Crank Series: Crank Part 33

But I didn't have to and never once pondered getting caught as I stood tiptoe on the first- floor window trim, stretching to catch the ledge and crawl back inside my window.

House dark, no sound but Jake's snoring through the wall, I laid in bed, watching a ghost dance on the ceiling, nose sucking up sweat, tobacco, and eau de Brendan, wondering what Adam was up to until the sun poked through the curtains, less than an hour later.

High

For two days, too much crank, no sleep, liquid diet. The first day of school was a nightmare.

Good thing I wasn't a freshman.

I'd have gotten lost, somewhere between gym and the chem lab.

(Almost did, in fact.) I collected handouts; tried to follow list upon list of curricular expectations; tried, failing miserably, to conquer new locker combinations; avoided eye contact with teachers, staff, and most definitely school police; ducked Sarah and Trent so I didn't have to listen to their chitchat; spent lunch far from anything close to food, even though I trembled from near starvation. All the while feeling like my head would burst from thinking so d.a.m.n much when all my brain wanted to do was close down and fall deep into REM sleep. I considered climbing under the bleachers, letting it do just that before I did something really dumb like pa.s.sing out, but just about then the final bell rang.

Day One

blessedly behind me, I rode the belching bus home wondering how I would possibly make it to school the next day. Craved down time when I had to gear up, sustenance though I might throw it up, silence when I knew my family would be waiting to share news of the day. The very monotony I had lately disdained cried out to me: I am essential without me you will wither, like this summer folding up into fall; freeze hard, water in winter awaiting the first breath of spring; uproot, gra.s.s in a wind blown into tornado; parch, like earth denied rain.

Mom's Car Wasn't in the Driveway

Which Roused Me

riled me, made me want to scream.

Instead I made a major-in retrospect, not the best- decision.

I creaked to sitting, thought twice, but when she insisted I drag my rubbery bones to the dinner table, I looked her in the eye and for the first time in my life, told my mother, "f.u.c.k you."

Major Mistake

Her eyes popped wide, her jaw dropped like concrete. She reached out and shook me.

What did you say?

Even caught up in confusion, I knew better than to repeat myself.

I shook my head.

Tell me again.

Okay, she was testing me.

I flunked completely.

"I said, f.u.c.k you."

That's what I thought you said.

Mom's turn for firsts.

She slapped me so hard my teeth rattled and snot flew.

Don't ever say that to me again.

I dissolved into exhausted tears, wondering why I'd done it.

Mom broke down too.

Kristina, what's going on with you?

I couldn't tell her the truth.

What kind of lie might do? I started with a genuine, "I'm sorry."

Oh, G.o.d, I'm sorry too.

She sat down beside me on the bed, put her arms around me, hugged tight.

You're not in trouble, are you?

Trouble? All sorts of trouble, oh, yes. But not the kind she was worried about. "No, Mom."

These new friends ... are they ... okay?

Why couldn't she just say what she meant, ask if they'd led me down the path to h.e.l.l.

You've got so much promise....

Then again, if she did, would I own up? Confess that I had taken the lead on this perilous journey?

Please don't throw it all away.

My mind churned love. Mom loved me. Adam loved me. I suspected Chase might love me, I love you, Kristina Georgia.

(I was pretty sure Brendan only loved the big "v.") Who loved me more?

Who loved me most?

Now, please come down to dinner.

I Did

I sat at the table, brain blank, head spinning, something that sounded suspiciously liquidy whoos.h.i.+ng between my ears, trying not to look like the s.p.a.ce cadet I felt like, struggling to form coherent sentences around megabites of chicken and corn bread, waiting for the ax to clobber me. But Mom never said a word about the reason for the red marks across my cheek, and not only didn't punish me, but let me off GUFN.

Forgiveness granted, I made some decisions: appreciate family, focus on school and hunt for Kristina.

I Mostly Managed That

for the next week.

Hit a reasonable educational stride, settled into the rhythm of cla.s.srooms, quizzes, study halls, homework.

Hung out with Sarah and Trent, swapped summer vacation stories (majorly editing mine), tried out for honor choir and actually made it, despite a voice gone raspy from excess and mushrooming allergies.

Did my best to absorb the energy of family, meals, Sunday church, and a Labor Day camp out.

And I managed all that, barely thinking about the monster or wondering what Chase or Brendan or Adam might be up to.

Until in one fateful day Adam wrote, Brendan called, and Chase showed up to drive me home after school.

Backpack Bulging

I climbed into Chase's truck, slid close. "Where ya been?"

We moved to Sparks. I had to transfer.

Solid explanation. Still, "Why didn't you call?"

I did. You were grounded. Remember?

That excuse was shakier.

"Not for the last two weeks."

I wanted to give you some s.p.a.ce.

Pregnant pause, giving himself some s.p.a.ce.

Kristina, I know I'm not exactly your type.

I looked him in the eye.

"I don't think I have a 'type.'"

I thought it might be the lifeguard type.

Reno wasn't the "biggest little city." It was a small-town gossip mill.

Not that we have an exclusive thing, I know.