Crank Series: Crank Part 12

I may have gained a little perspective.

Mom struggled to raise two kids on her own, at least until Scott blundered into her life.

Jake was a late addition, one the workout queen accepted and loved despite killer stretch marks and sure-to-sag-even-more b.o.o.bs.

As for Dad, well, truth be told, his love of drugs surpa.s.sed his love of family.

And when we were small, he just happened to install cable TV, giving him every opportunity to experience the wild side of bored, stay-at-home housewives, eager for entertainment.

So it was, perhaps, ironic that I discovered ...

Dad Hadn't Paid His Cable Bill

Three fuzzy channels hissed and spit a rerun of Friends, extra-inning baseball, and soap opera, en espanol.

I should have gone straight to bed, counted cracks in the ceiling.

Instead, I went outside.

Cigarette smoke, toxic curls in the stairwell at my feet, soft voices rising, pheromone fog.

He was still there, my silver knight, flirting with some fallen Guinivere in short shorts and a cropped T.

I kept to the shadows, observing the game I hadn't dared play, absorbing the rules with adhesive eyes.

The Rules

Uncomplicated, this child's game.

He says, Please?

She says, "Can't."

He, Why not?

She, "I'm not that kind of a girl."

Then she spends twenty minutes disproving the theory, until Mother calls, Hija?

She answers, "Mama?"

Mother, Come inside now.

She, "Be right there."

It's a lie. He pulls her into his lap, silencing meager protests with full-lipped kisses.

He insists, Now.

She resists, "Later."

He, Promise?

She, "Cross my heart."

She Went Inside

I wasn't sure if I felt more disappointed or relieved.

Guinivere really had him.

So I shouldn't want him. Should I?

I didn't really want his perfect pout, reaching hungrily for my own timid lips.

I didn't have a clue how to kiss.

Didn't really want his hands, investigating the hills and valleys of my landscape.

I'd never been touched by a boy.

Didn't want his face, burrowing into my hair, finding my neck. Tasting.

I'd never even said h.e.l.lo to such a complete stranger.

Didn't want his smoke, making me gag, making me want to taste something so gross.

It was all so confusing, I mean, I didn't want a boyfriend, no summer fling to make me want to stay in this alien place.

Anyway, I'd be speechless if he asked.

I Must Have Moaned

Hey.

He popped above the stairs suddenly, a wild-eyed Jack-in-the-box, antic.i.p.ating the pay-off crank.

Oh, it's you.

Like he knew me, knew I had no life, suspected I'd come spying, set up the game just for me.

I waited for you.

I coughed a h.e.l.lo, stamping sweaty palm prints into not-so wrinkle-free jeans.

Could he read minds?

I know what you're thinking.

Smile. Nod. Say something witty before he finds out what an incredible geek you are.

That you're too good for me.

He topped the staircase, slinked closer, golden eyes narrowing, reached out and touched the flush of my cheek.

But you're wrong.

The Wind Blew Up

My mind raced.

My heart joined in.

I shook my head, mute as snowfall.

What, then? Why do you look at me that way?

What could I say?

That some stranger inside me couldn't keep her eyes off him?

I know you can talk. I heard you before.

I felt her stir, like a breeze blowing up off the evening sea. My wind had awakened.

You know, you're kind of cute, in a stuck-up sort of way.

She pumped through my veins in hot, red bursts. Blood pressure rose in my face, blush.

You here for the summer? What's your name?

Her tongue curled easily behind my teeth, and her words melted between my lips.

"My friends call me Bree."

Bree? Who Was She?

And where did that name come from? I'd probably heard it once in my life!

Pretty name, Bree.

Okay, good call.

Confidence flooded our brain like hormones.

Our turn. Who was he?

My friends call me Buddy.