“Can you say something nice about this place?”
My left wrist is throbbing like a siren so I barely register Jackie’s request. She’s the tour’s PR lackey, in charge of pushing me through the subterranean bowels of the Home Depot Center to my press conference . . .
This is me at fifteen, splayed out on Carly’s giant trampoline—stargazing, helpless, hopeful, smiling through a mouthful of stolen popcorn . . .
“Mama, Miss Tina is fat,” Rose announced from the backseat of my Nissan Sentra. Panic immediately set in . . .
I’m standing here beneath the palms surrounded by six police officers, all of them with their guns drawn, all of them pointing at me . . .
I didn’t know he was hooked on smack when I moved in. That confession came two nights later . . .
Never take a job in summer—that’s rule one. Rule two is never trust anyone. They have that rule all over, but rule one, that’s my thing. No one thinks straight in summer. You can’t rely on anyone after November . . .
I light my cigarette lovingly, laughingly, with a light purple lighter. Burn, baby, burn . . .
Elizabeth heard the door bang and footsteps clatter in the kitchen. She was relieved that it was not her daughter’s gait. This was another teenager. A girl holding a gun. Dear God, where did these children get these weapons? What possessed them? . . .