Impulse

by Ellen Hopkins

  shatterproof glass, so

  science might have a

  chance to discover some

  unidentified mental defect.

  Stanphrenia. Yeah, that’s it.

  Oh well, he’ll be Level

  One again, so I may not

  have to see him, long

  as I go to the Challenge.

  Some people here are

  afraid to go. Not me.

  A few weeks climbing

  obstacles, sleeping outside,

  building fires without

  matches, and eating out

  of cans? Sounds about

  like living on the street.

  Six of us are eligible

  for the Challenge now—

  Lori, Dahlia, Justin,

  Vanessa, Conner, and me.

  Well, Conner will be,

  if he makes it through

  this weekend. I don’t

  know exactly what’s

  waiting for him at home.

  I just know he’s a lot

  more scared of there than

  he is of obstacle courses.

  I Wish I Could Be a Mirror

  On one of those walls, but

  I can’t, so I’ll head on

  over, see if I can talk

  to Vanessa, who’s reading

  in the rec room. The other

  girls are yakking nearby.

  They never ask Vanessa

  to sit with them. Or if they

  do, she always says no

  thanks. She’s a worse

  loner than I am. Not as

  bad as Conner, though.

  Loner or no, I plop

  down beside her. “Hey,

  you. Whatcha reading?”

  Even before she looks up,

  I can see her smile, in

  the corners of her eyes.

  Finally she lifts her

  gaze from her book,

  and her smile is worth

  a thousand words.

  Hey, Tony. Thanks

  for saying hi. It was

  feeling lonely in this

  noisy room. You always

  seem to know when I

  could use a friend. Sit

  down, okay? Her warm

  hand finds mine, pulls.

  I sit very close to her,

  and I’m glad when she

  doesn’t take away her hand.

  It’s warm. Soft. Girly.

  Like in the movies,

  I lift it, kiss softly.

  A Strange Light

  Fills Vanessa’s eyes.

  Confusion? Clarity?

  Disgust? “What? You

  never had a guy kiss

  you before? Oh, yeah. You

  did. I saw, remember?”

  She smiles. I’m not

  quite senile yet,

  dear. To answer your

  question, yes, I’ve had

  lots of guys kiss me. Just

  none quite like you.

  “Quite like me, meaning

  gay?” I pretend hurt.

  “And what do you mean,

  ‘lots of guys’? Can you

  quantify that for me?”

  My turn to smile.

  “Lots of guys,” meaning

  too many—I didn’t

  even like all of them.

  Now she brings my

  hand to her kiss. “Quite

  like you,” meaning special.

  Tony, no one in here,

  including Conner, treats

  me with the kind of respect

  and friendship that you

  do. Anyway, all “gay”

  means to me is happy.

  “It doesn’t mean that

  to me, Vanessa. My

  lifestyle has caused

  a lot of pain. I hope

  to change that when

  I get out of here.”

  I do?

  Vanessa

  Tony Is So Different

  From what I thought

  him to be, the first few times

  I was around him.

  Initial impression: funny,

  not particularly intelligent,

  homosexual to the point

  of caricature.

  Current impression:

  funny, way smart, and not

  just street smart;

  sensitive but strong. Gay?

  Maybe, but there is a definite

  attraction between us.

  And gay, straight, or somewhere

  in-between, I love him.

  Suddenly, I want to tell him.

  “I love you, Tony.”

  I expect a smart-ass reply,

  or at least surprise. But

  I’m the one who’s surprised.

  I love you, too, Vanessa,

  and in my life, love is rare.

  You are rare—someone who

  bothered to scratch under

  my skin and find the person

  beneath. No one else ever

  did that, except for Phillip.

  But I don’t have him to

  fall back on anymore.

  “Tell me about Phillip,”

  I say, “and I want to know

  everything. How did you meet?

  Were you a couple?

  Did you love him, too?”

  He spends the next half hour

  telling me all about Phillip.

  I’m glad he was Tony’s friend.

  I wish I had a friend like that.

  Or maybe I do.

  After a While

  The conversation veers

  toward Conner. Why is he

  always on both of our minds?

  “You and Conner seem

  pretty tight lately,” I say.

  “I think I’m jealous.”

  Of me or him? Tony jokes.

  Either way, no worries.

  We haven’t made out yet.

  I have seen him in the shower,

  though. Mm, mm, mm.

  “Now I know I’m jealous.”

  We laugh, but the picture

  of Conner in the shower,

  water streaming down

  over his muscular body,

  lodges in my brain.

  You like him a lot, huh?

  I do too, but not in the way

  you think. And I’m not

  really sure why. He’s

  not easy to get close to,

  not easy to understand.

  “It’s not easy to get

  close to anyone in here,

  Tony. Everyone’s afraid

  of everybody else … maybe

  because we’re all afraid

  of ourselves.”

  Tony mulls that over, nods.

  You know, I think

  you’ve got a great future

  ahead of you—as a psychologist.

  But I’m not afraid of one

  person—you. I hope we can

  stay friends when we get

  out of here.

  I Hope So Too

  And I tell him so, but then

  admit, “My grandma will

  be good with it, but my dad

  probably won’t understand.

  He thinks gay people are freaks.”

  But you don’t think

  that way. Why not?

  I shrug. “I take people

  at face value. Besides, you

  don’t have to be gay to be

  a freak. Just look at me.”

  Being bipolar doesn’t

  make you a freak.

  “Sometimes it does, Tony.

  Sometimes it does.”

  I think you’re just

  about perfect, Vanessa.

  I glance down, notice

  we’ve been holding

  hands this entire time.

  “I’ve been pretty screwed

  up for a while. But I feel

  a little less freaky, now t
he lithium

  is starting to work, and the side

  effects aren’t as bad.”

  I’m feeling better too.

  Like maybe there’s a place

  for me—a place I might even

  want to be. Phillip told me

  there was, but after he died,

  I didn’t want to look for it.

  “I understand.” And I do.

  Death can do that

  to you.

  Conner

  Home Sweet Home

  I’ve never really thought

  about how it looked before—it

  was just the place I ate

  and slept. But now, sitting

  in Mom’s Lexus, parked in

  the wide, curved driveway, I

  stare at the oversized Tudor,

  decide it’s truly obnoxious.

  Maybe it’s because I’ve lived

  in a tidy, cell-like room

  for the past dozen weeks, but

  “home” looks more like a hotel

  than a house—sprawling, coiffed

  and manicured, impersonal

  as hell. Four people, living

  in five thousand square feet? Absurd!

  Mom chauffeured, assaulting

  me with regulations: No phone

  calls; no unsupervised jaunts;

  no meds. My expectations

  are high that you can return

  to a normal life. That won’t

  happen if you’re constantly

  stoned. Are you strong enough

  to make it through a weekend

  without propping yourself up

  on antidepressants? Her eyes

  reflected a boatload of doubt.

  I shrugged, kept my mouth shut.

  Nothing I could have said—at

  least, nothing totally true—would

  have made her feel better.

  She’s Standing

  Just inside the front door,

  waving for me to come on.

  I guess I’d better, before she

  turns into a raving bitch.

  The lawn is greening, and in

  the flower beds, bevies

  of tulips and daffodils nod

  colorful heads. It’s all so

  cheerful I want to heave. On

  the step, I turn, hoping to

  catch a glimpse of someone

  familiar, jogging by. Nothing.

  I stare hard down the block,

  don’t find her car in her driveway.

  Would you please come inside? hisses

  Mom. Are you out of your mind?

  That woman doesn’t live there

  anymore. Did you think she would?

  Anger flares. “Why wouldn’t she,

  Mother? What the hell did you do?”

  What did I do? The real blame

  lies with you. Your father and I

  simply suggested to her it

  might be wise to move elsewhere.

  “Emily wouldn’t cave in and go

  because of a simple suggestion.

  Threat is more like it, huh, Mom?

  Must you always use your claws?”

  Call it what you will, Conner.

  With that temptation gone,

  it’s safe for you to come home.

  End of explanation.

  Of course. It’s her favorite

  expression. I feel the serious

  need for Prozac before

  depression overwhelms me.

  Not Exactly a Warm, Fuzzy Welcome

  Although I didn’t really

  expect hugs, kisses, and a

  surprise welcome home

  party. Still, such direct

  affirmation of my parent’s

  power wielding is scary.

  Two “beautiful people” who

  devour opponents like bread.

  Mom disappears and I start

  down the long hall, lined with

  photos and trophies. Suddenly

  I’m a small child, looking up at

  my parents’ accomplishments,

  knowing I’m expected to hang

  my own on the wall, knowing

  I can never climb high enough.

  Upstairs, I hear Cara’s music.

  Won’t she come say hello?

  I veer left, into the sunken

  living room, expecting to see

  white Berber carpet, perhaps

  with a hint of a rust-colored

  stain. The carpet is a pale

  shade of mint—totally new.

  Pretty, isn’t it? Mom, come

  to check up on me. I decided

  I didn’t want white, after all. Will

  you please put away your things?

  I pick up the overnight bag,

  start toward the kitchen. Part of me

  wants to confront Mom. The bigger

  part just wants water, to push

  the Prozac down.

  Tony

  Orientation for the Challenge

  Begins today. Mr. Hidalgo

  says we have to finish up

  for-credit work before we

  can “go climb rocks and

  swing from ropes.” Sounds

  like Boy Scouts to me.

  It’s not exactly Boy Scouts,

  says Sean, a Challenge

  counselor. More like Swiss

  Family Robinson, in the

  high desert. You’ll have

  limited water (just enough

  to drink—you’ll stink

  before you’re through,

  believe me.) Food is MREs—

  Meals, Ready to Eat, military

  style. Think chicken, potato,

  and vegetable mush. Mmm!

  Vanessa shoots a “gag me”

  finger and a huge smile.

  Can’t wait! she mouths,

  glancing at Conner, who

  sits off by himself. He’s

  been lost in himself since

  his visit home last weekend.

  Vanessa and I have both

  grilled him about it, but

  all he’ll say is, Nothing

  has changed. It’s exactly

  the same and always will be.

  At least my dad’s home is

  something all new. I might

  even stay awhile, until

  one of us decides we’ve

  made a major mistake—or

  my birth certificate has.

  Meanwhile, Sean and Raven

  Tell us all about how to

  prepare for the Challenge.

  They say to toughen up

  mentally; that if we do,

  the physical part will

  take care of itself. Uh-huh.

  Wilderness survival is mind

  over matter, says Raven,

  who’s probably the strongest

  woman I’ve ever seen.

  Thirst. Hunger. Fatigue.

  All originate in the brain.

  More accurately, the body’s

  reaction to them originates

  in the brain. But I’ll just

  keep quiet. They’ve already

  warned us about thinking

  we know more than they do.

  We won’t put you in harm’s

  way, adds Sean, although

  it may seem like it from time

  to time. And we do expect

  you to push yourselves

  almost to the point of pain.

  No pain, no gain—an old,

  very warped philosophy.

  But after weeks and weeks

  of listening to people

  gripe about their phobias,

  complexes, and manic episodes,

  not to mention abuse, neglect,

  and molestation by relatives,

  priests, neighbors, and stepparents,

  one-on-one with

  the wilderness sounds like


  a vacation to sanity.

  Sean and Raven Leave

  Manuals and study guides,

  to read in our spare time.

  “Hey, Conner,” I try, hoping

  to pull him into the moment.

  “Ever seen a rattlesnake,

  up close and personal?”

  He looks up from his lap.

  Only my mother, the nasty,

  sidewinding bitch. You?

  “Yeah, I saw one once.

  Poor, stupid snake crawled

  out on the freeway. Ugly!”

  We won’t see any snakes,

  guesses Vanessa. Or, if we

  do, they’ll be moving slow.

  “How do you know? Are

  you some kind of a herp …

  herpe … snake expert?”

  Not an expert, but I did

  have an interest in school.

  Maybe I’ll take up herpetology

  if I ever make it to college.

  All I know is it’s still pretty

  cold at night for reptiles.

  “It’s still pretty cold at night

  for people, too, at least if

  you have to sleep outside.

  I slept outside in a blizzard

  once. Wouldn’t go

  looking to do that again.”

  I did that once, too, admits

  Vanessa, because my boyfriend

  wanted to. Stupid, huh?

  “The things we do for love …

  well, sweetie, I’d sleep

  outside naked in a blizzard,

  for you.”

  Vanessa

  We’re Up to Our Elbows

  In schoolwork, Challenge study,

  red tape, counseling sessions,

  and visits from home—all

  to make sure we’re prepared

  for the “experience of our lives,”