsteps follow, some moving
toward the kitchen, others up the hall.
Suddenly, there is screaming. A high,
sharp keen. Mom? I run toward the sound
and almost trip over Gaga, scrambling
for haven under my bed. Dad and Gramps
hurry from the other direction. We all know
where we’ll find Mom. Her siren wail
echoes in the emptiness of Shelby’s room.
No! No! No! How could you? Bastards!
We don’t try to stop her. It isn’t anger
she’s screeching. It’s pain, and we can’t
make it go away. She paces the perimeter,
mascaraed tears striping her face. When
she sees us, she raises the volume. Who
did this? Whose idea was it? Christian?
It was Dad’s idea, but it is Gramps
who says, We thought it would be best.
Mom turns on him. Oh, you did?
You thought it would be best to wipe
my daughter from my life, scrub away
the last five years as if they never happened?
How dare you? Her voice rises, approaches
hysterical. How dare any of you assume
what’s best for me? How . . . how . . .
And now she breaks down completely,
throws herself onto the floor where
the carpet is darker from Shelby’s bed
having covered it all these years. Dad
and Gramps and I exchange silent
questions. Should one of us go to her,
urge her to her feet? Finally, Dad shakes
his head. We back out of the room, leave
Mom to her tear-drenched memories.
I Go Back to My Room
So I Do a Search for “God”
I Realize Something Else, Too
If there is no God, it doesn’t matter
what the fuck I do. All
that self-righteous
whiny crap is for
cowards, really. I have to
do what’s right is synonymous
with I’m scared to do what’s wrong.
Is that how I’ve lived for
sixteen years—afraid?
Screw that. If I don’t
have to worry about pleasing
some Pearly Gatekeeper, I’m damn
sure going to live large. First I have
to find the courage I somehow
missed. I close my door,
open my window. Smoke
half of a fatty. Grab my keys,
step into the hall, listen for voices.
I don’t hear Mom at all. Gramps and
Dad are talking on the deck.
I make the kitchen
undetected, reach
up into the cupboard, where
I know Dad keeps his booze stash.