Fallout by Ellen Hopkins
irrational, I know. I mean, they
couldn’t reasonably
take in all of Mom’s
kids. And now, it seems,
they did take me in, at least for
a little while. But then, how
did I end up with Dad?
BACK TO THE ORIGINAL QUESTION
I wait for him to drop the butt
of his cigarette into the foam
at the bottom of the Pabst can.
Sssss! The sound is snakelike.
Don’t much like snakes.
“So did Grandma Marie know
you were my father or what?
Did you know each other?”
Dad chuckles. We had met once.
Let’s just say it didn’t go so well.
Your grandmother didn’t think much
of me, or of any of Kristina’s men.
Can’t really say I blame her.
Me either. Mom’s taste in men
is what you might call piss poor.
Kristina told her I was your father
and how to get hold of me.
The news came as a total shock.
I didn’t know what to do. I’d already
hooked up with Zoe by then.
ZOE
The name is like a punch
in the gut. Whoomf! There
goes my air. “So why did
you bring me home, then?”
Dad gives the smelly beer can
a wistful look. First of all, I wanted
you. You were part of Kristina
and me. The best part of both
of us, as it turns out. Convincing
Zoe of that was something else.
But your Grandma Jean and grandpa
made me see I had to try.
I know the rest of the story,
at least what happened after
that. One thing I still don’t know,
though. “So where is my sister?”
He shrugs. Trey’s sister, Cora,
took her when he and Kristina
went to prison. I don’t have
a clue where they are now.
Your mother might know, or
maybe your Grandma Marie.
But I don’t think so. Last I heard,
they’d dropped out of sight.
Dust in the distance signals
Kortni’s imminent return. As
the dirt cloud nears and the engine
rumble closes in, I ask one last
burning question. “Did you ever
think maybe you weren’t my father?”
No hesitation. Of course. Not
like your mom was exactly what
you could call faithful, especially
not with crystal involved. She swore
she’d only been with me, but once
a liar, always a liar. First thing we
did when we brought you home
was get us tested. You’re mine.
THAT’S A GOOD THING, RIGHT?
Better to know for sure where
you come from than to go
through life wondering, even
if you’re not really certain you
like where you come from. Right?
Something to ponder.
Along with everything Dad
just confessed. Kortni pulls up,
parks, starts unloading bags
of groceries. Dad goes to help,
and I should too.
But I want to talk to Kyle.
I go inside, start toward
the phone, see the answering
machine light is blinking.
Why didn’t we hear it ring?
Too absorbed in storytelling?
Whatever. I hit the play button.
It’s my caseworker. This is Alice
Shreeveport. We have been
informed of your unfortunate
incident. We need to discuss
Summer’s living situation. Please …
CALL HER
She wants Dad to call her.
To discuss my living situation.
I could erase the message.
Pretend we never got it.
But they’d only come looking.
Sooner or later they would.
New blow to my solar plexus.
This time my asthma kicks in.
I didn’t want to live here.
Breathe. Can’t. Find. Air.
So what if they take me away?
Breathe. Can’t. Find. Air.
Put me in another foster home?
Breathe. Can’t. Find. Air.
Send me to a different town?
Breathe. Can’t. Find. Air.
Away from Dad. Kortni. Kyle.
Breathe. Must. Find. Inhaler.
NEEDLE-SHARP AIR
Spikes my lungs.
Breathe, damn it.
This means nothing.
I crawl down the hall,
into my room. Dig
in my backpack.
Locate my inhaler.
One big pull. Capillary
expansion. Holy crow.
I hear Dad slam
through the front door.
He and Kortni must
be arguing. They’ve
done a lot of that
lately. I should tell
him about the message.
But he’ll find out
soon enough. Instead
I’ll go ahead and call
Kyle. Maybe he’ll
know what to do.
Associated Press
Miss Nevada, twenty-three-year-old Devon Shepherd, found herself embroiled in yet more controversy after she arrived in an inebriated state for a performance of The Nutcracker at the Pioneer Center in Reno.
“It was the anniversary of her sister’s death,” explained Shepherd’s mother and manager, Angela. “Devon and LaTreya were very close. She has had a difficult time coping.”
Casino showroom dancer LaTreya Shepherd was killed two years ago, when her fiancé, Robert Cole, shot her in a jealous rage. Shepherd’s father, Brad, was later convicted of attempted murder after paying a prison inmate to poison Cole, who survived.
Devon Shepherd previously served as Miss Teen Nevada, as did LaTreya, two years prior. Angela Shepherd has been accused of being the “classic overbearing stage mother,” something she strongly denies. “I supported my daughters and their dreams,” she said. “And I will continue to support Devon now.”
This is not the first time Miss Shepherd’s character has been questioned. Only three weeks after winning her Miss Nevada title, she publicly remarked, “This is a major stepping-stone to a career in film. Hopefully not pornography.”
She later said, “Obviously, I have poor taste in jokes.”
Hunter
SOME SECRETS
Are better left kept.
Sometimes you’re better
off thrashing around
on your own in the dark.
Sometimes those things
that percolate in your brain
brew into bitter coffee
once disturbed. Sometimes
it’s good to remember
not to go poking in woodpiles
where snakes like to hide
and red-bellied spiders crawl.
Unless you’re hoping to
get bit. Lusting for poison.
ALMOST A WEEK
Since I met Brendan.
Dad.
Biologically speaking.
I think.
Still not totally sure, mostly because
I didn’t have the balls to confront him.
Just couldn’t figure out a way to say,
Hey dude, did you once rape my mother?
Wasn’t the right venue.
Wrong place.
Wrong time. Too many
people around.
So instead, it’s eating me up from
the in
thread. Only, instead of some vicious
little monster inside, all I’ve got is anger.
Anger and the need to know.
Even though
knowing won’t change
a single thing.
AFTER THE TALENT SHOW
Brendan and Montana left
right away. I don’t think he liked
her celebrity status. Didn’t like
the groupie need to say hello.
Usually I like it, even though
once in a while it leads to poor
behavior on my part. Witness
my earlier Leah rendezvous.
But that day I exited quickly
too. Needed to let the emotional
dust settle. Needed to work
through what my next move
should be. I called Mom from
my car. Explained the scenario.
Hoped she’d say no way.
Your imagination has run amok.
But she said, I was never
one hundred percent sure
that he was really your father.
I hoped he wasn’t. But I think
maybe your instincts are good.
I can’t tell you what to do
about it. Listen to your heart.
It generally says the right thing.
MY HEART SPOKE UP
Told me Brendan is a prick
and that, even more than our mutual
eye art, increases the likelihood
that he is, yes, my father.
Guilt seethed all the way
home. And there was no staunching
it when Nikki greeted me at the door
wearing a sexy red dress.
Like it? she demanded.
It’s for the station Christmas party.
“I love it. You’ll be the prettiest girl
there, that’s for sure.”
Without warning, chills
rattled my body. “Cold out today.”
See? I’m glad I didn’t go. Come on,
I’ll fix you some cocoa.
She pulled me off into
the kitchen, prattling on and on
about shopping and malls
and where we’ll spend Christmas Day.
Though my eyes couldn’t help but admire
her silk-sheathed frame,
my brain could not focus
on what she was saying, something
she finally took note of. Hey. Are
you getting sick or what?
She set the steaming cup
in front of me, and her cool hand felt
my forehead. Nope. No fever. That’s
good, anyway. So …
Her look was apologetic,
like she should have asked sooner.
How was your day? See some great
talent? Any randomness?
I sipped the rich chocolate.
“There were a couple of pretty
good singers. Lots of not-good singers.
Randomness? Some.”
NIKKI’S ADVICE
Was typical Nikki.
Maybe you should just
let it go. You’re not sure,
anyway, right?
I had to admit I wasn’t
sure. And also, “Not being
sure about him means
not being sure about me.”
She sidled up behind me,
slid her arms around
my neck. Doesn’t matter.
I’m sure about you.
That kind of trite remark
always irritates me. “Easy
for you to say. You know
who your parents are.”
Her arms fell away, and
I expected an angry retort,
but her voice carried only
hurt. Do what you have to.
SHE WAS MAD
But I was mad too. Not
at her, but that didn’t much
matter. Not right then.
In fact, I was mad enough
to let myself not feel too bad
about my little p.m. tryst.
But by bedtime, I felt emptied.
Nervous. Too, too alone.
I watched Nik come from
the shower, skin warm and
hair wet, and I wanted her
with every electron of my being.
Not just her body. All of her.
In bed with me, a piece of me.
No, all of me. Because without her,
I am nothing. I knew it then
and I know it now. And, thank
God, she allowed my hours
of self-pity, then showed me
again what it means to be
in love with an angel.
I WATCH HER NOW
My angel
getting ready for the Christmas
party. Perfuming her arms
and legs with ginger-steeped
lotion. Sliding sleek,
tawny
legs into gartered stockings.
Curling long ripples
into the honey lake of her
hair.
Enhancing already
impossible beauty with
a touch of blush against
flawless
skin. She slips into her
new dress—a seraph robed
in red. Then she turns to
face
me, the question in her eyes
as obvious as my answer:
“You are more than
beautiful. You are
perfection.”
BEST OF ALL
She is mine. I am acutely
aware of how other men stare
as we enter the ballroom.
They are not looking at me.
I love her on my arm,
an exquisite piece of jewelry.
A few of the women glare.
Nikki is the ruby
they wish they could
be. Their marble eyes follow
us to our table, leave us
there. I offer a chair
to Nikki. “Stay here.
I’ll go get us drinks.” The bar
is hosted, and no one
asks to see my ID,
so I order Chardonnay
for Nikki; Jack Daniels and
Coke for me. By the time
I get back to the table,
Rick Denio has closed
in. But star-striking Nikki
won’t be nearly as easy as
he expects it to be.
AMUSING TO WATCH, THOUGH
I circle the table, sipping my drink,
liking the whiskey burn. Rick is all
over Nikki, and she looks really
uncomfortable about it. He’s a jerk.
“Hey, Rick. Putting the moves
on my girl?” I hand Nik her wine.
Rick is in the game. Your girl?
Didn’t know you had such good taste.
“There’s a lot you don’t know
about me. Uh, where’s your wife
tonight?” The station buzz is she
ran off. With another woman.
Rick’s face flames, but he remains
calm. She had another party.
I can’t help but smile at the opening
he just gave me. “A girl party, huh?”
I haven’t had a spar-fest for a while.
This one could be fun, but Rick’s
done playing. Not sure who all’s
there. Excuse me. There’s Montana.
THERE, INDEED, IS MONTANA
In a bold, backless dress, sparkly
silver. And with her, all decked
out in a complementary gray
tux, is … “Brendan,” I whisper.
Nikki looks. Looks again.
Harder. Oh my God. You do
look like him. I can’t believe
it. Hey, you’re okay, right?
Okay enough to chug my drink.
“Yep. Fine and dandy. Except
I need a refill. You good for now?”
She’s barely touched her glass.
Good. I can only carry two
glasses, anyway. I order twin JDs.
Doubles. Tip the guy five bucks
so he doesn’t reconsider the ID.
When I turn around, I’m only
half-surprised to see who has
joined Nikki at our table. Poor
Nik looks positively green.
Goes well with her pretty red
Christmas dress. Ha. I crack
myself up. Too bad I’m spoiling
to be in a very unfunny mood.
BEFORE I CAN SIT DOWN
Nikki sees my double-fisted
whiskey and Cokes. She jumps
to her feet, extracts the drinks
gently from my hands, sets them
on the table. I’m starving. Let’s get
some food. It is not a request.
Anger starts to build, like wasps
daubing mud. But then when
I glance at Montana, her eyes
harbor anxiousness. She wants
the evening to go well. So all
I do for the moment is say,
“Hey, Montana. You look great
tonight.” I know I should say
something to Brendan, but all
I can manage is a small wave.
Then I let Nikki steer me
toward the seafood-heavy buffet.
When Montana asked if they
could join us, I didn’t know how
to say no, apologizes Nikki.
“Not your fault.” I concentrate
on loading my plate. Shrimp. Crab
legs. Oriental chicken salad.
Nikki’s plate makes mine look
greedy. “Aren’t you hungry?
I thought you were starving.”
I only said that because
I figured you should eat
before drinking all that booze.
The last thing you need to do,
all things considered, is get
blitzed. She cringes, as if hearing
the wasp daub. I will keep
my temper in check. But I also
plan on drinking whatever
I please. Free drinks don’t come
around every day. Still, I will
play her way. “I’ll be careful.”
I TRY, REALLY I DO
I eat everything on my plate.
(Chase every bite with a swig.)