Glass by Ellen Hopkins

through the             
    afternoon. Get                  
    some sleep tonight.      
           Get up early tomorrow
              morning, start a
                   not-so-exciting
                             job at the not-so-
                                    exciting 7-
    Eleven. Whoopee!

N one of That
    Is so easy to do,
    semibuzzed and
    knowing I need to
    crash,
    knowing I most
    definitely will
    crash
    as soon as everyone
    eats and drinks their
    fill, goes on home.
    Except,
    of course, I’ll have
    to deal with Mom’s
    wrath, Scott’s
    inquisition,
    Leigh’s hurt [real
    or imagined], Heather’s
    delight at my
    torment,
    a possible [make
    that highly probable]
    confrontation
    between all of the above
    and my father, the troll,
    and his
    miserable
    fairy, Linda Sue. I do
    feel sorry for her, and
    I’m starting to feel pretty
    sorry
    for myself, too. Okay,
    it’s looking to turn
    out to be a
    sleepless
    toss-and-turn,
    dissolve-slowly-
    into-morning night
    after all.

T hree Weeks and Four Days
    Since Hunter became an official
    candidate for the kingdom of heaven.
    Three weeks and one day since
    Dad and Linda Sue left Mom’s insults
    in their exhaust. Three weeks and two
    days since Leigh and Heather flew
    back to their swanky campus, leaving
    me with no unequivocal answers
    about cheerleaders and their diet aids
    or what, exactly, lesbians do for fun.
    Three weeks and three days since I
    started work at the 7-Eleven.
    Three weeks and three days of learning
    to stock shelves, scan items, clear gas
    pumps, make coffee and hot dogs. Three
    weeks and three days of Kevin’s leers
    [not to mention “accidental” gropes]
    and semirude comments about
    the growing appeal of my shrinking
    behind. It even looks good covered
    by a smock! A nasty green smock,
    over looser and looser jeans.
    Not that I’ve been into the monster—
    not much, anyway. I only have a tiny bit
    left, and I haven’t looked to score
    more. I only take a quick toke or two
    when Hunter doesn’t sleep through
    the night and I have to be at work
    by seven. Quarter till, actually, but I rarely
    punch in before 7:03 or 7:04.
    The job isn’t bad, actually. Not great.
    Not life-changing. But not as boring
    as I thought it would be. At least
    it’s around people. Some I even know.
    Old classmates. Old teachers. [Really
    old, most of them.] Old party pals.
    And hey. Tomorrow is my first paycheck.
    How will I celebrate? Hmm.
    I have definitely vacillated about
    scoring again. I want to. Don’t want to.
    Need to. Can’t. Bree is screaming
    for the monster. Kristina keeps trying
    to say no. But somewhere deep inside
    she thinks Bree will win.
    [You know you want me to.]
    The only real question is when.

T he Question Is Answered
    With a phone call. Unexpected.
    Anticipated. I happen to be on
    a smoke break (yes, I’ve taken up
    the habit again—big surprise)
    when my cell begins to chime.
    Kristina? It’s Trey. I’m
    in Reno. Can we hook up?
    OMG! He wants to hook up
    with me? My heart starts to pound,
    and my hands go clammy. And
    then it strikes me he probably
    wants the hundred I owe him.
    I’d like to collect that debt.
    And talk about that “interest.”
    OMG! Maybe he wants more
    than money. Am I prepared to give
    it to him? [Hell, yeah!] “I don’t
    get off work until four. I could
    meet up with you after that.”
    Sounds like a plan. Oh, are
    you by any chance looking?
    Looking for what? [To score,
    idiot.] “Um…” I’m not looking,
    am I? [Of course you are.]
    “Well…uh…yes, actually, I guess
    I am.” Question answered.
    Great. I’ll give you a taste
    of what I’ve got. You’ll love it.
    No doubt about that! And I’ll
    probably like the ice, too. I tell
    him where he can find me, hang
    up the phone, and go back inside
    to stock shelves and think about Trey.

I Can Hardly
    Think about anything else
    for the rest