Crank Series: Crank Part 43

"Make love to me. Please? I don't care who sees." He might have.

But just then his watch beeped "two."

No way. Come on, let's go!

Well beyond the witching hour, Chase hustled most of his guests out the door. (A few were tied up in the bedrooms.) I didn't want to p.i.s.s off your parents.

We wouldn't make it home until almost three. But the E insisted I remain hopeful.

"They're always in bed by ten...."

Doesn't look like they're asleep.

Every light was on, upstairs and down, and I caught my mom's face at the window. We had turned back into pumpkins after all.

If You Guessed

I was GUFN, two points for you.

Can you believe Chase was brave enough to walk me to the door?

Mom pounced.

"Do you realize it's three a.m.?"

Chase tried to apologize, said we'd lost track of time, talking.

"I'm sure that was all you were doing."

Mom lectured him on responsibility and gave him the old, "We were worried to death!"

(She looked just fine to me.) What could Chase do but nod?

"Well, Kristina won't be going anywhere for a while."

I tried to talk my way out of her anger zone.

No good.

"What were you thinking, Kristina?"

Scott flashed a half apologetic look as Mom carried on.

"Don't you know the cops keep a lookout for kids like you?"

I wasn't a kid. And I'd never so much as seen a cop drive by.

Not yet, anyway.

Exiled

to my private mauve island where pretty pink b.u.t.terflies fluttered on my wall in a lovely -enhanced b.u.t.terfly dance, I tried to be angry, but the ecstasy wouldn't let me. In fact, it made me take a peek at things from my mom's POV. I mean, we did stay out until the c.o.c.k woke up to stoke his crow. Not only that, but we did the very things she worried about us doing, and more.

Introspection would be easy as a dual-edged sword. If you acquaint your self with your self, you don't always like the person you find inside. I could deal with that. The bigger problem was discovering Bree didnut really give a d.a.m.n about liking me.

I Spent the Next Day

helping Mom can tomatoes.

It was an annual event and I had always hated the tedious ch.o.r.e. But the last tiny tendrils of ecstasy, infiltrating me, somehow made it enjoyable. I didn't even mind my mom's company. In fact, my mood seemed to rub off on her. She didn't once b.i.t.c.h, though she enthusiastically quizzed me about the previous evening's activities.

This very big part of me wanted to confess, to ask forgiveness, request help. Oh, I knew my bad habits had escalated, and if Kristina had had her way that day, well, who knows?

But over the last few weeks, Bree had grown stronger and her argument-that Mom might put her away, far removed from friends, Chase, and all personal choice-was feasible. So I refused to waver from the concert and long conversation excuse. And when she asked about drugs, I summoned every ounce of righteous indignation I could muster and denied touching a thing except a toke or two of weed. I knew she wouldn't be too upset about that. And by the time all the jar lids popped down on row upon row of salsa, sauce, and ketchup, I was still grounded. But at least Mom wasn't as mad anymore.

Burned Out

Burning up, coming down, I popped three aspirin against the throbbing in my skull, and attempted a nap.

I laid in bed, sweating out toxins, the last of the E and crank, aching from the inside out. Could I ever s.h.i.+ft into reverse?

Falling from euphoria, I face-planted into depression. Hard, somersaulting through your own manure. Harder yet to get back up without tripping and falling all over again. I felt out of control, a meteorite tumbling through s.p.a.ce, tugged by gravity toward certain doom.

Jerked Awake

well after dark, yanked into consciousness by Mom and Scott, yelling in the hall.

"Are you blind, Marie? You don't sleep like that unless you're cras.h.i.+ng."

She's running a fever, Scott.

And just what makes you an expert?

"Come on. We both know the scene.

You just refuse to believe it."

We had a long talk today. She swears the only thing she has tried is pot.

"Like your sweet, little Kristina is above lying to you?"

But what do we do? Search her room? Have her tested?

"We pull the reins tighter. No dates.

Straight home after school."

For how long? We can't keep her locked up here forever.

"At least until report cards come home.

If her grades are okay, she's free."

What about tonight? Should I try to wake her up for dinner again?

"Let her sleep. If she's really sick, she needs the rest. Especially after last night."

Okay. Just, please, try to keep an open mind. And, Scott?

Thank you for caring.

Report Cards?

If grades were the criteria, I would be in deep frigging dung.

Two weeks till "d" (for dung) day, no way could I make up for how I'd screwed up this quarter.

And if they were going to start searching my room, I had some serious stas.h.i.+ng to do.

But I didn't dare move, not for a while. I stared off into the dark, thinking about Chase.

No dates? Home straight after school? How could I live without seeing Chase?

Alone in my bed, I could taste him, embrace him, feel his skin, warm against my own.

There, as the house fell silent, I could hear him tell me, I love you, Kristina.

Live without him? They couldn't make me. Wouldn't make me.

I would go to him that night.

I grabbed my "hideables."

Out the window. Down the wall like a spider, on night prowl.

No way to call him to come and get me. How would I ever get myself into Reno?

One way came to mind.

I swallowed my fear and stuck out my thumb.

Anyone Could Have Come Along