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Impulse

Page 19

by Ellen Hopkins


  The weather warms, the hills

  start to thaw, and I can run

  the perimeter of the big

  fenced compound. My heart pumps

  against the scar on my chest,

  bare beneath the afternoon sun.

  Tony catches up, and I push

  harder, dare him to keep up.

  Surprise. He can. Not only

  that, but he’s a lot more buff

  than I would have expected, and

  completely at ease with my pace.

  Mind if I run with you? It’s

  good to be challenged. I used

  to run every day in lockup.

  I should have kept at it.

  “You’re still in decent shape.

  Did you lift in lockup too?”

  Yeah, and at the gym when I got

  out. For a few months, anyway.

  At the gym? I had the idea

  Tony was a basic street kid.

  But after Phillip died, it was

  all I could do just to eat.

  “Phillip? Who was Phillip?”

  Boyfriend? Brother? Uncle?

  He was half foster father,

  half my best friend in the world.

  We run in silence for another

  three laps. Hard. Harder. Side

  by side in friendly rivalry,

  till we’re ready to collapse.

  We Hit the Shower

  To wash off some well-deserved

  sweat. Tony makes a point of

  looking the other way, but I

  haven’t felt uncomfortable yet,

  being naked around him.

  Stanley is much creepier.

  That boy should not be allowed

  to touch himself with soapy hands.

  “So, Tony. How was your visit

  to your dad’s?” Dr. Boston

  talked him into it—it’s a

  prerequisite for wilderness camp,

  one I have to face myself,

  before long. After my gutless

  performance on Easter, I wonder

  if I can score the balls.

  It went okay, I guess. He’s got

  a sweet house at Tahoe—not huge,

  but more than I’m used to, on a

  street with its own private beach.

  His wife, Talia, is nice, not real

  bright, but what could you expect

  from someone who fell in love

  with my dad? She was polite,

  and a real good cook. No wonder

  Pa married her! ’Course, if she

  doesn’t quit cooking pasta, he’ll

  end up buried before his time.

  “Pasta, till death do us part.

  A slice of Italian-American

  life.” We laugh, but I think

  that price isn’t so dear for

  a few good years together,

  well fed and otherwise

  satisfied. Nothing at all

  to dread about that scenario.

  It’s Better Than What I’ve Got

  To face at home. Two cold people,

  who can’t remember why they

  fell in love in the first place. If

  they were ever in love. I chew

  on that as we dry off, get dressed.

  “Did your dad ever really love

  your mom?” I ask. But I’m

  betting he’ll go to bat for love.

  Well, yeah. At least I think so.

  Hell, maybe not. Fuck, Conner.

  Maybe there’s no such thing. Lots

  of people rot, waiting for it.

  Okay, I was wrong. It’s weird,

  how Tony and I are on

  the same page, with some

  regularity. “You don’t

  by some remote chance happen

  to be a Republican?”

  Uh. No. I’m not into politics.

  Why? Are you—a Republican?

  I stop and think—really think.

  “My parents are steadfast

  conservatives. So maybe I’m

  a Dem after all.” (Probably not.)

  Good to know. Because any

  “party” that shuts its doors

  on the poor, gay, or otherwise

  “useless” gets my hearty F. U.

  Right on. If I ever actually

  grow big enough huevos to chance

  a visit home, I’ll consider

  letting them know I’ve become

  a Democrat.

  Tony

  I Don’t Tell Conner Everything

  About last weekend.

  Like how, despite all

  Pa did to make me feel

  at home, I was a complete

  stranger under his roof,

  and I doubt that will change.

  How the big bed in

  the spotless wine red

  bedroom made me feel

  lonelier than ever. I’ve

  never, not even once

  in my life, slept in a bed

  like that—so much room,

  such heavy, warm covers,

  deep, fluffy pillows. I felt

  like I was drowning in

  comfort, choking on the idea

  I could ever belong there.

  How even though I

  had plenty of meds,

  supplied by Aspen

  Springs, I sneaked into

  Talia’s bathroom,

  borrowed a Valium or three.

  Pop a Valium with a

  Prozac, you don’t care

  where you are, or who’s

  talking in the other

  room, not even if you

  know they’re talking

  about you. At least

  the combination put

  me in a place where

  it was easy to keep

  my big mouth shut.

  Who needs confrontation?

  Apparently, Stanley Does

  He’s in a mood at group

  this afternoon, and it’s

  going to be hella

  interesting because

  the person he’s set on

  taking on is Dr. Starr.

  Life is all about choices,

  the bulldog says. Let’s

  talk about the choices

  you’ll make when you

  leave Aspen Springs. Where

  will you go from here?

  Stanley leans his chair

  back on two legs, sticks

  a finger up his nose. I’m

  gonna go find me a cute

  little girl and show her

  the business end of Stanley.

  First, I suggest you sit

  that chair back down

  on four legs. Now tell

  us what you meant.

  Usually, “the business

  end” refers to a weapon.

  Stanley stands, smiling

  as his right hand falls

  toward his zipper.

  That’s right And

  this right here is my

  weapon of choice.

  Damn if he doesn’t

  yank his ugly little

  thing right out of his

  pants. The girls scream,

  Dr. Starr’s eyes go huge,

  and Stanley starts to laugh.

  No One Dares Come Between

  Stanley and his target,

  except for Vanessa,

  sitting smack in his path.

  Come on, Stanley, she says.

  You don’t really want to

  mess with Dr. Starr, do you?

  Is she crazy? That fat

  fuck will go right

  over the top of her.

  Stay out of this, bitch,

  or I’ll take you out

  too, promises Stanley.

  Everyone pushes back

  into the wall as I start

  toward Vanessa. But before

  I can get close, Connerr />
  plants himself right in front

  of Stanley. Far enough.

  Stanley stops, but only

  for a second. He raises

  his hands, fists tight.

  I’m not afraid of you,

  preppie. Get the hell

  out of my way.

  Dr. Starr moves toward

  the door, knowing help

  lies not far beyond.

  But Conner takes control,

  warning, Just give me an

  excuse to kick your ass.

  Believe it or not, Stanley

  does, moving straight

  into Conner, swinging.

  Conner lifts a defensive

  arm, knocks Stanley off

  balance, takes a swing of

  his own.

  Vanessa

  OMG!

  Conner is so incredible.

  In one movement, he drops

  Stanley to the floor

  like a swatted fly.

  Paul and Stephanie rush

  through the door,

  but the whole ugly

  confrontation is over.

  They drag Stanley,

  sobbing and slobbering,

  to his feet, shriveled

  penis still exposed.

  Put him in isolation,

  says Dr. Starr. Il’l call

  juvenile detention.

  The rest of you can go

  back to your rooms.

  We’re finished for today.

  Conner, may I speak

  with you for a minute?

  I hold back while

  the others start toward

  the door. I want to take

  in Conner, barely breathing

  hard after playing hero.

  I watch Dr. Starr’s fingertips

  rest lightly on his shoulder,

  and I fight a jealous shiver.

  He’s fine, isn’t he?

  “Tony! You scared

  the bejesus out of me!”

  Sorry. But he is fine,

  isn’t he?

  “Yes, he is.” Suddenly,

  I notice I’m floating

  in a cloud of white.

  It’s Weird

  Because since I’ve been

  on the lithium, I haven’t

  gone manic at all, although

  I have fallen back into the blue

  zone several times.

  Dr. Starr says

  lithium works faster

  against the white.

  Yet here I am, feeling

  fearless (which explains

  my earlier lunacy—Stanley

  could have knocked me

  senseless); feeling stimulated

  (by the hysteria and close

  call, but more by Conner,

  standing up for me, standing

  close to me); feeling alive

  (straddling the razor wire).

  You’re blushing,

  whispers Tony.

  What have you got

  on your mind, Vanessa?

  “Like you can’t guess.”

  Oh yes, it’s on my mind—

  Conner, lying with me

  in a bed of tall, cool

  grass. Conner, leaning

  over me, his long,

  lean body exposed.

  Conner, kissing me

  with his luscious mouth …

  Here he comes. You

  might want to close

  your mouth.

  You’re drooling.

  A Slight Exaggeration

  At least I think so.

  I circle my lips with

  my tongue, hoping

  to catch any stray drool,

  as Conner comes very close.

  He reaches out, touches

  my cheek. You okay?

  My heart threatens

  implosion, but I manage

  to fake cool. “Just fine.

  Thank you, Conner.”

  He shrugs. No problem.

  He had it coming.

  What did the bulldog

  want? asks Tony. You

  in any trouble?

  Nah. She thought

  he had it coming too.

  Hey, who knew Stanley

  had the balls?

  Balls? You mean you

  could see them, too?

  We all crack up and Dr. Starr

  clears her throat. “I think that’s

  a hint. We’d better go.”

  Tony leads the way.

  Conner falls in, very close behind me.

  You have to be more careful,

  he whispers. I won’t always

  be around to protect you.

  His voice is chocolate—

  sweet, smooth, rich …

  … foreboding.

  Conner

  Actually, Dr. Starr

  Wanted to strongly suggest

  I go home this weekend.

  You’re ready, Conner. You

  are stronger than you know.

  “Why do you say that? Because I

  took care of Stanley? He’s nothing

  but mouth. But home? I’m afraid

  of there. Too many judgments.”

  You want to get out of here

  sometime, don’t you? Our next

  Challenge program starts in two

  weeks. Chew on that for a while.

  So I’m chewing. I do want

  to get out, but where, oh where,

  will I go from here? I’ve always

  looked forward to senior year,

  varsity football, cheerleaders’

  panties. But I can’t go back

  to school now. Everyone thinks

  I’m some kind of nut, and fuck,

  they’re right. I am. I’ve been

  here, trying to get a handle

  on my craziness, for months.

  But, despite all their prying,

  Drs. Starr and Boston are

  not even close to fixing me.

  If I told them every secret,

  an overdose of stinking truth,

  would they break down and

  admit I’m damn near as warped

  as Stanley? That’s an eye

  opener and, shit, it’s true.

  But Hey, Guess What

  Crazy means I’m not liable

  for my actions. So screw it,

  I’ll go home, propped up on

  Prozac against distractions

  like my mom and dad bitching

  at me, Cara, and each other;

  like Mom and Dad quizzing me

  about school, my future and Emily,

  certainly not in that order.

  Meanwhile, I’m going to catch

  up with Vanessa. Someday

  I want more than her smile.

  Does that mean there’s hope

  for me after all? She doesn’t

  have a single crow’s-foot, no

  cigarette taint to her laughter.

  A wedge of crazies shuffles

  along the corridor, and

  Vanessa and Tony walk

  slowly, at the rear of the throng.

  I watch Vanessa sway her hips

  and a sudden urge comes over

  me. Not liable for my

  actions, I surge straight ahead,

  push my body against hers.

  She slows even more, letting

  me nest against her, as if she

  knows what I’ve got in mind.

  I lift her hair, bend, and drop

  my lips to her neck, kiss

  the soft pulse behind her ear.

  She slips her hand into mine.

  Mmm. She sighs, and I know

  she wants to kiss me back.

  But this is not the place. “Soon,”

  I promise her. Very soon.

  Tony Tosses a Jealous Look

  Over his shoulder. Weird, but

  I get the feeling he isn’t


  jealous of Vanessa. Somehow,

  he seems jealous of me.

  “Hey, Tony,” I test. “I’ll give you

  a kiss too, if you say please.”

  You wish, he jabs. But I prefer

  a man who likes to be on top.

  “Ouch, little brother! I like

  it on top. And on the bottom.

  And standing up. And … Oh, man,

  I gotta stop or go jerk off!”

  Oh, yech, says Vanessa, but

  she says it with a laugh. Guys

  are just the nastiest creatures.

  Don’t the two of you agree?

  Tony slips right into “gay.”

  Of course, you luscious girl.

  And that’s how I love ’em—

  nasty, sweaty, meaty and coarse.

  “That’s how I like my women,

  too.” Too brave. Vanessa’s

  scowl could cut me in half.

  I backpedal, fast. “Except you!”

  We reach the gender T—

  boys go right, girls straight ahead,

  past the rec room. Vanessa

  stops to blow two kisses—one

  toward Tony, the other to me,

  and I think maybe I could learn

  to love someone, after all.

  I drink the thought, try hard

  to swallow it.

  Tony

  Three Days

  Since they hauled Stanley

  away and now, I hear,

  he’ll be back this afternoon.

  His parents must have way

  deep pockets. That dude

  should be locked up like

  Hannibal Lecter—behind

 

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