hit some kind of point at first where they tried to outdo each other in the present department.
Jordan closed his eyes.
Tears ran silently down his cheeks. He tried to wipe them away. Pills and pot didn’t mix. It was like a bad trip.
He couldn’t think of any presents he really wanted. He just wanted…
He reached out into the darkness of his room.
He just wanted…
He didn’t know what it was. It couldn’t be touched. But he wanted it.
And whatever it was that he tried to reach for was just about as far away as the moon.
* * *
Christie told herself that she should have just been glad that her parents were so busy arguing that they hadn’t noticed anything at all amiss at home.
Not that anything had really been amiss. Ashley had been well taken care of, Jordan—well, Jordan was being Jordan. Nothing new about that. He’d been getting into the drugs for a while now, hanging around with older guys easily because he was so tall and mature-looking when most guys his age—nearly fourteen, trying to go to forty—were squirty little dipsticks with squeaky voices. She and Jordan were ready to strangle one another most of the time, but she never squealed on him about the drugs and he never squealed on her about Jamie. The only problem was… well, she knew what she was doing with Jamie, her folks just hadn’t gotten it yet. Admittedly, she was ready to get into just about anything with Jamie, she was just wildly in love with him, but Jamie was grounded. Jamie had given her a lot. They fooled around, sure, but they were careful and responsible. And Jamie didn’t do drugs and he didn’t drink. He worked hard, because he had to work hard. No one was going to pay for him to go to college, and he was going to go to college—not because he felt he had to be rich or famous or anything, but because he felt that knowledge was the greatest gift in the world. He wantedto be a teacher. He especially wanted to be an inner-city teacher. He thought that lots of kids had dreams, but that too many of them found that no one ever gave a damn about their dreams or believed in their dreams. If he could be a teacher—sure, he’d get his tires slashed in the school parking lots a few times—he might be able to touch a few kids who just might be teetering on a rope. If those kids were scoffed at, they’d wind up scoring on the streets. But if someone just believed in them… well, then, they could fly.
Jamie didn’t know too much about Jordan and his drugs. The one day he’d found out about Jordan just smoking pot, he’d told her that—whatever Jordan might have to say about the two of them—she had to tell her folks. Christie hadn’t quite gotten to that point yet. For one thing, she was hoping that Jordan would just grow out of the phase he was in. For another, her parents were like kegs of dynamite. She didn’t know what they might do to Jordan. Or to her. Or to one another.
Like last night.
They hadn’t noticed a damned thing.
And when they’d needed Jamie to pick up Ashley for them, well, suddenly Jamie had been all right.
He was driving her to school this morning, and her father had better not say a damned word.
Jordan had his face in his Cheerios when Christie came into the kitchen—dressed and ready to go the minute the doorbell rang. She didn’t see her parents anywhere. She quickly sat across the table from her brother.
“They say anything to you?”
He looked up, shaking his head.
“To you?”
She shook her head.
“They didn’t realize the Latin lover had just run out?”
“They didn’t smell the ‘eau de illegal substance’ in your room?”
Jordan scowled at her. He leaned closer to her.
“No. They were fighting about some woman,” he whispered.
Christie frowned. Funny. She was mad at her dad half the time. He was totally unreasonable. But she’d been around him all her life. Of course. And he wasn’t a flirt.
“She just doesn’t trust him.”
“She’s worn out. He
Jordan closed his eyes.
Tears ran silently down his cheeks. He tried to wipe them away. Pills and pot didn’t mix. It was like a bad trip.
He couldn’t think of any presents he really wanted. He just wanted…
He reached out into the darkness of his room.
He just wanted…
He didn’t know what it was. It couldn’t be touched. But he wanted it.
And whatever it was that he tried to reach for was just about as far away as the moon.
* * *
Christie told herself that she should have just been glad that her parents were so busy arguing that they hadn’t noticed anything at all amiss at home.
Not that anything had really been amiss. Ashley had been well taken care of, Jordan—well, Jordan was being Jordan. Nothing new about that. He’d been getting into the drugs for a while now, hanging around with older guys easily because he was so tall and mature-looking when most guys his age—nearly fourteen, trying to go to forty—were squirty little dipsticks with squeaky voices. She and Jordan were ready to strangle one another most of the time, but she never squealed on him about the drugs and he never squealed on her about Jamie. The only problem was… well, she knew what she was doing with Jamie, her folks just hadn’t gotten it yet. Admittedly, she was ready to get into just about anything with Jamie, she was just wildly in love with him, but Jamie was grounded. Jamie had given her a lot. They fooled around, sure, but they were careful and responsible. And Jamie didn’t do drugs and he didn’t drink. He worked hard, because he had to work hard. No one was going to pay for him to go to college, and he was going to go to college—not because he felt he had to be rich or famous or anything, but because he felt that knowledge was the greatest gift in the world. He wantedto be a teacher. He especially wanted to be an inner-city teacher. He thought that lots of kids had dreams, but that too many of them found that no one ever gave a damn about their dreams or believed in their dreams. If he could be a teacher—sure, he’d get his tires slashed in the school parking lots a few times—he might be able to touch a few kids who just might be teetering on a rope. If those kids were scoffed at, they’d wind up scoring on the streets. But if someone just believed in them… well, then, they could fly.
Jamie didn’t know too much about Jordan and his drugs. The one day he’d found out about Jordan just smoking pot, he’d told her that—whatever Jordan might have to say about the two of them—she had to tell her folks. Christie hadn’t quite gotten to that point yet. For one thing, she was hoping that Jordan would just grow out of the phase he was in. For another, her parents were like kegs of dynamite. She didn’t know what they might do to Jordan. Or to her. Or to one another.
Like last night.
They hadn’t noticed a damned thing.
And when they’d needed Jamie to pick up Ashley for them, well, suddenly Jamie had been all right.
He was driving her to school this morning, and her father had better not say a damned word.
Jordan had his face in his Cheerios when Christie came into the kitchen—dressed and ready to go the minute the doorbell rang. She didn’t see her parents anywhere. She quickly sat across the table from her brother.
“They say anything to you?”
He looked up, shaking his head.
“To you?”
She shook her head.
“They didn’t realize the Latin lover had just run out?”
“They didn’t smell the ‘eau de illegal substance’ in your room?”
Jordan scowled at her. He leaned closer to her.
“No. They were fighting about some woman,” he whispered.
Christie frowned. Funny. She was mad at her dad half the time. He was totally unreasonable. But she’d been around him all her life. Of course. And he wasn’t a flirt.
“She just doesn’t trust him.”
“She’s worn out. He
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