Authors: Ellen Hopkins
I should resist.
Turn
away.
Walk
away.
Run
away,
far
away,
so far
the monster will
never
find me, never
sniff
me out,
never
dare
touch
me,
never
pretend to
hear
my meager complaints,
never
get even the slightest
taste
of the fear in my heart,
never
force me to
see
what I’m afraid to see.
Without
a doubt
I understand
the monster
and I are more
than friends.
We’re blood
brothers.
Or maybe
blood sisters.
(Is there
such a thing?
And does
that mean
I should
include Bree?)
That is
a forever
kind of thing.
Forever.
All I need
to do is
find a way
for the two
of us
[no, most
definitely that’s
three of us,
including
me, Bree]
to hook
up again.
It has been months since
I’ve been out looking to
score.
Chase is gone, Brendan
person non grata, my
Mexican Mafia
connect
a thing of the past.
Only one person comes
to mind, and Robyn
just might be hard to
find,
away at college in
California. And even
if I can locate my old
party
pal, how will I ever
make it over the mountain
to the Golden State? I used
to have plenty of
friends,
friends who could give
me rides. No more, and my
own wheels are in for a major
overhaul. I can’t borrow
Mom’s car to hunt down
whiff.
Can I?
Robyn’s brother is an old
friend. In fact, that’s how
I know Robyn. Trent’s great,
even if he is totally straight.
Meaning he doesn’t get high.
Because when it comes to sex,
he’s 100 hundred percent gay.
And I’m fine with things that way.
Mrs. Rosselli answers on
the third ring.
Hello? Oh, it’s
you.
Her voice is like a hail
storm—hard, staccato, frigid.
“Hello, Mrs. Rosselli.
Is Trent there? No?
Well, do you know
when he’ll get home, then?”
Long pause. Then,
I’m not
really sure. Can I help
you with anything else?
Something’s up with her.
I’m not really looking
for Trent, anyway. “Yes.
Can you tell me how
to get hold of Robyn?”
Longer pause.
Uh, you
know, she was moving
out of the dorm, into
an apartment. I’m not sure…
Things are growing clearer.
“Is there a problem, Mrs.
Rosselli? I just want to
catch up with old friends.”
The longest pause of all.
You’re not their friend,
Kristina. You’re nothing
but trouble they don’t need.
But not really smarting,
I could tell her that
both of her children
need all the friends
the
ycan get—trouble
or not. One is eighteen
and gay, in a city where
homosexuality is almost
as dirty a word as “Democrat.”
The other will be lucky
to finish her freshman year
in college—too much time
buying affection with an
omnipresent speed stash.
But saying that won’t suit
either of us at the moment.
“I’m not sure what you mean,
Mrs. Rosselli. I’ve made some
mistakes, yes. But I’m working
hard to straighten myself out.
Having friends in my life—
good friends, on the right
track themselves—is one
thing I desperately need.
I apologize if I’ve ever
done anything to offend
you, or to hurt Robyn or
Trent. I don’t believe I
have, but if you think
so, please let me make
it up to you.” Oh yeah,
I’m back in the game,
and damn does it feel great!
But it works.
I’m sorry, Kristina.
I shouldn’t be so judgmental.
“That’s okay, Mrs. Rosselli.
I understand your feelings.”
Trent works for a lawyer
after school. He usually
gets home around six.
“A lawyer? Wonderful!
I know he wanted to go
to law school….”
Robyn’s at UOP in
Stockton. She still has
her old cell number, 775…
“Thank you so much.
I’ll call Trent later. Please
tell him I was in touch.”
I will. And how’s that
baby? Growing like
corn, I’ll wager.
Growing like corn?
Whatever. “He’s beautiful,
thanks. Looks just like me.”
She chuckles.
I bet he
does. Take care, Kristina.
“You too, Mrs. Rosselli.”
I click the phone dead,
dial another number.
“Hey, Robyn. It’s Kristina.
What’s up?”
Strung,
like her brain is
disconnected
from her mouth.
Don’t get me
wrong.
I remember that
feeling well—
knowing
exactly what you
want to say, but
your
lips can’t quite
manage the
correct
combination of vowels
and consonants
to form the
words.
Could be a bad sign.
Anyone that
incapable
of cohesive language
could very well be
crashing—another way
of saying
Robyn is definitely
still using, but might
be out at the moment,
a sentence
worse than death for
a regular tweaker.
How bad
is
my timing?
K-Kristina?
“C’mon, Robyn. It
hasn’t been that long.”
Oh, yeah, right.
Kristina. Whatcha
been up to?
“Not much. Studying
for my GED. Taking
care of my baby.”
Sounds…like not
a lot of fun.
“Which is exactly why
I’m calling you.”
Oh, yeah, right.
Well, I could maybe
help you out there.
“Very cool. I have to
see if I can borrow a car.
How about tomorrow?”
That would probably
work. I’m in class
until four.
She can do classes,
sounding like that?
“Okay. I’ll work on
the car and give you
a buzz tomorrow.”
Oh, yeah, right.
Uh, Kristina? Come
alone, okay?
Tweaker talk for
This better not be a bust.
“Not a problem, Robyn.
All I want is to get my head.”
Thinking about it,
I’m starting to want
that real bad.
I have to convince my mom to lend
me her car, and to babysit
Hunter—all on a Friday
night. Party night, for
almost every
partier in
America.
Hell, it’s the
American Way, as
I think almost everyone
will agree. Get out of school
or off work, put on clean clothes,
and look for a way to escape reality—
whether that’s with alcohol, weed, or
my all-time favorite: speed.
Pot and beer mostly make
me tired. I only used
to use them when
I was buzzed up
real high,
didn’t
mind slowing
down a little. But I
haven’t done any of that
in way too long. Being good
all the time isn’t just hard. It’s damn
boring. There’s more to life than babies
and books, and I’m overdue to go out
and find a little fun. First things
first. I have to find a way
to Stockton. All it
will take, I hope,
is the perfect
little (okay,
big) lie.
Not having had to manufacture
a lie in quite a long time.
I have to say, that isn’t a bad
place to be, where you don’t
have to lie. Everything is just
so much easier when you don’t
have to remember what you
told who, and when, and why.
What is simply is. But not
anymore, I guess. Now I have
to not only come up with a reason
to go, but also to remember exactly
what it was, no matter how tweaked
I might be when I get home.
Tweaked! It takes a modicum
of thinking, but within an hour or so,
I invent a great (I think) excuse.
“Mom, is there any
way I could borrow
your car? There’s a
college fair I want to
check out tomorrow,
over in Sacramento.
It starts around four
and should go until
eight” (1 think
that will give me
plenty of time to
hook up with Robyn—
even if she isn’t
exactly on time—
score, toot a little,
and start back.)
“I’d ask you to come along, but I
need you to watch Hunter. I can’t
really take him with me. If it makes
you feel better, I’ll invite Trent to
ride along. He can visit his sister.”
College
fair?
Don’t you want me
to go along with
you? You’ve
never driven
that far by your
It’s aself.
three
-
hour trip, you
know, not easy.
Of course, I know he
has to work until five thirty.
But at least if it comes up
in conversation, I can
tell Mom I asked,
but he had other plans.
I call about eight.
“Hey, Trent. It’s Kristina.
Long time, no talk.
“I heard you’re working
for a lawyer. Hope
he’s really cute!”
Trent hesitates, not
at all sure why I’m striking
up a conversation.
He’s not bad, actually.
But that can’t be why
you called. What’s up?
To the point, and why
not? We haven’t spoken
since before I had Hunter.
“Actually, I’m driving over
to Stockton tomorrow
afternoon and wondered
if you’d like to ride along.
I thought you might like
to drop in on Robyn.”
Thanks for thinking
of me, Kristina. But
I have to work and
even if I didn’t, I
wouldn’t go. Robyn
is on a fast track to death.
“What do you mean?”
Like I don’t know
exactly what he means.
If you don’t know, you
haven’t seen her lately.
And if you haven’t
seen her lately, I suggest
you steer clear. She’ll
take you down with her.
Kristina, we haven’t
hung out together
for a while, but you’ve
always been a good friend
to me. Let me offer you
a good friend’s advice.
Stay away from Robyn.
And if you see her coming,
run the other way.