Glass - 02 (19 page)

(Figure I’d better do it quick), then stop by

Wal-Mart to pick up my Xmas layaway. It’s a

freaking madhouse, four days till Christmas, no

good stuff left, and what’s left picked through.

Impossible lines zigzag toward the layaway desk.

Might as well get comfortable. I’m lost in the shopping

diorama when someone taps my shoulder.
Kristina?

Is that you? Wow, you sure have, um…changed.

The voice is vaguely familiar, but somehow not right

for this time and place. When I turn, my equilibrium

is threatened. It’s Quade, my first crush, the one I

couldn’t quite find the courage to kiss. [Oh, man,

why the hell not?] “Quade? It can’t be you. Talk about

changing!” His spiked hair is bleached on the ends,

and his eyebrows are pierced. Metal? I’m guessing

heavy. “You look great, though.” [Understatement!

He’s frigging fine.] “What are you up to nowadays?

Do you live in Reno?” [Like you could be so lucky.]

No, actually, I still live at home, at least when

I quit moving around long enough to touch down

there. My band and I have a gig at Dr. Nasty’s—

that new club on Fourth Street. Hey, you busy tonight?

“Well, actually, no…but I’m not sure if they would

let me inside. I’m not quite twenty-one, you know.”

Quade scans his memory banks.
Ah,

right. I can get you in, though.
He winks.

You’re with me.
He stands in line

with me awhile, and we talk about “the

good old days,” as if we were ancient.

At least he helps me pass the time while

I crawl toward layaway. Finally I’m

just about there, and digging for my

layaway slip, which of course I can’t

find. They’ll have to use my phone

number. Oops. Mom’s phone number.

Well, let me know if you can make it,
Quade

says.
Here’s my cell number. We fire up at nine.

“Thanks. I’ll definitely try. The only holdup

might be snow. They’re calling for a killer storm.”

Cool. Let me know either way. And either

way, stay in touch.
He gives me a hug

and heads toward the monster checkout

lines. I watch him go as the lame layaway

girl says,
Picking up a layaway?
Unreal!

And a couple of leftover baubles

bought for Brad and the girls,

I drive back to Red Rock.

Somehow it still doesn’t feel like

home,

even if it is where my clothes reside;

where I go to sleep (sometimes)

at night; where I eat (sometimes);

where people (strangers) wait

for

me to come back to. No, “home”

is the other direction, in a protected

south valley, not here in a frigid

north valley Hades hole. [What

the

fuck is wrong with you? Remember

how much you wanted away from

home, only a few months ago?]

I do, but that was before the

holidays

intruded. I’ve never been away

from home on Christmas before.

Mom has transformed the house

into a Sugarplum Dreamland, only it

is

Hunter who she has transformed

it for. [You’re jealous of Hunter

now?] Yes. And of Mom [his

mommy] and Leigh, who is

where

I want to be—snug in front

of the fireplace, drinking hot

chocolate and munching popcorn

while trimming the tall fir tree.

I

want to hum along to carols, sneak

off to my room to wrap presents [and

do what else?]. Pipe down, Bree! Despite

your insistence otherwise, that is where I

really belong.

When I get to Brad’s. The wind

has blown up, and it’s north-pole

cold, but so far, not even a flurry.

Inside they’re watching
A Charlie

Brown Christmas.
I can’t see the TV,

but the music is unmistakable.

Brad looks my direction, smiles.

I wave him over and he follows

me into the kitchen, where I hand

him a crisp hundred. “This week

and next week,” I explain. “I lost

my job today, so I’ll have to find

another one. Didn’t want you to

get shorted in the meantime.”

[How adult of you, especially

considering you’re just about broke.]

Lost your job? What happened?

I already figured this part out.

Might not be the best idea

to tell him I didn’t want to work

Christmas. “The store manager

is a total letch. He won’t keep

his hands off me. So I quit.”

That sucks. You could probably

sue him, you know.

“Sure, if I could afford a lawyer.

Anyway, how would I prove it,

and would I really want
his
lawyer

to start digging up dirt on me?”

Good point. Well, thanks for the money.

You’re welcome to join the girls

and me for yet another encore

of
A Christmas Story. They’ve seen

it three times already, but you know…

“Thanks, Brad. But I ran into an old

friend whose band is playing at some

new club in town. He invited me to drop

by. I thought I’d go check it out.”

Wow. He looks really disappointed.

Be careful. They’re calling for—

“Snow. I know. I’ll keep an eye out,

and if it starts to snow, I promise

I’ll come straight home, okay?”

Did I just call this place home?

And why would I promise to

come straight here? Why

would I promise Brad anything?

He’s not my dad. Not my boyfriend.

[But more than a landlord, no?]

And three solid tokes later,

I’m off to Reno. The sky is dark,

no moon, stars, or planets in sight.

A storm is definitely brewing.

Trey is number one on my speed

dial. I give it a try but, as usual,

fall into his voice mail basket.

God, that is so annoying! Oh, well,

I feel pretty great, and I’m out

for the night, and isn’t this what

freedom is all about? I cruise

down Fourth, locate Dr. Nasty’s.

The name is perfect, the club

a dive. I dial Quade’s number, tell

him I’m here. He says to come

around back. He’ll let me in.

Glad you could make it
. Quade

gives me another hug, and this

time it’s longer, warmer.
Come

on. It’s just about showtime.

I follow him backstage. Three

guys, all dressed in personalized

leather and piercings, give Quade

a nod.
You can hang here, okay?

“No problem.” I grab a stool

as the band takes the stage,

launches a hard metal song

guaranteed to blow eardrums.

Not my favorite music,

but they play it well, one

song crashing into the next,

Quade leading the charge

with his bass. By the time

they take a break, my ears

pound and my throat is parched.

Quade comes up, puts his arm

around my shoulder.
Thirsty?

The best I can do is nod.

Me, too. I’ll get us drinks.

What’s your pleasure?

[Dangerous question.] “Um…” I’ve

never been much of a drinker,

and I’m not even sure if he’s offering

alcohol. “Whatever you’re having.”

He takes off in search of drinks.

Meanwhile, one of his bandmates

comes up.
Hi. I’m Jeremy.

You’re Quade’s old friend, huh?

I’m not sure why, but I smile

a come-on smile. [Way to go!]

“Well, I’m not that old, but we’ve

known each other a long time.”

That was a lot to say with

cotton-mouth, and Jeremy

has a clue what that means.

Now it’s his turn to smile,

and now I know where

this evening could go.

Partying with the band? Isn’t

that every girl’s dream?

And one that went way too late,

especially considering I was

the one donating most of the ice.

Quade didn’t touch it, but his buds

all did. He watched, more than a tad

disapprovingly, but never said a word.

He drank. A little. Smoked pot. A little.

But no meth, and no tobacco.
Bad

for the vocal cords,
he claimed.

I did it all. Enjoyed doing it all,

surrounded by three decent-looking

dudes and one who resembled

a raccoon, with black circles

swallowing his eyes and pointy

(who knows why!) yellow teeth.

Anyway, it was fun. And I have to

admit, Trey or no Trey, my attraction

to Quade is stronger than ever.

Yeah, yeah, part of that’s being

buzzed and wanting to be kissed. More

is wanting that missed-chance kiss.

As I was leaving, Damian (Raccoon

Man) pulled me aside.
Hey. Can you

score more of that crystal?

“Maybe,” I said. “But it isn’t cheap,”

added Bree, recognizing the chance

to make a little on the deal.

No problem. I’ll take a ball, if you

can get it. And I’d rather pay more

than get one that’s short.

A man [raccoon] after my own

heart. I don’t need to “borrow”

from his if I can come up with

some extra cash to apply to my own

account with Brad, who I’m

hoping will front me some.

Good thing I had plenty tonight,

to combat the alcohol. I had

half a dozen beers, something

I’ve never done before, and beyond

the high of the glass is a definite

three-point-eight low. That, plus

the pot, which I haven’t smoked

since my days with Chase, have

combined to perhaps affect my driving.