Authors: Ellen Hopkins
I Want to Talk
But I’m not really sure
what I can talk about. Daddy?
Not ever. Mom? Definitely not now.
The campaign is much too close to call.
Raeanne? How I miss her, miss how
close we once were? Miss
the sisters we used to
be, before…
Nope. Can’t crack open
that particular history book.
Other family members, inexplicably
unable or unwilling to be a part of my
life? Ian? Uh-huh. OMG! Greta is
undeniably right. Some very
intense demons have so
got hold of me.
I Go Over to Her
Wrap my arms around her
neck. “Thank you. But I’m
okay.” Of course she knows
it’s a lie.
Greta, who patiently
waits for my confession,
can see demons hip-hopping
in my eyes.
She deserves a better answer.
“Maybe someday we can
trade stories, okay? But
I’m on foot today.
Better go.”
Be safe,
is her reply, and again
I realize I only feel secure here.
Passing William in the hall,
I give his shoulder an easy
poke.
“Name’s Kaeleigh. Gotta go.
Be good.” He offers the usual
Always,
then turns his attention
to a couple of older ladies. Better
them
than me, and their giggles
mean they agree. I step
out
the door, into lengthening
afternoon, carry my demons
home, tucked deep inside.
We All Have Demons
Some inside us, some outside.
(Madison is a fine example
of the exterior variety.)
It’s a lie
to say otherwise. Kaeleigh
can successfully stow hers
away in some dark corner, but
in my eyes
it is better to confront them
than let them roil you into
turmoil. And so at the moment
I’m thinking I’d
better go
get in Madison’s face. For a day
or two, I wasn’t sure Mick was
worth it. And hey, he probably
isn’t. But she has to learn not to
poke
sticks at snakes, at least not
venomous ones. Today my
fangs are exposed. All
I have to do is sink
them
into the proper artery, pump
a little poison, watch her bleed
out,
one less demon to contend with.
I Guess I Might
Just leave well enough alone,
but I’ve been thinking about Mick.
One way or another, I have to
decide whether I want to keep him.
He actually gave me an ultimatum
when he found me doing the deed with Ty.
Maybe that’s why I got so ballsy, had sex
with Ty where I knew Mick could
find us. Maybe I had to know if he
cared or not. He did! He was jealous.
I’d like to think the reason
he was flirting with Madison
that night was to make me jealous.
But I don’t think he’s that complicated.
“Complicated” takes more brains.
Not that Mick is a total dolt,
but he isn’t exactly Einstein, either.
Anyway, most of Mick’s brains reside
in the general area of his groin.
One thing for sure, sex will never
be about love with Mick. I don’t love
him, and he definitely doesn’t love me.
Still, he semi-fills a gaping black hole
inside me. That place wants love,
maybe even needs love, but love is
something I’m pretty sure doesn’t exist.
With or Without Love
I’m not ready to let him go, not
without a fight. Besides the easy
sex thing, there’s still the pot.
I know they say marijuana isn’t
addictive, not like speed or heroin,
which claw into you and won’t let go.
Pot is more of a sweet talker, and I’m
all over that sexy voice. I went Saturday
without it, but by yesterday afternoon,
I was getting antsy. I called Mick,
asked him to pick me up after church.
Yes, I sometimes sneak off to Sunday
services, always in need of forgiveness,
if not always exactly sure why. Freshly
forgiven, I was eager for corruption.
Okay, I’ll come get you,
he said.
But not if you’re gonna fuck off
on me. What was that about?
Not like we’re exclusive, or have
ever pretended to be. But the dope
was calling. Had to play contrite.
Even if it isn’t my best game. “Sorry.
Guess I was jealous of Madison
and wanted to make you jealous too.”
Yeah, well, I could have screwed
her Friday night too. I didn’t,
even though she wanted to.
Zing! Off went a flare in my head.
My temper [ature] started to rise.
But I kept it in check. “Obviously.”
Anyway, Madison says you see
other guys all the time. Friday
kind of proved that, didn’t it?
Okay, I was starting to lose it.
“That’s just bullshit! If she doesn’t
watch her effing mouth, I’ll…”
He waited for me to finish it,
but when all I could do was stammer,
he asked,
You’ll what?
“Kick her ass.”
But Kicking Ass
Could definitely be
a double-edged
sword. Not that
I’ve ever tried it.
But I can see how getting physical could relieve some tension,
at least in the short run. Hauling off, letting my fists fly, and
feeling them connect with her surprised face just might
make me feel a
whole lot better.
That is, until the
inevitable fallout.
Suspension for
sure. Restitution,
possibly. Maybe
lockup? I could
even find myself
in my dear old
daddy’s court.
No, the more
I think about
it, the more I
believe there
has to be a
subtle yet
satisfying
method of
revenge.
I Just Have to Find It
And that might take a while.
Patience? Not my best thing.
I make it through Contemporary
Lit, still puzzling over it.
Spanish II.
Si, quiero
venganza.
I want revenge.
I am on my way to history
when opportunity falls
smack in my lap, à la
a quick bathroom break.
As I start toward the girls’
room, I notice Madison
ahead of me. She reaches
into her purse, roots inside.
She glances around, but
doesn’t see me watch her
extract a tampon, palm
it, and step through the door.
I can wait to pee. And now
I’ve got my ammunition.
I’ll Have to Wait to Use It, Though
First I have to get through history.
I sit in my usual seat in back,
by the window, as Mr. Lawler
passes out last week’s essays.
I can’t help but notice how
he moves with feline grace.
A big cat. Jaguar, maybe.
Or a tiger. Secure within his stripes.
Pinstripes, actually, on dark
trousers, snug at the waist
and across his hips,
before falling loosely
down over his thighs.
And just as my disgusting
brain gloms onto a sick
image of what those thighs
look like, his voice descends.
Interesting piece of writing.
I’d like to discuss it further.
Can you wait after class,
or come in at lunch?
Interesting, good? Or bad?
My eyes drop, focusing on
a large red A at the top of
my paper. Apparently,
good. “Let’s do lunch.”
Doing Lunch
With Mr. Lawler will postpone
exacting revenge. Lunch would
have been a great venue for what
I’ve got in mind. Instead I’ll wait
for drama—not my class, but I’ll
go to watch Kaeleigh rehearse.
At least, that will be my excuse.
Madison will be there too.
And anyway, lunch with Mr. Lawler
and his pinstripes could prove quite
interesting. Sheesh. Sometimes I turn
into a major vamp. It’s a fun game.
I’m all into games, distractions
from the day-to-day crap. All vamp,
I open Mr. Lawler’s door. “Ready
for me?” His smile tells me definitely.
Come on in. I’m just finishing
up here. Have a seat.
He gestures
to a chair beside his desk, scribbles
something in his grade book,
and finally looks me in the eye.
I’m fascinated with your take
on the Scopes trial. How did you
arrive at your conclusions?
I outline my research, add a bit
about my father and his take on
this sensational piece of history—
how different attorneys might have
made different arguments, the court
might have allowed the jury to
sentence Scopes, and the Bible
might have been the only source
for schoolchildren for many years
to come. Hard to believe they were
such cretins in 1925, jailing a high
school teacher for offering evolution
as an alternate theory to creationism.
Just who were the monkeys in the “Monkey
Trial”? Anyway, the entire time I talk,
Mr. Lawler’s eyes stay fixed on mine.
I’m very impressed. You took
a relatively straightforward
topic and gave it a unique
spin. I appreciate the extra
effort that went into this essay.
And then, in a completely