Burned by Ellen Hopkins
not to tense, not to betray
you. Sight again. Adjust.
Don’t become distracted by
the heat of the hunt.
Instinct takes over.
You shoot and adrenaline
screams as your target shreds
or the rabbit drops. And for
one indescribable instant,
you are God.
By the Time
I started high school,
I was a dead-on shot.
I spent a lot of Saturdays
maintaining that distinction.
You might think
a teenager’s parents
would take notice
when she disappeared
into the desert
for hours at a time
(with a rifle and purloined
ammo, no less!).
But Mom only
noticed diapers
in need of changing.
By then, I could bribe
Jackie to do it.
All it took was my
own silence about her less
than “saintly” behaviors.
And as for Dad,
well, he and Johnnie
had started to buddy up
almost all day, almost
every Saturday.
How he sobered up
by Sunday morning
was a complete mystery.
On That Saturday
He’d already started, which
made me thankful for my solo
time in the silent desert.
I trudged along, brain only
partially engaged, and about halfway
to my favorite place,
my mind veered from Dad
back to chemistry lab. Jealousy
rushed, hot, through my veins.
But why? I mean, it wasn’t
like Justin had ever really been
mine. Dreams were only dreams.
It wasn’t like my life had
changed at all, and maybe
that was part of the problem.
Because something inside
me was different. Shifting,
like a tide or sand dune.
That something was growing,
stretching, taking shape
beneath my skin.
And I wondered if very
soon it might blow
me apart at the seams.
I Thought About That
As I set up a long, thin row of V8 cans
(single serving, not the big, easy-to-hit kind).
Loaded my peashooter, took aim, and…
missed wide with the first shot, high with the second.
Checked my sights; they didn’t look bent. Tried again.
Skittered up dirt, nicked a can with the ricochet.
Timing, I heard my dad’s voice in my head.
Then he added, What could you expect from a girl?
That did the trick. I settled down into my zone, took
out that row of cans one by one, not a single miss.
As I lined them up again, an annoying mechanical
whine broke the morning’s tranquility.
Louder. Louder. A three-pack of quadrunners
sprinted closer and closer across the sage-studded sand.
I didn’t dare take another shot until they passed
by and rode off to disturb distant eardrums.
Instead they slowed, drew even, and stopped.
Three guesses who drove the first quad.
One guess who rode behind him.
Justin Took Off His Helmet
Climbed off his quad.
Tiffany did likewise.
The others—Brent and Melina
on quad #2, Derek solo on #3—
remained astraddle.
Hey, Pat, tittered Tiffany,
Watcha doing all the way out here?
I stood, .22 by my side,
taking deviant satisfaction
as her eyes went wide.
Justin surveyed the rifle.
Target shootin’, huh?
My voice tried to stick behind
my tonsils, but somehow I
choked out a solid, “Uh-huh.”
He slithered over.
You any good with that thing?
I nodded, heart hiccuping
at his proximity. “Good
enough, I guess.”
He moved behind me, stood way
too close. Okay, then. Show me.
I couldn’t, not with my
hands trembling like saplings
in a summer zephyr.
Justin noticed, whispered in my ear.
I’m not making you nervous, am I?
He Was Making Tiffany Nervous
Or maybe I was.
She shifted from
foot to foot. C’mon, Justin.
Wait. I want to see her shoot.
Okay, I’d show him.
I took two steps forward,
sighted in, steadied…
Damn! Six clean shots. Not bad….
Here it came. The old
“for a girl” addendum.
But no, he said instead,
Can I have a try?
It was the most attention
he’d ever paid to me.
I could take more. “Why not?”
Hey, Tiff. Set up the cans.
She was irritated, and it
showed, but she did
as instructed. Justin took aim…
Shitfire! One out of six.
As the others climbed off
their quads, I suggested ways
to improve his performance.
Three out of five. Right on!
Now everyone wanted
a turn. Everyone,
that is, except for Tiffany.
Come on, Tiff. Give it a try.
You know I hate guns.
They’re stupid. She stood
off to one side, simmering.
Fuck you, bitch. This is fun.
We Had Fun
For an hour, maybe
more. For once, I
lost
track of time,
found
I didn’t care what
time
it was, not in this amazing
space
I was somehow in.
After a while, I didn’t
even
feel like the
odd
girl
out
of this decidedly
in
clique. In fact, I felt more “in”
than Tiffany, who stood
off
by herself, carrying
on
about firearm
danger
and her personal
safety.
I didn’t feel
bad
about being with boys,
and thinking not quite
good
thoughts about them.
My heart insisted it wasn’t
wrong
that they weren’t Mormon, either,
though my head said it wasn’t exactly
right.
I Barely Flinched
When Brent pulled out a pack
of cigarettes, lit one for Melina,
another for himself.
“Hey,” squealed Tiffany,
“what about me?”
Justin handed me the rifle
and fished inside his pocket
for his own nicotine stash.
He gave one to Tiffany,
offered one to me.
Cigarettes are high on
the list of Latter-Day sins.
The smoke, hanging like
smog, made me queasy. So
why was I tempted to join in?
Watching them inhale
poisonous fumes, I shook
my head. But maybe I looked
closer. Have you ever tried?
Don’t be stupid! said
Tiffany. Don’t you know?
She’s a Mormon.
The word seethed from
her mouth like spittle.
Derek measured me with
cool blue eyes.
Could have fooled me.
I didn’t know Mormon
girls were so pretty.
Okay, it was a line, but
it put me in a heady new space.
No one had ever called
me pretty before.
Not even my mom and dad.
Derek Wasn’t Exactly Justin
Not pinup gorgeous
or hot bod built,
but he wasn’t bad:
Tall,
around
6’2,
slender,
with
black
coffee
hair
and
vivid
blue
eyes
that
could
pierce
you
through.
His hands were soft.
I discovered that when
he brushed my cheek.
So what’s a nice Mormon
girl like you doing in a place
like this?
We Laughed at the Old Joke
And talked and talked
about nothing much,
while the others kept
their lips busy in much
more interesting ways.
Lightweight conversation
with a guy of Derek’s
caliber, clique-wise,
was way beyond my
loveliest fantasy.
What was I doing here?
With them? With him?
And why his sudden interest
in me? I mean, we weren’t
exactly strangers, but
we’d never exactly
been friends, either.
Looking back, I guess
it was kind of strange.
At least for me, who’d
never been that close
to a boy before.
But I liked him.
I liked his optimism,
his easy way with words.
Most of all, I liked
how he made me feel
that I—Pattyn
Von Stratten—
mattered.
After a While
Brent pulled Melina to her feet,
dragged her off for a private minute or ten.
Justin winked at Tiffany. Sounds like
the right idea to me.
I had a general idea of what they had
in mind. Envy jolted.
You like him, huh?
I gulped down the truth and said
simply, “He’s not mine to like.”
That doesn’t stop most people.
“I’m not most people, Derek.”
Even if I did, in fact, like him.
So I’ve noticed.
With a drift of tobacco and sun-scented
skin, he moved very close to me.
What I can’t figure out…
My heart tap-danced as he slipped
his arm around my shoulder.
is why I never really
noticed you before.
With His Arm Around Me
I asked what happened to Carmen,
the girl he’d been linked
with practically forever.
He shrugged. Don’t know.
Guess we grew apart.
Then he asked, What about you?
I knew what he meant, but not
how to respond. So I said,
“What about me…what?”
He smiled and his hand
toyed with my hair. Any good
Mormon guys on your line?
On my line? I had to laugh.
“No way,” I admitted. “I don’t
think I’ve got the right bait.”
Derek turned my face so I
couldn’t avoid his eyes.
Don’t sell yourself short, Pattyn.
Oh God! This was crazy.
I thought he just might try
to kiss me, when Tiffany yelled,
Shit! It’s almost four. My
mom is going to kill me.
Let’s go, you guys!
Almost Four!
I’d never stayed
out in the desert
this long, and I
had a good half-
hour walk home.
What would my own
mom say? Anything?
I didn’t want to think
about Dad at all, although he and Johnnie were
no doubt
pretty
cozy by
then.
Luckily
(happily),
Derek
offered
to save
me some
time: Can
I give you
a ride?
No Spare Helmet
Derek promised to go slow
and told me to hang on tight.
Rifle in my right hand,
I wrapped my left around
his waist, leaned my face
against his back.
If I turned my head,
I could hear his heartbeat,
a steady drum, unlike my
own hummingbird pulse.
It was all too incredible,
like a scene from a movie
or a page from a book, one
you read again and again.
My head swam with the scent
of him, the promise of him,
and I never once stopped
to think that being with him
could mean the end of Pattyn
as I knew her up until that day.
He Dropped Me Off
Right where the dirt trail
segued into pavement.
I’ll see you Monday, okay?
Was that a promise?
A generic blow-off?
I watched him motor
off, then started for home.
Slowly. Thinking. Trying
to process the weight of my day.
For once, I didn’t feel
like an outcast, a major loser.
Whether or not Derek
ever spoke to me again,
I had fit in with the in
crowd, if only for a while.
Not only that, but one of the in
crowd had put his arm around me.
Maybe almost kissed me.
And I would have let him.
So what did that make me?
When I Got Home
None of that mattered.
Reality
rushed in
around me.
Crushed
me, like the watery
weight of the deepest sea.
Jackie ran out to warn
me Dad had already
drowned
himself in Johnnie WB,
Mom had asked where
to find me, and the kids were
yelling for me. I went inside,
all remnants of the newfound me
smothered.
Later On
I lay listening to the music
of sleep. Inhale. Exhale.
A symphony of breathing,
hearty, steady, frail.
I shimmied out of bed,
tiptoed to the bathroom.
Listening for movement,
I sat a moment in the gloom.
Then I turned on the light
above the narrow mirror,
needing to analyze
the face that appeared.
Funny, but I rarely
studied my reflection,
rarely allowed myself
such te
But someone—a boy—
had liked my face
and I liked that he liked it.
Had I tumbled from grace?
What had he seen that
I’d always missed before?
Plain amber eyes. Straight auburn hair.
Was there something more?
Something indefinable,
that somehow made me pretty,
like how brilliant neon lights
cheer the dirty streets of a city?
All I saw in the mirror’s depths
was a spatter of freckles, sharp angles,
too much flesh here, not enough
there, imperfect teeth, dry skin, and tangles.
So what had he seen in me?
I Pondered That
All the next day—through breakfast
and the pre-services scramble;
through three hours of Mutual
and droning testimony.
My thoughts were far from pure.
Through après-services chatter,
squashing into the car for the short ride home.
I couldn’t turn off my brain.
What did yesterday mean?
Anything?
Or was it all just another dream,