Crank by Ellen Hopkins Page A

as cinching yourself up in a completely
    revealing
    bikini and standing in front of a full-length
    reflection, rotating like a bird on a spit, trying to admire the naked truth
    staring back at you:
    body slim but not
    fine-tuned
    boyish hips, just
    barely qualifying as curves, uncertain breasts, cup size
    stalled
    somewhere between
    A (plus) and B (minus), womanhood
    223
    desperately trying to escape, succeeding
    once a month, like it or not, ready or not.
    (At least that wasn't
    currently a problem!)
    224
     
     
     
    T
    he Tattoo, However, Was
     
    It did look better, but it still didn't look good-- a bright pink, semi-heart-shaped thing, blue ink hiding somewhere beneath my skin, not an easy thing to hide in an itsy bitsy bikini.
    * *
    Band-aids were problematic. A little
    one wouldn't cover it, but one of those big
    square dudes would draw everyone's attention, guaranteed. Besides, have you ever seen a Band-aid, floating in a swimming pool? Would you want to be responsible for such a disgusting thing?
    * *
    And even if one did manage to stay on midst gushing gallons of chlorinated
    water, what would all that wet
    wildness do to the just forming
    scab and retreating infection?
    225
    Still, I couldn't beg off.
    Wild Waters Day was important to Scott's "leg up the management ladder."
    It was Mom's day to strut her stuff in her own itsy bitsy bikini.
    And it was always a summer hit for us kids.
    * *
    If I said I didn't want to go,
    Mom would check for a fever for certain.
    Even if she didn't find one, it would open the door for questions
    I really was in no mood to answer.
    * *
    Questions I knew I'd have to answer soon.
    226
     
     
     
    As
    I Pondered
     
    my problem, the telephone rang.
    Jake happily informed me--not to mention everyone else--it was
    Adam/Buddy on the far end of the line.
    * *
    "Hello?"
     
    Hey,
    Gorgeous. I miss you.
     
    Melted butter.
    * *
    "Oh, Adam. Me too."
     
    I can't stay on long. Phone
     
     
    bills, you know.
     
    Hot butter burned.
    * *
    "Okay."
     
    Just want you to know
     
     
    I love you.
     
    Burned good.
    * *
    "Me too. Always."
     
    Lince is coming home
     
     
    tomorrow. She'll be okay.
     
    Burned bad.
    * *
    "I'm glad."
     
    Bree? I've been thinking.
     
     
    We're a long way apart...
     
    Sizzled.
    * *
    "I know."
     
    So I think we should give
     
     
    each other permission
    to see other people.
     
    Spattered.
    227
    "You want
    my permission?"
     
    You have mine. Just think
    of me from time to time.
     
    Welted.
    * *
    "I don't need your
    permission, Buddy.
    And you obviously
    don't need mine."
     
    Well, okay then. Better go.
     
     
    Keep in touch.
     
     
    I really do love you.
     
    Scarred.
    228
     
     
     
    H
    is Idea of Love
     
    sure didn't mesh with mine.
    * *
    "I love you, let's see other people.'
    Interesting
    sentence structure.
    * *
    "Lince's coming home.
    Let's see other people."
    Unusual
    paragraph construction.
    * *
    My face flushed
    tears poked my eyes, scar tissue twisted my heart, wrapped itself around arteries, closed tight around my jugular.
    I coughed pain.
    * *
    I never went to Albuquerque
    expecting to find love.
    thought it had found me there, followed me home.
    229
    I never came home, expecting to lose
    love in the space of one brief
    telephone call.
    * *
    Is it always so short-lived?
    230
     
     
     
    Mom Knocked on My Door
     
    I found that strange.
    She never knocked.
     
    May I come in?
     
    Never asked for permission to come in. Permission.
    That word again.
     
    We haven't had a chance to talk
    since you got home.
     
    Then she looked at my face, all puffy and pissed, read
    everything she needed to there.
     
    Looks like we've got a lot to talk about.
     
     
    But maybe this isn't the best time?
     
    I wanted to talk. Needed to.
    But how could I possibly talk to her? She was my mom.
     
    I
    know I'm your mom and not always
     
     
    easy to talk to. But I'm here for you.
     
    I was ready for a lecture.
    Why did she have to choose
    that moment to try